moonlight slanting on the roof of Felicia’s shack. There where the moonlight slid down the walls Traff and Lilly swam in the pool of silver they had stolen.
The flick of a girl’s hand had freed James from freedom. He’d kissed away escape in the mud by the river. He thought now of Lenchen and the child who would wear his face. Alone on the edge of the town where men clung together for protection, he saw clearly for a moment his simple hope.
He had walked away from the cabin. He skirted the main street and went back to the barn. The barn door was locked, and he had to pound on the door to waken the owner who lived in the barn with the horses.
I’ll saddle for myself, James said. Then he remembered that he’d nothing left to pay for the horse’s hay and stabling.
Write it down, he said. I’ll pay when I’m next in town. There are times when a man spends more than he has and must go on credit.
He led the horse out of the barn and swung into the saddle.
Unless a man defaults, he said, a debt is a sort of bond.
The horse turned of its own accord towards the bridge. James gave it its head. It tossed its mane and held the bit lightly between its teeth. Freed from the stable, it turned its head towards home.
James felt the muscles moving under him. Then he heard the hollow ring of hooves on the bridge. The bridge lay a black arch over the clear sweep of the river. And in the shadow of the girders fear unwound itself again like the line from his mother’s reel.
Where is your hope?
Better go down to the bars of the pit
Better rest in the dust
Justice is swifter than water.
But the horse carried James across the bridge and up a path onto the shoulders of the hills. The dead grass snapped beneath the horse’s feet as it moved, and the dust rose like spray in the moonlight from the sweep of its fetlocks.
James leaned forward. The horse raced from the ridgethrough a meadow of wild hay watered by some hidden spring. It slowed to a lope, to a canter, to a pace.
Hills rose again on the other side of the meadow. James could feel the pull of the horse’s shoulders as it stepped its way up through the rocks and bushes. He could feel the muscles contract and tighten as the horse began its descent on the other side.
At the bottom they came to a creek. James could hear the horse’s feet parting the water. He could hear the flow of water on stones, but in this skyless slit the water was opaque and formless. He shut his eyes and fastened his free hand in his horse’s mane.
As they climbed again, the horse seemed to draw life with every breath. It climbed. It rounded ledges. It held close to the rock where nothing but the feel of stone marked the fall below.
9
In Felix’s kitchen the girl turned again and groaned. She yelped and sat up.
When’s your time? Angel asked.
How would I know, the girl said.
There’s not much doubt, Angel said. And the house already crowded to the corners.
She sat back in her chair.
If you were one of mine she said, and I was no further than your ma is from here I’d want to come no matter what I’d said or done. A woman sharpens herself to endure. Since she can be trod on like an egg, she grows herself to stone.
She got up and went to the door of the bedroom.
Felix, she called, get up.
The terrier growled. Felix did not stir. Angel called again. He turned.
I’m going for the Widow, she said.
Felix got out of bed. He still wore his bib overalls.
I couldn’t do anything but play the fiddle, he said.
10
Neither Ara nor the Widow could sleep. They had cleared away the dishes and sat talking.
Dear God, the Widow said, she may be alone like some animal in the wood.
James might have planned to meet her, Ara said. He wasn’t there. The day his mother died he had his horse saddled and waiting. But he never in all his life had strength enough to set himself against things.
The Widow shook her head.
We can only guess, she said. It’s best not to think.
11
It was a knock on the door
The flick of a girl’s hand had freed James from freedom. He’d kissed away escape in the mud by the river. He thought now of Lenchen and the child who would wear his face. Alone on the edge of the town where men clung together for protection, he saw clearly for a moment his simple hope.
He had walked away from the cabin. He skirted the main street and went back to the barn. The barn door was locked, and he had to pound on the door to waken the owner who lived in the barn with the horses.
I’ll saddle for myself, James said. Then he remembered that he’d nothing left to pay for the horse’s hay and stabling.
Write it down, he said. I’ll pay when I’m next in town. There are times when a man spends more than he has and must go on credit.
He led the horse out of the barn and swung into the saddle.
Unless a man defaults, he said, a debt is a sort of bond.
The horse turned of its own accord towards the bridge. James gave it its head. It tossed its mane and held the bit lightly between its teeth. Freed from the stable, it turned its head towards home.
James felt the muscles moving under him. Then he heard the hollow ring of hooves on the bridge. The bridge lay a black arch over the clear sweep of the river. And in the shadow of the girders fear unwound itself again like the line from his mother’s reel.
Where is your hope?
Better go down to the bars of the pit
Better rest in the dust
Justice is swifter than water.
But the horse carried James across the bridge and up a path onto the shoulders of the hills. The dead grass snapped beneath the horse’s feet as it moved, and the dust rose like spray in the moonlight from the sweep of its fetlocks.
James leaned forward. The horse raced from the ridgethrough a meadow of wild hay watered by some hidden spring. It slowed to a lope, to a canter, to a pace.
Hills rose again on the other side of the meadow. James could feel the pull of the horse’s shoulders as it stepped its way up through the rocks and bushes. He could feel the muscles contract and tighten as the horse began its descent on the other side.
At the bottom they came to a creek. James could hear the horse’s feet parting the water. He could hear the flow of water on stones, but in this skyless slit the water was opaque and formless. He shut his eyes and fastened his free hand in his horse’s mane.
As they climbed again, the horse seemed to draw life with every breath. It climbed. It rounded ledges. It held close to the rock where nothing but the feel of stone marked the fall below.
9
In Felix’s kitchen the girl turned again and groaned. She yelped and sat up.
When’s your time? Angel asked.
How would I know, the girl said.
There’s not much doubt, Angel said. And the house already crowded to the corners.
She sat back in her chair.
If you were one of mine she said, and I was no further than your ma is from here I’d want to come no matter what I’d said or done. A woman sharpens herself to endure. Since she can be trod on like an egg, she grows herself to stone.
She got up and went to the door of the bedroom.
Felix, she called, get up.
The terrier growled. Felix did not stir. Angel called again. He turned.
I’m going for the Widow, she said.
Felix got out of bed. He still wore his bib overalls.
I couldn’t do anything but play the fiddle, he said.
10
Neither Ara nor the Widow could sleep. They had cleared away the dishes and sat talking.
Dear God, the Widow said, she may be alone like some animal in the wood.
James might have planned to meet her, Ara said. He wasn’t there. The day his mother died he had his horse saddled and waiting. But he never in all his life had strength enough to set himself against things.
The Widow shook her head.
We can only guess, she said. It’s best not to think.
11
It was a knock on the door
Similar Books
