Falling to Earth by Kate Southwood Page A

thin gray curl and says, “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
    Mae is helping the children put on their coats in the kitchen when he goes in to get a stack of old newspapers and the matches.
    â€œYour mother needs a rest,” Mae says. “I thought I’d take the children with me down to the relief tent today.”
    â€œWhy don’t you leave Ellis with me. He can help me burn some of the junk in the yard.”
    Ruby and Homer protest immediately at the unfairness of being singled out for the dull walk to town, and Mae shushes them just as quickly.
    â€œYou two can ride in the wagon all the way downtown,” she says.
    â€œWe don’t both fit!” cries Ruby.
    â€œYou will if you sit sideways,” Mae says. “Now quit your complaining, or you can both walk there and back.”
    Paul follows them out the back door to the garage. There is debris all around the house. He and Ellis would only make visible progress if they worked into the night, but he supposes they have no choice but to make a start. Mae sits Ruby and Homer in the wagon facing opposite directions with their legs dangling over the side and pulls them down the driveway after her and into the street.
    Paul waves them off. “Help your mama get the food,” he calls. “Then you can help me outside when you get home.”
    He stands there with Ellis watching them go and knows that Ellis is waiting for him to say what they need to do to start the fire. Paul tells himself that the way the yard wants clearing is not unlike the way the porch had wanted scrubbing, and that maybe all that will happen as a result is that others will start on their own property once they’ve seen a fire in his driveway. Then his eyes close and he hears himself exhale just like Mae and he hears a voice saying,
Nothing to rebuild, so he prettied up his yard.
    They start with the downed branches and twigs lying everywhere and Ellis seems already to know how to stack the pieces, and in which order. “That’s right, that’s right,” says Paul, watching the boy. Once they’ve got the fire going in the same spot where Paul burns fallen leaves every autumn, each of them takes a bushel basket to gather more debris from the yard.
    â€œDump it over to the side there when your basket is full,” Paul says, pointing away from the fire toward the top of the driveway. “We’ll let the fire burn down a while before we throw anything else big on.” When there’s enough debris gathered to keep the fire going a good long while, they stand together and watch the fire, Ellis holding a garden rake and Paul, a shovel. “Anything rolls out of the fire, you just push it back with the rake, okay?” Ellis nods. “Anything big rolls out, we’ll scoop it up like we’re holding giant spoons and dump it right back on.”
    â€œWhat’ll we do with the stuff that won’t burn, Daddy?” Ellis asks. Paul looks at the boy and sees that he’s trying to keep an impassive expression on his face, pretending that neither the question nor its answer are of any particular importance when he clearly started thinking about it long before he’d asked.
    â€œMetal and stuff like that?” Paul asks.
    â€œYeah. Metal and stuff.”
    Paul looks away from Ellis and back at the fire to keep himself from grinning. The boy is so serious, so grave with his hands on the shaft of the rake like he’s holding a ceremonial object.
    â€œWell, now . . . ” Paul says, furrowing his brow to let Ellis know he is thinking. “What do you figure we oughta do with it?” he asks.
    â€œWe could make a pile of it. Keep it separate.”
    Paul nods. “That way we could drive it all out to the dump, later.”
    â€œYes, Daddy,” Ellis says.
    â€œThen that’s just what we’ll do.”
    â€œCould I throw one metal thing on the fire, Daddy? Just to see what would