Sophomore English Short Stories

Transcription

1 Sophomore English Short Stories 1. If Cornered, Scream by Patricia Thurmond 2. The Lottery by Shirley Jackson 3. The Sniper by Liam O Flaherty 4. Whatever Happened to the Guy Stuck in the Elevator? by Kim Young-Ha 5. Field Trip by Tim O Brien 6. Fat Boy by Owen Marshall 7. Powder by Tobias Wolff 8. The Story of An Hour by Kate Chopin 9. The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe 10. Fish Cheeks by Amy Tan 11. All Summer in a Day by Ray Bradbury 12. The Hit Man by T. Coraghessan Boyle 13. Mother by Grace Paley 14. A Very Short Story by Ernest Hemingway 15. The Bank Robbery by Steven Schutzman 16. Barn Burning by William Faulkner 17. Ordinary Woman by Bette Green 18. The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield 19. No Dogs Bark by Juan Rulfo

2 WHAT MAKES A GREAT SHORT STORY? The sudden unforgettable revelation of character; the vision of a world through another s eyes; the glimpse of truth; the capture of a moment in time. All this the short story, at its best, is uniquely capable of conveying, for in its veiy shortness lies its greatest strength. It can discover depths of meaning in the casual word Or action; it can suggest. in a page what could not be stated in a VOIUffiC. Milton Craue, editor

3 t I. LJ LY It. The material following this story deals vh conflict, details, pattern of events, climax, and conclusion. These are all important elements of plot. If Cornered, Scream On the night it happened she hurried across the liospital parking lot, unlocked her car door, and got in. She started the car, waved to her co workers, honked to the security guard, and drove the half block to the freeway entrance. The late hour meant light traffic, and though she was a good driver, she was always relieved whenever she had negotiated an entrance ramp. That done, she settled hack, driving easily. Then in the dim dashboard light she saw the gas gaugc indicating empty and remembered with annoyance that she hadn t had time to stop for gas. Working a late shift at the hospital was not an ideal situation, hut it meant more money and al lowed her to attend graduate classes during the days. As she drove, she found herself gripping the steering wheel and made a conscious effort to relax and think pleasant thoughts. Each night during the drive home, she relived the safety lec tures given to the nurses make sure someone on the ward knows where you are at all times; leave the grounds in groups; avoid isolated places in the hospital; if cornered, scream. Agaip,she deliberately relaxed her grip on the wheel and took a deep breath. Funny, she thought, she didn t know why, but she was even more uptight than usual. She was tired and looked forward to a long soak in the tub and her new magazine which had lain unread the last three days. The gas gauge again caught her attention. She could probably make it home on what was still left class in the morning. If sh oppt d tmight at station that Gabriel ran ott I miwijtl I she d have a few extra minutes in tlw inotmi, md wouldn t have to rush, She approached Imperial Highway, flicked ott the rigftt blinker, headed down the oft-rump, waited at the stoplight, and then made a left turn. She pulled into the station at a pump and rolled down the window as Gabriel walked to the car. Since he always spoke pleasantly on the nights she stopped for gas, she had automatically dis counted the few disturbing rumors that accompa nied his sudden appearance in the area. Hi, Florence Nightingale. Fill er up? Hi, Gabriel. Yes, fill it up, please. As she handed him the gas-tnk key, he asked, Any more ping-pong playing under the hood? No, no more noise. It stopped when you did whatever you did. Gabriel filled the tank, cleaned the windows and mirrors, and gave her the change from a twenty. When he finished he said offhandedly, By the way, my birthday was Sunday. Why don t you step inside the office and see what my sister gave me? You won t believe your eyes! Oh, Gabriel, I m in a really big hurry. I just can t stop tonight. But I will next lime. I worn ise. Aw, come on. Ii. won t be new any more by then. l3esidex, this is soniething extra special. Come on. Only take a second. As she and Gabriel talked back and forth, she realized she was wasting more time than if she went in and saw the silly gift. Looking mote agreeable than she felt, she said, Okay, you win, Gabriel. Remember, this better be good! Ii is. You ll see. Oh, before you get out, angle the car over this way just in case anyone wants From If Cotnered, Scrarn by Patrjcjn j. Thurmond First t,ibti,hcd in 1 llr, Queee s Mvrrerv figain. Ianua, v t97x. 197 hr 1,irici, J, Ihunnond. Plot 677 to pull in. Watching his gestures, she parked the car and Ibliowed him to the station office. Once inside, Gabriel locked the door and quickly took a gun out of the drawer. Through the roar of her heartbeat in her ears she heard him say that there was no birthday and no present. Her fingers tingled. Nausea pitched and rolled through her body like seasickness, Each time the nausea crested, her legs felt like loosened moor ings. Her nose and toes were cold and she knew clini cally, almost like an observer, that she was experi encing the symptoms of shock. She was unable to make a self-protective move, or even to scream. She tried to prepare to die, but didn t know how, Crazily, in the midst of her silent hysteria, the absurdity of it struck her, and she had a demented desire to laugh. Gabriel s lips were moving hut she still couldn t hear above the roar in her eat s. Finally she heard sounds coming from his mouth. The sounds became words as her head cleared, and the words began to make sense, sorry I had to scare you by telling you that. But don t feel bad, I was scared myself when I saw that dude on the floor in the back of your car. I had you angle the car that way so that I can see both doors from here. And if he tries to get out, he belongs to me. I ll call the cops now. It s okay. Good thing you stopped for gas tonight. In a few minutes she was aware of the sirens, the flashing lights of the squad cars, and the bel low of the bullhorn. Patricia J. Thurmond

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8 3 The Sniper By Liam O Flaherty The long June twilight faded into night Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war. On a rooftop near O Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death. He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought Then he returned the flask to his pocket He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk. Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left. Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet There was nothing to be seen just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover. Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster. Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer. The turret opened. A man s head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter. Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn t lift it His forearm was dead. I m hit, he muttered. Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat There was no pain just a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off. Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. the arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

9 him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof coverd his escape. He must kill that enemy and into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the The snipet lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find gunners head hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman s corpse lay still in the gutter. In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine pain. cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth. report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan. Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brothers face. but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The machine gun stopped. forward as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the snipers head. He was frightened back to put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath. The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report. Everywhere street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet. took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath going over to have a look at him. He peered around the corner into O Connell Street. In the upper part of the did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk barbers shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement. was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himselt, cursing around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver and bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. Weakened by his wound and the long sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil. Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought He felt reckless under the influence of his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed. He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The hand with him. about fifty yards a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then it lay still. summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the Street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his chimney pots, looking across, with his head dearly silhouetted against the western sky. Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became everybody. When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the Then taking out his field dressing. he ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the

10 Young-ha KIM Page 17 KIM Young-Ha From Photo Shop Murder Translated by Jason Rhodes The Portable Library of Korean Literature (Seoul:Jimoondang, 2003) Whatever Happened to the Guy Stuck in the Elevator? Life can deal you some pretty strange days. You know, the kind that make you feel everything is twisted from the minute you wake up. And all the things that just might happen once in your life suddenly happen, one by one, like they ve been waiting for the chance. Today was that kind of day for me. My razor broke while I was shaving this morning. I really wasn t pressing very hard, but it suddenly just snapped off at the neck. Was it a disposable? you wonder. Hardly. It was some new contraption Gillette just came out with, and the thing cost me nearly 6000 won. You couldn t find a stronger razor, and wouldn t be able to break it if you tried. But even though I d only been using it for a month, it suddenly snapped, just like that. Because of that, I was only able to shave half my face. The left side was nice and clean, the right side wasn t. You re going to work looking like a jackass, I thought with disgust. I looked at my watch. 7:40. No time. Dried my hair, got dressed, left my apartment, and waited for the elevator. Didn t come. Must have been out of order. Looked at my watch again. 7:55. I began my descent from the 15 th floor, racing towards the bottom like a Chinese food delivery guy. As I passed the 5tb floor, I noticed that the elevator was stuck between the 5th and 6th floor with the door open. Two legs were hanging out of it. One foot was shoeless. Was this guy alive or dead? Just then, some other tenants rushed by, shoving me out of the way. Dressed sharply in business suits, they were on their way to work. How could they just ignore this guy jammed in the elevator, not even caring whether he was alive or dead? But there really wasn t much I could do, either. I looked at my watch. Exactly 8:00. Shit. I cast an anxious glance down the stairs. What to do? I gave the shoeless foot a rug (it was about on level with my face). Hey! I yelled. The toes wiggled. I heard some groan that sounded nothing like speech. He seemed to be alive. But I had neither the energy nor the time to pull him out. Listen, I said. I have no idea how you got caught in the elevator, but I ll give 911 a call on my way to work. Or I ll let the security guard downstairs know about it, so just hold tight, OK? I dashed down to the first floor. On Patrol, read the sign in the security guard s window. I checked outside, but there was no sign of him. There was nothing I could do. I ran to the bus stop. The bus didn t come. I turned to the guy waiting next to me.

11 Young-ha KIM Page 18 Do you have a cell phone by any chance? Some guy is stuck in the elevator, and I have to call 911. The guy looked at me like I was a total creep, told me in a flat tone that he didn t have a cell phone, and turned back in the direction of the expected bus. I got a similar reaction from the woman standing behind him. There s a pay phone right over there, she said, pointing across the street with a finger that she made seem as heavy as a dumbbell. I explained the situation. What happens if the bus comes while I m over there? I asked. My boss is a tyrant, and he ll kill me if I m late. And think about the guy stuck in the elevator. Think about how much pain he must be in. The woman gave me a cold smirk as she got on the bus that had just arrived. I ve got to get a cell phone, I thought, and realized that this was the first time I d ever regretted not owning one. Just then, my bus arrived as well, and I squeezed into line and got on. I reached into my back pocket for my bus card, only to discover that I didn t have my wallet with me. The driver told me impatiently to pay with cash if I didn t have a card, and I explained that since I didn t have my wallet, I couldn t do that either. So get off the bus! he barked. The people behind me began to push passed me, casting me sidelong glances as they swiped their cards and headed for their seats. I begged the driver. I ll pay twice tomorrow. That ll work, won t it? Just then, a dump truck veered over the middle lane and came careening straight for our bus. The driver was busy yelling at me, so he couldn t see it, though even if he had, there probably was nothing he could have done. In fact, the only one on that packed bus who could see out the front window at that moment was me (that may be the luckiest thing that happened to me all day). T.Jh, uh, uh... I said as I stumbled desperately backwards and crouched down while the truck slammed headlong into the front of our bus. People came crashing down on top of me as the bus was filled with a mix of screams and groans. I was just glad to have gotten out of the bus card situation. After the initial shock wave had passed, people slowly began picking themselves up. The front of the bus had been smashed in all the way to the card scanner by the door, and its front mirror was pressing into the driver s chest. Fortunately, aside from a dull ache in my lower back, I didn t seem to have been injured at all. Once people recovered from their shock, they immediately began reaching for their cell phones. The guy who had just told me he didn t have a cell phone was no exception, puffing out a sleek new fold-up model to make a call. The whole bus was filled with the sounds of people calling 911, their families, and work. Mom? It s me. The bus I was on was in a wreck. Yeah, I m OK, but the bus is completely totaled. Is this 911? Something just slammed into the #88 bus. We re right in front of Samdong Apartments. Please hurry. Mr. Jang? This is Mr. Lee. I m right in front of my apartment, and something just crashed into the bus I m on. Yes. I think the driver s dead. Me? Well, a bunch of people fell on me, so my back kind of... Right. Ask Mr. Park about that. He ll know all about it. I tried to borrow a phone from someone after they hung up, but they told me they had other calls to make. People called their families, work, friends, and even the traffic report. Soon we heard sirens, and a fire truck arrived. They told us to stand back, and used a hammer to smash one of the bus windows. One by one, people began jumping out of the windows. Soon my turn came, and I was out. Rescue patrol workers were systematically

12 there, I said. You d better go quickly. I explained that I d been trying to report it, but that I didn t have a cell phone, and that no one would lend me one. By the time I was done checking people, to see if they were OK. One guy asked me if I was all right, and I told him about the guy in the elevator. There s a guy hanging out of the elevator shaft in that apartment building over believe a story about an elevator emergency at the scene of a car wreck? With my hand on Yes, I did, I replied, but actually, there s something a bit more urgent than that. in my direction, one cop opened his notebook. playing games with the police? What s your citizen registration number? I gave my phone bus wasn t making people pay. I let out a small cry of joy. It was going to be tight, but hey, Just then, the cops arrived, looking for eyewitnesses to the accident. Suddenly I of people waiting, and they packed onto the bus like sardines. The lucky thing was that this I told you I did. The truck ciossed over the center line and smashed right into the in line. Because of all the time that clearing the wreck had taken, there was a huge number Sir, did you see what happened? they asked. there s this guy stuck in my apartment elevator. He s hanging out the door, wedged in I have to give a presentation at work today, and what s even more urgent than that is that Damn. I pushed my way out of the phone booth, and asked some of the people who had gathered to view the accident if I could borrow a phone card. A plump, middle-aged woman immediately cut me off. open and entered the booth the phone only took phone cards. And of course, no wallet. Who are you going to call? If you re calling 911, you don t have to. They re That guy was right up front. He got in a fight with the driver, because he got on without a card. If it weren t for that guy, maybe this wouldn t have happened. See, the Two cops in uniform approached me. things by phone. Maybe a phone call was more believable. I mean, who was going to won. There are lots of people like that running around these days, she jabbered, not giving there was a guy stuck in the elevator. With a withering look, the lady told me that you me any chance to speak. I told her that I was calling 911, not for this accident, but because didn t need a phone card to call 911. I went back into the booth and dialed, but got realized that everyone who had been on the bus was pointing in my direction. the elevator? Did you see the accident? nothing. That s when I saw the sign on the top of the phone Under Repair. cop re-fastened the radio to his belt, and said with annoyance, Look here, mister. Are you front of the bus. But that s not important right now. There s a guy stuck in the elevator. The other cop cut me off and asked in exasperation, When did the guy get stuck in It was at about 7:50. I looked at my watch. It was already almost 8:20. The cop driver couldn t take off, because he was arguing with him. between the 5th and 6th floors. You d better go quickly. Seriously. Without even a glance Can I go now? I asked. They said that I could. Meanwhile, a huge crowd of people was crowding onto the next bus. I quickly got grabbed the wireless radio from his belt and put it to his lips. Has anyone reported a guy stuck in the elevator at Samdong Apartments? The number and my citizen registration number. talking, he was already checking on somebody else. Maybe with 911, you could only report my aching lower back, I headed across the street to the pay phone. I pushed the glass door already here. Besides, last time I lent my phone to someone, they used more than 3000 Young-ha KIM Page 19

13 Young-ha KIM Page 20 it was free. I couldn t bear the all the way back to the floor to get my wallet, and I really didn t want to have to see feet hanging the elevator again. in the world could I say to him? security guard s on patrol, no lend me a cell the pay phone s police wouldn t believe my story? anyway, I was already late for work, and I to give my efficient use supplies. be more exact, I had to get up in the trustees and speak clearly and toilet paper at the office. a guy was stuck in the elevator, and a truck had slammed obviously wasn t my day. a parked bus. This you think the ride on the bus was uneventful? course not. I felt this guy was the ass the woman next to me. kinds bastards are still around? I angry it, since it wasn t my ass, I decided to try to keep my cool. But the woman started staring at me (of course she was side), and giving me dirty looks. Finally, I couldn t stand it anymore. Look, miss, I said. I m the feeling your butt. the this side is because my this morning, and my suit s all wrinkled because the bus I was just on got smashed by a truck. you think got me anywhere? Suddenly, everyone the guy who d been ass quickly moved his away, so it was now impossible to tell which had her. With a even think you re going to get away with this look face, the woman twisted her way towards me, and shoved face rightc. up against mine. You to be ashamed you know who my is? She face even closer to mine. Who s your I asked. I realize I shouldn t have said anything. I d grabbing her butt. She didn t let me know her he did, instead said, You d be careful, you get in jail. her nose was just to get the bus. the bus driver, who d heard the whole thing, said in a loud voice, Miss, would you like me to make a stop at the police station? What phone, presentation. It was an To thought of running And confidently about my plan to reduce the use broke, Do The those out of th 15 one would out of order, and my face is only half-shaved so the important report about more second of front of into something down around my right hip, and when I looked down, I saw that grabbing of shook my head in amazement. I was on my of my face is grabbing her bastard pushed her unshaven unshaven been touching on her ought brother? That was the same as admitting who off brother was, thrown When or what pretty then not These one razor broke about dump of around me was staring at me. that That was because just hand don t of yourself. but been Do now that just but Do And Of And right just better about touching mine, I suddenly sensed an then of office had But my razor reason that her brother urgent need before woman, who seemed quite satisfied with the effect she d had, made no reply. Meanwhile, people the bus came to a stop, and I had to the getting on, and quickly escape the door. I looked at my watch. It was 9:00, and I was already 30 minutes late for work. I at Chung-jeong-ro, and even I walked fast, it would take me 30 to get to call take a cab, and so I had no choice to trudge in the direction office. I had to give this a for the toilet use at the office, the guy stuck in the elevator? I really started to hate that woman on the bus. I mean, I had actually grabbed her ass, I could this is all because that stupid razor. I would have been able to leave my a little earlier, the elevator would have worked, and bus accident wouldn t have i I could sue the Gillette for damages. In the midst these miserable as I was passing through had gotten off minutes phone Company or front but what about of house push through if Jeong-ro, which is where my office was. There was no way to make a if report about broken happened. other plan but reduction of paper about The of my understand. God, broken, then maybe even the wondered whether thoughts, If my razor hadn t of through

14 Young-ha KIM Page 21 Kwang-hwa-mun, my rang loudly. I checked the run. there would lend me money, and I d be able to make calls and ride buses. I could use the on my desk to call 911, and then everything would be OK. Run, run! With my tie flying in the breeze, I ran the streets they were to burst. My back from the accident, now. I arrived at my office buikling all elevators. the office was at the top, and everyone else the remaining five. I on one those. the time most people arrived, so I was the only one going up. again, I guy stuck in elevator. Surely by now someone would have the situation, and he would have rescued. security guard would have it was strange the elevator wasn t working, and gone up to check, especially because the 5t1, floor wasn t high up. everyone had been as busy as I had been, and the security guards had all gone to some meeting to an increase in their wages guy could still be wedged up in the elevator shaft, and just think he must be humanity at this point. Ding. floor. looked familiar to me. the elevator. We may have seen each a few times. She fifth floor was the accounting She was wearing a and hair was long meant she wasn t married yet. I wondered why women always their hair as soon as they long hair was pulled back. fact that, the elevator suddenly made a clunking sound, and came to a stop. first, the woman to calm. She look the eye, staring straight ahead at the elevator door. But after awhile, when it became clear that the elevator wasn t going anywhere, and the she gave me an Isn t there anything you can do? look. I shrugged my elevator suddenly felt extremely isolated and stuffy. seems like it s broken. Should we try the emergency the asked anxiously. first, That s a idea, I said, nodding. the slowly at soon began nervously on it again and again. She finally after her fingers had red with the effort. seem like anyone s down there, she said. time went by. We decided to try to get people s by on the We as hard as we could with hands and feet. But then I mentioned that such force could cause the elevator to fall and crash, and the woman a horrified face, and pounding. This morning, I saw a guy whose body was wedged up in the elevator shaft, I said. We re lucky we re just stuck. I was to offer relief, I only made things worse. She sank to the floor. to him? I saw him the stairs, I haven t had a chance to it yet. I had to get to work, and I didn t have a phone. Hey, right! By any chance do you have a cell beeper The company was the only thing that would save me now. phone about that phone the about down hurt One was the private elevator used been But if Fifth there One woman got on purple uniform, that her The The demand of got married. While I was wondering about out of corner of her At got but then continued number. It was wqrk. I began to Someone who knew me of Kwang-hwa-mun. My lungs felt as if but there was no time to worry out of breath. My office building had six CEO whose of The pretended Once It was already well reported thought if or something, that how much other department. that her doors weren t shoulders, American style, and looked helplessly on. woman but phone? It opening, good been turned It doesn t our Whatever happened pushing attention our on my way down pounding pushing cut be The woman pushed got hoping but More door. The look on her her some past thought of that that that hating shot me a quick button? button stopped pounded but sort of report stopped

15 Young-ha KIM Page 22 With of despair, she replied a look cell phone was in handbag. We let long sighs. cell phone with her. We d be able to call to us out, and we could also call 911 to the guy in my building. you wanna give the a try? the woman suggested. as we and started trying to the apart, she suddenly let a shriek. at this! she cried. I looked in the direction finger. Warning. to by force. Right. guy this morning was also originally stuck in the elevator, like us. he probably started getting worried that he d be late the doors. course tried to get out. that s when the started moving again. guy. I ve to call 911 away, am I to do? all days, why did I have to forget my wallet? then the pay didn t work, and no one would lend me a cell the bus I was riding on got smashed by a truck, and, well, just look at my clothes! I buried a pile and they all messed up. the bus, I ridiculously accused this woman s backside, and had to get the bus. Hey, don t look at me like that!. I didn t do it, this jerk did, she mistakenly it was me. kind thing can to a far the elevator, and looked like she was ready to her high heels I tried anything. the same time, she was the emergency as fast as she could. I tried to reassure her, saying, a bad guy. Hey, we work for the same company, and you know exactly who I am, so surely you don t think I d do some terrible thing. Anyway, it takes some kind to meet like this, so having a cup coffee? she just sat silently, saying get out Do our strength together But then open elevator supposed people touching how that Look into If only she had Do not attempt of That her opening open doors that her report door And when they opened, of Of got other Poor happen. push got And then on but The woman scootedover plant into my shins pushing button when we get out, how about nothing. Do you mind pocket. I figured situationa whole if that if door he her apartment of her pointing But someone out just for work, and so he tried to But right phone. And then, off corner of if next Don t worry, I m not of karma for two of but And got got thought At people but what under I smoke? I asked, pulling a pack cigarettes from my she was by any chance a smoker, cigarettes could make the lot more comfortable. her of both put phone of You know front Giving me building. coldest possible look, she hissed, Smoking is inside the I You know there s area or the now. could go there, why would I smoke here? Let s smoke one. shaking her head vigorously. You can t smoke in this kind space! you know harmful smoke is? In America alone, every year 6 million die from to smoke. They say smoke is even more dangerous because you re aware it. And smoke here at work really drives me crazy. I mean, the boss may be the boss, you know, there s probably a in the world with as much second-hand smoke as Korea. You can t find a area anywhere! the major holidays! Every man in the family gets and smokes at the same time! In bars, cafes, the street. yeah, the street! Take a look at my skirt! She backside towards me so I could take a look. skirt. Some jerk was smoking a cigarette at a crosswalk, and he you really think that s right? I d love to kill every bastard I see smoking in the street. refused, III second-hand second-hand not Oh, protested. of second-hand second-hand no way to go to a of narrow smoking just Don t but what right does he have to blow smoke not country non-smoking people Think about together turned her There was a singe mark in one corner of her burned my butt! Do forbidden how into my lungs? roof right The woman exposure And of

16 Young-ha KIM Page 23 Ok, ok, I won t smoke, I said, as I pushed my cigarettes back into my pocket. I began to feel a chill as the sweat which had completely soaked my shirt began to cool. It s cold in here. Since I left my wallet at home, I had no money for a cab, and I had to run all the way to work. Look at this. See, my suit coat is soaked all the way to my back. I turned my back towards her and showed her my wet spot. Oh, but we haven t even introduced ourselves, I said. What s your name? She looked up and glared at me. Miss Jeung, she said evenly. My last name s Jeung, too, I said happily. I m in Resource Management. She gave me a vague nod which let me know that she was definitely not interested, and there was a long spell of silence as we sat upon the elevator floor. The whole time the woman was silently pushing on the emergency button. Who in the world is managing this building? If the elevator doesn t move for this long, wouldn t someone wonder whether or not anyone was stuck, and come up and check? What the hell is going on? It doesn t matter whether there are five other elevators or not, for Christ s sake. Even as I was saying this, my beeper was ringing loudly. It was my boss. God, my office was right in front of my nose, and there was no way of getting there. I began to seethe. I was totally screwed. This was going to cost me my job. I don t care whether we get wedged in this elevator or not. Let s get out of here. My suggestion was met with a reluctant look. Ok, fine. You stay here. If we can get the door open, I ll jump down myself, so just give me a hand with the door. And then I ll go and get help. The woman nodded. We put our strength together again, and started on the business of forcing the door open. It turned out to be a lot more difficult than I expected. The sweat was pouring off of us as we pushed against the door, but each time we got it open just a bit, it would slam back shut. Aren t you any stronger than that? Ms. Jeung demanded, venting her frustration. I got mad. Look. I ve already been slammed into by a truck this morning, and I ran all the way to work. What kind of energy do you expect me to have? Besides, my back is killing me. After making these excuses, I thought for a second. The trick was to make sure that when we got the door open a bit, it wasn t able to shut again. But there didn t seem to be anything that we could use to stick between the doors. There was nothing I could do besides take my shoes off. After having run to work, they were soaked with sweat and stunk. Ok, if we get the doors open a bit, we ll stick this shoe in between them. That ll give us a wedge to get our hands in. We both gathered our strength again and each pulled back on one side of the door. As Ms. Jeung crouched and pulled, I got a full view of her breasts over the top of her uniform blouse. What the hell are you doing? she cried. Stick the shoe in there! With great effort, she raised her head and, staring me straight in the eyes, vented her rising frustration. In my confusion, I somehow stuck my foot, rather than the shoe, in between the closing doors. It hurt like hell, but I tried to ignore the pain. Through the small opening, you could see the dividing line between floors 9 and 10 the floor of the floor. It looked like we d be able to crawl up to the IO floor if we could just get the doors open a little wider. We pulled against the doors again, and when we d opened it a little wider, I suddenly threw my body in between them, to preserve the gains we d made. Now there was a space

17 Young-ha KIM Page 24 enough wide for to get out. I felt like my lungs were being crushed, was in a woman, I decided to play it cool. since I So what should we do now? said in a worried tone. I get out, the are going to close again, I she said. I ll be able to get up to the floor. down to the seems too dangerous, I think. I m probably be easier for me. thin, so getting 10 floor was level with my head. she were going to get up there, she was going to have to stand a space the width of my body. I clasped my hands to give a footing. She up. She grabbed the 10 floor, and slowly moved her feet shoulders. heels dug deeply shut. Looking up, I a clear view up her skirt. She was wearing a white-laced girdle. She kicked hard 10 floor. I felt like letting a cheer. With my body still crushed between the elevator doors, I gave her my congratulations. Hey, Ms. Jeung! did it! All right! Hey, please let people know I m stuck as quickly as you can, Ok? it d be great in my Jumping than then front of Here, The Her onto someone 9th somehow kept my mouth department... There was no Prop me up. about on out heartiest You And If Then doors But if on my shoulders and get pretty out through next but her stepped from my hands to my into my shoulders. I practically screamed with pain, got then out will no wider but off my shoulders, and made it up to the if you could tell the people response. I suddenly had a pretty bad feeling the whole thing. I from crushing doors. shut with a dull gong that to me like the closing a coffin. I hadn t anything to that woman, I told myself. I had even and shoulders for her escape. given the. fact that we worked in the same building, and would almost definitely each again, surely she wouldn t to let know I was here. But 10 minutes went by, and 20, and still came. I slumped to the the elevator in despair, and began singing some children s song, the words and over again I sang the song, and sleep, I heard a noise coming from the outside. elevator doors a bit, and a person s face appeared. Hey! What in the world are you doing in there? I wanted to ask. What in the world am I stuck in here for? You re responsible for the elevators you tell me! I was furious, I said anything, he d walk and leave me, so I answered in the voice that I possibly could. elevator seems to be elevator guy then asked me question. Are you alone? Again, I tried to sound as friendly as possible. Well, I wasn t. by the name ago she shoulders and got out, so I was left by myself. elevator guy went to get else, and in a moment they came back and the doors. I grabbed his hands, and they pulled me up. I looked down, and realized that in the process, the whole had been smeared with oil and dust. That s when I realized the same thing must have to Ms. Jeung, and I started to view her a bit more sympathetically. I mean, I m a guy, so a little grease and doesn t make much difference, to do? As as the elevator guy had just had this blasted elevator checked the hell could it be down already? Aren t the big firms to be a bit more reliable than this? pushed my hands and feet those done her my hands of someone The doors floor of out with all my strength, and And run into of which I could hardly remember. other Over just when my exhaustion from singing had me on the verge The The There was a woman happened soon We dust politest opened but worried that broken. The if about got myself out sounded then of of Ms. Jeung. But just a moment opened The That was exactly the that onto but what was she between lent here forget nobody loud question another off stood on my someone front of my suit supposed gotten me out, he really started making a fuss supposed out how broken That was

18 Young-ha KIM Page 25 the start of a long rant about corporate sleaze, and the incestuous relations between big business and the media. I tried to calm him down. There s no need to be such a pessimist, I said. There may be some bad apples out there, but they re way outnumbered by good people like you, I said reassuringly. And then I told him just how much I appreciated his help in getting me out of the elevator. That s when he looked down at my feet. Hey, what did you do with your shoes? I smacked my hand on my forehead. I had taken them off to hold the doors open, and then since I d just used my foot, I guess I d somehow forgotten about them. Oh, jeez, I said. I seem to have left them in the elevator. Listen, I really don t have time to go back for them right now. Would you mind getting them for me, and bringing them to the Resource Management department on the 1 ui floor? Not at all, he said. I looked down at my watch. Somehow, it was already a bit past 10:00. This had been a pretty rough ride to work. I momentarily considered taking one of the other elevators up to the 15 floor, but then just decided to walk up the emergency stairs. When I entered the office, I saw that Ms. Lee was the only one there, sitting by the phone. It seemed like everyone else was already in the morning meeting. Ms. Lee stared at me in a state of shock. Mr. Jeong! What happened? Did you decide to take the sewer to work? Take a look in the mirror! I looked. My hair was a mess, my face was half shaved, two deep grooves had been pushed into my shoulders by that woman s high heels, the front of my suit was covered with grease, and everything was still wrinkled from the bus accident. And my shoes were in the elevator. Just then, the conference room door opened, and my boss face appeared. Hey, Ms. Lee! Hasn t he arrived yet? Oh, there you are! Do you know what time it is? Get in here and give your report! I gestured towards my clothes, and shot him a pleading look, but he just slammed the door and returned, to the meeting. There were definitely a few things I needed to do before I went into that meeting. I had to call 911 and 5tI report that guy, I had to find Ms. Jeong on the floor, and give her a piece of my mind, I had to go to the bathroom and try to get cleaned up, and I had to find my shoes. But I pushed all of those things aside, and headed into the meeting. Half the people were sleeping, and the other half were flipping through the materials they were going to use for their presentations. My department head and our division head, and one guy from the Board of Trustees were the only people paying any attention, and they were staring right at me. They asked. Why I was late, and why my clothes were such a mess. I explained. That morning, someone had gotten stuck in my apartment elevator. A truck slammed into my bus, no one would lend me a cell phone, and since I d left my wallet at home, I had no way to call anyone. Then I got accused of being a pervert on the next bus, and had to get off at Chung-jeong-ro, and run all the way to work. And then the elevator here broke down, and I was stuck in that for 30 minutes, and the marks in my shoulders were caused by this woman who climbed up on me to get out, but then never went for help the way she was supposed to, and just went on her way, and I got covered in grease when I fmally got out of the elevator, and in all the confusion I left my shoes in there. I told them that I was sorry, and that I deeply apologized. I don t know what I needed to feel sorry for, but I said that I was. But the department head cut me short. Fine. Let s hear your report. th

19 Young-ha KIM Page 26 I drew back my shoulders, and gave the essentials of my incentive plan to stimulate the use of 2-sided copies, which would result in paper saving of epoch-making proportions. And I let them know that the best way to reduce the use of toilet paper at the office would be to special-order rolls from which could you only tear off exactly one-meter s worth at a time. I explained that while most rolls tear off every 10 centimeters, the 1 meter rolls would cause people to use only one meter at a time, resulting in an incredible savings in tissue. According to our employee surveys, most employees use 1.2 meters of tissue paper each time they tend to their business. But apparently it was pretty stupid of me to let them know about this nearly 20% potential reduction in the use of toilet paper with such a disheveled appearance. The objections were immediate. Ms. Eun-hee Lee was the first to raise her hand. You know, women will tend to use tissue even for things that don t require much. I mean, I don t know about other people, but I don t use a meter s worth of tissue. For me, 30 centimeters is usually more than enough, so if we move to the 1-meter tissue, isn t that actually a waste of 7O%? Then the guy from the Board of Trustees, who was starting at me with eyes that let me know just what he thought of my plan, jumped in. What makes you so sure that people who ve been using 1.2 meters of tissue are going to reduce their use to 1? Isn t it also possible that they ll just use 2? Do some more research, and come back with a slightly more reasonable conservation plan. The division and department heads were both nodding their heads in agreement. I really had to wonder. How many meters of toilet paper could these people possibly be using in the bathroom? And why in the world wouldn t 1 meter s worth be enough? The meeting lasted until 12:00. As everyone else noisily left for lunch, I went looking for my shoes. It looked like the broken elevator was working again. Taking no chances, I took a different elevator down to the first floor. I started heading towards the front desk, which is where the security guards were. The woman who d been sitting at the information desk suddenly stood up, and then the security guards all started heading in my direction. May I help you? she asked. But her expression was hardly friendly, and she wasn t looking at me, but rather at the approaching security guards. She was obviously giving them some kind of signal. They surrounded me, and bluntly told me to leave the building. I protested. I work here, in resource management. My name is Jeung. I left my shoes on that elevator that broke down, and I m just trying to find them. Look here.. But even as I was saying that, they were pushing me out the building. Hey! Give a call up to Resource Management! The guy who saved me was a guy named Han, who d joined the company at the same time as I did. Hey Han! I cried. It s me! It s me! Thanks to him, they let go of me, and I was able to explain what had happened. Hey, Han, thanks I told him. I owe you lunch. I thanked him from the bottom of my heart, and then turned around and explained to the security guards about the elevator and my shoes. But no one knew anything about the broken elevator, and they said they had no idea who had gotten me out. They called and radioed here and there, but after 30 minutes they still weren t able to find anyone who knew anything about it. The last thing they said to me was, We re sorry, we have no idea. You should probably just wear a pair of slippers from your office, if you have some, or find a shoe store

20 Young-ha KIM Page 27 nearby and buy a pair of shoes. I nodded my head weakly, and decided to head back up to my office. I waited for an elevator, and the first one to come was the one I d gotten stuck in. I had no intention of taking it, but as the door opened, I noticed my shoes sitting side by side on the floor of the elevator. I pounced on them like a desperate cheetah, and managed to get back out of the elevator before the doors closed. I was ecstatic. Nearly bursting into tears of relieved joy, I slipped into my shoes one by one in the building lobby. Once I d gotten my shoes on, I thought again of the guy in the elevator at my apartment. There was no way I could go to a restaurant looking like this anyway, so I went up to my office and called 911. Hello, is this 911? Where are you? the operator asked in a kind voice. Ah, this is Jeong-ro. And then the operator suddenly said, You re in the Kum-jeong Building, right? It seemed like 911 was somehow staring right down at me, from the ceiling. I explained that the accident location was not here, but rather in Samdong Apartments. She seemed rather suspicious. But her tone was still friendly. What sort of accident is it? A person is stuck in the elevator. And when did that happen? She was beginning to sound rather annoyed, as if she didn t believe me at all. It was at 7:50 this morning. The operator then spoke to me as if she had had quite enough. Look here, sir. We re very busy here. I don t have time to joke around. I decided I d better explain pretty quickly. I told her that I d tried to report the accident as soon as it happened, but that no one would lend me a cell phone and the apartment security guards weren t around, and then the bus I took to work crashed. Then, as soon as I arrived at work, the elevator broke, and then there was an important meeting, so I wasn t able to report it until now. Could you please let me know whether he was ever let out of the elevator? I asked. The operator told me that it wasn t 911 s job to handle such calls, and advised me to call the local fire department. I then asked whether it would be possible to send over a rescue squad, just to check. I explained that everyone in the building was at work, including the married women, and that it was possible that no one had reported it until now. But she said nothing other than thank you, and hung up the phone. Things at the office went smoothly for the rest of the afternoon. I continued to study ways to reduce the use of toilet paper, and prepared another survey to pass out the office employees. At 5:00, everyone began heading for the door. I borrowed 10,000 won from Ms. Kim, and started for home. When I arrived at my apartment, I checked my mail. It was stuffed full of memos. I threw a few of them in the trash can by the security guard s office, and headed for the elevator. Fortunately, the elevator seemed to be working normally again. I got on with a few other people, and went up. They eyed my tattered appearance warily, and stood in the opposite corner of the elevator. I decided to ask them. Do any of you know by. any chance what happened to the guy who was stuck in the elevator? Everyone just shook their heads, without saying anything. 6th Well, when I was heading to work, the elevator was stuck between the and 6th floors, and there was a guy wedged in between the floor and the floor of the elevator. Didn t you hear about that? No one responded, and as soon as the elevator reached their

21 floor, they got off as quickly as possible, and headed for home. One mother was holding the floor, and got in the shower. As I rubbed shampoo into my head, I kept wondering. apartment at top speed. I opened my door and went inside. I took off my suit, tossed it on her daughter, who looked to be about 5, tightly in her arms, and eyeing me closely. When we finally got to the 15 th floor, the woman who got off with me ran for her ***** security phone to buzz one of the guards. As soon as I started to say hot water, he cut me off in a tone that told me he d already gotten the same call dozens of times. Shivering from the cold, I barely managed to rinse the soap off before picking up the elevator? So I m still wondering. Whatever happened to the guy who was stuck in the out of the shower head. No matter how I turned the faucet, I couldn t get any hot water. What in the world happened to that guy? I ll have to call one of the security guards. But when I d finished shampooing my head and turned on the water, freezing cold water blasted been announcing it on the PA system for weeks, he said, as if he were scolding a child. Didn t you read the notice? Starting today, we re doing work on the pipes. We ve And then he hung up. Young-ha KIM Page 28

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28 J ust before Christmas my father took me skiing at my father s window. His face was bleached by the Powder his last visit, to see Thelonious Monk. as we were checking out of the lodge that morn sand, and still we skied. As the lift bore us to the By now I couldn t see the trail. There was We passed a diner on our way out. You I was supposed to say, Right, doctor, but I didn t say anything. A state trooper waved us down outside the From The Night in Question by Jobias Wo ff, copyright by roias Wolff. The trooper came up to our car and bent down to resort.a pair of sawhorses were blocking the road. head. Buck up, he said. I ll get you there. Right, doctor? want some soup? my father asked. I shook my my mittens and wishing Iwas home. I could see ev holly pattern, the red candles waiting to be lit. no point in trying. I stuck to him like white on our skis and my father put chains on the Austin erything.the green tablecloth, the plates with the rice and did what he did and somehow made it to the bottom without sailing off a ciff.we returned Healey while I swayed fiom foot to foot, clapping He was indifferent to my fretting. Snow whirled around us in bitter, blinding squalls, hissing like for dinner on Christmas Eve, and she relented. But heart, to take good care of me and have me home ing it began to snow, and in this snow he observed to get in one last run. We got in several last runs. peak yet again, my father looked at his watch and He wouldn t give up. He promised, hand on some rare quality tciat made it necessary for us said, Criminy.This ll have to be a fast one. ofmy company, because my mother was still angry Mount Baker. He d had to fight for the privilege with him for sneaking me into a nightclub during together again. Is that what you want? I can t let that happen? He bent toward me. I ll tell you what I want. I want us all to be quired; she wouldn t forgive him. She won t foi give me, he said. Do you under in a booth at the diner, waiting for our burgers. He didn t speak to me again until we were My father sat with both hands on the wheel. the trooper, and with a weird, old-maidy show of never forgive me for this he said. rubbing the wood with his thumbs. He looked at trying to master the idea of it. Then he thanked caution turned the car around. Your mother will the barricade for a long time. He seemed to be The trooper straightened up. His face than that. My father said, Look.We re talking about It might get cleared, it might not. Storm took ev eryone by surprise. So much, so fast. Hard to get people moving. Christmas Eve. What can you do. The trooper told him.the road was closed. Don t tell me: my father said. für trim of his jacket and cap. cold. Snowflakes clung to his eyebrows and to the by Tobias Wolff 7 Peepacn oi ihe FnqIsh five, six inches. I ve taken this car through worse was out of sight but I could hear him. The road is closed? tor. stand? Never. I guess, I said, but no guesswork was re 1 We should have left before, I said, Doc

29 pay phone in the back of the diner, then joined When we finished eating he went to the That s what you say now, but someday Maybe I have it. You need, I don t know a certain instinct. Yes, sir., Preprin rcr the Enghch I 45 From The Night in Question by Tobias Wolff, copyright C) 1996 by Tobias Wolff. 3 said, Don t ever try this yourself. open for me. Now you re an accomplice: he said. tail.the barricade vanished. Then there was noth ing but snow: snow ott the road, snow kicking up been marked by our own tracks, but there were no away from the resort, right up to the barricade. straight down, less of it now and lighter.we drove Move it, my father told me. When I looked at and dragged one of the sawhorses aside, then put it back after he drove through. He pushed the door and gave me a look. Joke, son We go down together. He put the car into gear road behind us, to see if the trooper was on our The wind had died. The snow was falling him he said, What are you waiting for? I got out My f4ther grunted in a thoughtful way and and had a shock.the lay ofthe road behind us had snow between a line oftall trees. He was humming floorboards under my feet.to keep my hands from shaking I clamped them between my knees. Stars Fell on Alabama. I felt snow brush along the tracks ahead of us. My father was breaking virgin sky; and our trail in the snow.then I faced forward from the chains, snow on the trees, snow in the Down the first long stretch I watched the new. My father couldn t afford it, and kept promis level for a while and then tilted sharply downward. leave considerable doubt in my mind as to exactly Easy.You always think ahead. I won t. brightened. A few sparse, feathery flakes drifted Oh, right. Name one. C all day. the stiff jerky rasp of the wipers, the purr of the engine. ft really did purr.the old heap was almost went to? and cranked up the blower. Then he turned off the trees and entered a broad field ofsnow that ran Orange stakes had been planted at intervals in two tween them, though they were far enough apart to where the road lay. He was humming again, doing Okay then.what are my strong points? Don t get me started. he said. It d take c. Are you warm enough? He reached over parallel lines and my father steered a course be little scat riffs around the melody. I said, Where do you think that policeman ing to sell it, but here it was. into our slipstream and were swept away. We left the wipers.we didn t need them.the clouds had I did listen. I heard the slap of the chains, Vamanos. me.a little while later he said it again.when the road. Come on, come on: he said, though not to trooper s car went past, lights flashing, he got up his coffee and stared out the window at the empty me in the booth again. I figured he d called my mother, but he didn t give a report. He sipped at and dropped some money on the check. Okay. some credit, too.there aren t many cars I d try this aware of. Of course you have to give the old heap virtue, okay? It s just a fact, and one you should be with. Listen! anybody can do. I m a great driver. That s not a want you to get the idea this is something just but not this. I only mention it because I don t You don t.you have your strong points, That s all I needed to hear. He bumped my chin with his knuckles. can do anything. Only you won t be able to do this. you ll get your license and then you ll think you

30 Prrnq io the Enghsh Exit Exxrn True, I always thought ahead. I was a boy who kept his clothes on numbered hangers to sure proper rotation. I bothered my teachers for homework assignments far ahead of their due dates so I could draw up schedules. I thought ahead, and that was why I knew that there would be other troopers waiting for us at the end of our ride, if we even got there.what I did not know was that my father would wheedle and plead his way past them he didn t sing 0 Tannenbaum, but just about and get me home for dinner, buying a little more time before my mother decided to make the split final. I knew we d get caught; I was resigned to it. And maybe for this reason I stopped moping and began to enjoy myself. in Why not? This was one for the books. Like being in a speedboat, only better.you can t go downhill in a boat. And it was all ours. And it kept coming, the laden trees, the unbroken surface of snow, the sudden white vistas. Here and there I saw hints ofthe road, ditches, fences, stakes, but not so many that I could have found my way. But then I didn t have to. My father was driving. My father in his forty-eighth year, rumpled, kind, bankrupt of honor, flushed with certainty He was a great driver.all persuasion, no coercion. Such subtlety at the wheel, such tactfiil pedaiwork. I actually trusted him. And the best was yet to come switchbacks and hairpins impossible to describe. Except maybe to say this: ifyou haven t driven fresh powder, you haven t driven. uu From The Night in Question by Tobias Wolff, copyright 1996 by Tobias Wolff. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. For online information about other Random House, Inc. books and authors, see the Internet website at: L_)

31 2 Th: Stcry f n 2=iour Kate Chopin (1894) Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband s death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard s name leading the list of killed. He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window. She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it

32 over and over under hte breath: free, free, free! The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that owuld belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they ahve a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of selfassertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! Free! Body and soul free! she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven s sake open the door. Go away. I am not making myself ill. No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister s importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine s piercing cry; at Richards quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills.

33 TRUE! nervous very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? Edgar Allan Poe, 1843 The Tell-Tale Heart 7., I might not disturb the old man s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily until, at length I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and feel the presence of my head within the room. When 1 had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little a But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening should have seen how wisely I proceeded with what caution with what foresight with what dissimulation I Now this is the point You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You gradually -4 made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. of grief oh, no! it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously cautiously (for the hinges creaked) l the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly Into the the old man sprang up in bed, crying out Who s there? the death watches in the wall. the night So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; just as 1 have done, night after night, hearkening to not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch s minute hand moves twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights every vulture a pale blue eye, with a film over it Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees very went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my could see him as he lay upon his bed. Hal would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. night Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and and observe how healthily how calmly! can tell you the whole story. never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly very, very slowly, so that could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he the soldier into courage. sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man s heart It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all In vain. All in vain; because Death, in say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye. old man s face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the It was open wide, wide open -and I grew furious as I gazed upon it I saw it with perfect distinctness --all mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel although he neither saw nor heard to it is only a mouse crossing the floor, or It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp. Yes, he had been to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself it is nothing but the wind in the chimney slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! night just at midnight but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers of my sagacity. I bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the The disease had sharpened my senses not destroyed not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? now, I

34 hour had comel With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once once only. heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man s was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more. lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises. beating of his hideous heart! Villains! I shrieked, dissemble no more! I admit the deed! tear up the planks! here, here! It is the far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now -again! hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye not even his could have detected any fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, reposed the corpse of the victim. suspected! they knew! they were making a mockery of my horrorl-this I thought, and this I think. But anything the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, for what had I now to the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually Increased. It grew louder louder --louder! And still the while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search I smiled, for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o clock still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out no stain of any kind no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all hal ha! what could I do? I foamed I raved l swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon No doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound distinct --It continued and became more distinct I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, em long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. increased and what could I do? it was a low, dull, quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when not be heard through the wall. At length It ceased. The old man was dead. 1 removed the bed and examined the gained definiteness until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly more gesticulations; but the noise steadily Increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! no, no! They heard! they In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the of the night, amidthe dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable louder every moment! do you mark me well I have told you that! am nervous: so I am. And now atthe dead hour quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say,

35 not Chinese, but as white as Mary in the manger. For Christmas I prayed for this I fell in love with the minister s son the winter I turned fourteen. He was I0 looked like stacked wedges of rubbery white sponges. A bowl soaking dried you are satisfied, explained my father to our astonished guests. Robert was thanking my mother for her fine cooking. It s a polite Chinese custom to show At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched loudly, offering me the tender fish cheek. I wanted to disappear. below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. Amy, your favorite, he said, On Christmas Eve I saw that my mother had outdone herself in creating a whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced. Then my father poked his chopsticks just so they resembled bicycle tires. chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so I pretended he was not worthy of existence. And then they arrived the with bulging eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into a pan of hot oil. Tofu, which The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimy rock cod fungus back to life. A plate of squid, their backs crisscrossed with knife markings clamor of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages. Robert grunted hello, and strange menu. She was pulling black veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns. ministers family and all my relatives in a seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food? proper American manners? What terrible disappoint-ment would he feel upon plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked When I found out that my parents had invited the ministers family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby Chinese blond-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new American nose. Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the Amy Tan Fish Cheeks

36 same as American girls on the outside. She handed me an early gift. It was a After everyone had gone, my mother said to me, You want to be the later Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods. appreciate her lesson and the true purpose behind our particular menu. For long And even though I didn t agree with her then, I knew that she understood how much I had suffered during the evening s dinner, It wasn t until many year proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame. miniskirt in beige tweed. But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be after I had gotten over mypwsh on Robert that I was able to fully up a quiet burp. I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night. looking down at his plate with a reddened face. The minister managed to muster

37 V - All Summer in a Day by Ray Bradbury 11 No one in the class could remember a time when there wasn t rain. Ready? Ready. Now? Soon. Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it? Look, look; see for yourselfl The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun. It rained. It had been raining for seven years; thousand upon thousands of days compounded and filled from of water, with the sweet crystal fall one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children ofthe rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives. It s stopping, it s stopping! of showers and Yes, yes! Margot stood apart from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and ifthere had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering and old or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. But then they always awoke to the tatting drum, the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the walk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone. All day yesterday they had read in class about the sun. About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small stories or essays or poems about it: think the sun is aflower, That bloomsfdrjust onehour. - That was Margot s poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was falling outside. Aw, you didn t write that! protested one ofthe boys. I did, said Margot. I did. William! said the teacher. But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slackening, and the children were crushed in the great thick windows. Where s teacher? She ll be back. She d better hurry, we ll miss it! They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes. I

38 voice would be a ghost. Now she stood, separate, staring at the rain and the loud wet world beyond the huge glass. Margot said nothing. What re you looking at? said William. by moved only by him and nothing else. Oh, but, Margot whispered, her eyes helpless. But this is the day, the scientists predict, they So after that, dimly, dimly, she sensed it, she was different and they knew her difference and kept away. Get away! The boy gave her another push. What re you waiting for? Well, don t wait around here! cried the boy savagely. You won t see nothing! All ajoke! said the boy, and seized her roughly. Hey, everyone, let s put her in a closet before tagged her and ran, she stood blinking after them and did not follow. When the class sang songs about happiness and life and games her lips barely moved. Only when they sang about the sun and the summer And they, they had been on Venus all their lives, and they had been only two years old when last the sun her hands to her ears and over her head, screaming the water mustn t touch her head. No it s not! the children cried. You re lying, you don t remember! cried the children. It s like a penny, she said once, eyes closed. It s like a fire, she said, in the stove. :Speak when you re spoken to. He gave her a shove. But she did not move; rather she let herself They edged away from her, they would not look at her. She felt them go away. And this was because she would play no games with them in the echoing tunnels of the underground city. If they did her lips move as she watched the drenched windows. And then, of course, the biggest crime of all was that she had come here only five years ago from came out and had long since forgotten the color and heat of it and the way it really was. But Margot remembered. But she remembered and stood quietly apart from all of them and watched the patterning children hated her for all these reasons of big and little consequence. They hated her pale snow face, her Earth, and she remembered the sun and the way the sun was and the sky was when she was four in Ohio. windows. And once, a month ago, she had refused to shower in the school shower rooms, had clutched waiting silence, her thinness, and her possible future. There was talk that her father and mother were taking her back to earth next year; it seemed vital Then, for the first time, she turned and looked at him. And what she was waiting for was in her Her lips moved. to her that they do so, though it would mean the loss of thousands of dollars to her family. And so, the eyes. nothing! happening today. Is it? They all blinkecfathiiwand then, understanding, laughed andshook their heads. Nothing, Nothing! he cried. It was all a joke, wasn t it? He turned to the other children. Nothing s say, they know, the sun.... Ready, children? she glanced at her watch. They surged about her, caught her up and bore her, protesting, and then pleading, and then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a closet, where they slammed and locked the door. They stood looking at the Then, smiling, they turned and went out and back down the tunnel, just as the teacher arrived. No, said Margot, falling back. teacher comes! door and saw it tremble from her beating and throwing herself against it. They heard her muffled cries. her hair. She was ai old photograph dusted from an album, whitened away, and if she spoke at all her Margot stood alone. She was a very frail girl who looked as if she had been lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from her mouth and the yellow from

39 eruption, something had, first, gone wrong with the sound apparatus, thus muffling and fmally cutting off They crowded to the huge door. The rain stopped. The rain slackened still more. It was as if, in the midst of a film, concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic ground to a standstill. The silence was so immense and unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed or you had lost your hearing altogether. The children put their hands to their ears. They stood The sun came out. apart. The door slid back and the smell of the silent, waiting world came in to them. It was the color of flaming bronze and it was very large. And the sky around it was a blazing blue tile color. And the jungle burned with sunlight as the children, released from their spell, rushed out, Now don t go too far, called the teacher after them. You ve only two hours, you know. You yelling, into the springtime. They stopped running and stood in the great jungle that covered Venus, that grew and never projector and inserted in its place a peaceful tropical slide which did not move or tremor. The world But they were running and turning their faces up to the sky and feeling the sun on their cheejs like stopped growing, tumultuously, even as you watched it. It was a nest of octopi, clustering up great arms from the many years without sun. It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink, and it was the color of the moon. The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress, and heard it sigh and squeak under them, resilient and alive. They ran among the trees, they slipped and fell, they pushed each down their faces, they put their hands up to that yellowness and that amazing blueness and they breathed other, they played hide-and-seek and tag, but most of all they squinted at the sun until the tears ran sound and no motion. They looked at everything and savored everything. Then, wildly, like animals running. They came slowly to look at her opened palm. In the center of it, cupped and huge, was a single raindrop. She began to cry, looking at it. They glanced quietly at the sky. escaped from their caves, they ran and ran in shouting circles. They ran for an hour and did not stop And then The girl, standing in the open, held out her hand. A few cold drops fell on their noses and their cheeks and their mouths. The sun faded behind a underground house, their hand.s at their sides, their smiles vanishing away. Everyonestopped- In the midst of their running one of the girls wailed. of the fresh, fresh air and listened and listened to the silence which suspended them in a blessed sea of no of flesh-like weed, wavering, flowering this brief spring. It was the color of rubber and ash, this juigle, a warm iron; they were taking off their jackets and letting the sun burn their arms. Oh, it s better than the sun lamps, isn t it? Oh, look, look, she said, trembling. wouldn t want to get caught out! Much, much better! stir of mist. A wind blew cool around them. They turned and started to walk back toward the Oh. Oh. all noise, all of the blasts and repercussions and thunders, and then, second, ripped the film from the Yes! said everyone. Are we all here? Yes!

40 forever. - Will it be seven more years? closed the door and heard the gigantic sound of the rain falling in tons and avalanches, everywhere and They stood in the doorway of the underground for a moment until it was raining hard. Then they They stood as if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor. They looked at They walked slowly down the hall in the sound of the cold rain. They turned through the doorway They unlocked the door, even more slowly, and let Margot out. Behind the closed door was only silence. each other and then looked away. They glanced out at the world that was raining now and raining and raining steadily. They could not meet each other s glances. Their faces were solemn and pale. They looked at their hands and feet, their faces down. walked over to the closest door slowly and stood by it. She s still in the closet where we locked her. What? Margot! Margot. Margot. One. of the girls said, Well. No one moved. to the room in the sound of the storm and thunder, lightening on their faces, blue and terrible. They Go on, whispered the girl. Then one of them gave a little cry. Yes. Seven. other and ran. Lightening struck ten miles away, five miles away, a mile, a half mile. The sky darkened into midnight in a flesh. A boom of thunder startled them and like leaves before a new hurricane, they tumbled upon each

41 T. CORAGHESSAN BOYLE THE HIT MAN HE HIT MANS EARLY YEARS are complicated by the black bag that he wears over his head. Teachers correct his pronunciation, the coach criticizes his attitude, the principal dresses him down for branding preschoolers with a lit cigarette. He is a poor student. At lunch he sits alone, feeding bell peppers and salami into the dark slot of his mouth. In the hallways, wiry young athletes snatch at the black hood and slap the back of his head. When he is thirteen he is approached by the captain of the football team, who pins him down and attempts to remove the hood. The Hit Man wastes him. Five years, says the judge. Early Years Back on the Street The Hit Man is back on the street in two months. First Date The girl s name is Cynthia. The Hit Man pulls up in front of her apartment in his father s hearse. (The Hit Man s father, whom he loathes and abominates, is a mortician. At breakfast the Hit Man s father had slapped the cornfiakes from his son s bowl. The son threatened to waste his father. He did not, restrained no doubt by considerations of filial loyalty and the deep-seated taboos against patricide that permeate the universal unconscious.) Cynthia s father has silver sideburns and plays tennis. He responds to the Hit Man s knock, expresses surprise at the Hit Man s appearance. The Hit Man takes Cynthia by the elbow, presses a twenty into her father s palm, and disappears into the night.

42 80 SUDi)IN FICTION SUI)DEN FICTION 81 Fatherv Death At breakfast the Hit Man slaps the cornflakes from his father s howl. Then wastes him., v1otherc Death The Hit Man is in his early twenties. He shoots pooi, lifts weights and drinks milk from the carton. His mother is in the hospi tal, dying of cancer or heart disease. The priest wears black. So does the Hit Man. First Job lunch. Peas Porfirio Bufloz, a Cuban financier, invites the Hit Man to I hear you re looking for work, says Bufloz. That s right, says the Kit Man. The Hit Man does not like peas. They are too difficult to balance on the fork. Ta/k Show The Hit Man waits in the wings, the white slash of a cigarette scarring the midnight black of his head and upper torso. The makeup girl has done his mouth and eyes, brushed the nap of his hood. He has been briefed. The guest who precedes him is a pedi atrician. A planetary glow washes the stage where the host and the pediatrician, separated by a potted palm, cross their legs and dis cuss the little disturbances of infants and toddlers. After the station break the Hit Man finds himself squeezed into a director s chair, white lights in his eyes. The talk-show host is a baby-faced man in his early forties. He smiles like God and all His Angels. \ Vell, he says. So you re a hit roan. Tell me I ve always wanted to know what does it feel like to hit.someone Death of Mateo Maria Buñoz The body of Mateo Maria Bufioz, the cousin and business associate of a prominent financier, is discovered down by the docks on a hot summer morning. Mist rises from the water like steam, there is the smell of fish. A large black bird perches on the dead man s forehead. S Ii Marriage Cynthia and the Hit Man stand at the altar, side by side. She is wearing a white satin gown and lace veil. The Hit Man has rented a tuxedo, extra-large, and a silk-lined black-velvet hood.!vloods Till death do you part, says the priest. The Hit Man is moody, unpredictable. Once, in a lun cheonette, the waitress brought him the meatloaf special hut for got to eliminate the peas. There was a spot of gravy on the Hit Man s hood, about where his chin should be. He looked up at the wait ress, his eyes like pins behind the triangular slots, and wasted her. Another time he went to the track with $25, came back with $1800. He stopped at a cigar shop. As he stepped out of the shop a wino tugged at his sleeve and solicited a quarter. The Hit Man reached into his pocket, extracted the $1800 and handed it to the wino. Then wasted him. First Child A boy. The Hit Man is delighted. He leans over the edge of the playpen and molds the tiny fingers around the grip of a nickelplated derringer. The gun is loaded with blanks the Hit Man wants the boy to get used to the noise. By the time he is four the boy has mastered the rudiments of Tac Kwon Do, can stick a knife in the wall from a distance of ten feet and shoot a moving target with either hand. The Hit Man rests his broad palm on the boy s head. You re going to make the Big Leagues, Tiger, he says. Work He flies to Cincinnati. To L.A. To Boston. To London. The stewardesses get to know him. Half an Acre and a Garage The Hit Man is raking leaves, amassing great brittle piles of them. He is wearing a black T-shirt, cut off at the shoulders, and a cotton work hood, also black. Cynthia is edging the flowerbed, his son playing in the grass. The Hit Man waves to his neighbors as they drive by. The neighbors wave back.

43 82 SUDDF. FICTION When he has scoured the lawn to his satisfaction, the Hit Man draws the smaller leaf-hummocks together in a single mound the size of a pickup truck. Then he bends to ignite it with his lighter. Immediately, flames leap back from the leaves, cut channels through the pile, engulf it in a ball of fire. The Hit Man stands back, hands folded beneanh the great meaty biceps. At his side is the three-headed dog. He bends to pat each of the heads, smoke and sparks raging against the sky. 1 Stalkirig the Streets of the City He is stalking the streets of the city, collar up, brim down. It is late at night. He stalks past department stores, small businesses, parks, and gas stations. Past apartments, picket fences, picture win dow s. Dogs growl in the shadows, then slink away. He could hit any of us. Reti lement A group of businessman-types sixtvish, seventyish, portly, diamond rings, cigars, liver spots throws him a party. Porlirio Bufloz, now in his eighties, makes a speech and presents the Hit Man with a gilded scythe. The Hit Man thanks him, then retires to the lake, where he can be seen in his speedboat, skating out over the blue, hood rippling in the breeze. Death He is stricken, shrunken, half his Ibrmer self. He lies propped against the pillows at Mercy Hospital, a bank of gentians drooping round the bed. Tubes run into the hood at the nostril openings, his eyes are clouded and red, sunk deep behind the triangular slots. The priest wears black. So does the Hit Man. On the other side of town the Hit Man s son is standing bclbre the mirror of a shop that specializes in Hit Man attire. Trying on his first hood.

44 GRACE PAT.EY MOTHER NF. DAY I WAS listening to the AM radio. I heard a song: Oh, I Long to See My Mother in the Doorway. By God! I said, I understand that song. I have often longed to see my mother in the doorway. As a matter of fact, she did stand frequently in various doorways looking at me. She stood one day, just so, at the front door, the darkness of the hallway behind her. It was New Year s Day. She said sadly, If you come home at 4 AM. when you re seventeen, what time will you come home when you re twenty? She asked this question without humor or meanness. She had begun her worried preparations for death. She would not be present, she thought, when I was twenty. So she wondered. Another time she stood in the doorway of my room. I had just issued a political manifesto attacking the family s position on the Soviet Union. She said, Go to sleep godsakes, you damn fool, you and your Communist ideas. We saw them already, Papa and me, in We guessed it all. At the door of the kitchen she said, You never finish your lunch. You run around senselessly. What will become of you? Then she died. Naturally for the rest of my life I longed to see her, not only in doorways, in a great number of places in the dining room with my aunts, at the window looking up and down the block, in the country garden among zinnias and marigolds, in the living room with my father. They sat in comfortable leather chairs. They were listening to Mozart. They looked at one another amazed. It seemed to them that they d just come over on the boat. They d just learned the first English words. It seemed to them that he had just proudly handed in a 100 percent correct exam to the American anatomy professor. It seemed as though she d just quit the shop for the kitchen. I wish I could see her in the doorway of the living room. lr

45 4 StJ N )FN FICTION She stood there a minute. Then she sat beside him. They owned an expensive record player. They were listening to Bach. She said to him, Talk to me a little. We don t talk so much anymore. I m tired. be said. Can t you see? I saw maybe thirty people today. All sick, all talk talk talk talk. Listen to the music, he said. I believe you once had perfect pitch. I m tired, he said. Then she died.

46 A SUDDEN FICTION 127 ERNEST 1-IEMINUWAY A VERY SHORT STORY anyone in the States. Only to get ajob and be married. On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once. When they had to say goodbye, in the station at Milan, they kissed goodbye, but were not finished with the quar rel. He felt sick about saying goodbye like that. He went to America on a boat from Genoa. Luz went back to Pordenunc to open a hospital. It was lonely and rainy there, and not -:vcntan in Padua they carried him up onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town. Thei-e were chim ney swifts in the sky. After a while it got dark and the searchlights came out. l he others went down and took the bottles with them. He and Luz could hear them below on the halconv. Luz sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night. Luz stayed on night duty for three months. They were glad to let her. When they operated on him she prepared him for the oper ating table; and they had a joke about friend or enema. He went under the anesthetic holding tight on to himself so he would not blab about anything during the silly, talky time. After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures so Luz would not have to get up from the hod. There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it. They all liked Liiz. As he walked back along the halls he thought of Luz in his bed. l3efbre he went back to the front the went into the Duomo and prayed. Ii was dim and quiet, and there were other people pray ing. Ihey wanted to get married, hut there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them had birth certificates. They flt as though they were macned, but they wanted everyone to know ab)mct it, and to make it so they could not lose it. Luz wrote him many letters that he never got until after the armistice. Fifteen came in a bunch to the front and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through. They were all about the hospital, and how much she loved hun, and how it was impos sible to get along without him, and how terrible it was missing him at night. After the armistice they agreed he should go home to get a job so they might be married. Lu-z would not come home until he had a good job anti could come to New York to meet her. It was under stood he would not drink, and he did not want to see his friends or there was a battalion of arditi quartered in the town. Living in the muddy, rainy town in the winter, the rnor of the battalion made love to Luz, and she had never known Italians before, and finally wrote to the States that theirs had been only a boy and girl afotir. She was sorry, and she knew he would probably not be able to understand, but might someday forgive her, and be grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to lx married in the spring. She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy and girl love She hoped he would have a gloat career and believed in him absolutely. She knew it was for the best. The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time Luz novel got an answer to the l(ttcr to Chicago about it. A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a salesgirl in a loop depart ment store while riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.

47 STEVEN SCHUT/.MAN SUDDEN FICTION 95 get you what you want. She looked at him deeply, hoping that she was becoming rich before his eyes. Ah danger, she said to herself, you are the gold that wants to spend my life. The robber was becoming sleepy. In the gun was the weight of his dreams about this moment when it was yet to come. The gun was like the heavy eyelids of someone who wants to sleep but is not allowed. HF. BANK ROBBER TOLO his story in little notes to the bank teller. He held the pistol in one hand and gave her thc notes with the other. The first note said: This is a bank holdup because money is just like time and I need more to keep on going, so keep your hands where I can see them and don t go precsing any alarm buttons or I ll blow your head off. Ah money, he said to himself, I find little bits of you leading to more of you in greater little bits. You are promising endless amounts of yourself but others are coming. They are threatening our treasure together. I cannot pick you up fast enough as you lead into the great, huge quiet that you are. Oh money, please save me, for you are desire, pure desire, that wants only itself. The gunman could feel his intervals, the spaces in himself, piling up so that he could not be sure of what he would do next. He began to write. His next note said: The teller, a young woman of about twenty-five, felt the lights that lined her streets go on for the first time in years. She kept her hands where he could see them and didn t press any alarm buttons. Ah danger, she said to herself, you are just like love. After she read the note, she gave it back to the gunman and said: This note is far too abstract. I really can t respond to it. The robber, a young man of about twenty-five, left the elec tricity of his thoughts in his hand as he wrote the next note. Ah money, he said to himself, you are just like love. His next note said: This is a bank holdup because there is only one clear rule around here and that is WHEN YOU RUN OUT OF MONEY YOU SUFFER, w keep your hands where I can see them and don t go press ing any alarm buttons or I ll blow your head off. The young woman took the note, touching lightly the gunless hand that had written it. The touch of the gunman s hand went immediately in her memory, growing its own life there. It became a (oust nut liimi toward which she could move when she was lost. ln flit that site coil I see everything clearly as if an unknown veil ImI inst I ueui Ii I. 1 think I understand I et eu now, she said to the thief, looking frst in his eyes and then at the gmu. But all this money will not Now is thefilm of my life, thefilm of my insomnia: an eerie bus ride, a trance in the night, from which I want to step down, whose light keeps me from sleeping. In the streets I will chase the wind-blown letter of love that will change my lfe. Give me the money, my Sister, so that I can run my hands through its hair. This is the unfired gun of time, so keep your hands where I can see them and don t go presing any alarm buttons or I ll blow your head off with it. Reading, the young woman felt her inner hands grabbing and holding onto this moment of her life. Ah danger, she said to herself, you are yourself with perfect clarity. Under your lens I know what I want. The young man and woman stared into each other s eyes lrrning two paths between them. On one path his life, like little people, walked into her, and on the other hers walked into him. This money is love, she said to him. I ll do what you want. She began to put money into the huge satchel he had provided. As she emptied it of money, the bank filled with sleep. Every one else in the bank slept the untroubled sleep of trees that would never be money. Finally she placed all the money in the bag. The bank robber and the bank teller left together like hostages of each other. Though it was no longer necessary, he kept the gun on her, for it was becoming like a child between them.

48 Barn Burning William Faulkner I!

49 BARN BURNING The store in which the Justice of the Peace s court was sitting smelled of cheese. The boy, crouched on his nail keg at the back of the crowded room, knew he smelled cheese, and more: from where he sat he could see the ranked shelves close-packed with the solid, squat, dynamic shapes of tin cans whose labels his stomach read, not from the lettering which meant nothing to his mind but from the scarlet devils and the silver curve of fish this, the cheese which he knew he smelled and the hermetic meat which his intestines believes he smelled coming in intermittent gusts momen tary and brief between the other constant one, the smell and sense just a little of fear because mostly of despair and grief, the old fierce pull of blood. He could not see the table where the Justice sat and before which his father and his father s enemy (our enemy he thought in that despair; ourn! mine and hisn both! He s my father!) stood, but he could hear them, the two of them that is, because his father had said no word yet: But what proof have you, Mr. Harris? I told you. The hog got into my corn. I caught it up and sent it back to him. He had no fence that would hold it. I told him so, warned him. The next time I put the hog in my pen. 3

50 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING 4 5 When he came to get it I gave him enough wire to patch up his pen. The next time I put the hog up and kept it. I rode down to his house and saw the wire I gave him still rolled on to the spool in his yard. I told him he could have the hog when he paid me a dollar pound fee. That evening a nigger came with the dollar and got the hog. He was a strange nigger. He said, He say to tell you wood and hay kin burn. I said, What? That whut he say to tell you, the nigger said. Wood and hay kin burn. That night my barn burned. I got the stock out but I lost the barn. Where is the nigger? Have you got him? He was a strange nigger, I tell you. I don t know what became of him. But that s not proof. Don t you see that s not proof? Get that boy up here. He knows. For a moment the boy thought too that the man meant his older brother until Harris said, Not him. The little one. The boy, and, crouching, small for his age, small and wiry like his father, in patched and faded jeans even too small for him, with straight, uncombed, brown hair and eyes gray and wild as storm scud, he saw the men between himself and the table part and become a lane of grim faces, at the end of which he saw the Justice, a shabby, collarless, graying man in spectacles, beckoning him. He felt no floor under his bare feet; he seemed to walk beneath the palpable weight of the grim turning faces. His father, stiff in his black Sunday coat donned not for the trial but for the moving, did not even look at him. He aims for me to lie, he thought, again with that frantic grief and despair. And I will have to do hit. What s your name, boy? the Justice said. Colonel Sartoris Snopes, the boy whis pered. Hey? the Justice said. Talk louder. Colonel Sartoris? I reckon anybody named for Colonel Sartoris in this country can t help but tell the truth, can they? The boy said nothing. Enemy! Enemy! he thought; for a moment he could not even see, could not see that the Justice s face was kindly nor discern that his voice was troubled when he spoke to the man named Harris: Do you want me to question this boy? But he could hear, and during those subsequent long seconds while there was absolutely no sound in the crowded little room save that of quiet and intent breathing it was as if he had swung outward at the end of a grape vine, over a ravine, and at the top of the swing had been caught in a prolonged instant

51 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING 6 7 of mesmerized gravity, weightless in time. No! Harris said violently, explosively. Damnation! Send him out of here! Now time, the fluid world, rushed beneath him again, the voices coming to him again through the smell of cheese and sealed meat, the fear and despair and the old grief of blood: This case is closed. I can t find against you, Snopes, but I can give you advice. Leave this country and don t come back to it. His father spoke for the first time, his voice cold and harsh, level, without emphasis: I aim to. I don t figure to stay in a country among people who... he said something unprintable and vile, addressed to no one. That ll do, the Justice said. Take your wagon and get out of this country before dark. Case dismissed. His father turned, and he followed the stiff black coat, the wiry figure walking a little stiffly from where a Confederate provost s man s musket ball had taken him in the heel on a stolen horse thirty years ago, followed the two backs now, since his older brother had appeared from somewhere in the crowd, no taller than the father but thicker, chewing tobacco steadily, between the two lines of grim-faced men and out of the store and across the worn gallery and down the sagging steps and among the dogs and half-grown boys in the mild May dust, where as he passed a voice hissed: Barn burner! Again he could not see, whirling; there was a face in a red haze, moonlike, bigger than the full moon, the owner of it half again his size, he leaping in the red haze toward the face, feeling no blow, feeling no shock when his head struck the earth, scrabbling up and leaping again, feeling no blow this time either and tasting no blood, scrabbling up to see the other boy in full flight and himself already leaping into pursuit as his father s hand jerked him back, the harsh, cold voice speaking above him: Go get in the wagon. It stood in a grove of locusts and mulberries across the road. His two hulking sisters in their Sunday dresses and his mother and her sister in calico and sunbonnets were already in it, sitting on and among the sorry residue of the dozen and more movings which even the boy could remember the battered stove, the broken beds and chairs, the clock inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which would not run, stopped at some fourteen minutes past two o clock of a dead and forgotten day and time, which had been his mother s dowry. She was crying,

52 BARN BURN1NG BARN BURNING 8 9 though when she saw him she drew her sleeve across her face and began to descend from the wagon. Get back, the father said. He s hurt. I got to get some water and wash his... Get back in the wagon, his father said. He got in too, over the tail-gate. His father mounted to the seat where the older brother already sat and struck the gaunt mules two savage blows with the peeled willow, but without heat. It was not even sadistic; it was exactly that same quality which in later years would cause his descendants to over-run the engine before putting a motor car into motion, striking and reining back in the same movement. The wagon went on, the store with its quiet crowd of grimly watching men dropped behind; a curve in the road hid it. Forever he thought. Maybe he s done satisfied now, now that he has... stopping himself, not to say it aloud even to himself. His mother s hand touched his shoulder, Does hit hurt? she said. Naw, he said. Hit don t hurt. Lemme be. Can t you wipe some of the blood off before hit dries? I ll wash tonight, he said. Lemme be, I tell you.,, The wagon went on. He did not know where they were going. None of them ever did or ever asked, because it was always somewhere, always a house of sorts waiting for them a day or two days or even three days away. Likely his father had already arranged to make a crop on another farm before he... Again he had to stop himself. He (the father) always did. There was something about his wofflike independence and even courage when the advantage was at least neutral which impressed strangers, as if they got from his latent ravening ferocity not so much a sense of dependability as a feeling that his ferocious conviction in the rightness of his own actions would be of advantage to all whose interest lay with his. That night they camped, in a grove of oaks and beeches where a spring ran. The nights were still cool and they had a fire against it, of a rail lifted from a nearby fence and cut into lengths a small fire, neat, niggard almost, a shrewd fire; such fires were his father s habit and custom always, even in freezing weather. Older, the boy might have remarked this and wondered why not a big one; why should not a man who had not only seen the waste and extravagance of war, but who had in his blood an inherent voracious prodigality with material

53 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING not his own, have burned everything in sight? Then he might have gone a step farther and thought that that was the reason: that niggard blaze was the living fruit of nights passed during those four years in the woods hiding from all men, blue or gray, with his strings of horses (captured horses, he called them). And older still, he might have divined the true reason: that the element of fire spoke to some deep mainspring of his father s being, as the element of steel or of powder spoke to other men, as the one weapon for the preservation of integrity, else breath were not worth the breathing, and hence to be regarded with respect and used with discretion. But he did not think this now and he had seen those same niggard blazes all his life. He merely ate his supper beside it and was already half asleep over his iron plate when his father called him, and once more he followed the stiff back, the stiff and ruthless limp, up the slope and on to the starlit road where, turning, he could see his father against the stars but without face or depth a shape black, flat, and bloodless as though cut from tin in the iron folds of the frockcoat which had not been made for him, the voice harsh like tin and without heat like tin: You were fixing to tell them. You would have told him. He didn t answer. His father struck him with the flat of his hand on the side of the head, hard but without heat, exactly as he had struck the two mules at the store, exactly as he would strike either of them with any stick in order to kill a horse fly, his voice still without heat or anger: You re getting to be a man. You got to learn. You got to learn to stick to your own blood or you ain t going to have any blood to stick to you. Do you think either of them, any man there this morning, would? Don t you know all they wanted was a chance to get at me because they knew I had them beat? Eh? Later, twenty years later, he was to tell himself, If I had said they wanted only truth, justice, he would have hit me again. But now he said nothing. He was not crying. He just stood there. Answer me, his father said. Yes, he whispered. His father turned. Get on to bed. We ll be there tomorrow. Tomorrow they were there. In the early afternoon the wagon stopped before a paintless two-room house identical almost with the dozen others it had stopped before even in the boy s ten years, and again, as on the other dozen occasions, his mother and aunt got down and began to unload the wagon, although his two sisters and his father and brother had not

54 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING moved. Likely hit ain t fitten for hawgs, one of the sisters said. Nevertheless, fit it will and you ll hog it and like it, his father said. Get out of them chairs and help your Ma unload. The two sisters got down, big, bovine, in a flutter of cheap ribbons; one of them drew from the jumbled wagon bed a battered lantern, the other a worn broom. His father handed the reins to the older son and began to climb stiffly over the wheel. When they get unloaded, take the team to the barn and feed them. Then he said, and at first the boy thought he was still speaking to his brother: Come with me. Me? he said. Yes, his father said. You. Abner, his mother said. His father paused and looked back the harsh level stare beneath the shaggy, graying, irascible brows. I reckon I ll have a word with the man that aims to begin tomorrow owning me body and soul for the next eight months. They went back up the road. A week ago or before last night, that is he would have asked where they were going, but not now. His father had struck him before last night but never before had he paused afterward to explain why; it was as if the blow and the following calm, outrageous voice still rang, repercussed, divulging nothing to him save the terrible handicap of being young, the light weight of his few years, just heavy enough to prevent his soaring free of the world as it seemed to be ordered but not heavy enough to keep him footed solid in it, to resist it and try to change the course of its events. Presently he could see the grove of oaks and cedars and the other flowering trees and shrubs where the house would be, though not the house yet. They walked beside a fence massed with honeysuckle and Cherokee roses and came to a gate swinging open between two brick pillars, and now, beyond a sweep of drive, he saw the house for the first time and at that instant he forgot his father and the terror and despair both, and even when he remembered his father again (who had not stopped) the terror and despair did not return. Because, for all the twelve movings, they had sojourned until now in a poor country a land of small farms and fields and houses, and he had never seen a house like this before. Hit s big as a courthouse he thought quietly, with a surge of peace and joy whose reason he could not have thought into words, being too young for that: They are

55 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING safe from him. People whose lives are a part of this peace and dignity are beyond his touch, he no more to them than a buzzing wasp: capable of stinging for a little moment but that s all; the spell of this peace and dignity rendering even the barns and stable and cribs which belong to it impervious to the puny flames he might contrive.., this, the peace and joy, ebbing for an instant as he looked again at the stiff black back, the stiff and implacable limp of the figure which was not dwarfed by the house, for the reason that it had never looked big anywhere and which now, against the serene columned backdrop, had more than ever that impervious quality of something cut ruthlessly from tin, depthless, as though, sidewise to the sun, it would cast no shadow. Watching him, the boy remarked the absolutely undeviating course which his father held and saw the stiff foot come squarely down in a pile of fresh droppings where a horse had stood in the drive and which his father could have avoided by a simple change of stride. But it ebbed only for a moment, though he could not have thought this into words either, walking on in the spell of the house, which he could even want but without envy, without sorrow, certainly never with that ravening and jealous rage which unknown to him walked in the ironlike black coat before him: Maybe he will feel it too. Maybe it will even change him now from what maybe he couldn t help but be. They crossed the portico. Now he could hear his father s stiff foot as it came down on the boards with clocklike finality, a sound out of all proportion to the displacement of the body it bore and which was not dwarfed either by the white door before it, as though it had attained to a sort of vicious and ravening minimum not to be dwarfed by anything the flat, wide, black hat, the formal coat of broadcloth which had once been black but which had now that friction-glazed greenish cast of the bodies of old house flies, the lifted sleeve which was too large, the lifted hand like a curled claw. The door opened so promptly that the boy knew the Negro must have been watching them all the time, an old man with neat grizzled hair, in a linen jacket, who stood barring the door with his body, saying, Wipe yo foots, white man, fo you come in here. Major ain t home nohow Get out of my way, nigger, his father said, without heat too, flinging the door back and the Negro also and entering, his hat still on his head. And now the boy saw the prints of the stiff foot on the doorsill and saw them appear

56 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING on the pale rug behind the machinelike deliberation of the foot which seemed to bear (or transmit) twice the weight which the body compassed The Negro was shouting Miss Lula! Miss Lula! somewhere behind them, then the boy, deluged as though by a warm wave by a suave turn of carpeted stair and a pendant glitter of chandeliers and a mute gleam of gold frames, heard the swift feet and saw her too, a lady perhaps he had never seen her like before either in a gray, smooth gown with lace at the throat and an apron tied at the waist and the sleeves turned back, wiping cake or biscuit dough from her hands with a towel as she came up the hail, looking not at his father at all but at the tracks on the blond rug with an expression of incredulous amazement. I tried, the Negro cried. I tole him to.. Will you please go away? she said in a shaking voice. Major de Spain is not at home. Will you please go away? His father had not spoken again. He did not speak again. He did not even look at her. He just stood stiff in the center of the rug, in his hat, the shaggy iron-gray brows twitching slightly above the pebble-colored eyes as he appeared to examine the house with brief deliberation. Then with the same deliberation he turned; the boy watched him pivot on the good leg and saw the stiff foot drag round the arc of the turning, leaving a final long and fading smear. His father never looked at it, he never once looked down at the rug. The Negro held the door. It closed behind them, upon the hysteric and indistinguishable woman-wail. His father stopped at the top of the steps and scraped his boot clean on the edge of it. At the gate he stopped again. He stood for a moment, planted stiffly on the stiff foot, looking back at the house. Pretty and white, ain t it? he said. That s sweat. Nigger sweat. Maybe it ain t white enough yet to suit him. Maybe he wants to mix some white sweat with it. Two hours later the boy was chopping wood behind the house within which his mother and aunt and the two sisters (the mother and aunt, not the two girls, he knew that; even at this distance and muffled by walls the flat loud voices of the two girls emanated an incorrigible idle inertia) were setting up the stove to prepare a meal, when he heard the hooves and saw the linen-clad man on a fine sorrel mare, whom he recognized even before he saw the rolled rug in front of the Negro youth following on a fat bay carriage horse a suffused, angry face vanishing, still at full gallop, beyond the

57 BARN BURNING BARN BURNiNG corner of the house where his father and brother were sitting in the two tilted chairs; and a moment later, almost before he could have put the axe down, he heard the hooves again and watched the sorrel mare go back out of the yard, already galloping again. Then his father began to shout one of the sisters names, who presently emerged backward from the kitchen door dragging the rolled rug along the ground by one end while the other sister walked behind it. If you ain t going to tote, go on and set up the wash pot, the first said. You, Sarty! the second shouted. Set up the wash pot! His father appeared at the door, framed against that shabbiness, as he had been against that other bland perfection, impervious to either, the mother s anxious face at his shoulder. Go on, the father said. Pick it up. The two sisters stooped, broad, lethargic; stooping, they presented an incredible expanse of pale cloth and a flutter of tawdry ribbons. If I thought enough of a rug to have to git hit all the way from France I wouldn t keep hit where folks coming in would have to tromp on hit, the first said. They raised the rug. Abner, the mother said. Let me do it. You go back and git dinner, his father said. I ll tend to this. From the woodpile through the rest of the afternoon the boy watched them, the rug spread flat in the dust beside the bubbling wash pot, the two sisters stooping over it with that profound and lethargic reluctance, while the father stood over them in turn, implacable and grim, driving them though never raising his voice again, He could smell the harsh homemade lye they were using; he saw his mother come to the door once and look toward them with an expression not anxious now but very like despair; he saw his father turn, and he fell to with the axe and saw from the corner of his eye his father raise from the ground a flattish fragment of field stone and examine it and return to the pot, and this time his mother actually spoke: Abner. Abner. Please don t. Please, Abner. Then he was done too. It was dusk; the whippoorwills had already begun. He could smell coffee from the room where they would presently eat the cold food remaining from the mid-afternoon meal, though when he entered the house he realized they were having coffee again probably because there was a fire on the hearth, before which the rug now lay spread

58 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING over the backs of two chairs. The tracks of his father s foot were gone. Where they had been were now long, water-cloudy scoriations resembling the sporadic course of a Lilliputian mowing machine. It still hung there while they ate the cold food and then went to bed, scattered without order or claim up and down the two rooms, his mother in one bed, where his father would later lie, the older brother in the other, himself, the aunt, and the two sisters on pallets on the floor. But his father was not in bed yet. The last thing the boy remembered was the depthless, harsh silhouette of the hat and coat bending over the rug and it seemed to him that he had not even closed his eyes when the silhouette was standing over him, the fire almost dead behind it, the stiff foot prodding him awake. Catch up the mule, his father said. When he returned with the mule his father was standing in the black door, the rolled rug over his shoulder. Ain t you going to ride? he said. No. Give me your foot. He bent his knee into his father s hand, the wiry; surprising power flowed smoothly, rising, he rising with it, on to the mule s bare back (they had owned a saddle once; the boy could remember it though not when or where) and with the same effortlessness his father swung the rug up in front of him. Now in the starlight they retraced the afternoon s path, up the dusty road rife with honeysuckle, through the gate and up the black tunnel of the drive to the lightless house, where he sat on the mule and felt the rough warp of the rug drag across his thighs and vanish. Don t you want me to help? he whispered. His father did not answer and now he heard again that stiff foot striking the hollow portico with that wooden and clocklike deliberation, that outrageous overstatement of the weight it carried. The rug, hunched, not flung (the boy could tell that even in the darkness) from his father s shoulder, struck the angle of wall and floor with a sound unbelievably loud, thunderous, then the foot again, unhurried and enormous; a light came on in the house and the boy sat, tense, breathing steadily and quietly and just a little fast, though the foot itself did not increase its beat at all, descending the steps now; now the boy could see him. Don t you want to ride now? he whispered. We kin both ride now, the light within the house altering now, flaring up and sinking. He s coming down the stairs now, he thought. He

59 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING had already ridden the mule up beside the horse block; presently his father was up behind him and he doubled the reins over and slashed the mule across the neck, but before the animal could begin to trot the hard, thin arm came round him, the hard, knotted hand jerking the mule back to a walk. In the first red rays of the sun they were in the lot, putting plow gear on the mules. This time the sorrel mare was in the lot before he heard it at all, the rider collarless and even bareheaded, trembling, speaking in a shaking voice as the woman in the house had done, his father merely looking up once before stooping again to the hame he was buckling, so that the man on the mare spoke to his stooping back: You must realize you have ruined that rug. Wasn t there anybody here, any of your women,. He ceased, shaking, the boy watching him, the older brother leaning now in the stable door, chewing, blinking slowly and steadily at nothing apparently. It cost a hundred dollars. But you never had a hundred dollars. You never will. So I m going to charge you twenty bushels of corn against your crop. I ll add it in your contract and when you come to the commissary you can sign it. That won t keep Mrs. de Spain quiet but maybe it will teach you to wipe your feet off before you enter her house again. Then he was gone. The boy looked at his father, who still had not spoken or even looked up again, who was now adjusting the logger head in the hame. Pap, he said. His father looked at him the inscrutable face, the shaggy brows beneath which the gray eyes glinted coldly. Suddenly the boy went toward him, fast, stopping as suddenly. You done the best you could! he cried. If he wanted hit done different why didn t he wait and tell you how? He won t git no twenty bushels! He won t git none! We ll get hit and hide hit! I kin watch.. Did you put the cutter back in that straight stock like I told you? No, sir he said. Then go do it. That was Wednesday. During the rest of that week he worked steadily, at what was within his scope and some which was beyond it, with an industry that did not need to be driven nor even commanded twice: he had this from his mother, with the difference that some at least of what he did he liked to do, such as splitting wood with the half-size axe which his mother and aunt had earned, or saved money some-

60 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING how, to present him with at Christmas. In company with the two older women (and on one afternoon, even one of the sisters), he built pens for the shoat and the cow which were a part of his father s contract with the landlord, and one afternoon, his father being absent, gone somewhere on one of the mules, he went to the field. They were running a middle buster now, his brother holding the plow straight while he handled the reins, and walking beside the straining mule, the rich black soil shearing cool and damp against his bare ankles, he thought Maybe this is the end of it. Maybe even that twenty bushels that seems hard to have to pay for just a rug will be a cheap price for him to stop forever and always from being what he used to be; thinking, dreaming now, so that his brother had to speak sharply to him to mind the mule: Maybe he even won t collect the twenty bushels. Maybe it will all add up and balance and vanish corn, rug, fire; the terror and grief the being pulled two ways like between two teams of horses gone, done with for ever and ever. Then it was Saturday; he looked up from beneath the mule he was harnessing and saw his father in the black coat and hat. Not that, his father said. The wagon gear. And then, two hours later, sitting in the wagon bed behind his father and brother on the seat, the wagon accomplished a final curve, and he saw the weathered paintless store with its tattered tobacco- and patent-medicine posters and the tethered wagons and saddle animals below the gallery. He mounted the gnawed steps behind his father and brother, and there again was the lane of quiet, watching faces for the three of them to walk through. He saw the man in spectacles sitting at the plank table and he did not need to be told this was a Justice of the Peace; he sent one glare of fierce, exultant, partisan defiance at the man in collar and cravat now, whom he had seen but twice before in his life, and that on a galloping horse, who now wore on his face an expression not of rage but of amazed unbelief which the boy could not have known was at the incredible circumstance of being sued by one of his own tenants, and came and stood against his father and cried at the Justice: He ain t done it! He ain t burnt.. Go back to the wagon, his father said. Burnt? the Justice said. Do I understand this rug was burned too? Does anybody here claim it was? his father said. Go back to the wagon. But he did not, he

61 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING merely retreated to the rear of the room, crowded as that other had been, but not to sit down this time, instead, to stand pressing among the motionless bodies, listening to the voices: And you claim twenty bushels of corn is too high for the damage you did to the rug? He brought the rug to me and said he wanted the tracks washed out of it. I washed the tracks out and took the rug back to him. But you didn t carry the rug back to him in the same condition it was in before you made the tracks on it. His father did not answer; and now for perhaps half a minute there was no sound at all save that of breathing, the faint, steady suspiration of complete and intent listening. You decline to answer that, Mr. Snopes? Again his father did not answer. I m going to find against you, Mr. Snopes. I m going to find that you were responsible for the injury to Major de Spain s rug and hold you liable for it. But twenty bushels of corn seems a little high for a man in your circumstances to have to pay. Major de Spain claims it cost a hundred dollars. October corn will be worth about fifty cents. I figure that if Major de Spain can stand a ninety-five-dollar loss on something he paid cash for, you can stand a five-dollar loss you haven t earned yet. I hold you in damages to Major de Spain to the amount of ten bushels of corn over and above your contract with him, to be paid to him out of your crop at gathering time. Court adjourned. It had taken no time hardly, the morning was but half begun. He thought they would return home and perhaps back to the field, since they were late, far behind all other farmers. But instead his father passed on behind the wagon, merely indicating with his hand for the older brother to follow with it, and crossed the road toward the blacksmith shop opposite, pressing on after his father, over taking him, speaking, whispering up at the harsh, calm face beneath the weathered hat: He won t git no ten bushels neither. He won t git one. We ll... until his father glanced for an instant down at him, the face absolutely calm, the grizzled eyebrows tangled above the cold eyes, the voice almost pleasant, almost gentle: You think so? Well, we ll wait till October anyway. The matter of the wagon the setting of a spoke or two and the tightening of the tires did not take long either, the business of the tires accomplished by driving the wagon

62 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING into the spring branch behind the shop and letting it stand there, the mules nuzzling into the water from time to time, and the boy on the seat with the idle reins, looking up the slope and through the sooty tuiinel of the shed where the slow hammer rang and where his father sat on an upended cypress bolt, easily, either talking or listening, still sitting there when the boy brought the dripping wagon up out of the branch and halted it before the door. Take them on to the shade and hitch, his father said. He did so and returned. His father and the smith and a third man squatting on his heels inside the door were talking, about crops and animals; the boy, squatting too in the ammoniac dust and hoof parings and scales of rust, heard his father tell a long and unhurried story out of the time before the birth of the older even when he had been a professional horsetrader. And then his father came up beside him where he stood before a tattered last year s circus poster on the other side of the store, gazing and quiet at the scarlet horses, the incredible poisings and convolutions of tulle and tights and the painted leers of comedians, and said, It s time to eat. But not home. beside his brother against the front wall, he watched his brother at rapt Squatting father emerge from the store and produce from a paper sack a segment of cheese and divide it carefully and deliberately into three with his pocket knife and produce crackers from the same sack. They all three squatted on the gallery and ate, slowly, without talking; then in the store again, they drank from a tin dipper tepid water smelling of the cedar bucket and of living beech trees. And still they did not go home. It was a horse lot this time, a tall rail fence upon and along which men stood and sat and out of which one by one horses were led, to be walked and trotted and then cantered back and forth along the road while the slow swapping and buying went on and the sun began to slant westward, they the three of them watching and listening, the older brother with his muddy eyes and his steady, inevitable tobacco, the father commenting now and then on certain of the animals, to no one in particular. It was after sundown when they reached home. They ate supper by lamplight, then, sitting on the doorstep, the boy watched the night fully accomplish, listening to the whippoorwills and the frogs, when he heard his mother s voice: Abner! No! No! Oh, God. Oh, God. Abner! and he rose, whirled, and saw the altered light

63 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING through the door where a candle stub now burned in a bottle neck on the table and his father, still in the hat and coat, at once formal and burlesque as though dressed carefully for some shabby and ceremonial violence, emptying the reservoir of the lamp back into the five-gallon kerosene can from which it had been filled, while the mother tugged at his arm until he shifted the lamp to the other hand and flung her back, not savagely or viciously, just hard, into the wall, her hands flung out against the wall for balance, her mouth open and in her face the same quality of hopeless despair as had been in her voice. Then his father saw him standing in the door. Go to the barn and get that can of oil we were oiling the wagon with, he said. The boy did not move. Then he could speak. What... he cried. What are you.. Go get that oil, his father said. Go. Then he was moving, running, outside the house, toward the stable: this the old habit, the old blood which he had not been permitted to choose for himself, which had been bequeathed him willy nilly and which had run for so long (and who knew where, battening on what of outrage and savagery and lust) before it came to him. I could keep on, he thought. I could run on and on and never look back, never need to see his face again. Only I can t, I can t, the rusted can in his hand now, the liquid splashing in it as he ran back to the house and into it, into the sound of his mother s weeping in the next room, and handed the can to his father. Ain t you going to even send a nigger? he cried. At least you sent a nigger before! This time his father didn t strike him. The hand came even faster than the blow had, the same hand which had set the can on the table with almost excruciating care flashing from the can toward him too quick for him to follow it, gripping him by the back of his shirt and on to tiptoe before he had seen it quit the can, the face stooping at him in breathless and frozen ferocity, the cold, dead voice speaking over him to the older brother who leaned against the table, chewing with that steady, curious, sidewise motion of cows: Empty the can into the big one and go on. I ll catch up with you. Better tie him up to the bedpost, the brother said. Do like I told you, the father said. Then the boy was moving, his bunched shirt and the hard, bony hand between his shoulder-blades, his toes just touching the floor, across the room

64 BARN BURMNG BARN BURNING and into the other one, past the sisters sitting with spread heavy thighs in the two chairs over the cold hearth, and to where his mother and aunt sat side by side on the bed, the aunt s arms about his mother s shoulders. Hold him, the father said. The aunt made a startled movement. Not you, the father said. Lennie. Take hold of him. I want to see you do it. His mother took him by the wrist. You ll hold him better than that. If he gets loose don t you know what he is going to do? He will go up yonder. He jerked his head toward the road. Maybe I d better tie him. I ll hold him, his mother whispered. See you do then. Then his father was gone, the stiff foot heavy and measured upon the boards, ceasing at last. Then he began to struggle. His mother caught him in both arms, he jerking and wrenching at them. He would be stronger in the end, he knew that. But he had no time to wait for it. Lemme go! he cried. I don t want to have to hit you! Let him go! the aunt said. If he don t go, before God, I am going up there myself. Don t you see I can t? his mother cried. Sarty! Sarty! No! No! Help me, Lizzie! Then he was free. His aunt grasped at him but it was too late. He whirled, running, his mother stumbled forward on to her knees behind him, crying to the nearer sister: Catch him, Net! Catch him! But that was too late too, the sister (the sisters were twins, born at the same time, yet either of them now gave the impression of being, encompassing as much living meat and volume and weight as any other two of the family) not yet having begun to rise from the chair, her head, face, alone merely turned, presenting to him in the flying instant an astonishing expanse of young female features untroubled by any surprise even, wearing only an expression of bovine interest. Then he was out of the room, out of the house, in the mild dust of the starlit road and the heavy rifeness of honeysuckle, the pale ribbon unspooling with terrific slowness under his running feet, reaching the gate at last and turning in, running, his heart and lungs drumming, on up the drive toward the lighted house, the lighted door. He did not knock, he burst in, sobbing for breath, incapable for the moment of speech; he saw the astonished face of the Negro in the linen jacket without knowing when the Negro had appeared. De Spain! he cried, panted. Where s. then he saw the white man too emerging from.

65 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING a white door down the hail. Barn! he cried. Barn! What? the white man said. Barn? Yes! the boy cried. Barn! Catch him! the white man shouted. But it was too late this time too. The Negro grasped his shirt, but the entire sleeve, rotten with washing, carried away, and he was out that door too and in the drive again, and had actually never ceased to run even while he was screaming into the white man s face. Behind him the white man was shouting. My horse! Fetch my horse! and he thought for an instant of cutting across the park and climbing the fence into the road, but he did not know the park nor how high the vine-massed fence might be and he dared not risk it. So he ran on down the drive, blood and breath roaring; presently he was in the road again though he could not see it. He could not hear either: the galloping mare was almost upon him before he heard her, and even then he held his course, as if the very urgency of his wild grief and need must in a moment more find him wings, waiting until the ultimate instant to hurl himself aside and into the weed-choked roadside ditch as the horse thundered past and on, for an instant in furious silhouette against the stars, the tranquil early summer night sky which, even before the shape of the horse and rider vanished, strained abruptly and violently upward: a long, swirling roar incredible and soundless, blotting the stars, and he springing up and into the road again, running again, knowing it was too late yet still running even after he heard the shot and, an instant later, two shots, pausing now without knowing he had ceased to run, crying Pap! Pap!, running again before he knew he had begun to run, stumbling, tripping over something and scrabbling up again without ceasing to run, looking backward over his shoulder at the glare as he got up, running on among the invisible trees, panting, sobbing, Father! Father! At midnight he was sitting on the crest of a hill. He did not know it was midnight and he did not know how far he had come. But there was no glare behind him now and he sat now, his back toward what he had called home for four days anyhow, his face toward the dark woods which he would enter when breath was strong again, small, shaking steadily in the chill darkness, hugging himself into the remainder of his thin, rotten shirt, the grief and despair now no longer terror and fear but

66 BARN BURNING BARN BURNING just grief and despair. Father. My father, he thought. He was brave! he cried suddenly, aloud but not loud, no more than a whisper: He was! He was in the war! He was in Colonel Sartoris cav ry! not knowing that his father had gone to that war a private in the fine old European sense, wearing no uniform, admitting the authority of and giving fidelity to no man or army or flag, going to war as Malbrouck himself did: for booty it meant nothing and less than nothing to him if it were enemy booty or his own. The slow constellations wheeled on. It would be dawn and then sun-up after a while and he would be hungry. But that would be tomorrow and now he was only cold, and walking would cure that. His breathing was easier now and he decided to get up and go on, and then he found that he had been asleep because he knew it was almost dawn, the night almost over. He could tell that from the whippoorwills. They were everywhere now among the dark trees below him, constant and inflectioned and ceaseless, so that, as the instant for giving over to the day birds drew nearer and nearer, there was no interval at all between them. He got up. He was a little stiff, but walking would cure that too as it would the cold, and soon there would be the sun. He went on down the hill, toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing the rapid and urgent beating of the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look back.

67 An Ordinary Woman bybette Green I dial the number that for more than twenty years has been committed to memoiy and then begin counting the rings. One.. two. three... four...five... six Christ! What s wrong with Newton North High School, good morning. Jeannette? Oh, good morning. This is Amanda Brooks. Look. I may be a few minutes late today. Something came up no, dear. I m fine, thanks for asking. It s just a... a family matter that I must take care of. I shouldn t be more than ten to twenty minutes late for my first class, and I was wondering if you d kindly ask one of my students, Dani Nikas to start reading to the class from where we left off in The Chocolate War? Thanks. Jeannette, thanks a lot Oh, that would help a lot... Aimlessly I wander from bookcase to armchair to table and finally to the large French window that looks out upon my street. Like yesterday and so many yesterdays before, my neighbor s paneled station wagon is parked in the exact spot halfway up their blue asphalt driveway. And today, like yesterday, Rodenck Street continues to be shaded by a combination of mature oaks and young Japanese maples. How can eveiything look the same when nothing really feels the same? Good Lord. Mandy Brooks, how old are you going to have to be before you finally get it into your head that the world takes no interest in your losses? The grandfather clock in the hail begins chiming out the hour of seven and suddenly fear gnaws at my stomach. What am I afmid of now For one thing, all those minutes. At least thirty of them that I ll have to face alone, here, with just my thoughts. Calm down now! It s only thirty minutes. Why, the last thing the locksmith said last night was that he d be here first thing this morning. Between seven thirty and eight for sure! Anyway, nobody can make me think when I still have the kitchen counter to wipe and breakfast dishes to put into the dishwasher. Thinking hasn t come this hard since Steve s death on the eve of our eighteenth anniversary. That was major league pain all right, but so dear God is this. So is this... No time for that now no time! Tidying up the kitchen is the My thoughts and reactions to ivhtstlam reading.

68 My thoughts and reactions to what lam reading only thing that I want to think about. But upon entering the kitchen, I see that with the exception of a mug still half full of undmnk coffee, there is really nothing to do. I pour the now cold coffee into die sink before examining the mug with all those miniature red hearts revolving around the single word MOM. It was a gift from Caren and not all that long ago either. Maybe a year, but certainly no more than a year ago. But even then I had had suspicions that something wasn t right. Maybe without Caren s loving gift coming at me Out of the blue, I would have followed my instincts and checked things out. But frankly I doubt that. The thing is that I wanted needed to believe in my daughter. And going through her drawers in search of i-knew-not-what offended me. It goes against my sense that everybody, even a seventeen-year-old, deserves privacy. You make me sick. Mandy Brooks, you really do! Just when did you get to be such a defender of the constitutional rights of minors? Why don t you at least have the courage to come on out and tell the truth. Say that, at all costs, you had to protect yourself from the truth. The terrible truth that your daughter, your lovely daughter is a junkie! Stopit! Stopit! I m not listening to you anymore! And there s nothing you can do to make me! Steve... Steve, oh my God, Steve, how I need you! There hasn t been a day, or even an hour, in all these twenty-two months since you left Caren and me that I haven t needed you. Don t believe those people who observe me from safe distances before patting my wrists and commenting on how strong I am. How wonderfully you re carrying on alone. Maybe I walk pretty much the same and talk pretty much the same, but, Steve, I don t feel the same. The moment I saw them close the coffin over you, Steve, I knew then what I know now. That the part of me that was most alive and loving got buried down there with you. So you see, Steve, you ve just got to find some way to help us because despite what people say. I m not strong and I honestly don t know what to do. I look, but I can t find answers, only questions. More and more questions demanding answers: Where did I go wrong with our daughter? Was I too strict? Or too

69 My thoughts and reactions to whati am reading. lenient? Did I love her too little.., or did I love her too much? Outside a truck door slams. I look at my watch. Five minutes after seven. Could he be here already? I rush to the window to see a while panel truck with black lettering NEWTON CENTRE LOCKSMITHS at my curb. And a young man, not all that much older than my seniors, is walking briskly up the front walk. As he takes the fronts steps, two at a time, I already have the door open. I really appreciate your being so prompt. You re even earlier than you said you d be. It wasn t me you spoke to. It was my dad, but when he said that a Mrs. Brooks had to have her locks changed first thing in the morning so she wouldn t be late for school, well. I just knew it had to be you. Good Lord. I remember you! I say, grubbing his hand, You were a student of mine! He nods and smiles as he holds tightly to my hand. You were my favorite English teacher. Then his eyes drop as though he is taking in the intricate patterns of the hail rug. I guess you were my all-time favorite teacher! Oh, that s lovely of you to say. David your name is David? He grins as though I have given him a present. David. yes. David Robinson. Hey, you know that s something? You must have had a few hundred students since me. I graduated Newton North two years ago... How do you remember all of your students? I hear myself laughing. Laughter, it feels strange, but nice. Veiy nice. You give me too much credit, you really do. I m afraid I can t remember all my students. There have been so many in twenty years. But I think I can probably remember all the students that I really liked. He takes in the compliment silently as I ask. Your dad said it wouldn t take long putting in a new cylinder? Ten minutes. Mrs. Brooks. Fifteen at the outside... How many sets of keys will you need? Sets of keys? I feel my composure begin to dissolve. Suddenly I m not sure I can trust my voice, so like an early grade-school child. I hold out a finger. Only one finger. As I quickly turn to start up the stairs, the acrid smell of

70 yesterday s fire once again strikes my nostrils. Never mind that now! This isn t the time for thinking about what was... and especially not the time for thinking about what could have been. Out even as I command myself to go nonstop into my bedroom for purse and checkbook and then quickly back down the stairs again. I see myself disobeying. So I stand there at the threshold of Caren s room staring at the two things that had been burned by fire. Her canopy bed rests on only three legs and where the fourth leg once was there is a basketball-size burn in the thick lime-colored rug. Her stereo, records, wall-to-wall posters of rock stars, like eveiything else in this room, are layered with soot. I remember now that one of the firemen remarked last night that it was sure a lucky thing that the fire had been contained before it reached the mattress. You just don t know, he said, how lucky you are. How lucky I am? Am I lucky? That s what they used to call me back when I was a high school cheerleader. It all starred when Big Joe Famon looked up from the huddle and didn t see me on the sidelines so he bellowed out. Where s lucky Mandy? But if I really was lucky twenty-five years ago for Big Joe and the Maiden Eagles, then why can t I be just a little lucky for the ones I ve really loved? Cause with a little luck, Steve s tumor could just have as easily been benign, but it wasn t. And with a little luck Caren could have gotten her highs from life instead of from drugs. But she didn t. Luck. Dumb, unpredictable luck. Maybe there s no such thing as luck. Or maybe I used up all my precious supply on Big Joe Famon and the Maiden Eagles. Is that where I failed you, Caren? Not having any more luck to give you? When you were a little thing, I knew exactly how to make your tears go away A. fresh diaper, a bottle of warm milk, or maybe a song or two while you slept in my anus. That was all the magic I owned, but in your eyes, all power rested in my hands. For you, my love, 1 lit the stars at night and eveiy morning called forth the eastern sun. Probably veiy early on, I should have warned you that your mother was a veiy ordinary woman with not a single My thoughts and reactions to whatlam reading.

71 extraordinary power to her name. But, Honey, I don t think you would have believed me because I think you needed me to be a miracle mom every bit as much as I needed to be one. The trouble, though, didn t start until you grew larger and your needs, too, grew in size. And the all-protecting arms that I once held out to you couldn t even begin to cover these new and larger dimensions. Because it wasn t wet diapers or empty stomachs that needed attending to. It was, instead, pride that was shaken and dreams that somehow got mislaid. So I see now that what from the very beginning I was dedicated_to doing, became, of course, impossible to do. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the most submerged recesses of our brains, way down there where light or reason rarely penetrates, neither of us could forgive my impotence. Mrs. Brooks. David calls from downstairs, You re all set now. I ll be right down. And then without moving from the spot at the threshold, I speak soffly to the empty room. Or. more to the point, to the girl who once lived and laughed and dreamed within these walls. Caren, dear Caren, I don t know if you re in the next block or the next state. I don t know if I ll see you by nightfall or if I ll see you ever. But if you someday return to slip your key into a lock that it no longer fits, I hope you ll understand. Understand, at least, that I m not barring you, but only what you have become. You should know too that if I actually possessedjust a little of that magic that you once believed in. I wouldn t have a moment s trouble deciding how to spend it I d hold you to me until your crying stops and your need for drugs fades away. David Robinson stands at the bottom of the hall stairs, waiting for me. You know, you re a lucky lady. Mrs. Brooks, he says, dropping a single brass key into my hand. You re not even going to be late for class. Although the center hall has always been the darkest room in the house, I fumble through my purse for my sunglasses before answering. Yes. David. I say, peering at him through smokegray glasses, People have always said that about me. My thoughts and reactkins to what lam reading.

72 Responding to the Short Story (approximately 60 minutes) Directions: An.siver the following six questions related to the stoly you just read. Read over all six questions before answering them. You may answer them in any order you wish. Answer each question as completely as possible. 1. What is your Inst reaction to this story? Write down any thoughts, opinions or questions you may have. 2. Caren, Mrs. Brooks daughter, never actually appears in the story, but the author provides clues as to what she may be like, How do you think Caren feels about her mother? What makes you think so? 3. Describe the problems or conflicts the main character in this story is experiencing. 4. Choose one of the following quotations from the story. Explain what you think it means about the characters in the story as well as people in general. Circle the letter of the quotation you choose. A. Probably very early on, I should have warned you that your mother was a very ordinary woman without a single extraordinary power to her name. B. Understand, at least, that I am not barring you, but only what you have become. C. You know, you re a lucky lady, Mrs. Brooks, he says, dropping a single brass key into my hand... People have always said that about me. 5. What does the author say about human nature? Think about yworld the people you know and the experiences you ve had. In what ways does this short story relate to your world and experiences? Explain why. If the story doesn t relate to your world, explain why it doesn t 6. Should this story be considered good literature? Briefly make up your own definition of what makes a piece of literature good, -and then explain how this story does or does not fit your definition.

73 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 1 of 9 Katherine Mansfield The Garden Party And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark fiat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels. Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee. Where do you want the marquee put, mother? My dear child, it s no use asking me. rm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother. Treat me as an honoured guest. But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket. You ll have to go, Laura; you re the artistic one. Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter. It s so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors, and besides, she loved having to arrange things; she always felt she could do it so much better than anybody else. Four men in their shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big tool-bags slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she had not got the bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she couldn t possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them. Good morning, she said, copying her mother s voice. But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, Oh - er - have you come - is it about the marquee? That s right, miss, said the tallest of the men, a lanky, freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool-bag, knocked back his straw hat and smiled down at her. That s about it. His smile was so easy, so friendly that Laura recovered. What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now she looked at the others, they were smiling too. Cheer up, we won t bite, their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn t mention the morning; she must be business-like. The marquee. Well, what about the lily-lawn? Would that do? And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn t hold the bread-and-butter. They turned, they stared in the direction. A little fat chap thrust out his under-lip, and the tall fellow frowned. I don t fancy it, said he. Not conspicuous enough. You see, with a thing like a marquee, and he turned to Laura in his easy way, you want to put it somewhere where it ll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you follow me. Laura s upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him. A corner of the tennis-court, she suggested. But the band s going to be in one corner. H m, going to have a band, are you? said another of the workmen. He was pale. He had a haggard http ://www. eastoftheweb.com/cgi-bin/version printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

74 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 2 of 9 look as his dark eyes scanned the tennis-court. What was he thinking? Only a very small band, said Laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn t mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted. Look here, miss, that s the place. Against those trees. Over there. That ll do fine. Against the karakas. Then the karaka-trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves, and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee? They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. When Laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the karakas in her wonder at him caring for things like that - caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have done such a thing? Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought. Why couldn t she have workmen for her friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these. It s all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn t feel them. Not a bit, not an atom... And now there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers. Some one whistled, some one sang out, Are you right there, matey? Matey The friendliness of it, the - the - Just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions, Laura took a big bite of her bread-and-butter as she stared at the little drawing. She felt just like a work-girl. Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura! a voice cried from the house. Coming! Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps, across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hail her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office. I say, Laura, said Laurie very fast, you might just give a squiz at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing. I will, said she. Suddenly she couldn t stop herself. She ran at Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. Oh, I do love parties, don t you? gasped Laura. Ra-ther, said Laurie s warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too, and gave her a gentle push. Dash off to the telephone, old girl. The telephone. Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to lunch? Do, dear. Delighted of course. It will only be a very scratch meal -just the sandwich crusts and broken meringue-shells and what s left over. Yes, isn t it a perfect morning? Your white? Oh, I certainly should. One moment - hold the line. Mother s calling. And Laura sat back. What, mother? Can t hear, Mrs. Sheridan s voice floated down the stairs. Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday. Mother says you re to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday. Good. One o clock. Bye-bye. Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head, took a deep breath, stretched and let them fall. Huh, she sighed, and the moment after the sigh she sat up quickly. She was still, listening. All the doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running voices. The green baize door that led to the kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there came a long, chuckling absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved on its stiff castors. But the air! If you stopped to notice, was the air always like this? Little faint winds were playing chase, in at the tops of the windows, out at the doors. And there were two tiny spots of sun, one on the inkpot, one on a silver photograph frame, playing too. Darling little spots. Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite warm. A warm little silver star. She could have kissed it. eastoftheweb.comlcgi-bin/version printable.pl?story id GardPart.shtml 10/6/2009

75 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 3 of 9 4> The front door bell pealed, and there sounded the rustle of Sadie s print skirt on the stairs. A man s voice murmured; Sadie answered, careless, I m sure I don t know. Wait. I ll ask Mrs Sheridan. What is it, Sadie? Laura came into the hail. It s the florist, Miss Laura. It was, indeed. There, just inside the door, stood a wide, shallow tray full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind. Nothing but lilies - canna lilies, big pink flowers, wide open, radiant, almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems. 0-oh, Sadie! said Laura, and the sound was like a little moan. She crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze of lilies; she felt they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing in her breast. It s some mistake, she said faintly. Nobody ever ordered so many. Sadie, go and find mother. But at that moment Mrs. Sheridan joined them. It s quite right, she said calmly. Yes, I ordered them. Aren t they lovely? She pressed Laura s arm. I was passing the shop yesterday, and I saw them in the window. And I suddenly thought for once in my life I shall have enough canna lilies. The garden-party will be a good excuse. But I thought you said you didn t mean to interfere, said Laura. Sadie had gone. The florist s man was still outside at his van. She put her arm round her mother s neck and gently, very gently, she bit her mother s ear. My darling child, you wouldn t like a logical mother, would you? Don t do that. Here s the man. He carried more lilies still, another whole tray. Bank them up, just inside the door, on both sides of the porch, please, said Mrs. Sheridan. Don t you agree, Laura? Oh, I do, mother. In the drawing-room Meg, Jose and good little Hans had at last succeeded in moving the piano. Now, if we put this chesterfield against the wall and move everything out of the room except the chairs, don t you think? Quite. Hans, move these tables into the smoking-room, and bring a sweeper to take these marks off the carpet and - one moment, Hans - Jose loved giving orders to the servants, and they loved obeying her. She always made them feel they were taking part in some drama. Tell mother and Miss Laura to come here at once. Very good, Miss Jose. She turned to Meg. I want to hear what the piano sounds like, just in case I m asked to sing this afternoon. Let s try over This life is Weary. Porn! Ta-ta-ta Tee-ta! The piano burst out so passionately that Jose s face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they came in. This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear - a Sigh. A Love that Chan-ges, This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear - a Sigh. A Love that Chan-ges, And then... Good-bye! But at the word Good-bye, and although the piano sounded more desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant, dreadfully unsympathetic smile. Aren t I in good voice, mummy? she beamed. This Life is Wee-ary, Hope comes to Die. A Dream - a Wa-kening. But now Sadie interrupted them. What is it, Sadie? If you please, m m, cook says have you got the flags for the sandwiches? The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie? echoed Mrs. Sheridan dreamily. And the children knew by her face that she hadn t got them. Let me see. And she said to Sadie firmly, Tell cook P11 let her have them in ten minutes. http :// printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

76 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 4 of 9 Sadie went. Now, Laura, said her mother quickly, come with me into the smoking-room. I ve got the names somewhere on the back of an envelope. You ll have to write them Out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear me, children, or shall I have to tell your father when he comes home to-night? And - and, Jose, pacify cook if you do go into the kitchen, will you? I m terrified of her this morning. The envelope was found at last behind the dining-room clock, though how it had got there Mrs. Sheridan could not imagine. One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag, because I remember vividly - cream cheese and lemon-curd. Have you done that? Yes. Egg and-- Mrs. Sheridan held the envelope away from her. It looks like mice. It can t be mice, can it? Olive, pet, said Laura, looking over her shoulder. Yes, of course, olive. What a horrible combination it sounds. Egg and olive. They were finished at last, and Laura took them off to the kitchen. She found Jose there pacifying the cook, who did not look at all terrifying. I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches, said Jose s rapturous voice. How many kinds did you say there were, cook? Fifteen? Fifteen, Miss Jose. Well, cook, I congratulate you. Cook swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife, and smiled broadly. Godber s has come, announced Sadie, issuing out of the pantry. She had seen the man pass the window. That meant the cream puffs had come. Godbe?s were famous for their cream puffs. Nobody ever thought of making them at home. Bring them in and put them on the table, my girl, ordered cook. Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course Laura and Jose were far too grown-up to really care about such things. All the same, they couldn t help agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive. Very. Cook began arranging them, shaking off the extra icing sugar. Don t they carry one back to all one s parties? said Laura. I suppose they do, said practical Jose, who never liked to be carried back. They look beautifully light and feathery, I must say. Have one each, my dears, said cook in her comfortable voice. Yer ma won t know. Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream. Let s go into the garden, out by the back way, suggested Laura. I want to see how the men are getting on with the marquee. They re such awfully nice men. But the back door was blocked by cook, Sadie, Godber s man and Hans. Something had happened. Tuk-tuk-tuk, clucked cook like an agitated lien. Sadie had her hand clapped to her cheek as though she had toothache. Hans s face was screwed up in the effort to understand. Only Godber s man seemed to be enjoying himself it was his story. What s the matter? What s happened? There s been a horrible accident, said Cook. A man killed. A man killed! Where? How? When? But Godber s man wasn t going to have his story snatched from under his very nose. printable.pi?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

77 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 5 of 9 Know those little cottages just below here, miss? Know them? Of course, she knew them. Well, there s a young chap living there, name of Scott, a carter. His horse shied at a traction-engine, corner of Hawke Street this morning, and he was thrown out on the back of his head. Killed. Dead! Laura stared at Godber s man. Dead when they picked him up, said Godb&s man with relish. They were taking the body home as I come up here. And he said to the cook, He s left a wife and five little ones. Jose, come here. Laura caught hold of her sister s sleeve and dragged her through the kitchen to the other side of the green baize door. There she paused and leaned against it. Jose! she said, horrified, however are we going to stop everything? Stop everything, Laura! cried Jose in astonishment. What do you mean? Stop the garden-party, of course. Why did Jose pretend? But Jose was still more amazed. Stop the garden-party? My dear Laura, don t be so absurd. Of course we can t do anything of the kind Nobody expects us to. Don t be so extravagant. But we can t possibly have a garden-party with a man dead just outside the front gate. That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house. A broad road ran between. True, they were far too near. They were the greatest possible eyesore, and they had no right to be in that neighbourhood at all. They were little mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans chimneys. Washerwomen lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and a man whose house-front was studded all over with minute bird-cages. Children swarmed. When the Sheridans were little they were forbidden to set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they might catch. But since they were grown up, Laura and Laurie on their prowls sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They came out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere; one must see everything. So through they went. And just think of what the band would sound like to that poor woman, said Laura. Oh, Laura! Jose began to be seriously annoyed. If you re going to stop a band playing every time some one has an accident, you ll lead a very strenuous life. I m every bit as sorry about it as you. I feel just as sympathetic. Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as she used to when they were little and fighting together. You won t bring a drunken workman back to life by being sentimental, she said softly. Drunk! Who said he was drunk? Laura turned furiously on Jose. She said, just as they had used to say on those occasions, I m going straight up to tell mother. Do, dear, cooed Jose. Mother, can I come into your room? Laura turned the big glass door-knob. Of course, child. Why, what s the matter? What s given you such a colour? And Mrs. Sheridan turned round from her dressing-table. She was trying on a new hat. Mother, a man s been killed, began Laura. Not in the garden? interrupted her mother. No, no! Oh, what a fright you gave me! Mrs. Sheridan sighed with relief, and took off the big hat and held it on her knees. But listen, mother, said Laura. Breathless, half-choking, she told the dreadful story. Of course, we can t have our party, can we? she pleaded. The band and everybody arriving. They d hear us, mother; http :/Iwww. eastoftheweb.com/cgi-bin/version printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

78 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 6 of 9 they re nearly neighbours! To Laura s astonishment her mother behaved just like Jose; it was harder to bear because she seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously. But, my dear child, use your common sense. It s only by accident we ve heard of it. If some one had died there normally - and I can t understand how they keep alive in those poky little holes - we should still be having our party, shouldn t we? Laura had to say yes to that, but she felt it was all wrong. She sat down on her mother s sofa and pinched the cushion frill. Mother, isn t it terribly heartless of us? she asked. Darling! Mrs. Sheridan got up and came over to her, carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop her she had popped it on. My child! said her mother, the hat is yours. It s made for you. It s much too young for me. I have never seen you look such a picture. Look at yourself! And she held up her handmirror. But, mother, Laura began again. She couldn t look at herself; she turned aside. This time Mrs. Sheridan lost patience just as Jose had done. You are being very absurd, Laura, she said coldly. People like that don t expect sacrifices from us. And it s not very sympathetic to spoil everybody s enjoyment as you re doing now. I don t understand, said Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was this charming girl in the mirror, in her black hat trimmed with gold daisies, and a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look like that. Is mother right? she thought. And now she hoped her mother was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was extravagant. Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor woman and those little children, and the body being carried into the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the newspaper. I ll remember it again after the party s over, she decided. And somehow that seemed quite the best plan Lunch was over by half-past one. By half-past two they were all ready for the fray. The green-coated band had arrived and was established in a corner of the tennis-court. My dear! trilled Kitty Maitland, aren t they too like frogs for words? You ought to have arranged them round the pond with the conductor in the middle on a leaf Laurie arrived and hailed them on his way to dress. At the sight of him Laura remembered the accident again. She wanted to tell him. If Laurie agreed with the others, then it was bound to be all right. And she followed him into the hail. Laurie! Hallo! He was half-way upstairs, but when he turned round and saw Laura he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and goggled his eyes at her. My word, Laura! You do look stunning, said Laurie. What an absolutely topping hat! Laura said faintly Is itt and smiled up at Laurie, and didn t tell him after all. Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridan& garden for this one afternoon, on their way to - where? Ah, what happiness it is to be with people who all are happy, to press hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes. Darling Laura, how well you look What a becoming hat, child! Laura, you look quite Spanish. I ve never seen you look so striking. And Laura, glowing, answered softly, Have you had tea? Won t you have an ice? The passion-fruit ices really are rather special. She ran to her father and begged him. Daddy darling, can t the band have something to drink? 1 http :// printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

79 Short Stories: The (Sarden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 7 of 9 And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its petals closed. Never a more delightful garden-party... The greatest success.. Quite the most... Laura helped her mother with the good-byes. They stood side by side in the porch till it was all over. All over, all over, thank heaven, said Mrs. Sheridan. Round up the others, Laura. Let s go and have some fresh coffee. I m exhausted. Yes, its been vety successfhl. But oh, these parties, these parties! Why will you children insist on giving parties! And they all of them sat down in the deserted marquee. Have a sandwich, daddy dear. I wrote the flag. Thanks. Mr. Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone. He took another. I suppose you didn t hear of a beastly accident that happened to-day? he said. My dear, said Mrs. Sheridan, holding up her hand, we did. It nearly mined the party. Laura insisted we should put it off. Oh, mother! Laura didn t want to be teased about it. It was a horrible affair all the same, said Mr. Sheridan. The chap was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and leaves a wife and haifa dozen kiddies, so they say. An awkward little silence fell. Mrs. Sheridan fidgeted with her cup. Really, it was very tactless of father Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches, cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted. She had one of her brilliant ideas. I know, she said. Let s make up a basket. Let s send that poor creature some of this perfectly good food. At any rate, it will be the greatest treat for the children. Dont you agree? And she s sure to have neighbours calling in and so on. What a point to have it all ready prepared. Laura! She jumped up. Get me the big basket out of the stairs cupboard. But, mother, do you really think it s a good idea? said Laura. Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them all. To take scraps from their party. Would the poor woman really like that? Of course! What s the matter with you to-day? An hour or two ago you were insisting on us being sympathetic, and now-- Oh well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was heaped by her mother. Take it yourself, darling, said she. Run down just as you are. No, wait, take the arum lilies too. People of that class are so impressed by arum lilies. The stems will ruin her lace frock, said practical Jose. So they would. Just in time. Only the basket, then. And, Laura! - her mother followed her out of the marquee - don t on any account-- What mother? No, better not put such ideas into the child s head! Nothing! Run along. It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates. A big dog ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white, and down below in the hollow the little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay dead, and she couldn t realize it. Why couldn t she? She stopped a minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no room for anything else. How strange! She looked up at the pale sky, and all she thought was, Yes, it was the most successful party. Now the broad road was crossed. The lane began, smoky and dark. Women in shawls and men s tweed caps hurried by. Men hung over the palings; the children played in the doorways. A low hum came from the mean little cottages. In some of them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow, crab-like, http ://www. eastoftheweb.com/egi-bin/version printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

80 Short Stones: the (Iarclen Party by Kathenne Mansfield Page 8 of 9 moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on. She wished now she had put on a coat. How her frock shone! And the big hat with the velvet streamer - if only it was another hat 1 Were the people looking at her? They must be. It was a mistake to have come; she knew all along it was a mistake. Should she go back even now? No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot of people stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as though they had known she was coming here. Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder, she said to a woman standing by, Is this Mrs. Scott s house? and the woman, smiling queerly, said, It is, my lass. Oh, to be away from this! She actually said, Help me, God, as she walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be away from those staring eyes, or to be covered up in anything, one of those women s shawls even. Fil just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan t even wait for it to be emptied. Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom. Laura said, Are you Mrs. Scott? But to her horror the woman answered, Walk in please, miss, and she was shut in the passage. No, said Laura, I don t want to come in. I only want to leave this basket. Mother sent The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have heard her. Step this way, please, miss, she said in an oily voice, and Laura followed her. She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen, lighted by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire. Em, said the little creature who had let her in. Em? It s a young lady. She turned to Laura. She said meaningly, I m er sister, miss. You ll excuse er, won t you? Oh, but of course! said Laura. Please, please don t disturb her. I - I only want to leave-- But at that moment the woman at the fire turned round. Her face, puffed up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed as though she couldn t understand why Laura was there. What did it mean? Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it all about? And the poor face puckered up again. All right, my dear, said the other. I ll thenk the young lady. And again she began, You ll excuse her, miss, I m sure, and her face, swollen too, tried an oily smile. Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was back in the passage. The door opened. She walked straight through into the bedroom, where the dead man was lying. You d like a look at im, wouldn t you? said Em s sister, and she brushed past Laura over to the bed. Don t be afraid, my lass, - and now her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet-- e looks a picture. There s nothing to show. Come along, my dear. Laura came. There lay a young man, fast asleep - sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given up to his dream. What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy.. happy... All is well, said that sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content. But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn t go out of the room without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish sob. Forgive my hat, she said. And this time she didn t wait for Em s sister. She found her way out of the door, down the path, past 2 eastoftheweb.comlcgi-binlversion printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shinil 10/6/2009

81 Short Stories: The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield Page 9 of 9 all those dark people. At the corner of the lane she met Laurie. He stepped out of the shadow. Is that you, Laura? Yes. Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right? Yes, quite. Oh, Laurie! She took his arm, she pressed up against him. I say, you re not crying, are you? asked her brother. Laura shook her head. She was. Laurie put his arm round her shoulder. Don t cry, he said in his warm, loving voice. Was it awful? No, sobbed Laura. It was simply marvellous. But Laurie She stopped, she looked at her brother. Isn t life, she stammered, isn t life But what life was she couldn t explain. No matter. He quite understood. Isn t it, darling? said Laurie. http :// printable.pl?story id=gardpart.shtml 10/6/2009

82 I, No Dogs Bark by Juan Rulfo You up there, lgnacio! Don t you hear something or see a light somewhere? I can t see a thing. We ought to be near now. Yes, but I can t hear a thing. Look hard. Poor Ignaclo. The long black shadow of the men kept moving up and down, climbing over rocks, diminishing and increasing as it advanced along the edge of the arroyo. It was a single reeling shadow. The moon came out of the earth like a round flare. We should be getting to that town, lgnacio. Your ears are uncovered, so try to see if you can t hear dogs barking. Remember they told us Tonaya was right behind the mountain. And we left the mountain hours ago. Remember, lgnacio? Yes, but I don t see a sign of anything. I m getting tired. Put me down. The old man backed up to a thick wall and shifted his load but didn t let it down from his shoulders. Though his legs were buckling on him, he didn t want to sit down, because then he would be unable to lift his son s body, which they had helped to sling on his back hours ago. He had carried him all this way. How do you feel? Bad. lgnacio didn t talk much. Less and less all the time. Now and then he seemed to sleep. At times he seemed to be cold. He trembled. When the trembling seized him, his feet dug into his father s flanks like spurs. Then his hands, clasped around his father s neck, clutched at the head and shook it as if it were a rattle. The father gritted his teeth so he wouldn t bite his tongue, and when the shaking Was over he asked, Does it hurt a lot? Some, lgnacio answered.

83 First lgnacio had said, Put me down here-- Leave me here-- You go on alone. I ll catch up with you tomorrow, or as soon as I get a litue better. He d said this some fifty times. Now he didn t say it. There was the moon. Facing them. A large red moon that filled their eyes with light and stretched and darkened its shadow over the earth. I can t see where I m going any more, the father said. No answer. The son up there was illumined by the moon. His face, discolored, bloodless, reflected the opaque light. And he here below. Did you hear me, lgnacio? I ten you I can t see you very well. No answer. Falteringly, the father continued. He hunched his body over, then straightened up to stumble on again. This is no road. They told us Tonaya was behind the hill. We ve passed the hill. And you can t see Tonaya, or hear any sound that would tell us it is close. Why won t you tell me what you see up there, lgnacio? Put me down, Father. Do you feel bad? Yes. I ll get you to Tonaya. There I ll find somebody to take care of you. They say there s a doctor in the town. I ll take you to him. I ve already carried you for hours, and I m not going to leave you lying here now for somebody to finish off. He staggered a little. He took two or three steps to the side, then straightened up again. I ll get you to Tonaya. Let me down. His voice was faint, scarcely a murmur. I want to sleep a little. Sleep up there. After all, I ve got a good hold on you. The moon was rising, almost blue, in a clear sky. Now the old man s face, drenched with sweat, was flooded with light. He lowered his eyes so he wouldn t have to look straight ahead, since he couldn t bend his head, tightly gripped in his son s hands. I m not doing all this for you. I m doing it for your dead mother. Because you were her son. That s why I m doing it. She would ve haunted me if I d left you lying where I found

84 you and hadn t picked you up and carried you to be cured as I m doing. She s the one who gives me courage, not you. From the first you ve caused me nothing but trouble, humiliation, and shame. He sweated as he talked. But the night wind dried his sweat. And over the dry sweat, he sweated again. I ll break my back, but I ll get to Tonaya with you, so they can ease those wounds you got. I m sure as soon as you feel well you ll go back to your bad ways. But that doesn t matter to me any more. As long as you go far away, where I won t hear anything more of you. As long as you do that-because as far as I m concerned, you aren t my son any more. I ve cursed the blood you got from me. My part of it I ve cursed. I said, Let the blood I gave him rot in his kidneys: I said it when I heard you d taken to the roads, robbing and killing people-good people. My old friend Tranquilino, for instance. The one who baptized you. The one who gave you your name. Even he had the bad luck to run into you. From that time on I said, That one cannot be my son. See if you can t see something now. Or hear something. You ll have to do it from up there because I feel deaf. I don t see anything. Too bad for you, lgnacio. I m thirsty. You ll have to stand it. We must be near now. Because it s now very late at night they must ve turned out the lights in the town. But at least you should hear dogs barking. Try to bear. Give me some water. There s no water here. Just stones. You ll have to stand it. Even if there was water, I wouldn t let you down to drink. There s nobody to help me lift you up again, and I can t do it alone. I m awfully thirsty and sleepy 9 remember when you were born. You were that way then. You woke up hungry and ate and went back to sleep. Your mother had to give you water, because you d finished all her milk. You couldn t be filled up. And you were always mad and yelling. I never thought that in time this madness would go to your head. But it did. Your mother, may she rest in peace, wanted you to grow up strong. She thought when you grew up you d look after her. She only had you. The other child she tried to give birth to killed her. And you would ve killed her again, if she d lived till now. The man on his back stopped gouging with his knees. His feet began to swing loosely from side to side. And it seemed to the father that Ignacio s head, up there, was shaking as if he were sobbing.