The Totem 1979 Read Free

he was justified. Still, he guessed his wife was right. He didn’t have a reason to put in this kind of day. Maybe he would cut back, work just mornings, spend some time around the house. His wife was aging too, and maybe they should find out more about each other. While they still had the opportunity.
    He sat and thought, his breath now coming easier, glancing out the window while he listened to his wife reheating supper, and the phone rang.
    “Don’t get up,” she told him, and he understood. This likely would be business. Most calls at this hour were, and she was bound to see he wasn’t bothered. He sat, waiting while it rang. He heard her put a lid down on a pot, then saw her walk across the entrance to the kitchen, disappearing toward the phone that hung against the cupboard wall. She got there halfway through another ring.
    “Hello… . No, I’m sorry he’s not in right now. I’ll take a message… . What? How are you, Sam? I didn’t recognize your voice. How’s the… ? No, I don’t know where he is. … Well, is it serious? If you’ll tell me what it is, I’ll have him call…. You’re sure? All right, then, Sam, I’ll have him call you first thing he comes in. … No, I won’t forget… . Right, Sam. Yes, I will… . Right. Goodbye.”
    And that was that. He heard her hang the phone up and then saw her walk across the doorway toward the stove. He knew three Sams, but he didn’t dare ask which it was. If she wanted to, she’d tell him, but he knew that if he asked her he would only make her mad. So he waited. He sat, smelling supper as it cooked. Then she told him it was ready. He went in and ate. Slowly as she wanted him. Pork chops, string beans, and potatoes, boiled, then stirred with butter and crushed parsley, as he liked them. Then she had a pie for him, apple with brown sugar and no upper crust. Again, the way he liked it. Then there was some tea, Chinese black, light and smooth and mellow. And he waited. He sat back and looked at her and tapped his fingers on the table.
    And she told him. “That was Sam Bodine.”
    He nodded.
    “Best get over there.”
    He had to laugh. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”
    “I’ve changed my mind.”
    “What is it?”
    “That’s the point. He wouldn’t say.”
    The old man looked at her.
    “You should have heard his voice. I think you’d better go.”
    He looked at her a moment longer and then stood to get his bag.
    Chapter Three.
    The old man’s house was on the edge of town, the side that faced the western mountains. He got in the car and backed out of the driveway, aiming toward the setting sun. It was almost down behind the mountains now. Its topmost swollen rim was barely showing.
    Rocky Mountains. Tall and jagged, capped with snow although June was oddly warm. In August, some would be rock bare, but most would be snow-covered all year round. That was one nice thing about this kind of country: the difference in the weather. In the valley, it might be one hundred, but five hours drive up there and you could dig snow caves and wear a jacket. Plus, the sun did strange things with its color. It might be white with heat from nine to five, but after that, as it came closer to the mountains, dipping down behind them, the sun changed first to red and then to orange, bathing everything in alpenglow, a rich warm golden tone that made the countryside seem magical. It was like that now, everything the same calm soothing color. Even trees were tinted by it, the green of leaves now more like yellow, the range grass all around reminding him of grain and honey.
    The old man drove down the road past fence posts stretching off as far as he could see, past ranch homes nestled in their hollows, cattle feeding, windmills turning in the evening breeze. The supper had been very good. He had eaten more than was his custom. Indeed he felt much better now, his breath more easy, his legs more steady. That was why he drove the kind of car he did: to help him with