Eventide - Kent Haruf [9]
His grandfather woke and peered at him.
It’s time for bed.
The old man studied him for a moment as if trying to think who he was, then folded the paper together and set it on the floor beside the chair and, pushing against the arms of the rocker, rose slowly and walked into the bathroom, and afterward went back to his bedroom.
The boy drank another cup of coffee at the kitchen sink and dumped the dregs in the drain. He rinsed out the pot and turned off the lights and went back to bed in the little room next to his grandfather’s, where he read for two hours. Through the wall he could hear the old man snoring and coughing and muttering. At ten-thirty he cut the light out and fell asleep and the next morning he got up early to make their breakfast and afterward went to school across the tracks to the new building on the south side of Holt, and at school he did willingly and skillfully all that was required of him but didn’t say much of anything to anybody throughout the day.
4
THEY HAULED THE BLACKBALDY YEARLING STEERS TO town in the gooseneck trailer and jumped them out into the alley at the load-in dock behind the sale barn and the yard crew sorted them into a pen. The veterinarian inspected them and found none of the respiratory diseases he looked for in yearlings, nor the cancer eyes nor Bang’s nor the occasional malformed jaw he might expect in older cattle, and the brand inspector cleared them without question. Afterward they were handed the chit saying the steers were theirs and how many of them there were, and then they drove home again and ate in the kitchen in the quiet and went up to bed, and the next morning in the stilldark they rose from bed and chored out.
Now at noon they were seated at a square table in the little dirty sale barn diner ordering lunch. The waitress came with a pad and stood over them, sweating and red-faced. What are you two going to have today?
You look about like you was flat wore out, Harold said.
I’ve been at this since six this morning. Why wouldn’t I be?
Well, you might just bust something. You better take it easy.
When would I do that?
I don’t know, Harold said. That’s the question. You got any specials going on?
Everything’s special. What have you got in mind?
Well, he said, I’ve been considering the noble pig. I’ve seen about enough of these blackbaldy steers the last couple days to put me off beef for a week.
We have ham steak and there’s bacon if you want that. We could make you up a ham sandwich.
Bring me a ham steak. And mashed potatoes and brown gravy and whatever else comes with it. And black coffee. And some punkin pie if you would.
She wrote rapidly in her pad and looked up. Raymond, what about you?
That sounds about right, he said. Just bring me the same as Harold. Only what other brand of pie you got?
I have apple blueberry butterscotch lemon. She glanced over at the counter. I think I got one piece of chocolate meringue.
Blueberry, Raymond said. But take your time. There isn’t any rush about this.
I just wish he’d hire another girl, she said. That’s all it’d take. You think Ward’s ever going to do that?
I can’t see it happening.
Not in my lifetime, she said, and walked toward the kitchen and said something to two men at another table as she passed by.
She returned balancing two cups of coffee and a bowl of lettuce salad for each of them and a plate of white bread with little pats of butter and set it all down and went away again. The McPheron brothers took up their forks and began to eat. While they were eating, Bob Schramm came over. Anybody sitting here? he said.
You, Harold said. Set down.
Schramm pulled out a chair and sat and took off his black hat and placed it crownside down on the vacant chair and put a finger to each ear and turned up the plastic dials in his hearing aids, then smoothed the hair on the top of his head. He looked around the crowded room. Well, I just heard old John Torres died.
When was this? Harold said.
Last night. Over to the hospital. Cancer, I guess. You knew him, didn