Pin by Andrew Neiderman Page A

Pin’s a good listener,” Stanley said. His tone of voice was confusing. Was he mocking me or did he mean it?
    â€œHe’s a good critic, very honest.”
    â€œI just say what I like and what I don’t.”
    â€œHi,” Ursula said stepping into the room. Stanley got up. Standing from a sitting position was an awkward movement for him, but he didn’t seem at all self-conscious about it. “I see you’ve gotten to meet everyone all right.”
    â€œFrom the way you described them, I feel as if I’ve known them almost as long as I’ve known you.” They both laughed. I didn’t like the way they looked at each other—how they tolerated the small silences between them and stared. I looked at Pin and smirked, but he seemed quite taken with Stanley. I was very surprised and somewhat annoyed.
    â€œCare for a cocktail before dinner?” Ursula asked.
    â€œSure.”
    â€œI’ll make them,” I said. “What’ll you have?”
    â€œBourbon and soda?”
    â€œSure thing. Pin, the usual?”
    â€œYes, Leon, the usual.”
    â€œWhat’s his usual?”
    â€œAsk him,” I said quickly. Ursula’s smile faded slowly, but Stanley’s froze.
    â€œOf course,” he said, “how rude of me.” He turned to Pin, shot a quick glance at Ursula, and then asked.
    â€œI like a little rye, ginger ale and a slice of orange.”
    â€œDo you have the orange for his drink?” Ursula asked.
    â€œYes, I was prepared, sister dear,” I said.
    â€œYou’ve got quite a house here,” Stan said, and they got right into a conversation about the place. I made the drinks and distributed them. I never saw Pin so quiet. He just sat back and listened to Stan and Ursula talk. They were so involved in each other that I felt Pin and I should start our own conversation.
    â€œYou must tell us about the war,” I said suddenly, interrupting them. Stan turned with a quizzical expression on his face, almost as if he were going to say, “What war?”
    â€œI don’t like talking about it too much. It was a horrible war.”
    â€œWhat war isn’t?” Pin said.
    â€œHear, hear,” I added and toasted the air and then drank.
    â€œFor us, it was militarily, politically and morally a big mistake,” Stan added.
    â€œYou must be very bitter, then,” I said, “having made a physical sacrifice for a big mistake.”
    â€œWell,” he said, smiling that wide, warm smile, “I used to feel self-pity. That turned to anger. But now I’ve kind of settled into a warm indifference. A lot of suffering can have that effect on you.”
    â€œVery true,” Pin said, “very true.” I shot a glance at him. Did he have to be so impressed?
    â€œI’m hungry,” I said. I was getting impatient. Pin was a doting idiot, a great disappointment. Usually, he tore a newcomer apart, mocked him, ripped every remark down to its barest inanity. I rationalized and figured his new behavior was due to the fact that it had been so long since we had any guests.
    â€œEverything’s ready. Should we go into the dining room?”
    â€œGood,” I said. Stan stood up, still smiling. I was waiting for this moment too. Slowly I walked over to the corner and pulled the folded wheelchair out from behind the bookcase, figuring the sight of it would bring some unhappy memories back to Stan. I snapped it open and pushed it over to Pin, eyeing Stanley the whole time. He watched with great interest.
    â€œNeed any help?” he said. I was surprised by the offer.
    â€œNo,” I said quickly and quite definitively. His smile left his face, but he stared with continued interest as I lifted Pin out of his seat and into the wheelchair. I set his feet comfortably in the footrests and stood up, Ursula had gone into the kitchen. Stanley waited.
    â€œI almost ended up in one of those,” he