by Jack Finney
Sunday was bright and clear, almost hot, and they left early in the Rasmussens' four-year-old Plymouth station wagon; the women in sweaters and slacks, the men in wash pants and wool shirts. By 11 o'clock they were driving past the domed State Capitol building in Sacramento, Ray still refusing to say where they were going. At noon, a dozen miles past Placerville, in the mountain foothills, Ray turned off U.S. 50 onto an asphalt county road. A few miles later he turned off this onto a narrow dirt road, drove for a mile, and parked. Then, the men taking turns carrying the wicker basket of lunch Sophia had prepared, they walked into the woods, following a trail, for a quarter-mile.
They came out into a natural clearing, a meadow of some several acres sloping to a small stream. It was entirely surrounded by tall pines, and above and beyond them the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevadas rose in the hazy distance. It was a beautiful place, secluded and wonderfully warm in the noon sun. The little stream, perhaps 20 feet wide, was strewn with gray-black boulders, some as large as a house, and the racing water gurgled and sang as it flashed between them. As they walked down the slope toward the stream, June saw and exclaimed over deer tracks leading to and from the water; then, finding places to sit on a great shelving of flat rock beside the stream, they all saw a trout leap, white-bellied and shining momentarily in the sun.
Lying or sitting on the warm rock surface, they ate lunch. Then Sophia and June poured coffee, steaming from the insulated jug, and now, cups in hand, the others turned to Ray. Phil said, OK, Ray; it's a great spot and I'm glad we're here. But it's a long drive for a picnic.
He smiled, nodding in acknowledgment of the implied question. Yeah, it is a nice spot. Yesterday I looked at half-a-dozen others around here, all just about as nice; the woods are full of them. A guy from Placerville took me around; a local real-estate man. You know what property like this costs? Off the roads and utility lines? Maybe a $100 an acre, not a lot more. You could buy this whole place, as far as you can see, for only a few hundred bucks.
The others were nodding, interested, and June said, her voice pleased, You mean to come to in the summers?
Be great here in the summer, wouldn't it? Ray answered. It's perfectly possible, you know, to build your own cottage. Out of logs. From the trees right on your own property. It'd be work; plenty of it, and hard, but it's perfectly practical and the kind of hard work I'd actually enjoy. Wouldn't you, Phil? Phil nodded, and Ray lifted his arm to point up the slope of the clearing. I've thought about how you'd do it. You'd cut your logs up on the slopes, all around the edges of the woods. You'd trim and peel them where they fell. Using ropes and levers, you'd roll them downhill to the site. Phil and I'd work together; build two cabins, one for each of us. They'd have only one room at first. You'd add on in subsequent years, as many more rooms as you wanted to have. They'd cost almost nothing but the work and fun of building them. You'd even make your own shingles; shack shingles aren't hard to split once you get the knack. I think maybe you'd buy aluminum window frames and screens, and the flooring, but that's about all. A couple of fireplaces in the house, and you'd be snug and warm in the winter, too; wouldn't Christmas up here in the snow be something?
Phil had been nodding, frequently running his hand through his hair. Be terrific. Cut your own Christmas tree! And you'd be perfectly warm, all right; log walls are fine insulation. What's the matter, Junie?
She was shaking her head. Look, I love the place, and a cabin up here would be fine. And I know you two could build them. But before you get all worked up and excited, figure it out in advance for once! Half-a-day to drive up here and half-a-day back leaves one clay a week, plus a two-week vacation, to build your cabins. It simply isn't enough time!
I know; I'm not talking about weekends. They all swung around to stare at Ray, and he set down his cup, and got to his feet, shoving both hands into the back pockets of his tan wash pants. Not looking at the others, he began to slowly walk the flat surface of the great rock. Do me a favor; all of you. Just listen to what I say and don't laugh till I'm finished; then, if you feel like it, laugh all you want. He turned to look at Phil. What you said last Sunday is absolutely true; I've been thinking about it all week. A man spends a big hunk of his life just paying for a house to live in. Tens of thousands of dollars, all told, just for a house on a 60-foot scrap of land. He flung out an arm at the clearing around them. But here's a hundred times as much land that costs a fraction as much, and your house comes with it practically free! Over no more than three or four years you could build a house just as big as you wanted it, just as solid and strong and good as the houses we own — or that own us. And that's the end of it. You'd own it! Free and clear! Monthly payments zero! Good Lord; you'd save years of your own life! He stood looking at them, eyes elated. Then he leaned toward them, and said softly, Can any of you tell me why the hell we don't do it?
After a long moment Sophia spoke — as gently as though speaking to a child. Ray, Ray. How would we live? Where would you get a job? And at what?
He grinned at her. I wouldn't, baby; that's just the point. I wouldn't need one. What's a job for, when you think about it? Unless it's something a man loves and really wants to spend his days at, why does he have a job? Only to buy shelter, food, clothes, a car, some luxuries. Well, we'd build our own house; we really and truly could. As for food — what are you buying, Sophia and June, when you pay out nearly one-third of a dollar for a small can of peas for supper? You're paying for a steel can, a label printed in color, for cardboard shipping cartons, canneries, diesel trucks, warehouses, and for a big fluorescent-lighted supermarket to buy it in. You almost forget that the peas themselves just grow out of the ground. And that it's perfectly easy to grow them and that it could be done right here. Right there by the stream, on half an acre of our own land, we could grow all the peas, beans, carrots, beets, corn, lettuce, tomatoes and all the rest of it, that the four of us could possibly eat.
His voice surprised, Phil said, That's true, isn't it? In fact, that's exactly what everyone did as a matter of course only a couple of generations ago. People didn't buy their fruits and vegetables; they raised them in backyard truck gardens. Ate them fresh all summer and canned the rest in Mason jars for the winter. And you know something else? I've got a good shotgun; in the winter, when they'd keep, we'd kill three or four deer. That's meat for weeks!
And the other weeks? June said almost sarcastically.
Phil smiled, holding a hand up defensively. I don't know! I haven't decided to move here tomorrow! I don't know if it's practical, or what I think of it. Then he shook his head, and almost muttering it to himself, he added, Except that it's the damnedest, most exciting idea I've heard in years.
Ray said, Sure, Junie — we'd have to buy meat sometimes. Other things, too; salt, sugar, flour. And still other things for variety, and even luxury. Well, Phil and I'd work for them; maybe two or three months out of every year. There are farms all around us, there's a sawmill, towns, county roads to work on, ski resorts; a man could easily get work by the day or week or month. Enough to earn a few hundred dollars each year. And that's all we'd need for house, food, and clothes, too; because day in and day out we'd wear denims, not expensive dresses and business suits that cost half a week's pay!
Oh, for heaven sakes, Ray! Sophia burst out. What about water, gas, electricity? What about entertainment? And reading a book, magazine and newspaper occasionally? What about seeing other people, and getting into civilization? What about —
Hold it! He walked over to Sophia, squatted before her and took her hand in his. Relax, baby; no one's got a gun in your back. You've got full veto power; you ought to know that. Then, speaking to the others, too, It's not something any of us ought to decide in a hurry, unless you already know you're absolutely against it. We couldn't begin work on the cabins or do much of anything till the rains stop. And that's several weeks away yet. This would be a big decision; we ought to talk it over plenty.
They did; starting at once. On the way home, June sa
id, I suppose you two pioneers are prepared to give up your cars along with your jobs? The two sort of go together.
Phil said, I've been sitting here thinking about that. Take this car. Ray's finally finished paying for it. But all that means is that he's now entering the big-repair period. From now on, till he breaks down and buys a new car and starts the cycle all over again, he can expect some nice fat repair bills every now and then. Like 65 bucks. And $142.50. Because it's far too complicated a piece of machinery for him to repair himself, even if he had the tools. But you know something? Ray could sell this car tomorrow morning, and I could sell mine, and we'd have at least three times what we'd need to buy a Model A Ford sedan!
Heaven help us.
Build a log garage on a $40 scrap of farmland next to the county road up there, and we're set! A Model A never wears out if you take care of it; they've proved that. They give twice the gas mileage, they're so simple we could repair it ourselves, and even the license is the cheapest you can buy! We could drive into Placerville every week, and even down to San Francisco twice a year, on two or three bucks a month.
Damn right. Ray was delighted. Leave the chrome, whitewalls, and power cigarette lighters to those who want them.
They talked about it at the Dabneys'; the men lounging in the kitchen doorway while the women made waffles for supper. You don't mind waffles golden brown from an electric waffle iron, do you? Sophia said. Eaten under the harsh glare of electric lights?
I don't mind, Ray said, but I don't think electricity is a necessity either. My grandfather didn't have it in his house and he lived in the heart of New York City.
Phil said, For that matter, we didn't have it in my folks' summer cottage near Tahoe when I was a kid. We used kerosene lamps and they gave a fine light; steady and bright, wonderful to read by. And a six-bit can of kerosene lasted all summer. Hell, when you think about it, the kings and queens of France living in the Palace of Versailles never had lights even a fraction as good!
That's right. And while a kerosene stove takes a little longer to start, once it's going it gives just as hot and even a flame as gas or electricity. So who needs a $25 gas and light bill every month? Who really needs every last thing that's ever been invented?
Pouring batter into the waffle iron, Sophia nodded. Fine; that takes care of gas and electricity. But it may be harder to do without water.
Ray looked at Phil. She thinks it has to come out of a faucet or it doesn't count. To Sophia he said, We'd have running water, kiddo; it would run right past the door, fresher and cleaner than we've ever had it before in our lives. I'd have to carry it in, I know that. Unless Phil and I rigged up some way to pipe it in. But I'm willing to haul water, aren't you, Phil?
It's what we're built for, isn't it? Why are we men, why do I weigh 180, what are my muscles for? Clenching his fists, he began rotating his shoulders slowly, moving his big back muscles. It can't be to sit at a desk all day. Pushing little pieces of paper around. When you think about it, it's the most unnatural way to live that the human race ever dreamed up — sitting all your life; getting flabby in mind, muscles and guts. We're made to carry things! And to cut down trees and hunt for food! Standing in the doorway, he glared at the two women; then he shook his head. God, I'd love to build my own house! he said; and after a moment June walked over to him, her eyes suddenly soft, and kissed him.
At five minutes of two, all sitting in the Dabneys' living room still talking, Sophia stood up. It's absolutely practical, Ray was saying to Phil. Sell the two houses and cars and get our equities back, and we'd have several thousand dollars apiece. Buy our Model A, our tools, tents and gear for the first summer while we build the cabins, and we'd still have a nice emergency fund left over. He looked up at Sophia. What's the matter?
I'll die if we don't go home; so will June. Smiling ruefully at June, she said, The Sunday-night Stall to end them all.
Wasn't it a beauty? This one started Saturday morning!
But on Thursday, June phoned Sophia to say, Listen, that was no Sunday-night Stall. Phil's absolutely serious; he doesn't talk about anything else.
I know. Ray, too. Even at breakfast.
Well, what're we going to do, Soph? I'm worried; I really am. If we let them keep on, they'll talk us all into a pair of log cabins!
There was a pause, then Sophia said slowly, June, there's one thing I have to do. If Ray is serious about this, then I've got to be, too. I could kill the whole thing with my attitude; Ray would give it up if he felt I really and truly hated the whole idea. So it wouldn't be fair to him not to give this an honest chance in my own mind, silly as it seems. And that's what I've been doing all week; here by myself in the daytime. Standing washing dishes, or vacuuming, I think about it, trying to imagine how it would be. And I've got to tell you, June; there are moments when I almost wonder if it isn't actually possible.
Well, thank goodness. I wanted you to say it first. Because Phil's been after me morning and night, and he's got me half-thinking that all in all, recognizing the problems and even hardships, it might just possibly be a wonderful way to live.
That Sunday all talk on the subject was stopped, by general agreement. The women suggested it. Again they were sitting or lying on the floor before the Rasmussens' tiny fireplace; it had turned cold and rainy once more. Phil had been describing, with sketches, a simple block-and-tackle method he'd read about in the library one noon hour for raising logs into place while building a cabin. He finished, then June said, And now we've talked enough. We've said it all. Most of it twice. And Soph and I think we ought to have a moratorium on any more talk for a while. She looked over at Sophia for confirmation.
Yes, it's time to shut up, really think this over, then make up our minds once and for all.
Phil nodded. Well, that makes sense. What about two weeks of silence while we think about it? If we all want to do it then, we'll know we really mean it.
They looked at Ray, who said, It's OK with me; it's a good idea. But there's something I'd like everyone to be clear about before we shut up and think this over. And that is that we're not talking about making our own soap, weaving our own clothes and retreating from the 20th Century; just the opposite. We're talking about making the best possible use of the time we live in — by selecting from the best it offers. We'll pick what's really useful, but forget the junk; we'll take the penicillin and forget the electric back scratchers. And by stripping to the essentials of good living we'll get back our own lives and have more time to live! Smiling, but his voice intense, he said, And believe me, we'd really live; that's what I want you to think about. Picture it! There'd be time for the kind of reading you'll never get a chance for otherwise. Every week we'd bring home books and magazines from the Placerville library, books we've all meant to read for years. Now there'd be time for them and time to discuss and think about them. And we'd play chess and bridge and have hobbies. We'd take hikes, we'd hunt, fish, work in the garden, ski in the winter, make things for ourselves. There'd probably come a summer when we'd all build a log-and-earth dam to make a pool big enough to swim in. And we'd see people more than ever before; new friends up around there, and old ones who'd drive up from the Bay Area. And I'll tell you something else; after a year or so, when they saw how it was, some of those friends would stay; build their cabins, too, and join us. One last thing; Soph and I want children, and soon now, and I know you two do. We've talked about that; there are farms up there, other children for them to know and play with. There's a school less than two miles away they could walk to; through woods part of the way, along a country road the rest. It would be a wonderful place and a wonderful way for children to grow up in. They'd miss the joys of spending sunny days in a darkened room watching animated cartoon figures beat each other up on television. But they'd learn a lot about the woods and fields and about the four seasons. He shrugged. That's all I wanted to say; that this may be more than just practical, it may be fun. Here, in the 20th Century, we may just possibly have hit on a wonderful way t
o live out our lives.
They kept their agreement, or very nearly. Two weeks later they met at the Dabneys' for Sunday breakfast. June served scrambled eggs and sausage; then, over second cups of coffee, cigarettes lighted, plates pushed aside, Phil turned to Ray and said quietly, OK; what's the word with you two?
Ray took a final sip of coffee, set his cup down carefully, then looked up at Phil. Phil, I'm sorry but we broke our word; Soph and I have been talking about this for the last two nights, and we can't decide, we can't make up our minds. He looked from Phil to June, then back at Phil, and shrugged helplessly. Something's happened.
Happened?
Yeah. Ray nodded several times. I could give you the long version; all the stuff we've talked about for hours. But maybe I can say it all in four words — I got a raise. For a moment or so he sat searching their faces, then he said defensively, Matter of fact, it's a pretty damn good one. I don't know if you'll understand, but--
Phil laughed then; a single bark of abrupt laughter. Oh, I understand, he said, I understand very well. About 10 days ago the rumors started at work; the head of my department was going to leave. Friday we learned that it's true. Ray, that means somebody will have to replace him, and the funny thing is that it looks as if I've got a chance if I want to make a try for it. So we understand you, Ray, boy; we've been talking, too.
They laughed then, uneasily; offering jokes, shaking their heads. Then Sophia looked around the table. Well? she said. Today's the day. We've got to decide. We can't just talk forever. What are we going to do?