A Singular Man

13

SMITH back up these steps. Two minutes ago she left. Train thundering through the station in the town. No anger. Gave her fear. I mind so much. To keep her, must let her go. My hands folded under elderberry blossoms today. All marked with dying. Start off in the carnation smell of Brandy's death wagon to meet Bonni-face on the train. Find him enthroned on an ice block. We all get left.

Smith rose in die elevator. To a room full of flowers. Low table with a bucket of ice and thermos of wine. Across soft green carpets, a bedroom. Fat white marble lamps. The window looking down at the train tracks. Shingled roof of the station. The road under the bridge and up round the war memorial in front of the hospital, curving down again to the river and the highway that has taken Miss Tomson away.

Lock the door. Draw the curtains tightly. Sit. Take a sip of punch. Close eyes. What you want so much you lose. Die and carry me away. Once at college, I thought I'm dying. And tried to run. From the terrible loneliness. Bereft in those university rooms, cold and tall ceilinged, late at night. I fell to my bed. Looked from the top of my head down to my toes. Said I'll never make enough money to live. And too young to die. I thought at least I would make a stagger for it while ticking my last. Go down from a standing position. And out I went from my college rooms hobbling down the old stone stairs, clutching wall and banister. Yelling to two students busy peeing against the college granite. Said help me I'm having a heart attack. They looked at each other and tried to smile. I said through my faint breath, I'm not kidding, I'm George Smith of number 38 College and I'm dying. They carried me out across nightly lit cobble squares of college. A moist dark wind blowing. And slumped in their students' arms, they finally carried me by the feet as well. At the porter's gate I squeaked tell my tutor to please see to my affairs. Porters made a space and let the red glow of embers shine on me. My china, cut glass, plain glass, and collection of Georgian decanters are bequeathed to college. My tapestries too. To help remember me. Dead so young. My head fell back against the lodge wall. The porters' scary eyes. Which were tickled at first for the college was famous for jokes. I said call a taxi, and one pulled in under the archway. I was loaded in. An ambulance too white for my last moments. All said goodbye. Waved. Like I did to Sally tonight. A hope to bring you back again. In front of the hospital I crept for the door feeling I must not make any movements, said taxi man I'll pay you later. And he nearly had a seizure, gasping he wanted it now. I dug into my pocket. Only that it was necessary to give all my energies to my own heart attack I would have hit him several times. I limped inside. Three medicos I knew by sight from the university having tea. They made a merry word. Not to be cheered I asked them, listen before it ticks its last. Out came the stethoscopes. They said together, my God what a heart. Will pump for years. Are you sure. We are certain. Are you absolutely. We are and will write it on a piece of paper for you. And sign it. And Sally it was dawn that night too when I went back to my college rooms sheepish and took up this little note which has lain in my wallet since and read it now, worn and old round the edges.

YOUR HEART IS ALL RIGHT

D. Romney

M. Bradfield

And tonight these many traumas since. Smith sliding the slip of paper back in the wallet between all the thin treasury bills. Shine gone from shoes. Death certificate all filled out. See Mr. Stone in the lobby of Merry Mansions. A fair minded man. He'll say to Hugo Mr. Smith's only a documentation now. Stretched on the feather filled cushions here. Chase Tomson down the roads. And into the hereafter. I let her go. When you must take women. Open their lips with fingers. Speak to the flower. Each petal then will curl back as you tell it with your voice. Big stately bitch you are.

Smith put his tired softness on the bed. Arms spread out, head across elbow. Where to go. Where to be. Sting of her slap on my face would have been better than nothing at all. Could have led her by the hand to bed. Untwisted any wire or garment on her large blond frame. Unlatched the straps behind her back. Dive in, a soft mountain water full of her cool long fingers. Will ask God something while I sleep.

Please

Wish you would

Give everyone

A pot

To piss in

So they would not

Ask for mine.

Pots are ringing. Like strange bells pinging. Hear it all in my ear. The phone. I fell asleep. Who knows I'm here. Who is that ringing. Like a hand reaching out of a closet door. Ding a ling. Let it ring. Ding a ling. Someone knows I'm here. Smith picking up the talking instrument.

"Hello."

"Mr. Smith, night porter here, Norbert. Gee, look there's a party down here, I had to disturb you. Says they want to speak to you, said they knew you were here. I said I'd ring and find out but that I had no knowledge you were in the building. You know I wouldn't want you raided."

"What are you trying to sell."

"Nothing, this particular party sir, didn't occur to me, I was pretty shook up, you might say it was a dish."

"What do you mean dish."

"Well, you know what I mean, dish, someone if I was you I'd be seeing I tell you, only I know you're busy. But maybe interested in an hour or two."

"Look here, who is this. What do you mean by this extraordinary conversation."

"It's Norbert, plain old Norbert. Just telling you what I know. Hey by the way, been thinking over your investment advice. I told the chef what you said, he wants to come in on the advice as well. Says he'll send you up a souffle."

"It's five twenty by my watch. In the morning."

"I know. I know. That's what I told this dish."

"And don't call me again. Good night."

"Gee. Good night."

Smith derobing. Flicking off the lights. Leave a feeble glow of lamp in the sitting room. That son of a bitch Norbert. Thought I was on the job. And add a thrill with a phone call. A dish in the lobby asking for you. The whole world tries to get in touch and have some sort of ring side seat. Even at toilet of a morning. Ring the village bell. George Smith, gentleman, has made a motion. Without incident. The bell echoing down the valley. Without incident. The bell echoing down Thankful the town folk paused and clapped.

A motion

This side of the ocean

Producing a tidal variation

Upon the opposite shore

One could not ignore.

Ding a ling. Smith sitting on the edge of bed. Trousers down. World wants to know time of tomorrow's movement. Pick up this phone for the last desperate time.

"Gee Mr. Smith I'm really sorry, this is Norbert, night porter, on duty the Boar Hotel, again. There's some misunderstanding down here. And boy this party, the dish is on the way up by the private elevator. Told me to mind my own damn business and slapped me. Christ. Said get lost, buster. I'm not tussling with any more of these parties who want audience with you Mr. Smith. If she wasn't so beautiful I'd let her have one on the jaw, sure she's no friend of yours. Even the papers say you have assets they don't even know about. That's what I've been saying to the property owners around here. I say, so what, you own property, I tell them get a gun, this long, about a foot, go down your cellar and start blasting. They're crying about their taxes, sure I tell them, sure you got taxes, sure, you go down your cellar and start blasting."

"All right, Norbert."

"Sure I say, you got your taxes, all these property owners, sure, go down your cellar and start blasting."

"Thanks for informing me."

"Start blasting, that's what the property owners — "

George Smith gently put down the phone. Norberts got some kind of affliction. A gentle knock on the door. Opening it. Sally Tomson standing there. Stepping across the threshold.

"Kiss me. I'm so desperately sad."

"You poor kid, come to me."

The drink of a refreshing fountain. Her long tall frame. The perfume of her neck. In under the tresses of hair. Find the ear. Say something but can't think of a thing. Except how your open mouth has such tender softness. So much younger than I think. More afraid than I knew. You didn't want to drive away in the rainy world. Who would help or keep you safe. All cold. Come in. Put this door shut with a nudge of toe. The hours before we touch and then touch and everything is all right. Skins together. Melt the chill conversation to tiny groans. You tremble. Peek out of my eyes close up to yours. Arms around my neck. Underneath your closed lids come dropping big tears. Down the side of your nose they go, around the nostril. And sneak between our lips. We have no future. All the sad spoils we spend. You thought me some cheap operator, waltzing from one soiled little deal to another, extending a hand here and there with a nice to sue you. I'm kind to those who love me. Soft and tender to the helpless. You kick off your slippers to make you smaller. Stand in your stockings. Dress unzips down the back. Caught me without trousers at all. A leaf you are, go all golden, full of autumnal beauty. Reach up, Miss Tomson, I am your buffalo.

"Jesus, Smith. What old fashioned underwear."

"Christ, Miss T."

"I've never reached into a man's pants before."

"Feel free."

"Think I'm lewd."

"You're no wall flower."

"Shouldn't have come up here the way I did. I was mortified in the lobby. Made a scene. You just let me go out of the garage. Why didn't you stop me."

"Because I wanted you to come back."

"Take me into the bedroom. Carry me."

"You're a big girl. I might rupture."

"Gee you look handsome, Smith. I'll carry you."

"Mustn't let you. Miss Tomson."

"Come on, I'm strong."

"You'll strain yourself."

"I want to."

"Let's walk."

"Smithy, hold hands."

On the green carpet with a swing of linked arms. Her blue dress open down her spine. All those bones are pearls. Jasmine flowers on the curtains. Deep throated train trundling through the station, whistle wailing. Below this unholy hotel. Full of the strange spirits lain here before.

"You're strange Smith. It's sad."

"Why do you say it's sad."

"Wasted all this time. I never thought you liked me."

" O God."

"You do. Smithy."

'Tes."

"I like you. I think. I do. Yesh. Let's get off our clothes."

Untie the tie. Unbutton the shirt. Minute ago so light with loneliness, nearly blew away. When her clothes are gone. One by one on the floor. Leave your pearls. Makes me gulp. Such an impertinence sticking out like that. Cast iron. Apologise. Nurses can sting it with a rap of the finger on the end and make it go down. Mine's flying. Zeplin, biggest it's ever been. On its mooring. Look. No time to be shy. Got to turn away. A gasp.

"O God Smith."

"What."

"I saw it."

"O."

"It's big."

"It's normal."

"Honest to God it's not. I never would of thought it was as big. It smiles. That's why I gasped. That is really something."

"Thank you."

"It's beautiful. You're an endless surprise."

Smith waving his flag. Black ones are even bigger. Matilda tells. Miss Tomson I'm pleased you like it. Maybe it's all the months its wanted to rear for you. Compass needle. True north. Corrected pole. Room to write Sally Tomson. It chuckles too. All yours till coffin time.

"You've got a fine body Miss Tomson."

i€

Yeah I know. You're trembling Smith."

"You have the most beautiful body I've ever seen."

"Isn't it something."

"Yes."

"Gee you're trembling."

"I know."

"Let me hold it, this crazy thing."

"Wow."

"There for the grabbing all the time in Golf Street."

"Sally, your hair."

"Such a beautiful prick. Got to look at it. Kiss it.

Makes me feel weak behind the knees."

"Golf Street."

"Thirty three. Why some nice girl hasn't got her name tattooed. Right here on the side."

"MissTomson."

"Could choke to death on it. Gee I'm shaking a little too. Grab me."

"Yes."

"Like my pent house shakes sometimes. You're slender Smithy. Wonderful sneaky guy. It's just like you never kissed anyone before. I want to tell you things. Feed you. Damn you with that, not telling me."

Smith closing arms around the lanky soul. Just in a string of pearls. Now you know. Your breasts shine. Twin beams from a lighthouse on a lonely coast. Lift them a little to put a kiss. Hair on my hand. Warm. Kneel between your legs to pray. And in deference to the jungles disappearing the world over, growl.

"Smithy what a marvelous sound."

"Grrrrrrr."

"You're so close you could give me a heart beat."

"Bump."

"Was that it."

"Yes."

"Thanks. Bump. There's one for you."

"Thanks."

"Christ I can't wait. Give me that. Give it to me."

"You're laughing."

"I know."

"And crying. Tears."

"Of course I am. Get it in. Before I die. Of all the simple things. Jesus. Bump. Have a heart beat."

"Thank you."

"Feels like an oak. Don't move."

"Don't cry."

"I've got to cry. O Jesus. Shake the hay seed out of my hair."

Tomson smiling. Months of dreaming of this sunflower. Opened now. Head rolling, a little ship back and forth on the sea, delicate white nose a sail. Long hands sliding down Smith's back. Clutching over his simple arse. Warble of a bird. Crossed tonight, the wide rambling lobby. Red carpets spreading warm under a black piano, gleaming. Played with sad hands. On your breasts across your chest. Under me here. Inside you. Singing out your groans. Never knew you were so musical. Lungs dragging in air. Flattery. So soothed my nerve-wracked mind. Pleases you. Apple end you said. To eat. Down your mouth like all of me you tried to lift in your arms. Treetop out the window. Knockings in the radiator. Tiniest lines of age round your eyes. Where sadness starts. Feel I'm crashing. Into a country dance at a cross roads, as nearly I did once rushing towards the West with Bonniface for a toothbrush holiday at his unsteady country seat. Give you this gold ghost like the one I was driving. Taking an instant detour. Through a white cottage at the side of the road. In an explosion of stones and dust and within a hands' breadth of a gentle old soul having a cup of tea. Miss Tomson, she spilled not a drop. In you. Zounds, as we went through a hedge and field and back on the road, Bonniface screamed. First and only time ever had him scared. But I left every dancer unscathed and right as rain. Smithy, I've got a ruler in my handbag. Make you embarrassed to measure it. Widen my field of interest. The size. No one will believe me. God you helpless little guy. I am. Two women in one day. Both my secretaries. Ports in storm. Smithy I'm breaking in two. Hold me together. Don't let me go. Or leave me. Even when it's coffin time. Smithy, not so loud, you poor poor guy. Let it go. Under the waves. Got you wrapped. Tickling me under the heart. It is. You rascal. Tell me a story. Were you ever honest. Sally. You see. Bonniface said at the University, realism was our friend. Both of us cheated. And they caught the poor Bonniface. Who threw you Goliath's collar in the dark. But the college officials were mesmerized by his brilliance and candor on other issues. As the father of a child, waiting tensely for another. Smithy I feel pregnant already. Shush Bonniface was grim that day crossing the cobble stones glistening in a recent rain, tutor at his side. To appear before an august body and great clanging bell that rings your future. Your balls Smithy, they're slippery. Listen. I stole to watch in the window of the great hall. Bonniface's tutor, a man of love brilliance and sorrow. Who stood brushing grey hair aside, said gentlemen I stand here before you to plead to put facts, sad and uncomfortable. Mr. Clementine need not have sat his examination to get his year but elected to do so because he felt he could excel. Four days prior to sitting his paper he was notified by his landlady to quit his premises. Sally, he peed all over them. At the same time, gentlemen, he found that his wife was pregnant again. Gentlemen, most of us have known the onslaught of fatherhood as it woefully pounded upon Mr. Clementine. Smithy, these little balls are antiques. Sally, of a priceless period. But outside the window that day, Sally, chilly and cold. Bonniface's tutor had tears in his eyes, and a left fist raised gently. I could bear to hear no more, tears in my eyes too. Smithy, love to see you cry. And suddenly a shaft of sunlight struck down. Across the features of Bonniface as he smiled. The august body rose. Alone Bonniface shook his tutor's hand. And that night walking forth from those university walls, Bonniface said, Smith, my dear George, my name is cleared, I must have drink. And out we went on the granite streets. Gently torturing and tormenting the town. Untold human horsepower in reserve. Bars as wamp till the pubs were closed. Bonniface said get married George. Say yes to love. See little babies grow.

Through trial

And misfortune

Through misery

And pain

Maybe later

Vaulting fences

Like their

Daddy.

Smithy, I feel so good full of you. Want to kiss it up again. Does it need a rest. Did you get drunk with your friend Bonniface. Yes, near the canal. He said he desired malt, must find malt. And ripped a divining rod from a nearby innocent fence. Held it high in his hand, said, ho. Ho what gives. Ho. We crossed the bridge. As the divining instrument led. Yours Smithy. It's now so small and sweet. We went under the trees. By the little gardens. Up a path to a green door through flower beds. Ho. The door of this house ajar. And we walked in. Bonniface behind divining rod, through the blackness. Up stairs. I was holding to the back of his coat I said vouchsafe. He said me leader. Follow. Down a hall. Another door ajar. Bonniface fiddled with a switch and lo, there was light. Jesus saves and satisfies. Smithy, do you ever think he's been laid. Sally there were a hundred bottles marked X and Watling Street on a table in a room. Which we grasped and consumed foolishly in the dark. Bonniface said will the world ever be this way again. And if not, why not. Good things are now. Not hereafter. Smithy youVe often been silent. Did the world do something to you. To make you such a quiet man. Because it's so good to hear you talk. I must pee. That's what happened that night. Bonniface said, Smith I do not trust this divining rod to steer you to a suitable bowl. Therefore suggest you use the window this dark night. I said I wouldn't. Jesus don't pee out this window Smithy. But Bonniface said, my dear George, let me show you how. A manner and method in everything, thus, you raise the window, quietly. Handling the part carefully out through the opening made thereby. A mechanism I don't quite fully understand in the skull sends a message to the apparatus, pee, it says. And whee, signal received, a stream now emits arclike over the windowsill. Cascading down upon the old fashioned flowers spied walking up the path to the free repast. Just as Bonniface lectured, tasting each beautiful vowel, I heard unbecoming stirrings in the room below. A trembling of voices. Lights had been switched on to watch the demonstration. But with the murmurings below, Bonniface requested smartly a dousing of illumination and pronto return to stoicism. We sat stony in the dark, each with a refreshing thick brown beverage to hand. Steps up the stairs now, following upon the slamming of a door below. And click click along the hall. Another click. The switching on of the lights by an unknown hand. Bonniface yelling out the window, O my God I will roll mothballs in your direction soon. The door which was green swung open, the lights blazing, just as they were when the world was born. A brutal busty madam of fulminating nature stood framed in the door, shouting, what are you doing in my house, who's responsible for that disgusting downpour. Bonniface looked up from peaceful reverie. My good madam, how dare you address my friend and I in such a fashion. How dare you. And interrupt this gentle and kindly celebration following upon the heartfelt pleadings of my tutor. Mr. Smith, here, was a field officer in the last conflict. Many footsoldiers gave willingly of their lives under his command, as he busily figured new strategy. Furthermore I envisioned for him a nice mercantile future, with marriage, children and ponies for them to ride. She said, get out of my house I'm calling the police, you bastards pissed right in my bedroom window onto my husband and me in bed. Smithy go and do yours and come back, and tell me. You shy, aren't you. Yes Miss Tomson. Go to make a tinkle. Tinkle. Now tell me Smithy, push in close, let me hold them again, gee too small for tennis, if I phoned you, said I was full of a baby what would you say. Delighted. Would you. And what did Bonniface say to Madam. He said Madam I find it impossible to forgive you your manner in which you suggest such foulness. Who wants to waste piss on you anyway when it's needed for the benefit of roots and stems of flowers. Smithy you've never talked like this to me before, such a sweet story. Did this madam belt him one. Well madam was not lightly to be dismissed by the logical hauteur of Bonniface, she shook and trembled rather violently in the flesh. Made a rash charge at the Bonniface, who catlike was up, entwining wiry arms around her, her bosoms unflatteringly bursting forth from one of those modern manufactured fabrics. She screamed manhandling, fingering. As one heard a couple of hours ago in the Pomfret. Frequent fingering universal. And a figment, Bonniface said, of her imagination. Then gripping her person, as madam shouted loudly take your dirty hands off my tits, if my husband wasn't a cripple down there he'd come up and kill the both of you. Bonniface chucked her back out into her hall. Dare you madam, interfere with my social life. Nor should my lily hands toy with your mortal appendages. Vouchsafe they are huge. Wait till I get my stethoscope. Me mental and moral scientist madam. Bonniface then turned, said, my dear George, do pardon that unwholesome mar upon the evening, drink up, while I finish my pee. Smithy I really thought you were going to do yours out the window. Get us raided. Cops streaming in. We're on private property, Miss Tomson. You have it all figured, you scare me Smith. Guess we're both of us operators, without clothes, let me try a punch, watch this now, this left hook, below the belt, all them hours you spent at The Game Club. Christ Miss Tomson, got a nice little punch there. Smithy you see, I could really take you, I could. Want to fight. No, please Miss Tomson. Come on Smithy. Anyway, even though you're getting yellow, I like your stories. Little incident was rich. Whole big world behind you, I knew nothing about. You're a lion, you're loving what I'm saying, you bastard. I'm such an open hearted girl, do you think it will come up again. I'll make it. With a kiss. O poor Smithy I ask for too much. You got grey hairs here, and now I know why they make lolly pops. It stirred, ah ha, you don't know how exciting to make it stand up. Sort of sentimental, can I think it's all for me, it does. Yes. Sweet, I wouldn't play tennis with them, fun to tell you everything I think. Hold my breasts. Was going to tear up the newspaper a moment before I saw your ad with the slave pay, the funny sequence of words got me. Miss Tomson, I'm going to advertise more if it finds the likes of you. Smithy how did you escape madam. She rushed out her front door, turned and shouted up remonstration and got caught in the undertow as the Bonniface unleashed the urine once more. Gee he really needed a pee, Smith, like to meet him, in a raincoat, if we add up both our ages what would it be, length of it in feet, it's beautiful, to sit on. Miss Tomson. Open up my eyes at you, sitting so pleased, and all you had to do was look and askand up it went again, when I nearly think it can't, it won't, you said make it, you'll kill me, I'm dying, slipping right down, can't hold on, fingers slipping, shade pulled quietly over the brain, goodbye, don't go yet Smithy, I'm coming. Glued together. Sally, I'm only going just as I'm coming too. Sally. God. Don't mention him Smithy, they'll hear screaming in the lobby. Sally, you blanket over the desperate cold cares and mailmen lugging all the undelivered dread. Wait now till Monday. Till perhaps the Bonniface will come again rapping on the empty door of 604. Or enroll in The School Of Higher Graduation across the hall. My former friends will turn my funeral into rout. With some vulgar word drifting over the quiet peace. Four simple threadbare letters brought together. Scattering my acquaintances into the landscape. All listening cowering behind the gravestones and edifices to a meek Bonniface song.

In twilight

Too true

The enemy farts.

Get ready.

Miss Tomson throws back her long fishing rod arms. Two mouse blond powdery puffs of hair. Steamy incense of her sweat. Kiss her all down the inside of the arms. And ask her now.

"Miss Tomson."

"Yesh."

"Will you come to my funeral when I die."

"Jesus Christ, Smithy. You poor kid. Sure I will. But you're not going to die. You've got a long way to go. Sure I'll come to your funeral. But you're going to live for years and years. Tell me who was the first woman you ever slept with. So I'll have plenty to think up when I write your epitaph. I'll come to the cemetery with it written on a sign. You know you were the sweetest employer I ever had. When I hold this. It's going to be a great shame when you die."

Miss Tomson's eyes gone grey because they do at dawn she said. Marble canopy over my last remains. Few miles south of here. And she'll walk that day on her tall blond legs through the gate of the garden of deads. In her hand a little bunch of violets. Crossing the pebbled paths, a wind blowing and bending the branches of trees and some leaves will fall and float to the first step of my tomb. Near the grass verge with its little sign. Perpetually Endowed. And Sally it was that latter word the first woman I ever slept with said to me. She was a queen with hair like sugar cane and her face and lips like soft sweet putty. She saw it and said you're well endowed. The night it happened I had been tempted away from my college rooms. Had a crazy man who visited me every Friday afternoon and smoked a cigar in front of my mirror. Would laugh loudly at his image uttering dramatic remarks, and said he was an actor. I left him and went to a tavern by the quays where the college bucks were drinking and singing hymns. There was Giles who invited old men back to his college apartments for games. Members of the rowing club riposted, for God's sake, man, clean up your life. Outside this pub ships were wheeling in the river, winches trembling, cables stiffening across the dark waters as they pulled bows towards the sea. And under a table there was her leg. She was blond like you as well as a queen.

"Don't leave me Smithy, not for a few hours anyway.

Promise."

"Promise."

"I'll drive you back to town. You know. I went by Golf Street once. Taking Goliath for a walk. It was so sad. Looked up at your office and all of it empty and I nearly cried. Cigar guy, out viewing his big time display window comes across the street. Wants to know if he can help. Told him to mind his own business. You know what he said, sister if you got any connection with that guy, they caught up with him, so you better beat it. I said sic him Goliath. Did that guy skidaddle. I was gloomy. I thought God, here I am making all this money, and my poor old friend Smith had to beat it. Felt like leaving you money in my will. Even talked to my lawyer about it. You know they made a plaster model of me, it's everywhere all over town. Gave me the willies thinking what some guy might do to the cast. They had to tame down my lines. I don't know, you don't think they're too big. Why do you smile. You know Smith I don't even love you. I'm going to look at you as a curiosity in my life. You never even took me out. Or even bought me a soda. All the while I'm thinking you're broke. Till I see your apartment then I think you're the biggest tightwad who ever lived. I still do. And here you are in my arms. You haven't even offered to pay for smacking up my fenders."

"These are fine fenders."

"Just fit your hands. Wish I didn't have troubles. I'm supporting my brother. He's out of work, trying to start a corporation. I said why don't you operate like a friend I know which was you. I said he just has four walls and a pencil and cleans up. My brother wants his own building with his name on top. Said it's necessary with the kind of people he knows. God Smith you're so beautiful just lying there. You even have shoulders, not much, but impressive. If I tickled it like this it will grow big again. You better realise I'm just an innocent girl. Saying it to such an innocent guy. Sure I'll come to your funeral. This will need a little box all by itself."

Sunday morning down on the station with big stacks of newspapers lifted off the train. Cars come slowly by and take one home. The Boar Hotel, four windows curtained, closed to the light. Rain cleaned sky, with white puffs of new clouds coming from the west. Miss Tomson's black long car parked with five others on the circular drive. She pranced up two steps and waltzed in between the shrubberies. Perhaps took a right swing towards Norbert's jaw. God will never keep her out of heaven. Even when he knows.

Hers

Were large

Without hope

For tiny

Hands.