After the Fire by Jane Rule Page A

she hadn’t known who he was, she wouldn’t have recognized him. She felt relieved of her own need of his company, this anonymous old man who did not want her mothering encouragement.
    Of course he didn’t. He had to teach himself how not to eat, not to speak, to practice indifference to the functions of his body which he could no longer master, and therefore indifference to those around him so addicted to life still that they could not help getting in the way of his dying. Even to soothe him was to betray his purpose.
    When her hour was up, she did not rouse Hart to tell him she must go. Clay watched her put on her coat.
    “You’re a good woman,” he said to her.
    Was all that was left of goodness being able to go without saying goodbye?
    “Thank you,” Henrietta said.
    It was a slow evening at the pub. The few senior citizens had come in early to eat their small portions of dinner, and most of the young men had finished a final beer before going home to eat. Only Adam and Riley still sat at the bar debating whether to have another drink or tonight’s special, a seafood platter of local scallops, shrimp, halibut, and salmon.
    “Eat first,” Karen encouraged.
    When she came back out of the kitchen, Red was sitting by herself at a small table, and outside Blackie could be heard complaining.
    “Maybe I could find her a bone,” Karen suggested.
    The cook protested that there must be a policy against canine customers, but Karen reminded him that even children could be served if they stayed outdoors, and he reluctantly produced a large knuckle of soup bone.
    “I don’t want to spoil her,” Red said doubtfully.
    “That or drive everybody else crazy,” Riley said, for Blackie’s yaps of protest had set Adam’s dog to howling in the closed cab of his truck.
    “Go on,” Karen encouraged. “Take it out to Blackie.”
    “Dumb name for a dog,” Adam said when Red had gone outside.
    “You be nice,” Karen said. “Red hasn’t come in here for a long time.”
    “Nobody’s missed her,” Adam said, rearing back on his barstool to display his shoulders.
    “I have,” Karen said fiercely. “And it’s a public place, not yours to take over.”
    “You don’t own it either,” Adam retorted.
    Before Karen could answer him again, Red was back at her table. She wanted chowder and bread.
    It made Karen uncomfortable, with the pub nearly empty, to have Adam and Riley sitting side by side at the bar in sullen silence while Red ate her solitary meal. In order to underline her solidarity with Red, Karen poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at Red’s table to drink it. She was glad of an excuse.
    “I really came in to ask you a favor,” Red said as she finished her soup.
    “Sure,” Karen said.
    “I want to learn how to drive.”
    “You want me to teach you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “My car’s an automatic,” Karen said. “If you want to get an old clunker, you probably ought to learn to shift.”
    “No, that’s okay. I’m not going to buy anything. I just want a license.”
    “Hen’s car is automatic,” Karen remembered, “if she ever needed you to drive that.”
    “Mrs. Forbes’ is, too,” Red said. “I didn’t want to ask her, and I was afraid I might scare Mrs. Hawkins to death.”
    “It isn’t hard,” Karen assured her, “nothing like training a dog if Sally knows what she’s talking about.”
    “That was nice of her,” Red said. “I liked her.”
    “Have you got the drivers’ manual?”
    “No,” Red said. “Do I need one?”
    “Yeah, and I can pick one up for you in Victoria tomorrow.”
    “Any chance of coffee over here?” Adam asked; he would usually have helped himself.
    “Sure,” Karen said, getting up.
    As she set cups up and poured them for Riley and Adam, she said, “I like you guys better when you’re human.”
    “You might try it yourself,” Adam suggested. “Ever phoned yourself up to see how busy you always are?”
    “Hey, that’s a new one on me,” Riley