Better to Eat You by Charlotte Armstrong Page B

said wearily.
    The old man peered shrewdly at her. She seemed breathless.
    â€œThe awful business,” Sarah’s eyes popped open, “don’t you remember? About the arrow?”
    â€œOh, my poor Sarah, fancy your being able to remember that. Are you thirsty, dearie? I see your lips are very dry. Mrs. Monteeth, please fetch a glass of my cider. Sarah would like that.”
    â€œDoctor told me to stay, sir.” Mrs. Monteeth looked lost.
    â€œGo, ask the doctor, then,” said Grandfather, as if this were obviously the only reasonable course, and Mrs. Monteeth accepted it, rose, and went.
    â€œThe arrow. Yes,” sighed Grandfather, now that they were alone. “And dear Lupino, so brave about it. So uncomplaining. Wasn’t he?” He peered at the girl.
    â€œHe wasn’t so …”
    â€œEh? Sarah?”
    â€œOh, I suppose he was brave.”
    â€œI often wish he were alive,” sighed Grandfather. “Don’t you, dearie? And have him here with me.”
    â€œI’m just as glad he isn’t here with you,” she said. “I know how you loved him, Grandfather. But to me he was … not so lovable.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œNo. He was cruel, I thought.”
    â€œCruel, dearie? How was that?”
    â€œI don’t suppose he ever told …”
    â€œBut my dear Sarah, what was this?”
    â€œSorry …”
    â€œAh, now you remember my heart,” Grandfather said, “but I’ll tell you something, Sarah.” He lowered his voice. “When you are ancient,” he confided, “you do not receive a shock as people imagine. No. Too much has happened to you already. Too many friends dead, too many wars, too many shocking things. When you are old, it is all just more of the same.”
    â€œI suppose that must be true,” she said.
    â€œThen tell me. In what way was Lupino cruel?” He smiled at her with his dimples appearing in his craggy old cheeks. His teeth were not good, what few he had.
    â€œI never told,” Sarah said, “but I think of it. I can’t forgive him.”
    â€œForgive Lupino? But Sarah, my dearie, surely it was for him to forgive you.”
    â€œI never meant to hurt him with the arrow,” Sarah said. “ He was grown up. He should have known that. But one day …”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œWhy, we were ready to sail for home. We went to say goodbye. He took me alone. He opened his shirt, Grandfather, and he made me look at that horrible scar and touch it. And he said to me, ‘See your pretty work, young Sarah? Don’t ever forget your work that you did.’ Grandfather, it frightened me so. I dreamed of it. Even now, when I am unhappy, sometimes in a nightmare I can see the shape of the awful scar. To me it is the shape of a sin. But it wasn’t my sin.” Sarah said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Grandfather. I can’t help thinking he was wicked and cruel to do such a thing to so small a child. I know you loved him. But that … that wasn’t kind.”
    â€œNo.” Grandfather rose and drifted around the room. “Dear old chap, he was sometimes impulsive. Loved drama, you see. Oh, he grew older and wiser. He learned it was better to be kind. Yet I remember that the wound was painful and he was brave.”
    â€œYes,” said Sarah faintly. “I suppose so.”
    â€œYour David is brave,” murmured Grandfather.
    â€œHe is not my … David doesn’t believe in ghosts or jinxes.”
    â€œI think you are right,” said Grandfather. “Or surely he wouldn’t have come here after what happened to his car. It was a warning.”
    â€œOh?” she said. “Yes?” And shrank on the bed.
    â€œRolled down the hill of itself,” said Grandfather. “What an odd thing. I like the scent in this green bottle, Sarah. Of course no one blames David for what happened to the woman.”
    â€œA