The Lime Pit Read Free Page B

something. That's where I met her, Cindy
Ann. Stretched out on a beach blanket alongside the shelter house.
Man," Cratz said wistfully, "she was a sight. And pleasant
to me. Not thinking right off what maybe she should have been
thinking. That I was just another old man looking down her sun dress.
Which I was, too. No, she was too sweet for that. We started to chat
and she invites me to sit down. And I told George I wouldn't be
needing him any further. And that's how I spent that afternoon until
way on toward sunset, sitting on that big yellow beach towel of hers
and telling her about my life.
    "It ain't often that you can find a young person
that you can sit and talk to. They just don't care about the past.
But Cindy Ann was different. And it wasn't like she was putting on.
Boy, you get old enough and you can spot that sort of thing a mile
away. She cared about me. Maybe having come from a broken home and
being miles away from it and her folks and her friends she needed
somebody to care for. So I'd walk on out to that park every day. And
she'd be there waiting. And it got so that was the only thing I'd
look forward to in the day. Sitting with Cindy Ann in the park and
telling her about my days in the Corps or about football or my son.
Whatever.
    "And then one day 'bout a year ago, I come to
the park and she wasn't there. Man, I'd liked to die. I didn't know
what happened to her. Whether she was hurt or sick or something
worse. I got George to lend me his car and I spent the whole damn
afternoon driving through Clifton, just looking to see if I could
catch sight of her. I come home, feeling like an old man, and, damn,
if she wasn't setting out there on that very stoop waiting for me! I
ain't ever seen anything looked as good as that little girl sitting
on the stoop, with her little bag of clothes and things in her hand.
    "To this day I don't know why she come to me. I
just figured she needed a place to stay and I offered her the couch
and she said, 'Yes, O.K., for a while'."
    "We had a real good year together, mister. A
real good year. And, right off, I made her promise me that if she
ever wanted to leave she would tell me first. So's I wouldn't spend
another afternoon like I did when she didn't show up in the park. And
she promised. That's how come I know something's happened to her. She
never said goodbye, and Cindy Ann would never've done me that way.
She was good to me. Looking after me. Cleaning up this hole."
    Cratz began to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks and
dropping heavily to the rug. "Ain't supposed to fall in love at
my age," he said. "Ain't supposed to care too much. Too
near the end. Too near the grave. Mistake, maybe." He swallowed
hard and swiped at his red nose. "You see, I didn't force her to
do nothing. She come of her own free will, like you said. And I just
... I just ain't got enough . . . it ain't fair they should've taken
her from me." Cratz began to sob. "It ain't fair."
    "Who are `they,' Mr. Cratz?"
    "Them!" he said ferociously and pointed to
the window. "Them! Them! Them damn heartless bastards that
called themselves her friends. That's who!"
 
 
    3
    I KNEW what she'd say before she said it. I knew
because I knew that Hugo was a tired man at the end of his own
particular road. Maybe I just wanted to hear her say it, so that I
could tell myself I'd given the old man his full half-hour's worth.
Maybe if Laurie B. Jellicoe had lived on Lorraine or Newman, instead
of two houses down on the opposite side of Cornell, I would have
called it a mistaken afternoon. Mistakes happen. Hugo Cratzs happen,
although we don't usually see them unless they're selling newspapers
in front of a rusted tarbarrel on a windy street corner. Maybe if it
hadn't been so sleepy hot that I had to pack my sportscoat over my
sleeve like a waiter's napkin, I'd have been thinking more clearly
about Hugo Cratz. Maybe I'd have seen him for the bigoted reprobate
that he was. Using his devils and his debilities to perpetuate