you know, with their hands blamming their horns to warn the others of us. Those crazy car horns, at a little after eight in the morning, and, at first, half asleep like I was, it made me kind of mad. I thought it was kids. But then I thought, not at eight in the morning. And I got worried and got up.
“Now you know them pictures of the clouds in Japan when they dropped the bomb?” Dane has never seen these pictures, but by now, he carries his own version in his head. “That’s the kind of cloud that dam made when it caved in, Dooley said. They all said that.When the dam broke, the water behind it shot out onto the gob pile. And when
the water hit that smoking gob, it exploded up in the air like a volcano and threw this steaming mud all over their windshields.
“Well, I got up and got my robe on and went out on the front porch. I could hear car horns above and below, but wasn’t any cars passing right then. But once I got outside, I heard it. I did. Thought at first it was a thunderstorm, but that was February, and then I saw our next-door-neighbor’s, Clarey Mason’s kids, running out their side door to turn loose these goats they was keeping, and Clarey’s one boy screamed at me, ‘Mrs. Taylor, the dam’s broke.’ And I understood everything right then.
“I turned to run inside. I whammed my hip into the door frame and almost fell down, but the whole time I was screaming at the kids to get up. It wasn’t until then I remembered Avery wasn’t home. Avery—we called him Bucky then—was spending the night up the hollow in Lorado with a friend of his, Tad Compton. It wasn’t until my other three come down out of the upstairs that I remembered Bucky, my baby, was up the hollow in Lorado.”
Mrs.Taylor stops. Dane waits, his back to her. Mrs.Taylor wheezes a bubbly sigh.
“I thank the Lord to this day that my kids was big enough to get theirselves out of the house and up the hill. Deed, I don’t know what I’d done if I’d had any little ones then. A lot of little ones died, you know.”
This means she’s going to spare him the middle because this is what she says before she gets to the very end. Dane slowly lifts his hands from the counter, swabs the tuna onto bread, and turns and sets the sandwich in front of her. He lowers himself into a chair, staring at the sparkles in the tabletop. It is sunny outside, but Dane can feel the weight.The water hovering overhead. Mrs.Taylor finally gives her ending, her benediction, which never alters, just like the prologue never does.
“Oh, we didn’t lose nothing.We didn’t lose nothing. Not compared to what other people lost.”
She falls silent again. Then she seems to wake up and notice her food. “Honey, ain’t you gonna eat something?”
“I ain’t too hungry,” Dane says.
Mrs. Taylor nods. She picks up her own sandwich. When she lays it back down without tasting it, she misses her plate.
Bant
BY THE TIME Lace’s ride dropped her off from the Dairy Queen, the rest of us had long been in bed, but I’d hear her. Lace never knew when her shift would end because they stayed open until the manager decided there wasn’t another soul in the county wanted a bite of ice cream, “worse’n working in a bar,” Lace would say. “At least in a bar, you know last call’s before two.” But I’d hear her, even when I didn’t want to. I slept light, and my room was on the road. She’d wake me with the car door slamming. And back in the spring, when I heard her, I could make myself not care, force myself to lie there, will myself to sleep. But after me and Jimmy drove up to the fill, I couldn’t help it. I’d get up. I started having to listen.
Nights that summer I slept light. Penned in my little room, like sleeping in a stall it was. A blast from the mine had messed up my window so it wouldn’t open right, and the gas smell built. Me floating always in a gasoline hover. Hobart was too cheap to buy turpentine, so it was gas I used to wash off the
“Now you know them pictures of the clouds in Japan when they dropped the bomb?” Dane has never seen these pictures, but by now, he carries his own version in his head. “That’s the kind of cloud that dam made when it caved in, Dooley said. They all said that.When the dam broke, the water behind it shot out onto the gob pile. And when
the water hit that smoking gob, it exploded up in the air like a volcano and threw this steaming mud all over their windshields.
“Well, I got up and got my robe on and went out on the front porch. I could hear car horns above and below, but wasn’t any cars passing right then. But once I got outside, I heard it. I did. Thought at first it was a thunderstorm, but that was February, and then I saw our next-door-neighbor’s, Clarey Mason’s kids, running out their side door to turn loose these goats they was keeping, and Clarey’s one boy screamed at me, ‘Mrs. Taylor, the dam’s broke.’ And I understood everything right then.
“I turned to run inside. I whammed my hip into the door frame and almost fell down, but the whole time I was screaming at the kids to get up. It wasn’t until then I remembered Avery wasn’t home. Avery—we called him Bucky then—was spending the night up the hollow in Lorado with a friend of his, Tad Compton. It wasn’t until my other three come down out of the upstairs that I remembered Bucky, my baby, was up the hollow in Lorado.”
Mrs.Taylor stops. Dane waits, his back to her. Mrs.Taylor wheezes a bubbly sigh.
“I thank the Lord to this day that my kids was big enough to get theirselves out of the house and up the hill. Deed, I don’t know what I’d done if I’d had any little ones then. A lot of little ones died, you know.”
This means she’s going to spare him the middle because this is what she says before she gets to the very end. Dane slowly lifts his hands from the counter, swabs the tuna onto bread, and turns and sets the sandwich in front of her. He lowers himself into a chair, staring at the sparkles in the tabletop. It is sunny outside, but Dane can feel the weight.The water hovering overhead. Mrs.Taylor finally gives her ending, her benediction, which never alters, just like the prologue never does.
“Oh, we didn’t lose nothing.We didn’t lose nothing. Not compared to what other people lost.”
She falls silent again. Then she seems to wake up and notice her food. “Honey, ain’t you gonna eat something?”
“I ain’t too hungry,” Dane says.
Mrs. Taylor nods. She picks up her own sandwich. When she lays it back down without tasting it, she misses her plate.
Bant
BY THE TIME Lace’s ride dropped her off from the Dairy Queen, the rest of us had long been in bed, but I’d hear her. Lace never knew when her shift would end because they stayed open until the manager decided there wasn’t another soul in the county wanted a bite of ice cream, “worse’n working in a bar,” Lace would say. “At least in a bar, you know last call’s before two.” But I’d hear her, even when I didn’t want to. I slept light, and my room was on the road. She’d wake me with the car door slamming. And back in the spring, when I heard her, I could make myself not care, force myself to lie there, will myself to sleep. But after me and Jimmy drove up to the fill, I couldn’t help it. I’d get up. I started having to listen.
Nights that summer I slept light. Penned in my little room, like sleeping in a stall it was. A blast from the mine had messed up my window so it wouldn’t open right, and the gas smell built. Me floating always in a gasoline hover. Hobart was too cheap to buy turpentine, so it was gas I used to wash off the
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