The Road (26 page)

Yes.

Is that your suitcase?

Yes.

He stood. He looked at the boy. Why dont you go back out to the road and wait for me. I’ll bring the blankets and everything.

What about my papa?

What about him.

We cant just leave him here.

Yes we can.

I dont want people to see him.

There’s no one to see him.

Can I cover him with leaves?

The wind will blow them away.

Could we cover him with one of the blankets?

I’ll do it. Go on now.

Okay.

He waited in the road and when the man came out of the woods he was carrying the suitcase and he had the blankets over his shoulder. He sorted through them and handed one to the boy. Here, he said. Wrap this around you. You’re cold. The boy tried to hand him the pistol but he wouldnt take it. You hold onto that, he said.

Okay.

Do you know how to shoot it?

Yes.

Okay.

What about my papa?

There’s nothing else to be done.

I think I want to say goodbye to him.

Will you be all right?

Yes.

Go ahead. I’ll wait for you.

He walked back into the woods and knelt beside his father. He was wrapped in a blanket as the man had promised and the boy didnt uncover him but he sat beside him and he was crying and he couldnt stop. He cried for a long time. I’ll talk to you every day, he whispered. And I
wont forget. No matter what. Then he rose and turned and walked back out to the road.

The woman when she saw him put her arms around him and held him. Oh, she said, I am so glad to see you. She would talk to him sometimes about God. He tried to talk to God but the best thing was to talk to his father and he did talk to him and he didnt forget. The woman said that was all right. She said that the breath of God was his breath yet though it pass from man to man through all of time.

Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.