You don’t want to miss your school.
It won’t hurt to miss some. This is more important. She straightened the bedsheet at his neck.
Raymond looked at her and then at the tiled ceiling, shifting a little in the bed. I can’t quit thinking about him, he said. He stays at the front of my mind all the time.
Do you want to talk about it?
It happened so fast. You can’t predict what an animal is going to do. You never can. I knew that bull was that way, but he’d never hurt nobody before.
You couldn’t do anything, she said. You have to know that.
But it doesn’t help, just knowing it. I keep going over all of it again in my head. There ought to of been something I could do.
Did he suffer? Victoria said.
Yes. He was awful bad at the end. I’m only glad now it didn’t last too long. I didn’t know how bad it was really. I thought he’d make it, I thought he’d come out of it. We been together all our lives.
You always got along together, didn’t you.
Yes, honey, we did. We never did have much of a fight. We had our disputes sometimes but they never amounted to anything. They was always done the next day. We just agreed on most things. Even without having to talk about them.
Did you ever think of doing anything else?
Like what, honey?
I don’t know. Like getting married, maybe. Or living apart.
Well. There was this one time Harold had him kind of a interest in a woman, but then she got interested in somebody else. That was a long time ago. She still lives here in town, with two grown-up kids. He always figured he was too slow, I guess. It might not of ever got anywhere anyway. Harold was pretty set in his ways.
They were good ways though, Victoria said. Weren’t they.
I think they were, Raymond said. He was a awful good brother to me.
He was good to me too, Victoria said. I keep expecting him to come walking in that door any minute now, saying something funny, and wearing that old dirty hat of his, like he always did.
That was him, wasn’t it, Raymond said. My brother always did have his own way of wearing a hat. You could tell Harold from a distance anywhere. You could tell him two blocks away. Oh hell, I miss him already.
I do too, she said.
I don’t imagine I’ll ever get over missing him, Raymond said. Some things you don’t get over. I believe this’ll be one of them.
16
WHEN HE GOT HOME FROM PLAYING IN THE SHED WITH Dena, his grandfather had already gone to bed in his little room at the back of the house, and when he switched on the light the old man raised up on his elbows in his long underwear, with his white hair disheveled and a wild look in his eyes.
Turn that off, he said.
What’s wrong, Grandpa?
I don’t feel very good.
Do you want supper?
I want you to turn that goddamn light off is what I want.
DJ cut off the light and went out to the kitchen. He made toast and coffee and carried these on a dinner plate back to the bedroom but now the old man was asleep.
In the night he heard him get out of bed. His grandfather stayed in the bathroom a long while before shuffling back to his room. Through the thin wall he could hear the bedsprings creaking under his weight, and then he began to cough. After a while there was the sound of his spitting.
In the morning when he went in to see him the old man was awake. He looked small under the heavy quilt, his white hair sticking out sideways, his thick red hands beyond the cuffs of his underwear lying slack and empty over the blanket.
Are you going to get up, Grandpa?
No. I don’t feel like it.
I made fresh coffee.
All right. Bring that.
He brought the coffee and the old man sat up and drank a little, then set the cup on a chair next to the bed and lay back again. He started coughing as soon as he was stretched out. He twisted around to reach under the pillow and pulled out a filthy handkerchief and spat into it and then used it to wipe his mouth.
You must be sick, Grandpa.
I don’t know. You better get on to school.
I don’t want to.