Читать книгу Watershed - Mark Barr - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

THE BOARDING HOUSE LADY HAD BEEN VEXED WHEN Nathan had shown up on her porch that night, but after a few muttered complaints, she’d led him upstairs to a cramped room under the eaves. The room had a small table that he saw at once he could employ as a desk, but the lone lamp that lit the space was small and dim. He made a mental note to ask about getting another, but didn’t press his position having only just gotten her to agree to letting him in. He pushed his suitcase into a corner and stretched himself out on the thin mattress. In a moment he was asleep.

At dawn he was up and shaved in the sink of the shared hall bathroom. He had only the two suits, and the one he’d worn the day before showed every step he’d taken on the road from Memphis. He traded his rumpled suit for the one in his case, splashed on cologne, and buffed his shoes with his old socks. The boarding house woman, Irma, met him at the bottom of the stairs.

“You’re an early one,” she said, her tone revealing nothing about whether she approved or disapproved of this trait.

“I’ve seen the map, and it’s a long walk to the dam site,” he said. He was wearing his hat. When he caught her frowning at it, he slipped it off.

“Sit down,” she said. “You’re too early for most of it—the biscuits just went in—but I’ll scramble you an egg. I hear tell there’s a truck that runs out to the site from the drugstore on mornings, regular.”

“Thanks, then I’ll just go over there and wait. I can’t afford to—”

“Sit down,” Irma said. “You men don’t have enough sense to know you have to eat.” She took his hat from him and hung it on a peg near the door. He eased into the chair she’d pointed at and she disappeared into the next room.

In a moment she was back, setting a plate before him. She had a pot of coffee that she poured without asking. He sat back to make conversation, but she left again. When he was nearly finished, she returned with a leather-bound volume that she opened on the table. She took a short pencil from her apron pocket and readied it at the top of the page.

“Full name?” she said.

“Nathan, uh,” he said, then swallowed. “Nathan McReaken.”

She cut her eyes at him, and he coughed, took a sip from his coffee.

“How long a stay?” she said.

“I’m not sure. I suppose that depends—”

“Week-to-week, then. Rent’s due every Monday.” She closed the book and carried it into the next room.

He ate the last of his eggs and took his plate and cup into the kitchen.

“I’ll be,” she said, and chuckled at his manners. She took the plate from him and placed it in the sink. When she turned to face him once again, her face was sober. “I don’t have many rules here, but I’m serious about the few I have. The first is keep quiet after dark. I won’t have you bothering the other boarders. The second is no drinking. I don’t like it, and I’ve got enough troubles with a household of men without trying to wrangle a bunch of drunks. You think you can remember those two rules?”

He ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I can.”

“Well, good,” she said. She went to the doorway and peered at the grandfather clock that stood in one corner of the dining room. “Now, get going and I suspect you’ll be able to still catch that truck.”

After his night arrival, the street was altogether new to him in the light of morning. A line of oaks reached for each other from either side of the lane, the brightening sky filtering here and there through the canopy of leaves. It was a warm, damp morning, portending a hot day, and his shirt clung to him as he walked. His new shoes had bitten his feet hard the day before, and he was only a little way down the street before the stiff leather was digging into the raw spots in new, painful ways. He kept on.

At a curve in the road, the crumpled shape of a sedan was mounting a large tree, front wheels in the air. The pavement around the car glittered with shattered glass. A group of school boys had gathered. Two stood closer than the others, looking in the blood-spotted window.

“When he hit that tree, the steering column come clean through him into the back seat.”

“You tell it like you was there,” another said. “You know your mama had you in your bath by half past seven.”

“Shut up,” the first said. “The deputy told me about it. Said he was so drunk you wouldn’t have wanted to smoke a cigarette for fear the blood might catch fire.”

Nathan whistled at the mess wrapped around the scarred elm. “Looks like it must have hurt.”

The boys turned their eyes on him, wary of an adult.

“Can either of you boys point me toward the drugstore?”

The nearer boy, a redhead, stood open mouthed, studying Nathan.

“There’s a truck,” Nathan added. “I hear it runs out to the dam site each morning.”

“You working on that dam?” the boy asked.

“I’m supposed to be, but first I have to find the drugstore.”

The boy gestured. “The drugstore is just up yonder there.”

Before Nathan could go, the other boy pressed him. “You’re really going to stop up the whole river?”

Nathan took off his hat, and wiped his hair back. Half past seven, and he was already sweating. “Oh,” he said. “We let the water through well enough. We just hold it up a little first.”

They tag-teamed him with their questions now.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Where are you from?”

Nathan smiled. “Lots of places, I suppose. I’ve been at school up in Illinois.”

The red-haired one had heard stories of Illinois.

“You a gangster?” the boy asked eagerly.

Nathan smiled. “No, I’m an engineer. They build better dams than gangsters.”

The boy was undeterred. “But I’ll bet you’ve seen them shoot people.”

“No,” Nathan said. “Sorry, but I must have moved in the wrong circles. You say the drugstore is up that way?”

Both boys nodded.

Nathan fished out a coin from his pocket and tossed it to the nearer of the two. He left them, their heads bent together over the coin, and made his way up the street.