Morgan's Passing - Anne Tyler [134]
He considered a minute, settled his glasses higher on his nose, and drove on. But what about Butkins? Where was Butkins? He turned left. He cut over to Crosswell Street. Crafts Unlimited was still there, closed for Sunday but thriving, obviously. The ranks of pottery jars in its window gave it an archeological look. The third-floor windows above it were as dark and plain as ever. He half believed that if he were to climb the stairs, he’d find Emily and Leon Meredith still leading their pure, vagabond lives, like two children in a fairytale.
3
“I’m certain I can fit into it,” the second stepsister said. “It’s only that I’ve been shopping all day and my feet are a little swollen.”
“Madam. Please,” the Prince said in his exhausted voice.
“Well, maybe I could cut off my toes.”
“What about you, young lady?” asked the Prince. He was looking at Cinderella, who peeked out from the rear of the stage. Dressed in burlap, shy and fragile, she inched forward and approached the Prince. He knelt at her feet with the little glass slipper, or it may have been a shimmer of cellophane. All at once her burlap dress was mysteriously cloaked in a billow of icy blue satin. “Sweetheart!” the Prince cried, and the children drew their breaths in. They were young enough still. Their expressions were dazzled and blissful, and even after the house lights came on they continued sitting in their chairs and gazing at the stage, open-mouthed.
It was the Emancipation Baptist Church’s Building Fund Weekend. There’d been two puppet shows on Saturday, and this evening’s was the last one. Then Morgan and Emily could pack up their props and leave the church’s Sunday School hall, which had the biting, minty smell of kindergarten paste. They could say goodbye, at least temporarily, to the Glass Accordion and the Six Singing Simonsons and Boffo the Magician. Emily set the puppets one by one in their liquor carton. Joshua staggered down the aisle with one of Boffo’s great brass rings. Morgan folded the wooden stage, lifted it onto his shoulder with a grunt, and carried it out the side entrance.
It was a pale, misty night. The sidewalk gleamed under the streetlights. Morgan loaded the stage into the back of the pickup and slammed the door shut. Then he stood looking around him, breathing in the soft, damp air. A family passed—cranky children, kept awake past their bedtime, wheedling at their mother’s edges. A boy and girl were kissing near a bus stop. On the corner was a mailbox, which reminded Morgan of his letter to Bonny. He’d carried it with him all evening; he might as well get it sent off. He took it from the pocket of his Air Force jacket and started across the street. ( … simply strew a handful of mothballs, the letter whispered, a. along the attic floor beams; b. in the closets beneath the eaves …)
His boots made a gritty sound that he liked. Cars hissed past him, their headlights haloed. He flattened the envelope, whose corners had started curling. But if it’s bats … he should have said. He’d forgotten to mention bats. You don’t want to close all the openings till you’re certain the bats are … and he also should have said, Remember that Mother’s vitamins are tax-deductible, and Don’t rush into anything with this professor fellow, and Just loving him is not all it takes, you know. He should have added, I used to think it was enough that I was loving; yes, I used to think, at least I am a sweet and loving man, but now I see that it matters also who you love, and what your reasons are. Oh, Bonny, you can go so wrong …
He stood at the mailbox, shaking his head, stunned. It took an auto horn to bring him to his senses, and he had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time it had honked. A woman leaned out of a Chevrolet, her hair a bobbled mass of curlers. “Well? Will they or won’t they?” she asked him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Will my letters get there by Tuesday, I said, or will they drag their feet and loiter like the last