old age, thirsting for the speech of other men, when at one time their wet dreams were full of the voices of women.
“William knew a little bit about everything,” said Conte. “He read so broadly. He could talk on just about any subject. I admired his mental sharpness. I don’t suppose he misses me at all.”
“Of course he does.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Morgan. Vivien’s a wonderful woman. But once you’ve lived with a deaf-mute, you come to realize thatthe human voice is the most beautiful sound in the world.” He picked up the axe again, his face glistening with exertion.
“Can your heart stand this, Conte?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle, Morgan.”
“This is hard work. It could kill you.”
In answer, he swung the axe again, burying it in what was left of the trunk, and I wondered if William, only a few blocks away, might be wakened by the ringing of steel into wood and think, “Ah! Someone is putting an axe to good use,” and feel his own muscles tense in response.
“Stop, Conte,” I said. “No more.”
“I can’t leave this stump here. William wouldn’t approve. He’s such a perfectionist. I’ve got to get it down as close to grade as possible. In the spring we’ll put stump rot on it. Eat the last of her out.”
“You’ve done enough, Conte.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow, then, Morgan, and cut that trunk down.”
“No, just leave it.”
“I’ll at least clear away the branches.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“They’ll freeze. They’ll be trapped in the snow and ice.”
“Not for long. We’ll get a thaw. Leave them just where they are. Your fingers must be frozen. Come in the house, Conte, and I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“No, thanks, Morgan. There’s nothing I’d like better, but Vivien will be waiting for me.” Suddenly, he leaned on the axe, spontaneous tears flowing easily down his vein-tracked cheeks. “I’m just so sorry, Morgan,” he blubbered, sobbing like a boy. “I’m so sorry about all those years William and I never spoke to each other. Such a loss. Such a stupid waste.”
But I could feel only scorn for him at that moment, for his weakness and his bewilderment.
Fools we were, the two of us! Two old fools on a windy wintry afternoon, our feet locked in snow.
Dear girls,
…Since your father’s stroke, I’ve for some reason not felt the need for my usual afternoon nap, but the felling of the Wife Tree so fatigued me that I had to lie down for an hour on your father’s bed. When I opened my eyes, there was Goodie Hodnet peering in at me through the window. When she saw me awaken she immediately withdrew. I leapt up and wound the wire arms of my eyeglasses over my ears and went outside looking for her but she’d disappeared. I know this wasn’t a dream or my imagination, because her footprints were everywhere in the deep snow, the size nine impression of the rubber farm boots she still wears. I followed the prints around the perimeter of the house, where they stopped at every window but did not venture up onto the porches, which means she’d no intention of visiting but had come here to spy…
November 11
Dear girls,
…I’ve told you that the Man Tree was weeks ago stripped completely bare but in fact there was one last leaf stillclinging stubbornly to a branch. Watching it lift and twist painfully in the wind, unable to let go, I sensed its torment and considered going out with a broom and knocking it down just to put it out of its misery. But this morning when I got up out of bed and looked out, I saw that finally it had released its grip…
Yesterday I could reach neither Muriel nor Anna on the phone, so I was forced to call Goodie.
“Is tomorrow’s bridge game at Anna’s house?” I asked. It was the sixth game since William’s stroke.
“No,” she answered. “I’m afraid the bridge is finished altogether. We’ve dissolved the group.”
“Dissolved?”
“We’ve all grown tired of the game and
“William knew a little bit about everything,” said Conte. “He read so broadly. He could talk on just about any subject. I admired his mental sharpness. I don’t suppose he misses me at all.”
“Of course he does.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Morgan. Vivien’s a wonderful woman. But once you’ve lived with a deaf-mute, you come to realize thatthe human voice is the most beautiful sound in the world.” He picked up the axe again, his face glistening with exertion.
“Can your heart stand this, Conte?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle, Morgan.”
“This is hard work. It could kill you.”
In answer, he swung the axe again, burying it in what was left of the trunk, and I wondered if William, only a few blocks away, might be wakened by the ringing of steel into wood and think, “Ah! Someone is putting an axe to good use,” and feel his own muscles tense in response.
“Stop, Conte,” I said. “No more.”
“I can’t leave this stump here. William wouldn’t approve. He’s such a perfectionist. I’ve got to get it down as close to grade as possible. In the spring we’ll put stump rot on it. Eat the last of her out.”
“You’ve done enough, Conte.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow, then, Morgan, and cut that trunk down.”
“No, just leave it.”
“I’ll at least clear away the branches.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“They’ll freeze. They’ll be trapped in the snow and ice.”
“Not for long. We’ll get a thaw. Leave them just where they are. Your fingers must be frozen. Come in the house, Conte, and I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“No, thanks, Morgan. There’s nothing I’d like better, but Vivien will be waiting for me.” Suddenly, he leaned on the axe, spontaneous tears flowing easily down his vein-tracked cheeks. “I’m just so sorry, Morgan,” he blubbered, sobbing like a boy. “I’m so sorry about all those years William and I never spoke to each other. Such a loss. Such a stupid waste.”
But I could feel only scorn for him at that moment, for his weakness and his bewilderment.
Fools we were, the two of us! Two old fools on a windy wintry afternoon, our feet locked in snow.
Dear girls,
…Since your father’s stroke, I’ve for some reason not felt the need for my usual afternoon nap, but the felling of the Wife Tree so fatigued me that I had to lie down for an hour on your father’s bed. When I opened my eyes, there was Goodie Hodnet peering in at me through the window. When she saw me awaken she immediately withdrew. I leapt up and wound the wire arms of my eyeglasses over my ears and went outside looking for her but she’d disappeared. I know this wasn’t a dream or my imagination, because her footprints were everywhere in the deep snow, the size nine impression of the rubber farm boots she still wears. I followed the prints around the perimeter of the house, where they stopped at every window but did not venture up onto the porches, which means she’d no intention of visiting but had come here to spy…
November 11
Dear girls,
…I’ve told you that the Man Tree was weeks ago stripped completely bare but in fact there was one last leaf stillclinging stubbornly to a branch. Watching it lift and twist painfully in the wind, unable to let go, I sensed its torment and considered going out with a broom and knocking it down just to put it out of its misery. But this morning when I got up out of bed and looked out, I saw that finally it had released its grip…
Yesterday I could reach neither Muriel nor Anna on the phone, so I was forced to call Goodie.
“Is tomorrow’s bridge game at Anna’s house?” I asked. It was the sixth game since William’s stroke.
“No,” she answered. “I’m afraid the bridge is finished altogether. We’ve dissolved the group.”
“Dissolved?”
“We’ve all grown tired of the game and
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