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Thaddeus standing goggle-eyed on the ditch bank.
Something exploded with a flash of light inside my head and I whispered to
myself, Now take it easy. Don't scare the kid, don't startle him.
"Gee whiz!" said Thaddeus again. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath. "Old Tractor ran over Uncle Clyde. Make it get off."
Thaddeus didn't seem to hear me. He was intent on taking in the whole
shebang.
"Thaddeus," I said, "make Tractor get off." Thaddeus looked at me with that
blind, unseeing stare he used to have. I prayed silently, Don't let him be too old.
O God, don't let him be too old. And Thaddeus jumped across the ditch. He
climbed gingerly through the barbwire fence and squatted down by the tractor,
his hands caught between his chest and knees. He bent his head forward and I
stared urgently at the soft vulnerable nape of his neck. Then he turned his
blind eyes to me again.
"Tractor doesn't want to."
I felt a yell ball up in my throat, but I caught it in time. Don't scare the kid, I
thought. Don't scare him.
"Make Tractor get off anyway," I said as matter-of-factly as I could manage.
"He's hurting Uncle Clyde."
Thaddeus turned and looked at Clyde.
"He isn't hollering."
"He can't. He's unconscious." Sweat was making my palms slippery.
"Oh." Thaddeus examined Clyde's quiet face curiously. "I never saw anybody
unconscious before."
"Thaddeus." My voice was sharp. "Make Tractor get off."
Maybe I talked too loud. Maybe I used the wrong words, but Thaddeus
looked up at me and I saw the shutters close in his eyes. They looked up at me,
blue and shallow and bright.
"You mean start the tractor?" His voice was brisk as he stood up. "Gee whiz!
Grampa told us kids to leave the tractor alone. It's dangerous for kids. I don't
know whether I know how "
"That's not what I meant," I snapped, my voice whetted on the edge of my
despair. "Make it get off Uncle Clyde. He's dying."
"But I can't! You can't just make a tractor do something. You gotta run it."
His face was twisting with approaching tears.
"You could if you wanted to," I argued, knowing how useless it was. "Uncle
Clyde will die if you don't."
"But I can't! I don't know how! Honest I don't." Thaddeus scrubbed one bare
foot in the plowed dirt, sniffing miserably.
I knelt beside Clyde and slipped my hand inside his dirt-smeared shirt. I
pulled my hand out and rubbed the stained palm against my thigh. "Never
mind," I said bluntly, "it doesn't matter now. He's dead."
Thaddeus started to bawl, not from grief but bewilderment. He knew I was
put out with him and he didn't know why. He crooked his arm over his eyes
and leaned against a fence post, sobbing noisily. I shifted myself over in the
dark furrow until my shadow sheltered Clyde's quiet face from the hot
afternoon sun. I clasped my hands palm to palm between my knees and waited
for Dad.
I knew as well as anything that Thaddeus could have helped Why
once
couldn't he then, when the need was so urgent? Well, maybe he really had
outgrown his strangeness. Or it might be that he actually couldn't do anything
just because Clyde and I were grownups. Maybe if it had been another kid
Sometimes my mind gets cold trying to figure it out. Especially when I get
the answer that kids and grownups live in two worlds so alien and separate that
the gap can't be bridged even to save a life. Whatever the answer is I still don't
like kids.
Walking Aunt Daid
I looked up in surprise and so did Ma. And so did Pa. Aunt Daid was moving.
Her hands were coming together and moving upward till the light from the
fireplace had a rest from flickering on that cracked, wrinkled wreck that was
her face. But the hands didn't stay long. They dropped back to her saggy lap
like two dead bats, and the sunken old mouth that had fallen in on its lips
years before I was born puckered and worked and let Aunt Daid's tongue out a
little ways before it pulled it back in again. I swallowed hard. There was
something alive about that tongue and wasn't a word I'd associate with
alive
Aunt Daid.
Ma let out a sigh that was almost a snort and took up her fancy work again.
"Guess it's about time," she said over a sudden thrum of rain against the
darkening parlor windows.
"Naw," said Pa. "Too soon. Years yet."
"Don't know bout that," said Ma. "Paul here's going on twenty. Count back
to the last time. Remember that, Dev?"
"Aw!" Pa squirmed in his chair. Then he rattled the Weekly Wadrow open
and snapped it back to the state news. "Better watch out," he warned, his eyes
answering hers. "I might learn more this time and decide I need some other
woman."
"Can't scare me," said Ma over the strand of embroidery thread she was
holding between her teeth to separate it into strands. " T'won't be your place
this time anyhow. Once for each generation, hasn't it been? It's Paul this time."
"He's too young," protested Pa. "Some things younguns should be sheltered
from." He was stern.
"Paul's oldern'n you were at his age," said Ma. "Schooling does that to you, I
guess."
"Sheltered from what?" I asked. "What about last time? What's all this just
'cause Aunt Daid moved without anyone telling her to?"
"You'll find out," said Ma, and she shivered a little. "We make jokes about
it but only in the family," she warned. "This is strictly family business. But it
isn't any joking matter. I wish the good Lord would take Aunt Daid. It's creepy.
It's not healthy."
"Aw, simmer down, Mayleen," said Pa. "It's not all that bad. Every family's got
its problems. Ours just happens to be Aunt Daid. It could be worse. At least
she's quiet and clean and biddable and that's more than you can say for some
other people's old folks."
"Old folks is right," said Ma. "We hit the jackpot there."
"How old is Aunt Daid?" I asked, wondering just how many years it had
taken to suck so much sap out of her that you wondered that the husk of her
didn't rustle when she walked.
"No one rightly knows," said Ma, folding away her fancy work. She went over
to Aunt Daid and put her hand on the sagging shoulder.
"Bedtime, Aunt Daid," she called, loud and clear. "Time for bed."
I counted to myself. ". . . three, four, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," and
five,
Aunt Daid was on her feet, her bent old knees wavering to hold her scanty
weight.
I shook my head wonderingly and half grinned. Never failed. Up at the count
of ten, which was pretty good, seeing as she never started stirring until the
count of five. It took that long for Ma's words to sink in.
I watched Aunt Daid follow Ma out. You couldn't push her to go anywhere,
but she followed real good. Then I said to Pa, "What's Aunt Daid's whole name?
How's she kin to us?"
"Don't rightly know," said Pa. "I could maybe figger it out how she's kin to
us, I mean if I took the time a lot of it. Great-great-grampa started calling
her Aunt Daid. Other folks thought it was kinda disrespectful but it stuck to
her." He stood up and stretched and yawned. "Morning comes early," he said.
"Better hit the hay." He pitched the paper at the woodbox and went off toward
the kitchen for his bed snack.
"What'd he call her Aunt Daid for?" I hollered after him.
"Well," yelled Pa, his voice muffled, most likely from coming out of the
icebox. "He said she shoulda been 'daid a long time ago, so he called her Aunt
Daid."
I figured on the edge of the Hog Breeder's Gazette. "Let's see. Around thirty
years to a generation. Me, Pa, Grampa, great-grampa, great-great-grampa and
let's see for me that'd be another great That makes six generations. That's 180
years " I chewed on the end of my pencil, a funny flutter inside me. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
Thaddeus standing goggle-eyed on the ditch bank.
Something exploded with a flash of light inside my head and I whispered to
myself, Now take it easy. Don't scare the kid, don't startle him.
"Gee whiz!" said Thaddeus again. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath. "Old Tractor ran over Uncle Clyde. Make it get off."
Thaddeus didn't seem to hear me. He was intent on taking in the whole
shebang.
"Thaddeus," I said, "make Tractor get off." Thaddeus looked at me with that
blind, unseeing stare he used to have. I prayed silently, Don't let him be too old.
O God, don't let him be too old. And Thaddeus jumped across the ditch. He
climbed gingerly through the barbwire fence and squatted down by the tractor,
his hands caught between his chest and knees. He bent his head forward and I
stared urgently at the soft vulnerable nape of his neck. Then he turned his
blind eyes to me again.
"Tractor doesn't want to."
I felt a yell ball up in my throat, but I caught it in time. Don't scare the kid, I
thought. Don't scare him.
"Make Tractor get off anyway," I said as matter-of-factly as I could manage.
"He's hurting Uncle Clyde."
Thaddeus turned and looked at Clyde.
"He isn't hollering."
"He can't. He's unconscious." Sweat was making my palms slippery.
"Oh." Thaddeus examined Clyde's quiet face curiously. "I never saw anybody
unconscious before."
"Thaddeus." My voice was sharp. "Make Tractor get off."
Maybe I talked too loud. Maybe I used the wrong words, but Thaddeus
looked up at me and I saw the shutters close in his eyes. They looked up at me,
blue and shallow and bright.
"You mean start the tractor?" His voice was brisk as he stood up. "Gee whiz!
Grampa told us kids to leave the tractor alone. It's dangerous for kids. I don't
know whether I know how "
"That's not what I meant," I snapped, my voice whetted on the edge of my
despair. "Make it get off Uncle Clyde. He's dying."
"But I can't! You can't just make a tractor do something. You gotta run it."
His face was twisting with approaching tears.
"You could if you wanted to," I argued, knowing how useless it was. "Uncle
Clyde will die if you don't."
"But I can't! I don't know how! Honest I don't." Thaddeus scrubbed one bare
foot in the plowed dirt, sniffing miserably.
I knelt beside Clyde and slipped my hand inside his dirt-smeared shirt. I
pulled my hand out and rubbed the stained palm against my thigh. "Never
mind," I said bluntly, "it doesn't matter now. He's dead."
Thaddeus started to bawl, not from grief but bewilderment. He knew I was
put out with him and he didn't know why. He crooked his arm over his eyes
and leaned against a fence post, sobbing noisily. I shifted myself over in the
dark furrow until my shadow sheltered Clyde's quiet face from the hot
afternoon sun. I clasped my hands palm to palm between my knees and waited
for Dad.
I knew as well as anything that Thaddeus could have helped Why
once
couldn't he then, when the need was so urgent? Well, maybe he really had
outgrown his strangeness. Or it might be that he actually couldn't do anything
just because Clyde and I were grownups. Maybe if it had been another kid
Sometimes my mind gets cold trying to figure it out. Especially when I get
the answer that kids and grownups live in two worlds so alien and separate that
the gap can't be bridged even to save a life. Whatever the answer is I still don't
like kids.
Walking Aunt Daid
I looked up in surprise and so did Ma. And so did Pa. Aunt Daid was moving.
Her hands were coming together and moving upward till the light from the
fireplace had a rest from flickering on that cracked, wrinkled wreck that was
her face. But the hands didn't stay long. They dropped back to her saggy lap
like two dead bats, and the sunken old mouth that had fallen in on its lips
years before I was born puckered and worked and let Aunt Daid's tongue out a
little ways before it pulled it back in again. I swallowed hard. There was
something alive about that tongue and wasn't a word I'd associate with
alive
Aunt Daid.
Ma let out a sigh that was almost a snort and took up her fancy work again.
"Guess it's about time," she said over a sudden thrum of rain against the
darkening parlor windows.
"Naw," said Pa. "Too soon. Years yet."
"Don't know bout that," said Ma. "Paul here's going on twenty. Count back
to the last time. Remember that, Dev?"
"Aw!" Pa squirmed in his chair. Then he rattled the Weekly Wadrow open
and snapped it back to the state news. "Better watch out," he warned, his eyes
answering hers. "I might learn more this time and decide I need some other
woman."
"Can't scare me," said Ma over the strand of embroidery thread she was
holding between her teeth to separate it into strands. " T'won't be your place
this time anyhow. Once for each generation, hasn't it been? It's Paul this time."
"He's too young," protested Pa. "Some things younguns should be sheltered
from." He was stern.
"Paul's oldern'n you were at his age," said Ma. "Schooling does that to you, I
guess."
"Sheltered from what?" I asked. "What about last time? What's all this just
'cause Aunt Daid moved without anyone telling her to?"
"You'll find out," said Ma, and she shivered a little. "We make jokes about
it but only in the family," she warned. "This is strictly family business. But it
isn't any joking matter. I wish the good Lord would take Aunt Daid. It's creepy.
It's not healthy."
"Aw, simmer down, Mayleen," said Pa. "It's not all that bad. Every family's got
its problems. Ours just happens to be Aunt Daid. It could be worse. At least
she's quiet and clean and biddable and that's more than you can say for some
other people's old folks."
"Old folks is right," said Ma. "We hit the jackpot there."
"How old is Aunt Daid?" I asked, wondering just how many years it had
taken to suck so much sap out of her that you wondered that the husk of her
didn't rustle when she walked.
"No one rightly knows," said Ma, folding away her fancy work. She went over
to Aunt Daid and put her hand on the sagging shoulder.
"Bedtime, Aunt Daid," she called, loud and clear. "Time for bed."
I counted to myself. ". . . three, four, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," and
five,
Aunt Daid was on her feet, her bent old knees wavering to hold her scanty
weight.
I shook my head wonderingly and half grinned. Never failed. Up at the count
of ten, which was pretty good, seeing as she never started stirring until the
count of five. It took that long for Ma's words to sink in.
I watched Aunt Daid follow Ma out. You couldn't push her to go anywhere,
but she followed real good. Then I said to Pa, "What's Aunt Daid's whole name?
How's she kin to us?"
"Don't rightly know," said Pa. "I could maybe figger it out how she's kin to
us, I mean if I took the time a lot of it. Great-great-grampa started calling
her Aunt Daid. Other folks thought it was kinda disrespectful but it stuck to
her." He stood up and stretched and yawned. "Morning comes early," he said.
"Better hit the hay." He pitched the paper at the woodbox and went off toward
the kitchen for his bed snack.
"What'd he call her Aunt Daid for?" I hollered after him.
"Well," yelled Pa, his voice muffled, most likely from coming out of the
icebox. "He said she shoulda been 'daid a long time ago, so he called her Aunt
Daid."
I figured on the edge of the Hog Breeder's Gazette. "Let's see. Around thirty
years to a generation. Me, Pa, Grampa, great-grampa, great-great-grampa and
let's see for me that'd be another great That makes six generations. That's 180
years " I chewed on the end of my pencil, a funny flutter inside me. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]