Kings Of The Earth Part 5

One thing you notice is that there's been a lot of sickness out there. A lot of pain. Hardly anybody in the family has a full set of fingers. The mother died of cancer thirty years ago, and Vernon's body showed any number of tumors that the medical examiner identified as quote unquote potentially malignant potentially malignant. That's as far as they take it. There was a large one in his throat. What looked like skin cancer in a number of places too, which is what you'd expect from a man of his age doing outdoor work. Probably more of them elsewhere, but we don't know yet. I should think that the tumor in his throat may have obstructed his breathing a little, but that would be up to the medical examiner. We'll have to wait for his final report.

I don't know what killed the father.

Vernon seems to have developed bladder problems on top of everything. According to Creed he couldn't hold his water. The bed was always wet. Creed volunteered that information. I hadn't questioned him along those lines, because I didn't remember anything in the report that would have suggested it in particular. It would certainly explain the condition of the mattress, although I guess it really could have been any one of them doing it. Or all three. The lab work may tell us more, but to my mind Creed's statement was telling.

It got me thinking down certain lines.

People were coming and going in the outer office and I could hear them muttering to one another about the smell. They kept their voices low, but I knew what they were talking about. I didn't think Creed needed to hear that, so after a while I shut my door and switched off the air-conditioning and opened up the windows. There was a little cross breeze coming through and it made his beard flutter. Sitting there, he looked like the old man of the mountain. Rip Van Winkle. Somebody from a fairy tale. He's not nearly as old as he looks, though. It's just that the years have been unkind to him. My own father, for example, is a good bit older than anybody in that family, substantially older than Vernon, although you'd never know it to look at him. He retired out of the school district with a good pension. That's one of the things he raised me to seek out in this life, a good pension. I ended up here. How's that for an indication of the world I was brought up to live in.

Audie.

THE MILK TRUCK CAME and he was full of questions just like that trooper. He wanted to know when the funeral would be but I couldn't say. I said I guessed we had to dig a hole first. He could keep an eye out for that if he wanted to know about the funeral. He asked where Creed was and I said he'd gone off. and he was full of questions just like that trooper. He wanted to know when the funeral would be but I couldn't say. I said I guessed we had to dig a hole first. He could keep an eye out for that if he wanted to know about the funeral. He asked where Creed was and I said he'd gone off.

I hoped he would be home for lunch but lunchtime came and he wasn't home. I was out in the field where I belonged and by the sun it was time but he wasn't home yet so I just kept going. Some days I never want to get off that tractor.

Creed.

WE WAS HAVING a nice talk. I had a cup of coffee and there was a breeze through the window. It was nice just to set. I told him Audie needed me back to home but he wouldn't bring me. He had a million questions. After a while he pushed a b.u.t.ton on the telephone and said would somebody go get us some hamburgers. They done it right off. I seen them go, through the window. They come back with the hamburgers and some fries too and a couple little apple pies and we had more coffee from the pot. I was thinking we ought to get Vernon in the ground, and I asked him where they had him and he said in Syracuse at the morgue. The county morgue. I said how about that, Vernon got to Syracuse before me. How about that. I said I ought to be going home once we got done eating. We finished and somebody come in and took the bags. Then we talked for a while more and then he begun talking about how I killed my brother. He had me talk about it too. Before he would bring me home we had to work it out between us. We had hamburgers for supper too. a nice talk. I had a cup of coffee and there was a breeze through the window. It was nice just to set. I told him Audie needed me back to home but he wouldn't bring me. He had a million questions. After a while he pushed a b.u.t.ton on the telephone and said would somebody go get us some hamburgers. They done it right off. I seen them go, through the window. They come back with the hamburgers and some fries too and a couple little apple pies and we had more coffee from the pot. I was thinking we ought to get Vernon in the ground, and I asked him where they had him and he said in Syracuse at the morgue. The county morgue. I said how about that, Vernon got to Syracuse before me. How about that. I said I ought to be going home once we got done eating. We finished and somebody come in and took the bags. Then we talked for a while more and then he begun talking about how I killed my brother. He had me talk about it too. Before he would bring me home we had to work it out between us. We had hamburgers for supper too.

1985.

Tom.

THE DAZED-LOOKING GIRL was named Sh.e.l.ly. She still looked dazed come morning, so Tom figured it was a regular thing with her. They got up and there wasn't any coffee in the apartment so they put on some clothes and walked down the street to d.i.c.kie's. The body and fender guys were banging away downstairs and Tom was late for work in Utica, but he decided what the h.e.l.l. Either he'd go in late or else maybe he'd just make it a long weekend. f.u.c.k the overtime. You had to make allowances. was named Sh.e.l.ly. She still looked dazed come morning, so Tom figured it was a regular thing with her. They got up and there wasn't any coffee in the apartment so they put on some clothes and walked down the street to d.i.c.kie's. The body and fender guys were banging away downstairs and Tom was late for work in Utica, but he decided what the h.e.l.l. Either he'd go in late or else maybe he'd just make it a long weekend. f.u.c.k the overtime. You had to make allowances.

The waitress brought coffee without asking. Tom ordered scrambled eggs and Sh.e.l.ly asked for a slice of that coconut cream pie that d.i.c.kie's was famous for. When it came he asked her where she had to be this morning.

"No place special. It's summertime."

Tom sat watching her work on her coconut cream pie, trying to persuade himself that she looked like college material.

She had grown up in Canastota and she had a brother just a little bit older than Tom. She said he always called her Baby and Tom could too if he wanted but he didn't want to. That was all right, he said.

It was turning into a good day to sit on the beach but first they had to get some Slim Jims and a bag of chips and a couple of six-packs. At the register Tom splurged on two packs of cigarettes, different brands, his and hers. He had a foam cooler they used for the beer. The store was out of ice and the lake water was pretty warm already, so he filled the cooler up with water from a hose alongside a house that faced the beach. He and Sh.e.l.ly tried lifting it but they couldn't. So they tipped it over and emptied it on the guy's driveway and walked it down as far as the hose would reach and filled it up again but only halfway this time. Then they worked it down the rest of the way, picking it up sometimes and sometimes sliding it on the gra.s.s and then on the sand. They left the hose.

The beach was full of kids. There was a playground over by the snack bar with an iron carousel that wouldn't stop going around and around, sending up a screech that Tom thought was going to saw his head in two. Sh.e.l.ly watched the kids jumping onto it and flying off again. She had a dreamy look in her eyes that Tom thought made her look like a babysitter. You'd never get that innocence back. She turned from the carousel and leaned back on her elbows to look out over the lake. He did the same. The water smelled better since the sewage regulations had gone in when he was a kid, but he still didn't feel like getting his feet wet. He didn't even own a suit. He lived right here, and he didn't even own a suit.

Sh.e.l.ly said her brother was the one got her started smoking. Dope, she meant, not cigarettes. She could hardly remember when she hadn't smoked cigarettes. The dope came later, when Nick was out of two-year college and living back home those years and she was what, maybe fifteen. Nick was a bad apple. That's what her father used to say: His son kept coming back like a bad apple.

"I think he meant a bad penny," Tom said. "It's a bad penny that comes back."

Either way, he was the best brother there ever was. He always treated her like an equal and he trusted her to do anything she wanted. Anything at all. That was why she'd left her parents' place and moved in with him.

Tom finished his beer and started another one and looked over at the girl and then back down at the lake. He'd been in trouble with fathers before, but never with brothers. He wasn't sure how much he liked the idea. Then again if Nick was such a bad apple they might turn out to have a lot in common. They might share a whole worldview. How about that.

Preston.

TOM HAD SOME BUSINESS or other up in the hayloft. I always thought it was funny how when he was a little boy and DeAlton'd bring him out he'd sneak around like he didn't dare touch anything, and now that he was all grown up he felt different. I always got a kick out of that. The irony of it. How he'd come to see the use of certain things. I believe that's something that happens to a man when he gets his growth. He starts seeing the use of things he never cared about or understood before. or other up in the hayloft. I always thought it was funny how when he was a little boy and DeAlton'd bring him out he'd sneak around like he didn't dare touch anything, and now that he was all grown up he felt different. I always got a kick out of that. The irony of it. How he'd come to see the use of certain things. I believe that's something that happens to a man when he gets his growth. He starts seeing the use of things he never cared about or understood before.

Tom was in the hayloft and the rest of us were on the porch and Vernon was saying how his throat hurt. He had a sack of h.o.r.ehound drops that he sucked on when he wasn't chewing tobacco. He'd take them one right after another. I don't believe they helped even the slightest little bit. I think he knew that, but I guess he always hoped for the placebo effect. He had his left hand in his lap and he was rolling up little pellets of stuffing from the chair with his right hand when he wasn't rubbing at the place on his leg where that tooth from the harrow went in. They say Audie has a nervous problem, but it runs straight through that whole family. There isn't one of them could keep still if you put him on the payroll for it. It goes all the way back to Lester and maybe beyond him.

We knew when Tom came down because we heard his car doors open and shut. First one door and then a little wait and then the other. He was fooling with something in the car. Vernon said he hoped Tom would come around to the porch and pay his respects before he went home, on account of he was tired and didn't want to get up. He said he'd just as soon sit right there and if that no-good nephew of his didn't see fit to bother coming around then so be it. They all could do without. But after a few minutes Tom did come around. He had a little plastic bag and he put it on Vernon's lap, and Vernon gave him a look like it was trick or treat. I had a suspicion about that bag but I didn't know for sure. Not then. When Tom told his uncle he ought to be careful since that right there was a good fifteen dollars' worth, I knew.

Creed knew the same. "If that's fifteen dollars' worth," he said, "I don't know why I been fooling with feed corn." Words to that effect. You couldn't blame him.

Vernon asked him could he chew it because he didn't care much for smoking anymore and Tom said that wasn't how most people used it. He didn't know if chewing it would work or not, but he couldn't make any promises and since that little bag was worth a good fifteen dollars of anybody's money why take chances with it. Most folks either smoked it or made brownies. Vernon said he wasn't much good in the kitchen so he thought he'd just stick with the regular way. Tom had some papers in his pocket and he gave them to him and then he left.

I'd heard that before about the brownies, but I'd always thought they were just pulling my leg. It turned out it was true.

Audie.

VERNON WAS FEEDING TURKEYS through the window. He had the feed sack lifted up and he was tossing in handfuls and the turkeys were jumping behind the gla.s.s. I couldn't hear them holler but I knew they were. Behind the window the air was all feathers. Vernon was smoking and there was smoke in the air outside and feathers inside. I was over by the woodpile. Tom drove up the road and he parked by the barn and came on around. He was coming about every day. He waved and I waved back. He went toward the barn but then he saw Vernon feeding the turkeys and he went there right off instead. He was in a hurry. He didn't wave at Vernon like he waved at me. He just went straight over to the bus where Vernon was feeding turkeys through the window. through the window. He had the feed sack lifted up and he was tossing in handfuls and the turkeys were jumping behind the gla.s.s. I couldn't hear them holler but I knew they were. Behind the window the air was all feathers. Vernon was smoking and there was smoke in the air outside and feathers inside. I was over by the woodpile. Tom drove up the road and he parked by the barn and came on around. He was coming about every day. He waved and I waved back. He went toward the barn but then he saw Vernon feeding the turkeys and he went there right off instead. He was in a hurry. He didn't wave at Vernon like he waved at me. He just went straight over to the bus where Vernon was feeding turkeys through the window.

Tom.

YOU HAVE TO TELL some people everything. Take, for example, the old farmer alongside the school bus with a homemade cigarette dangling from his bottom lip like a regular smoke. Just working on it slow, the way anybody might work on something he'd lost the savor of. The thing was stuck to his sun-split lip, it had been there so long. Dangling, dripping ash and weed. Tom just about blew his top. some people everything. Take, for example, the old farmer alongside the school bus with a homemade cigarette dangling from his bottom lip like a regular smoke. Just working on it slow, the way anybody might work on something he'd lost the savor of. The thing was stuck to his sun-split lip, it had been there so long. Dangling, dripping ash and weed. Tom just about blew his top.

He stamped over to where his uncle stood not even sucking on it and he s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his mouth. He almost put it in his own but reconsidered. The turkeys were squawking in the school bus and he could barely make himself heard over their racket. "You don't do this in the yard," he said. "And you don't do it that way. You roll it up tight and you suck it in and you hold on to it. It ain't a regular smoke. You keep it in your lungs. You concentrate on it and you get the value from it. And above all you don't do it in the G.o.dd.a.m.ned yard."

He pinched it out and twisted it up and stuck it in his uncle's breast pocket, then he thought better of his haste and gave him an apologetic pat right there where he'd put it. Just over his heart. He turned his back and went off across the dirt yard and up to the hayloft for some of what he kept there, and then back down to the car. He had dirt on his hands from the hayloft ladder and he rubbed it off against his pant legs before he got in. Sh.e.l.ly was in the front seat and they were headed someplace. She put up a hand and waved to Audie over by the woodpile and he waved back, tentative, looking like he'd fallen in love.

1939.

Preston.

THE OLD MAN was made of nails. I never saw the hay bale he couldn't lift or the mule he couldn't drive or the roofline he couldn't walk with his eyes shut. The weather he couldn't withstand. He was a figure from a world that was pretty much gone even then, and you knew right off there was something about him you had to respect even if you might never understand it. was made of nails. I never saw the hay bale he couldn't lift or the mule he couldn't drive or the roofline he couldn't walk with his eyes shut. The weather he couldn't withstand. He was a figure from a world that was pretty much gone even then, and you knew right off there was something about him you had to respect even if you might never understand it.

He knew how to last, is what it was. He knew how to endure and he knew how to bend things to the way he wanted them. He used whiskey for medicine and entertainment both. And if you were smart you didn't cross him. That goes without saying.

What else? Like I said, it took an awful lot to kill him.

Audie WE WERE COMING DOWN the road from school and we saw him up ahead and he was on the tree. Everything was white all around. He had his arms out straight and he was on the tree and he wasn't moving any. That wasn't like him. the road from school and we saw him up ahead and he was on the tree. Everything was white all around. He had his arms out straight and he was on the tree and he wasn't moving any. That wasn't like him.

Ruth.

ON A FARM in winter, the very work of survival will keep a man alive. The warmth he generates by chopping wood for the stove, by working the pump to fill the frozen trough, by shoveling a path to the barn door to admit the cows. If he is to live he must remain in motion, and so he hastens through the world with a shroud of his own weather wrapped tight about himself. The margin is thin. in winter, the very work of survival will keep a man alive. The warmth he generates by chopping wood for the stove, by working the pump to fill the frozen trough, by shoveling a path to the barn door to admit the cows. If he is to live he must remain in motion, and so he hastens through the world with a shroud of his own weather wrapped tight about himself. The margin is thin.

The boys have gone to school in their rags, smelling richly of wood smoke. In the cla.s.sroom their pungency will be enough to distinguish them from the other boys and in fact to tell their history, here at this juncture where coal is king and oil has made inroads and only the poorest of the poor still keep woodlots. Creed's garments are the thinnest of the three for having been handed down the most. He wears them doubled and he makes no complaint.

Lester hunches his shoulders against the cold and stands in the barn smoking. He knows he should not, he understands fully the risk of fire, but where else can he go. He has finished the milking but he lingers here still, unwilling just yet to forfeit the great hot stirring of these ma.s.sed animals. Soon he will open the door and send them steaming into the pasture one by one and two by two, but just now he moves among them, alive to their rising warmth, traversing the narrow s.p.a.ces between their bodies like a ship through ice. Overhead the wind sighs in the hayloft.

Preston.

WE WON'T EVER KNOW why he left. I would say he was after a little whiskey, except when I went in the back bedroom later there was a good half-bottle of it right there on the floor. Then again I don't know how much of it he'd go through in a day or a night or whatever. I wonder how much you can know about anything. why he left. I would say he was after a little whiskey, except when I went in the back bedroom later there was a good half-bottle of it right there on the floor. Then again I don't know how much of it he'd go through in a day or a night or whatever. I wonder how much you can know about anything.

Anyway he was done with his ch.o.r.es and the roads were clear enough and I imagine he wasn't expecting any trouble. Who does? It's in some people's nature I suppose, but not most. By the time a man gets as far along in life as Lester did-he was what, pushing toward forty when he died-by the time a man gets that far he generally expects more of the same. More of what he's already seen. Life's taught him that. So off he went. Ruth stayed to home. She never even knew he was gone till we brought him back.

He always said you could count on a mule for surefootedness. Eight or nine months out of the year he'd let the horse draw the wagon, but not in the winter. Come the first snow he'd go in the barn and fiddle with that harness until he got the mule into it. He could have used the setup he kept for the plow but he never did. I don't know why. Lester had his own way of doing things. The wagon rig was old and the older it got the harder he had to work at it. Pieces stiffened up and other pieces broke. When he was done some parts of it were slack and some parts of it weren't quite slack enough but it worked all right. The mule didn't much like it, but then a mule doesn't much like anything.

Ruth.

OUT HERE THERE IS no such thing as a main road. Nothing exists that cannot trace its beginnings to a farm track or a game trail. Everything winds and nothing sees traffic. Back behind the clopping mule Lester tops a rise and hunches forward against the crosswind and starts back down, threading between high s...o...b..nks under a sky as blue as water. no such thing as a main road. Nothing exists that cannot trace its beginnings to a farm track or a game trail. Everything winds and nothing sees traffic. Back behind the clopping mule Lester tops a rise and hunches forward against the crosswind and starts back down, threading between high s...o...b..nks under a sky as blue as water.

The mule plods on, hoof-deep and kicking up clods. The wagon wavers side to side. Skating slanted over ice the bald wheels lose their purchase, and sliding they gain on the steady mule. The chain traces go slack, sag down toward the snow. The singletree strikes the beast across her hind legs and draws from her one complaint of a lifetime's litany. The impact urges her on. The man pulls the brake lever but the wheels only lock and skid. The rear goes out, unluckily to the left, and the wagon nearly wedges itself across the road but recovers. The delay has cut certain slack and righted some of the rigging that binds mule to wagon: harness and traces and singletree. All is right with the white world. They reach the bottom of this hill and plod through drifted snow and rise again with the next.

An upward slope is harder for the mule but easier for the man. He rests. He reaches into his coat for his flask and he finds it. He unstoppers it with his teeth and holds the cork in his rein hand and pours fire down his throat. He puts it back and goes into an inner pocket for tobacco only to have the wind take it. He curses this loss, this life. Where he is bound he can buy more makings, but he has not counted on the expense and his wallet may be low. He refuses ever to run a tab. He has raised his sons to do likewise when their time comes. Separate honor from mulishness if you can.

This upward climb is rimmed with evergreens, natural windbreaks on both sides that block the snow. The mule's hooves strike sparks from plain stone undrifted. Where that thieving gust came from he cannot tell but such is forever his lot and he shoulders it. Atop the rise the mule hits snow again and the wagon does not. Not right off. Which throws them out of rhythm once more and sets the stage for what will come on the downhill course. Pure physics. The wagon's dead weight. The steady mule. Ice and lost traction, slippage and slack chain.

The mule, struck from behind by the singletree a second time, has used up such patience as she possesses. She balks and stumbles and the wagon swings, fishtails, the outside wheel striking the s...o...b..nk and piercing its uncompacted depths, drawn low by gravity. The man barks at the mule, menacing her with threats. She strains and the wagon sinks. She staggers. One leg goes off the road as well and then another, the angle between mule and wagon gone entirely wrong. Chain snaps. Ironwork strains. Harness leather tangles and tightens. The bit jams and the mule screams, headed facedown in snow. She flails and falls and the man is flung forward from the box. He tumbles down and down, entangled, arms outstretched. The mule strains and the traces tighten and he is pinned by chain. The singletree snaps in two, flies free, and the ragged place of its raw breakage pierces his useless coat. In the shoulder only, but un-stanched and thus sufficient. The mule expires. The man fights on but cannot last forever. The bright day descends.

Lester.

d.a.m.n THE MULE and d.a.m.n the road and d.a.m.n his going out on it. d.a.m.n the cold. d.a.m.n the busted tree. d.a.m.n everything done and undone. d.a.m.n those boys being woman-raised now, and that middle one left unfixed. and d.a.m.n the road and d.a.m.n his going out on it. d.a.m.n the cold. d.a.m.n the busted tree. d.a.m.n everything done and undone. d.a.m.n those boys being woman-raised now, and that middle one left unfixed.

Preston.

I DON'T KNOW DON'T KNOW why we brought him on home. n.o.body there had any use for him that way. why we brought him on home. n.o.body there had any use for him that way.

Ruth.

HOURS Pa.s.s AND SNOW FALLS, clinging to the blood-stiff coat and covering it, making of the dead man an old sailor salt-caked and mast-mounted. The wind whips and the sky goes dim, and none but the mad would be out. Ghoulish gray weather into which the schoolhouse pours its homebound charges.

It is in this light that the boys find their father.

Pent up all day, they have exploded from the schoolhouse door and scattered down the farm roads like shot. The empty world offers them no resistance. Up the hill they come, slowed not even by the slope, until the first-Audie, that is, the middle-makes his discovery. White on white on white. He knows his father before the others do. He knows the hump of the mule and the half-sunken wreck of the wagon. He knows that everything he knows has changed. He begins shivering but not from the cold, and his running takes on a new urgency.

The boys clutch and grasp at their father to no avail. Nothing comes loose. Not the chain about his chest and not the broken singletree thrust into his shoulder. Not even so much as his hat. Frustrated and heartbroken, they lave him in tears that only fall and freeze.

They debate who should go for help. Creed is the fastest. Vernon is the oldest. Audie is the least trustworthy with details. Creed is all for someone's keeping their father company as long as he is not the one do to it. Vernon believes it is his own duty to deliver this news. Audie has claim on the discovery and is owed something for it. But in the end it is a flannel coat that forces their decision. Audie's is the warmest of the three, so he will stay behind. He waits by a snowdrift until his brothers are out of sight and then he climbs up the cold curve of the mule's flank and presses himself against his chained and riven father. Shivering from the cold. Shaking from his nature. Awaiting revelation.

1960.

Preston.

WINTER CAME and I guess they finally gave up. I heard the hammering clean through the plate-gla.s.s window. Sound travels in the cold. Margaret and I were finishing up our coffee before we went to church. I drained my cup and rinsed it out in the sink and got my overcoat and put my galoshes on. People in those days wore galoshes. Overshoes. They buckled up the front and you tucked your dress pants into them. I went out and started the car and walked on down to see what those boys were up to. and I guess they finally gave up. I heard the hammering clean through the plate-gla.s.s window. Sound travels in the cold. Margaret and I were finishing up our coffee before we went to church. I drained my cup and rinsed it out in the sink and got my overcoat and put my galoshes on. People in those days wore galoshes. Overshoes. They buckled up the front and you tucked your dress pants into them. I went out and started the car and walked on down to see what those boys were up to.

They were in the barn, going through the wall where it met the house. That's where the jakes was. They had an ax and a pry bar and an old two-man saw from somewhere with one of the handles busted off. I don't know where they ever got that. It must have been in the hayloft or somewhere from back when Lester had the place or even before. When the original owner took down the trees the first time, however long ago that was. Before this land was even farmed. Anyhow, between that big saw and the ax and the pry bar, they were just manhandling things. Busting everything down with no rhyme or reason. Studs and all. You never saw demolition until you saw those three at it.

I sized things up quick and I hollered at them to stop and they did. I nearly asked why they didn't just go through the house if they wanted to get at the facilities but then I remembered. Ruth's old room. That place was either holy to them or haunted, I never knew which. Maybe both. So they had the idea of going this way instead.

Those boys looked like a bunch of cavemen. Even filthier than usual, what with the dry rot from the siding and the cow manure that'd built up on the walls and whatnot. They stood there in a half-circle looking fit to tear down anything you might build, just for the contrariness of it. Just because they could. I went over and pointed out a couple of uprights they'd exposed and said they'd best leave them right where they were unless they wanted the house to fall down. Maybe the barn too. Vernon said how would they get into the toilet with them in the way and Audie said he thought he could make the squeeze all right. He didn't mind. Creed looked at me. He didn't say a word, he just looked at me since he knew I'd have an idea. He was the smart one because he recognized there were things he didn't know.

I marked those uprights with a mechanical pencil I keep. I just put big X X's all up and down so they couldn't miss them. I said you leave these alone for now and when I get back from church we'll figure something out. I marked some other places on the barn wall too, where I didn't want them to go beyond. Then I heard Margaret slam her car door and I went out. I made a note to myself to stop at the lumberyard on the way home and pick up a sack of lime to throw into that pit. I'd lived alongside those boys since I was twelve years old, but I couldn't get my mind around how bad that jakes was going to smell when they got it opened up. It was going to set some kind of new world record.

I left my galoshes in the car once we got to church. I'd already ruined the floor mats but I didn't see any point in bringing cow manure into G.o.d's house, not that I guess he cares much himself. He invented cow manure right about the time he invented cows. But he's got some followers around here who'll complain about the littlest thing.

I was raised up to expect Sunday dinner and Margaret was raised up the same way. I don't mean supper. I mean having your main meal right after church. We don't always eat at home, though. A big Sunday dinner is a lot to cook for two people and I don't care to burden Margaret unless her heart's in it. As a rule we don't go anyplace fancy. We like the Dineraunt on Madison Street in Ca.s.sius or Valentino's on the road to Utica. If the weather's poor or we're in a hurry we come straight back and just swing by the Homestead over in Madison. It's on the way and the food's good and they don't rob you. The Rotary meets there is one way you can tell. I gave up Rotary a long while back but if those cheapskates meet in a place it's generally all right. That's one thing I learned.

We were in a hurry that day on account of the boys. We stopped at the yard and got a sack of lime-two sacks-and I hosed off my boots and the plastic floor mats before we went any farther. I sprinkled a little lime around down there too, just for Margaret's benefit. You don't stay married without paying attention to that kind of thing. There's little signs.

We swung by the Homestead and parked. The parking lot goes around both sides of the building and our side was pretty near empty, but I didn't guess it would stay that way for long. They make a chicken and biscuits platter on Sundays that I don't know what their secret is but a person just can't make anything close to it at home. No offense to Margaret. I think they must use that broaster they keep in the back. I had my mouth all set for it.

We went in the side door by the nice dining room where the Rotary meets, not the old section up front, which is the original diner they expanded from and still looks it. The tables weren't set up back there yet so we went on around. We went around past the restrooms, and right there at the counter in front of us sat the Proctor boys, big as life. There was n.o.body near them for twenty feet in any direction. To tell the whole truth I saw one little old couple come in by the storm door and catch sight of them and turn right away, right back to their car. The woman had a cane and all and she was having a little trouble walking on the ice but they quit and went somewhere else instead of staying there with those three.

I don't believe the boys had been to the Homestead before, although I know I'd spoken highly of the chicken and biscuits platter. That's what Creed and Vernon were having. Audie was having a Limburger cheese sandwich on rye bread with onions, which is another thing that'll drive people away. Thick slices of a Wampsville red onion on top of cheese that smells like a dead man's armpit. Margaret and I greeted them kindly and went on over to the other side of the room. The waitress came and I promised her a good tip to make up for the lost business and she laughed. That saved her an apology, I guess.

The boys finished about the time our meal came. They raised their hands to Margaret and me and filed out grinning. Audie was patting his stomach. He looked full up and happy. The waitress took their plates away and wadded up their place mats and scrubbed the counter and sprayed it with Lysol. She had a boy come out and run a wet mop over the floor while she went around and sprayed the stools. When she was done with that she held the can up high and let loose a few good long shots of it into the air just to make sure. She came over by us and asked if we'd please cover up our meals with a napkin so she could fumigate some more but I said don't bother. It was all right. That platter of chicken and biscuits smelled just like ambrosia.

Creed.