The Disinherited Read Free Page A

of its ears. He presented it to a black-haired woman who was sitting in the front row. She smiled at him and put her arm on his shoulder.
    The real estate man had marked the hydro right-of-way on his map too. It cut from the invisible road, through a stand of basswood, to the waterfront. “They give you seventy dollars for every pole they put up,” he said. “And they’ll saw your trees into five-foot lengths for firewood.” He pushed the map around, so Richard could see it.
    “We got an oil furnace,” Miranda said. “Right after we learned how to read. It was advertised in the newspaper, you know.”
    “We’re honest,” the real estate man said. He pulled a brown paper bag out of his briefcase and dumped its contents on the table. There were, held together by blue elastics, twenty bundles, each composed of ten one-hundred-dollar bills. “I didn’t come here to waste your time,” he said. He spread the bundles in a neat row across the kitchen table. When Brian came in for dinner, the real estate man was still there. He had put away his money and his maps and was working on a bottle of rye and a package of cigars. “Pleased to know you,” he said, when Brian was introduced to him. After dinner, when he had persuaded Brian to take a cigar, he handed him the lighter with the naked lady. “Ever see one of these?”
    He turned towards the camera and Richard Thomas saw him for the first time. He was very young, just beginning to grow a moustache, and with sideburns that lightened at the tips. His face was tanned and oval and his eyes were shining like those of a newly ascended angel. The last scene showed the crowd singing and drinking at an outdoor café. The young matador was seated at the best table, surrounded by admirers. Beside him, but completely removed from everything, the black-haired woman waited.
    Each step separated into its components: a survey of the ground for rocks and branches; a motion through the pain and back down again; a new beginning. He was certain that he would make it if he didn’t fall; it was only necessary to repeat the cycle over and over. Then he was propped against the gate to the hayfield; his muscles had collapsed and the wood pressed into the bones of his arm. He heard the voice clearly now. He looked up and saw Brian running through the field towardshim, waving and shouting. He waved back at him. Brian seemed upset. His face was all red and he was running so fast that he was tripping all over himself. Richard Thomas wiped his face and took out a cigarette. It was a beautiful morning. He was glad the hay was all in and he didn’t have to work today. He waved at Brian again. It was too hot to run. Brian slowed down. When he got to the gate, his face was flushed and sweating. He looked embarrassed. Richard remembered the time he had walked into the barn and caught Brian with Katherine Malone’s youngest daughter. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” Brian said. “Miranda was worried about you.”
    “I decided to go for a walk. I woke up early.” They were leaning on the gate. Everything was normal. “Did you do the chores?”
    Brian nodded. Richard noticed that he was still smoking the cigarette. His left arm was stiff and he had the hand stuck into his pocket. He put his cigarette in his mouth and with his right hand he reached into his shirt, to offer Brian the package. “Cigarette?” he asked. As he spoke, his own cigarette fell out of his mouth onto the ground. He put his foot over it casually.
    “No thanks,” Brian said. He saw the sand on the side of Richard’s face.
    “I went to sleep down by the lake,” Richard said. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” He stepped back from the gate, so Brian could open it. Brian was staring at him. “I was just on my way home. I thought we’d take down that old maple tree today.” Now Brian was looking down at the ground. “It’s all right,” Richard said. He noticed that he had dropped the package of cigarettes too.