Eventide - Kent Haruf [36]
What are you doing here? she said. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?
Grandpa’s sick. I just came home to check on him. Something’s wrong with him.
What is it?
I don’t know. Could you come over and look at him?
Yes, she said. Come in while I get dressed.
He waited for her near the door but didn’t sit down. He was surprised to see the newspapers on the floor and the various magazines and pieces of mail scattered around. Two half-filled coffee cups were set on the side table next to the couch, and milky coffee from one of the cups had spilled out in a gray pool on the polished wood. In the dining room last night’s dishes were still on the table. It was clear she had troubles of her own. Dena had said so when they were out in the shed, but she wouldn’t talk more about it.
Mary Wells came out of the bedroom in jeans and a sweatshirt, and she had brushed her hair and had put on some lipstick, but that was all. She didn’t say anything and they went outside. They started across to his grandfather’s house.
How long has he been sick? she said.
I don’t know if he is sick for sure. But he seems like it.
How long has he seemed sick?
Since yesterday. He keeps coughing and he won’t get out of bed.
They crossed the vacant lot and went into the little house. She had never been beyond the front door, and he felt embarrassed for her to see the inside, to see how they lived. She looked around. Where is he?
Back here.
He led her through the hall to the dark bedroom that smelled of sweat and stale coffee and his grandfather’s sour bedding. He could smell it now in her presence. The old man lay in the bed, his hands outside the blanket. He heard them come in the room and opened his eyes.
Are you sick, Mr. Kephart?
Who’s that coming in here?
Mary Wells from up the street. You remember me.
The old man started to sit up.
No. Don’t move. She crossed to his bed. DJ says you seem like you’re getting sick.
Well, I don’t feel too good. But I ain’t sick.
You look like you are. She felt his forehead and he looked up at her out of his watery eyes. You’re hot. You feel feverish, Mr. Kephart.
It ain’t nothing to talk about. I’ll get over it.
No, you’re sick.
He began to cough. She stood over him, watching his face. He coughed for a good while. When he was done he cleared his throat and spat into the handkerchief.
I want to take you to the doctor, Mr. Kephart. Let’s see what he says.
No, I ain’t going to no doctor.
Well, you can just stop that now. I’m going home to get the car. And while I’m gone you can get dressed. I’ll be back in five minutes.
She left the room and they could hear the screen door slap shut. The old man stared at the boy. How come you ain’t in school where you belong? Look here what you done. Now you got the neighbors all worked up.
You’ve got to get dressed, Grandpa. She’s going to be here.
I know that, goddamn it. Meddling is what you been doing. Sticking your nose in.
Do you want me to help you get out of bed?
I can still do that myself. Goddamn it, give me a minute.
The old man came slowly out of the bed. The long underwear he wore was yellowed and dirty, the bottoms sagged in the seat and were considerably soiled in the front where he’d fumbled at the fly. He stood while the boy helped him into his blue workshirt and his overalls, pulling them on over the underwear, then he sat down on the bed and the boy brought him his high-topped black shoes and knelt and laced them. The old man stood again and went into the bathroom and swiped a wet comb across his white hair and rinsed his whiskered face and came out.
Mary Wells was honking at the curb. They went out and the old man climbed into the front seat and the boy got in back, and they drove out of the neighborhood over the tracks, going up Main Street. There were half a dozen cars parked at this noon hour at the curb along the three blocks of stores and a few more cars and pickups parked in front of the tavern at the corner of Third. The old man seemed lifted in spirit to