The Cape Ann Read Free Page B

you could extricate yourself, and most of what he said made no sense.
    Some women feared, or said they did, that Hilly could be dangerous. Violent or … the other. After all, everyone knew he’d appeared naked in Rabel’s Meat Market in front of three women. Didn’t that prove something? And he still wet himself when he was frightened. That was no picnic to be around.
    Men weren’t afraid of Hilly but they didn’t want him hanging around their stores scaring off customers. He was a public nuisance and embarrassment. And they didn’t have time to waste, listeningto his nonsense. It was too bad the kid had gone through whatever he’d gone through, but it wasn’t their lookout. They had a living to make.
    After being shooed out of every business on Main Street two or three times, Hilly had claimed the bench in front of the post office. Townspeople were willing to cede him that.
    There were a few in Harvester, among them Bernice McGivern, her sister, and Mama, who stood still for Hilly’s disjointed greetings and observations. Descending the post office steps, Mama would call, “I hear you’ve eaten every strawberry in Harvester, Hilly.” (Hilly had once told her, “Strawberries I eat better in my cream than coffee.”)
    Hilly would smile, showing all his teeth, his tongue, and part of his throat. “Nah.” He would shake his head vigorously, like a five-year-old. “Some more of strawberries for you will find.” Mama would laugh and Hilly would laugh. Then she would hand him the letters or package she held. Hilly liked to carry people’s mail. If you didn’t have a car, he would carry it all the way home for you. Sometimes Mama bought him an ice cream cone or a soda pop.
    The hardest part of being nice to Hilly was his gratitude. He turned himself inside out for anyone who nodded. Sticking out of his back pocket, summer or winter, was an old rag. If you allowed him to carry your mail, he polished your car. And if you were in a hurry, that could be a nuisance. Mama said sometimes you damned near had to run over Hilly to get away.
    Occasionally when Mama went to pick up our mail, she drove an old black pickup that Papa used for delivering railroad freight. Hilly was crazy about the pickup and was always begging to ride in the back. If Mama wasn’t busy, she’d give him a little ride around town.
    One time she brought him to the depot and asked him if he thought he could wash the windows of our living quarters. There were only three, but they were very tall and ladders made Mama dizzy. Hilly became nearly sick with delight at being asked.
    It took him an entire day to wash the three windows inside and out. That was because he was so particular. And he kept polishing them long after they were spotless. When it looked as though he would polish his way right through the glass, Mama would tell him it was time to start the next.
    At noon Mama carried lunch out to Hilly on a pie tin—roast beef sandwiches, chocolate cake, and coffee with cream—and she told him he could sit in the back of the pickup to eat it. Later, when she went to collect the empty pie tin, Hilly was on his hands and knees with a rag and bucket, scrubbing out the truck.
    At close to five, Mama said, “Hilly, the windows are beautiful. It’s time for me to take you home.” She gave him a dollar, explaining, “You can buy ice cream cones with that.” He seemed very pleased by the idea, and folding the bill carefully several times, he slipped it into his shirt pocket. Mama drove him downtown, dropping him in front of Rabel’s Meat Market.
    She was home again, paring potatoes to fry, when someone knocked at the door. Setting the potato aside and wiping her hands on her apron, she answered it. On the platform stood Hilly, a collapsed cone in each hand, melted ice cream running down his arms and onto his trousers and shoes.
    Though he smiled his wide-open-mouth smile, he was anxious. “Ice cream can’t walk so far,” he told her, nodding his