Needful Things - Stephen King [15]
Heavy smack of ash on horsehide.
Yells and laughterfrom the batting cage.
"Hello, Mr. Koufax, could you sign your cardfor me?"
A narrow face. Brown eyes. Darkish hair. The cap comes off briefly, he scratches his headjust above the hairline, then puts the cap back on.
"Sure, kid." He takes the card. "What's your name?"
"Brian, sir-Brian Seguin," Scratch, scratch, scratch on the card.
The magic: the inscribed fire.
"You want to be a ballplayer when you grow up, Brian?" The question has the feel of rote recital, and he speaks without raising his face from the card he holds in his large right hand so he can write on it with his soon-to-be-magic left hand.
"Yes, sir. " "Practice your fundamentals." And hands the card back.
"Yes, sir!"
But he's already walking away, then he's breaking into a lazy run on the fresh-cut grass as he jogs toward the bullpen with his shadow jogging along beside him"Brian? Brian?"
Long fingers were snapping under his nose-Mr. Gaunt's fingers.
Brian came out of his daze and saw Mr. Gaunt looking at him, amused.
"Are you there, Brian?"
"Sorry," Brian said, and blushed. He knew he should hand the card back, hand it back and get out of here, but he couldn't seem to let it go. Mr. Gaunt was staring into his eyes-right into his head, it seemed-again, and once more he found it impossible to look away.
"So," Mr. Gaunt said softly. "Let us say, Brian, that you are the buyer. Let us say that. How much would you pay for that card?"
Brian felt despair like a rockslide weight his heart.
"All I've got is-" Mr. Gaunt's'left hand flew up. "Shhh!" he said sternly. "Bite your tongue! The buyer must never tell the seller how much he has! You might as well hand the vendor your wallet, and turn the contents of your pockets out on the floor in the bargain! If you can't tell a lie, then be still! It's the first rule of fair trade, Brian my boy."
His eyes-so large and dark. Brian felt that he was swimming in them.
"There are two prices for this card, Brian. Half and half.
One half is cash. The other is a deed. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Brian said. He feltfar again-far away from Castle Rock, far away from Needful Things, even far away from himself The only things which were real in this far place were Mr. Gaunt's wide, dark eyes.
"The cash price for that 1956 autographed Sandy Koufax card is eighty-five cents," Mr. Gaunt said. "Does that seem fair?"
"Yes," Brian said. His voice was far and wee. He felt himself dwindling, dwindling away and approaching the point where any clear memory would cease.
"Good," Mr. Gaunt's caressing voice said. "Our trading has progressed well thus far. As for the deed do you know a woman named Wilma jerzyck, Brian?"
"Wilma, sure," Brian said out of his growing darkness. "She lives on the other side of the block from us."
"Yes, I believe she does," Mr. Gaunt agreed. "Listen carefully, Brian." So he must have gone on speaking, but Brian did not remember what he said.
7
The next thing he was aware of was Mr. Gaunt shooing him gently out onto Main Street, telling him how much he had enjoyed meeting him, and asking him to tell his mother and all his friends that he had been well treated and fairly dealt with.
"Sure," Brian said. He felt bewildered but he also felt very good, as if he had just awakened from a refreshing early afternoon nap.
"And come again," Mr. Gaunt said, just before he shut the door.
Brian looked at it. The sign hanging there now read
CLOSED.
8
It seemed to Brian that he had been in Needful Things for hours, but the clock outside the bank said it was only ten of four. It had been less than twenty minutes. He prepared to mount his bike, then leaned the handlebars against his belly while he reached in his pants pockets.
From one he drew six bright copper pennies.
From the other he drew the autographed Sandy Koufax card.
They apparently had made some sort of deal, although Brian could not for the life of him remember exactly what it had been-only that Wilma jerzyck's name had been mentioned.
To my good friend Brian, with best wishes,