Third World (7 page)

“
She was a mite poorly this
morning, but I hope she will be well by now.” She had an empty
basket in her hands, by which he surmised it must have been her
flowers on the side-alter behind the votive candles.

As he recalled, people took turns at
it.

The local faith was a curious mix of
previously-irreconcilable denominations, Protestant, Catholic, with
an admixture of Jewish, Zen and Moslem tenets and sayings thrown in
for good measure. Marty was all-inclusive.

“
And yourself?” Hank thought
he was doing well so far.

“
I’m fine, and looking
forward to the summer.” Her gaze traveled over the clusters of
parishioners, with Marty moving among them and seemingly reluctant
to acknowledge old Hank this time. “It has to get here sooner or
later.”

“
I agree with that.” He
wondered if Marty would latch onto him again, but no, he was moving
through another bunch.

Marty had enough sensitivity to
understand that Hank might easily be scared off and stay away for
good, and a good man was nothing without religion. A good man was
nothing without a wife either. Marty knew a lot, in Hank’s
opinion.

Hank had been meaning to
speak to the Morgensens, and Polly, and here she was coming to him.
In the immediate vicinity of the pair of them, he was aware of no
young men, no
wannabes
hanging in the wings so to speak, and it occurred to Hank that
he might have a chance if only he had the courage to
act.

Young males were notoriously difficult
to entice into the place, under almost any circumstances. Hank had
been tempted to suggest liquor instead of wine, especially at
nuptials and christenings, funerals and the like, but was sure glad
now that he hadn’t. They had a suggestion box, perpetually empty,
just inside the door.

But they were missing a pretty good
bet, as most of the fairer maidens of the village were in
attendance by his reckoning.

She was at least worthy of the possible
embarrassment, while some of the older biddies did indeed represent
a fate worse than death. What people thought was the right age for
him was of little interest to Hank and often outlandish in its
vision.

“
I was wondering if you
might like to come around for brunch.” Her eyes were on him, warm
and mysterious.

“
Oh, aye, argh…” Hank choked
up, perhaps a bit of saliva had gone down the lung-hole, and it
took a minute to get it out. “Of course, Miss Polly, I would be
delighted.”

He gulped and sucked in air.

“
It’s nothing fancy, but
there’s always plenty and it’ll save washing up.”

“
Perhaps you and I might go
riding one of these days.” When she was knee-high to a grasshopper,
he had promised her that once.

They sat on her mother’s porch one day
as Missus Morgensen fed them cookies and milk. What a strange and
horrible thought.

He supposed he’d always been kind of in
love with her, but Fate was always an uncertain thing. He’d read
that somewhere.

“
Will you come
over?”

She’d always loved old Pal, short for
Palomino, unusually marked as far as the local critters went, with
big splotches of black and white all over him. Pal was long gone
now, though.

“
Why sure!” It came out a
little too fast.

She smiled and it was a beautiful thing
to see, if only it didn’t take a man’s breath away and leave him
giddy. “I’ve always wanted to see your place.”

She had never been there, and had heard
so much about it. Hank was one of the richest men around these here
parts, and with no wife and no kids, it was said he was a lonely
man. But everyone saw him as a very nice man, and it just seemed so
sad.

Anything she could do to help him would
be a good thing.

Ducking his head, wringing his hat-brim
and stammering in amiable confusion, Hank agreed to come around in
about an hour and take his midday meal with them.

“…
and if mother is still
feeling poorly, it will do her no end of good for a talk and a
visit with you.”

Hank couldn’t argue with that as it
wouldn’t be polite and it fit in well enough with his own puerile
fantasy.

There were some kind of what
do you call them,
butterflies,
walking around on his balls, but he had resolved
that he had nothing to lose except a little face if things went
wrong. It would have to suffice. He would ask someone about it
later, if it felt right and everything.

A man never knew until he
asked.

Third World had its own savage
beauties, but the thought of butterflies and the home world he
would never see again also had some romantic associations. They had
been introduced, but the place was just too damp and the winters
too long, and so they had never acclimated to the
environment.

Butterflies, and moths. He missed them
when he thought about it, which wasn’t often.

With a curtsy and a nod, she turned to
go, just as tongue-tied as Hank all of a sudden, and there was much
food for thought there. A girl her age must have been putting some
thought into marriage. It only stood to reason, bearing in mind the
mystery that was woman, at least in Hank’s limited experience, not
much of it of the worldly kind.

The racing of his heart and the cold
shot of gut-juice in his midriff did nothing to bring peace to his
mind or placidity to his soul.

Further thoughts in his primitive
fore-brain could be safely ruled out for the time being as this was
neither the time nor the place for lechery or lewdness. Mental
pictures could drive a man mad and that served nothing and no one
well.

That’s not to say he didn’t have them,
only that they were unwelcome.

She went down the road with another
young woman about the same age, one who gave an impression of
softness of countenance and big, doe-like eyes when she took a
quick and startled glance back over her shoulder. He wondered what
they were saying about him and all of this.

It wasn’t a pleasant
thought.

The other one’s name was Mattie, and if
worst came to worst there were one or two others who might do in a
pinch.

***

Hank had just disentangled himself from
Marty and another old termagant whose name he would sure like to
remember but couldn’t for the life of him.

He set off up the church’s un-named
side street and was just turning left onto Main Drag when he
spotted Red coming up from the opposite direction. Hank was leading
the old critter on the halter as he felt like a short walk and he
had some time to kill. The day was hot so he hitched her to the
rail where she could have a long drink. He and Red could have a
gossip as the other man’s eyes lit up and he raised a hand in
cheerful greeting.

By some passing coincidence, there was
the saloon right there, and as a courtesy to non-churchgoers, it
was open at noon on a Sunday although it closed at
six-thirty.

Red dismounted and they got out of the
heat and humidity and into the cool dank of the
interior.

His friend grabbed a table in a corner
by the window where he could watch the street and Hank went and got
him a short glass of draft and a cup of free coffee for
himself.

“
So. Two weeks in a row.”
Red grinned across the table.

Hank sipped the scalding hot brew,
thick enough to float a cartridge as some said, and he also
wondered if that was maybe something other than cow’s milk for
whitener, but he said nothing.

“
What?”

“
In church.”

“
Ah.”

Red waited but then so did
Hank.

Yet he couldn’t resist a
smile.

“
What?” Red could be a
persistent devil, perhaps it was the inevitable boredom and
isolation.

A big strong fellow, just hitting his
peak at or so he claimed, Red was a widower. His wife died maybe
ten years back. Hank envied the man his confidence, but he lived
right in town here. Red got to talk to people every day.

Living just on the north end of town,
he came in once a day whether he needed something or not. It gave
Excelsior, a grandiose-enough name for the shaggy old critter he
rode, a little exercise. Lower and squatter than a horse, critters
gave the impression of a very large mastiff with thick ankles and
elephant’s toes on the feet, but they were good mounts and easily
domesticated.

Red had raised the creature from a pup,
having found it wandering on one of his hunting trips.

The bawling of the thing was what led
him to it, but then they were cute as the belly button on a dead
flier at that age and he didn’t have the heart to shoot it, let
alone eat it.

“
Have you got religion,
Hank?” Red had a knowing air.

“
Not really.” No one around
paid them the slightest mind.

It was no one’s business but his own
and Hank normally kept his own close counsel on many
things.

Other than that, he didn’t get out much
and was a man of few words. Which was one reason for the
difficulties, he supposed. He might as well let him in on
it.

“
I’ve been invited over for
lunch. Or brunch—whatever that is, I think eggs and rolls and salad
and things.” Hank sipped carefully at the coffee, grateful that it
was always free.

It’s not like he abused the privilege.
It wasn’t good enough to be any sort of a draw.

“
Who? Where?”

“
The Morgensen’s.” They
lived down a side street, he would make a right turn and then a
left after the one and only block, and then the street went about
another three blocks.

They lived on the north side at the
other end in a small bungalow with a veranda on the front,
buff-coloured brick, one of the few brick houses in town, and a
cottage-style roof of shakes.

He couldn’t miss it.

As a boy, Hank had lived in a tent on
the outskirts of town, scrounging a living and doing all right
until he began to have ideas. He wasn’t sure if the Morgensen’s had
lived there at the time or not.

The look on Hank’s face was
priceless.

“
Well, I’ll be damned.” Red
stared fixated on Hank’s shifty eyes and flushing red
features.

“
Whoo-ee.”

Red said nothing more as he took a
careful sip. Hank settled a little lower into the chair, afraid to
look around and see who might be eavesdropping. Hopefully Red would
have some sense and not press too hard.

“
She’s not bad.” Red bit his
lip, and his eyes went into that
why
didn’t I think of that?
look he got from
time to time.

Hank didn’t enlighten him.

“
I got to talking to them
last Sunday.” Hank was sort of misleading Red as to exactly when
all this happened, and what brought it on, in order to stall off
too many inordinate questions. “Anyway, Polly asked me and I said
yes.”

The fact was, his belly was rumbling
now, just thinking about it. Hank tended to a pretty staple diet,
not much variety there that didn’t come from all-too-familiar
sources.

“
Ah, yes.” Red rubbed his
chin. “How long have you been thinking about all this?”

“
It’s just company, Red.”
Hank cleared his husky throat.

He was beginning to get a little nervy
thinking about the afternoon. He pulled out his silver wind-up
wrist-watch. The band had broken long ago, and he checked the time.
A half hour or twenty minutes should do it. It had been his
father’s watch, and he was lucky it still worked.

Scratches and dirt on the solar pickup
always worried him, as that was how it got its power.

“
What’s her first name
again?” Red couldn’t quite recall.

Red was bad with names although he knew
who Hank was talking about.

“
Polly.”

Red grinned in delight.

“
I meant the other
one.”

Hank blushed beet red.

“
Andrea—Andrea
Morgensen.”

With eyes showing a bit of subtle white
around the edges, Red studied his friend.

“
I see.” He studied him some
more.

Hank just sat there. He stared out into
the street, thoughts obviously elsewhere.

“
Why, you old
hornswoggler!”

“
Huh?” A blushing Hank had
heard him just fine.

Hank wouldn’t touch that one with a
ten-foot pole. As for Andrea Morgensen, he’d never actually
considered it.

She was all crippled up with arthritis,
walking sort of bent at the waist and with stiff movements in the
lower body. While not bad looking, and from what he’d ever seen of
her body, it wasn’t a bad one, the thoughts had never really
grabbed him. He figured she was beyond child-rearing
age.

She was no substitute for laying in an
adequate supply of firewood. While she might be all right if all a
man wanted was companionship and housekeeping, someone to talk to
on those long winter nights, the problem was that Hank wanted
more.