The Mighty Dead Part 7

"My popovers and my coffee, maybe," she agreed. "And my figure wasn't bad, a decade or two back. But I never had Martha's looks. That's from her dad's side of the family."

"Handsome, were they?"

"Oh, yes. High falutin' people, scholars and beauties who owned half the land in the county, at one time. Old Wisconsin Germans. I'm Irish myself."

Bright scintillating dialogue, stirring the quick response. But he felt as relaxed as though he had hay in his hair. He looked out at the deserted road, at the fields beyond, at the clouds on the clear horizon. Rural summer--a quiet Sat.u.r.day morning in the agricultural Midwest only nineteen minutes from Chicago.

People spoke of other worlds and here was one, nineteen minutes from Chicago. And last night, under the lucidate, the town banker had gone to another world, three hundred years away, had gone back to the magic of Burns.

A great lad for the ladies, Bobbie Burns, and a great love for the people. A poet with revolutionary leanings, all heart, a bleeder and a believer. Studious, Doak sat, on the front porch in another world.

Were the people so stupid they couldn't be trusted with words? They could be misled with words and confused and stirred to unrighteous anger. And informed with words and guided and enn.o.bled and solaced and stirred to high destiny.

How had wrestling ever taken the place of words?

Someone said, "Dreaming, city-man?"

He looked up quickly to see Martha standing there. Mrs. Klein had evidently gone into the house without his being aware of it.

"Dreaming," Doak admitted. "Holding high converse with the mighty dead." He smiled at her. "Through for the week?"

"Through." She took the chair her mother usually occupied. "Five and a half days of whereas and wherefore earns me a day and a half for myself. At the risk of seeming forward would you like to go swimming with me this afternoon?"

"I can't think of a better way to spend it," Doak answered. "How about transportation?"

"It's only a little over a mile. We can walk." She paused. "Or did you plan to see Senator Arnold?"

"I'd rather go swimming," Doak said.

Which they did. In the waters of Lake Memahbin, in the small cove that harbored the entire recreational facilities of Dubbinville. Doak rented some trunks there and they swam out to the raft.

There weren't too many adults in the water this afternoon but the kids were everywhere. Noisy splas.h.i.+ng running kids--but very few of them ventured out to the big raft.

There was a park running the length of the beach and a variety of games--table tennis, horse-shoes, shuffleboard. There was a small group around the table in the grove who seemed to be just sitting.

Doak saw the beard and the lady who had quoted the unknown poet, last night. He and Martha lay on their stomachs on the raft, looking back toward the sh.o.r.e.

Doak said easily, "That gang in the glade doesn't seem to be having much fun."

"Solid citizens," Martha said. "That lady is the princ.i.p.al of the high school and the man with the beard is president of the bank. You couldn't expect them to run and shout, could you?"

Doak said nothing.

She turned over on her side to look at him. "Any luck with the Senator?"

"Not much so far. I'll get him, before Monday, though."

She stood up and he felt a stirring in him at the sight of her taut fully-feminine figure. She poised on the edge of the raft and then her tanned body went slanting toward the water.

She came up directly beneath him and splashed a handful of water into his face. "Sun wors.h.i.+pper," she mocked. "The trip out do you in?"

He made a face at her and she went under.

He looked over at the group in the glade. High school princ.i.p.al, custodian of young minds--and a reader. Worse than that, a partner in a publis.h.i.+ng venture.

Corruption? What kind of mind would it take to believe there was corruption in that group? A Senator Arnold kind of mind. Rebellion, yes. Oh, very definitely rebellion--under the Arnold Law.

But how could--

Somebody had his feet and he was being pulled head over toes into the waiting water. He came up spluttering to see Martha laughing at him from the edge of the raft.

He started to climb up and she dove off the further side. He went after her. Much laughter and great sport. An excuse to grab her, here and there, to feel the firm, warm smoothness of her, to quicken to the challenge of her body.

In the glade the watchers sat, missing nothing.

Doak said, "I'm not sure the solid citizens approve of your maidenly frolicking. They seem to be frowning our way."

"Studious types," Martha said, "but not necessarily disapproving."

Doak was silent, staring at the water.

"Bored?" Her voice was light.

He looked up. "I've never been less bored. Martha, I...." He shook his head in vexation.

"It's a little early for a pitch," she said, "though you do give it a warming amateur earnestness. Or wasn't it going to be a pitch?"

He looked at her steadily. "What else?"

"A warning maybe?" a break in the light tone.

"What kind of warning?"

It was her turn to look at the water--and to color? It seemed so, faintly, under the tan. She said, "To warn me that you're married or poor or uninterested." She looked up, smiling. "I'm such a simple country girl."

"Yes," he said. "Sure." He looked over at the watchers. "Are they friends of yours?"

"Yes." Her eyes wide and searching, her face and body taut. "Why?"

"Wondered. Am I being played for a patsy?"

Silence while she studied him. Silence while the raft gently rocked, and the world. "Patsy?" she asked.

"Forget it. You have a great charm and an unholy animal attraction for me, Martha Klein, and maybe we'd better get back to sh.o.r.e and have a quiet cigarette."

They had a cigarette and a hot dog with a skin on it, the first Doak had ever seen. They had grape pop and a few laughs. Fun in the sun at Dubbinville, U.S.A. Wouldn't the gang at home get a belt out of this?

And where was June's bright metallic laughter being heard this golden afternoon?

They walked back to town quietly, exertion-spent, sun-calmed. They came up onto the porch, and Mrs. Klein looked from Martha's face to Doak's and frowned--and sighed.