Early Autumn Part 13

I unlocked the cabin and opened all the windows. We started to carry and stow. A lot of the things were too heavy for Paul and everything he carried he seemed to handle badly. He picked things up only with the tips of his fingers. When I told him to take the shotgun in, he carried it awkwardly by the b.u.t.t rather than where it balanced. He carried one of the shovels by its blade. When we were through, there was sweat on his face and he seemed red and hot He still wore his pea coat.

It was after five when we finished. The bugs were out and it was getting cool. Last fall Susan and I had bought a cheap stereo and put it in the cabin. I put on the Benny Goodman 1938 jazz concert while I made a fire. I had a beer while I started supper. Paul came in from looking at the lake and got a c.o.ke out of the refrigerator. He went into the living room. In a minute he was back.

"Didn't you bring a television?" he said.

"No," I said.

He snorted angrily and went back in the living room. I figured he'd stare at the record player. Anything in a pinch.

I opened a large can of beans and put them in a pan to heat. While they heated I put out some pickles and rye bread, ketchup, plates, and utensils. Then I panfried two steaks. We ate at a table in the living room, the kitchen was too small, listening to the Goodman band, watching the fire move, and smelling the wood smoke. Paul still wore the pea coat although the room was warm from the fire.

After supper I got out my book and started to read. Paul picked up the record alb.u.ms and looked at them and put them back in disgust. He looked out the window. He went outside to look around but came back in almost at once. The bugs were out as it got dark.

"You shoulda brought a TV," he said once.

"Read," I said. "There's books there."

"I don't like to read."

"It's better than looking at the lamp fixtures till bedtime, isn't it?"

"No."

I kept reading.

Paul said, "What's that book?"

"A Distant Mirror," I said.

"What's it about?"

"The fourteenth century."

He was quiet. Sap oozed out of the end of a log and sputtered onto the hot ash beneath it.

"What do you want to read about the fourteen hundreds for?" Paul said.

"Thirteen hundreds," I said. "Just like the nineteen hundreds are the twentieth century."

Paul shrugged. "So why do you want to read about it?"

I put the book down. "I like to know what life was like for them," I said. "I like the sense of connection over six hundred years that I can get."

"I think it's boring," Paul said.

"Compared to what?" I said.

He shrugged.

"I think it's boring compared to taking Susan Silverman to Paris," I said. "Things are relative."

He didn't say anything.

"I know more about being human when I know more about their lives. I get a certain amount of perspective. The time was full of people that killed, tortured, suffered, struggled, and agonized for things that seemed worth anything to them. Now they've been dead for six hundred years. What's it all about, Ozymandias?"

"Huh?"

" 'Ozymandias'? It's a poem. Here, I'll show you." I got up and found a book in the box I hadn't unpacked yet.

"Listen," I said. I read the poem to him. Deliberately in the firelit room. It was about his level.

He said, "She your girl friend?"

I said, "What?"

He said, "Susan Silverman. She your girl friend?"

"Yes," I said.

"You going to get married?"

"I don't know."

"You love her?"

"Yes."

"How about her?" he said.

"Does she love me?"

He nodded.

"Yes," I said.

"Then why don't you get married?"

"I'm not sure. Mostly it's a question of how we'd affect each other, I suppose. Would I interfere with her work? Would she interfere with mine? That sort of thing."

"Wouldn't she quit work?"

"No."

"Why not? I would. I wouldn't work if I didn't have to."

"She likes her work. Makes her feel good about herself. Me too. If you just did it for money, of course you'd want to quit. But if you do it because you like to..." I gestured with my hand. "What do you like to do?"

He shrugged. "That guy Hawk your friend?"

"Sort of."

"You like him?"

"Sort of. I can count on him."

"He seems scary to me."

"Well, he is. He's not good. But he's a good man. You know the difference?"

"No."

"You will," I said. "It's a difference I'm going to help you learn."

CHAPTER 16.

The next morning I woke Paul up at seven.

"Why do I have to get up?" he said. "There's no school."

"We got a lot to do," I said.

"I don't want to get up."

"Well, you have to. I'm going to make breakfast. Anything special you want?"

"I don't want any."

"Okay," I said. "But there's nothing to eat till lunch."

He stared at me, squinting, and not entirely awake.

I went out to the kitchen and mixed up some batter for corn bread. While the bread was baking and the coffee perking, I took a shower and dressed, took the corn bread out, and went into Paul's room. He had gone back to sleep. I shook him awake.

"Come on, kid," I said. "I know you don't want to, but you have to. You'll get used to the schedule. Eventually you'll even like it."

Paul pushed his head deeper into the sleeping bag and shook his head.

"Yeah," I said. "You gotta. Once you're up and showered you'll feel fine. Don't make me get tough."

"What'll you do if I don't," Paul muttered into the sleeping bag.

"Pull you out," I said. "Hold you under the shower. Dry you, dress you, Et cetera."

"I won't get up," he said.

I pulled him out, undressed him, and held him under the shower. It took about a half an hour. It's not easy to control someone, even a kid, if you don't want to hurt them. I shampooed his hair and held him under to rinse, then I pulled him out and handed him a towel.

"You want me to dress you?" I said.

He shook his head, and wrapped the towel around himself, and went to his room. I went to the kitchen and put out the corn bread and strawberry jam and a bowl of a.s.sorted fruit. While I waited for him I ate an orange and a banana. I poured a cup of coffee. I sipped a little of it. I had not warned him against going back to bed. Somehow I'd had a sense that would be insulting. I wanted him to come out on his own. If he didn't I had lost some ground. I sipped some more coffee. The corn bread was cooling. I looked at his bedroom door. I didn't like cool corn bread.

The bedroom door opened and he came out. He had on jeans that had obviously been shortened and then let down again, his worn Top-Siders, and a green polo s.h.i.+rt with a penguin on the left breast.

"You want coffee or milk?" I said.

"Coffee."

I poured some. "What do you take in it?" I said.

"I don't know," he said. "I never had it before."

"May as well start with cream and sugar," I said. "Calories aren't your problem."

"You think I'm skinny?"

"Yes. There's corn bread, jam, fruit, and coffee. Help yourself."

"I don't want anything."

I said, "Okay," and started on the corn bread. Paul sipped at the coffee. He didn't look like he liked it. After breakfast I cleaned up the dishes and said to Paul, "You got any sneakers?"

"No."

"Okay, first thing we'll do is go over to North Conway and buy you some."

"I don't need any," he said.

"Yes, you do," I said. "We'll pick up a newspaper too."

"How you know they sell them over there?"

"North Conway? They probably got more flashy running shoes than aspirin," I said. "We'll find some."

On the ride to North Conway Paul said, "How come you made me get up like that?"

"Two reasons," I said. "One, you need some structure in your life, some scheduling, to give you a sense of order. Two, I was going to have to do it sometime. I figured I might as well get it over with."

"You wouldn't have to do it if you let me sleep."

"It would've been something. You'd push me until you found out how far I'd go. You have to test me, so you can trust me."

"What are you, a child psychologist?"