you being a little—well, I mean—” Petra stared at me.
“I know,” Verne said. “No, I’m all right.”
“But no hearse—” Petra said.
“That’s right. We’ll have to carry her. Damn it,” he said. “I’m all right. I don’t know why I think this way, but I do.”
“But who will you get for pallbearers?”
She was watching him as she spoke, a little apprehensive, maybe. She had a right to be. My insides were knotted up like a tangle of barbed wire, and I kept wanting to tell him. But how could I tell him?
“There should be six,” Petra said.
“Four will do,” Verne said.
“Won’t people talk?”
“What do you care how they talk?” He turned in his chair and looked at her without any expression. Then he turned back and stared at the floor some more. I decided the best thing to do was to let him get rid of whatever was inside him. Then maybe he’d be all right.
“I ordered a light casket,” Verne said. “She’d almost fit in a child’s casket. So four will do.”
“Verne, if you don’t stop it!” Petra said.
“Stop what?” He seemed slightly startled. “Nothing.”
I couldn’t seem to get comfortable in my chair. It was hard, bumpy all over. I knew it wasn’t, actually, but it seemed that way.
“Yes,” Verne said. “Up on that knoll.” He rose and walked into the hall. I heard him at the telephone. Petra rose quickly and came over by me.
“He acts funny,” she said.
“He’s been working too hard. Any kind of shock might make him act this way. He’ll be all right in a little while.”
She stood very close to me. She leaned over, and without volition I put my arms around her, felt the firm swelling of her hips. Her lips descended. I shoved her away. “Look out,” I said.
“Yes.” She went back to her chair. “You’re excited, aren’t you?” she said. “I am, too. I wish it were over.”
My hands were gripping the arms of the chair so hard the tendons and muscles in my wrists ached. It seemed as if little voices were shrieking and screaming in the back of my head. When I looked at Petra, her eyes were like black holes. They were pointed at me, but I don’t believe they really saw me. It was all going on in her head, behind the eyes. I began to perspire.
Verne returned. He stood in the center of the room and ran both clawed hands through his hair three or four times, briskly. “I talked with them,” he said. “Two men will be out to dig the grave up on the knoll.”
I sat rigid with my hands gripped around the ends of the chair arms.
“You can hire professional pallbearers,” Petra said. Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Listen,” Verne said. “Don’t think anything’s the matter with me, for God’s sake!” He turned to me. “I’m sorry, Alex. It’s just the way I want to do it, is all. No. I’ll get old Herb Corey and his hired hand to help. You and I will make up the other two. She knew them; they’re the only ones she knew around here. The only ones ever spoke to her. They’ll be glad. You’ll help, won’t you, Alex?”
“Sure, Verne.” My voice was a raven’s croak.
Corey’s hired hand….
I wanted a drink, but I couldn’t trust myself to pour one because my hands would have trembled too much. Corey’s hired hand. God. Up there on that brambled hill in the quiet nights of passing seasons, squatting, with those damned field glasses sweating against his eyeballs.
It was murder, that’s what it was. And I was in on it. It was hard to believe, to comprehend. It always is, I guess, when things get close to you, like this.
• • •
Just after a lunch of sandwiches and coffee prepared by Petra, and during which no one spoke, I met Verne in the hallway by the stairs. Petra was in the kitchen.
“Alex, what about Jenny?” He tried to hold himself straight, to act all right, when he looked like death itself.
“She said she couldn’t come, Verne. She has a new job. She was very sorry to let you down.
“I know,” Verne said. “No, I’m all right.”
“But no hearse—” Petra said.
“That’s right. We’ll have to carry her. Damn it,” he said. “I’m all right. I don’t know why I think this way, but I do.”
“But who will you get for pallbearers?”
She was watching him as she spoke, a little apprehensive, maybe. She had a right to be. My insides were knotted up like a tangle of barbed wire, and I kept wanting to tell him. But how could I tell him?
“There should be six,” Petra said.
“Four will do,” Verne said.
“Won’t people talk?”
“What do you care how they talk?” He turned in his chair and looked at her without any expression. Then he turned back and stared at the floor some more. I decided the best thing to do was to let him get rid of whatever was inside him. Then maybe he’d be all right.
“I ordered a light casket,” Verne said. “She’d almost fit in a child’s casket. So four will do.”
“Verne, if you don’t stop it!” Petra said.
“Stop what?” He seemed slightly startled. “Nothing.”
I couldn’t seem to get comfortable in my chair. It was hard, bumpy all over. I knew it wasn’t, actually, but it seemed that way.
“Yes,” Verne said. “Up on that knoll.” He rose and walked into the hall. I heard him at the telephone. Petra rose quickly and came over by me.
“He acts funny,” she said.
“He’s been working too hard. Any kind of shock might make him act this way. He’ll be all right in a little while.”
She stood very close to me. She leaned over, and without volition I put my arms around her, felt the firm swelling of her hips. Her lips descended. I shoved her away. “Look out,” I said.
“Yes.” She went back to her chair. “You’re excited, aren’t you?” she said. “I am, too. I wish it were over.”
My hands were gripping the arms of the chair so hard the tendons and muscles in my wrists ached. It seemed as if little voices were shrieking and screaming in the back of my head. When I looked at Petra, her eyes were like black holes. They were pointed at me, but I don’t believe they really saw me. It was all going on in her head, behind the eyes. I began to perspire.
Verne returned. He stood in the center of the room and ran both clawed hands through his hair three or four times, briskly. “I talked with them,” he said. “Two men will be out to dig the grave up on the knoll.”
I sat rigid with my hands gripped around the ends of the chair arms.
“You can hire professional pallbearers,” Petra said. Her voice was little more than a whisper.
“Listen,” Verne said. “Don’t think anything’s the matter with me, for God’s sake!” He turned to me. “I’m sorry, Alex. It’s just the way I want to do it, is all. No. I’ll get old Herb Corey and his hired hand to help. You and I will make up the other two. She knew them; they’re the only ones she knew around here. The only ones ever spoke to her. They’ll be glad. You’ll help, won’t you, Alex?”
“Sure, Verne.” My voice was a raven’s croak.
Corey’s hired hand….
I wanted a drink, but I couldn’t trust myself to pour one because my hands would have trembled too much. Corey’s hired hand. God. Up there on that brambled hill in the quiet nights of passing seasons, squatting, with those damned field glasses sweating against his eyeballs.
It was murder, that’s what it was. And I was in on it. It was hard to believe, to comprehend. It always is, I guess, when things get close to you, like this.
• • •
Just after a lunch of sandwiches and coffee prepared by Petra, and during which no one spoke, I met Verne in the hallway by the stairs. Petra was in the kitchen.
“Alex, what about Jenny?” He tried to hold himself straight, to act all right, when he looked like death itself.
“She said she couldn’t come, Verne. She has a new job. She was very sorry to let you down.
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