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By Root 447 0

Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City (the visit was part of a sightseeing tour taken to please Perry). She was eighteen, and Dick had promised to marry her. But he had also promised to marry Maria, a woman of fifty, who was the widow of a "very prominent Mexican banker." They had met in a bar, and the next morning she had paid him the equivalent of seven dollars. "So how about it?" Dick said to Perry. "We'll sell the wagon. Find a job. Save our dough. And see what happens." As though Perry couldn't predict precisely what would happen. Suppose they got two or three hundred for the old Chevrolet. Dick, if he knew Dick, and he did - now he did - would spend it right away on vodka and women. While Perry sang, Otto sketched him in a sketchbook. It was a passable likeness, and the artist perceived one not very obvious aspect of the sitter's countenance - its mischief, an amused, babyish malice that suggested some unkind cupid aiming envenomed arrows. He was naked to the waist. (Perry was "ashamed" to take off his trousers, "ashamed" to wear swimming trunks, for he was afraid that the sight of his injured legs would "disgust people," and so, despite his underwater reveries, all the talk about skin-diving, he hadn't once gone into the water.) Otto reproduced a number of the tattoos ornamenting the subject's over muscled chest, arms, and small and calloused but girlish hands. The sketch-book, which Otto gave Perry as a parting gift, contained several drawings of Dick - "nude studies." Otto shut his sketchbook, Perry put down his guitar, and the Cowboy raised anchor, started the engine. It was time to go. They were ten miles out, and the water was darkening. Perry urged Dick to fish. "We may never have another chance," he said.

"Chance?"

"To catch a big one."

"Jesus, I've got the bastard kind," Dick said. "I'm sick." Dick often had headaches of migraine intensity - "the bastard kind. "He thought they were the result of his automobile accident. "Please, baby. Let's be very, very quiet." Moments later Dick had forgotten his pain. He was on his feet, shouting with excitement. Otto and the Cowboy were shouting, too. Perry had hooked "a big one." Ten feet of soaring, plunging sailfish, it leaped, arched like a rainbow, dived, sank deep, tugged the line taut, rose, flew, fell, rose. An hour passed, and part of another, before the sweat-soaked sportsman reeled it in. There is an old man with an ancient wooden box camera who hangs around the harbor in Acapulco, and when the Estrellita docked, Otto commissioned him to do six portraits of Perry posed beside his catch. Technically, the old man's work turned out badly - brown and streaked. Still, they were remarkable photographs, and what made them so was Perry's expression, his look of unflawed fulfillment, of beatitude, as though at last, and as in one of his dreams, a tall yellow bird had hauled him to heaven.

One December afternoon Paul Helm was pruning the patch of floral odds and ends that had entitled Bonnie Clutter to membership in the Garden City Garden Club. It was a melancholy task, for he was reminded of another afternoon when he'd done the same chore. Kenyon had helped him that day, and it was the last time he'd seen Kenyon alive, or Nancy, or any of them. The weeks between had been hard on Mr. Helm. He was "in poor health" (poorer than he knew; he had less than four months to live), and he was worried about a lot of things. His job, for one. He doubted he would have it much longer. Nobody seemed really to know, but he understood that "the girls," Beverly and Eveanna, intended to sell the property - though, as he'd heard one of the boys at the cafe remark, "ain't nobody gonna buy that spread, long as the mystery lasts." It "didn't do" to think about strangers here, harvesting "our" land. Mr. Helm minded - he minded for Herb's sake. This was a place, he said, that "ought to be kept in a man's family." Once Herb had said to him, "I hope there'll always be a Clutter here, and a Helm, too." It was only a year ago Herb had said that. Lord, what was he to do if the farm got sold? He