The Pond

by Robert Murphy

  “I dropped the books and a page blew in there and I forgot and went after it. And then the mule came after me.”

  “Oh, Joey,” Horace said. “Oh, Joey. Didn’t you know, didn’t they tell you?”

  “Mr. Ben told me. He said your father … he said …” He stopped in confusion.

  Horace looked at the ground. “Yes,” he said, in a low, shamed tone. “That’s right. Everybody knows it. And Charley too, and …” He shook his swollen head, and when he looked up his eyes were bright with tears. “I wish it hadn’t been you, or Charley.”

  Joey was greatly moved by Horace’s tears, by the boy’s melancholy life and the things that his fate had prescribed for him; he was so moved that he wanted to get down on his knees and put his arms around Horace to comfort him, as one would comfort and defend a child against the frightening shadows that lay in wait in the world. He almost did it, and then the emotional moment passed; something within him, self-conscious and masculine, held him back. It confused him for a moment, bringing a brief regret. He looked at Horace, who seemed to realize what he was feeling; they gazed at one another with rueful smiles, and Joey put the books in the wagon.

  “Thank you, Joey,” Horace said. “And thank you for the books.”

  “I hope you like them, Horace,” Joey said. He felt that he should go, now. “Shall I pull you back?”

  Horace nodded, and Joey pulled the little wagon back to the place where he had first seen the boy.

  “Will you ask your father to let us know, when he gets back?” he asked.

  Horace nodded again and smiled, that smile of surpassing sweetness that Joey still remembered from the time before.

  “I’ll send more books,” Joey said. “Good-by.”

  “I’m glad I know you, Joey,” the boy said. “I hope you’ll be happy in your life.” He smiled again, and bowed his head; much moved, Joey stole away.

  Almost three hours later, as Joey and Mr. Ben were sitting on the steps, Sam White drove in. He didn’t get out of the Model T, and they walked over to the car.

  “He come to on the way,” White said. “The vet said he reckoned he’d be all right. He put a thing on his leg, and he’s goin’ to keep him a few days.”

  Joey felt almost lightheaded with relief; he had been dreadfully worried. “I sure am glad,” he said. “I was afraid he was going to die, or be lame.”

  “Wouldn’t have been no account lame,” White said. “I told the vet that. I told him I ain’t about to feed a lame dog, but he said it would be all right.”

  He moved back in the seat, as though to start off, and Joey moved forward. “If he’s lame,” he said, “if it isn’t all right, will you give him to me? I’ll keep him if he’s lame.”

  White turned and gave him a puzzled look, as though such a thing was beyond the comprehension of a sensible man. “What for?” he asked, and as Joey recoiled a little added, “If you want to do it, okay. I got to get back.” He nodded, turned the Model T around, and drove around the corner of the house.

  Mr. Ben looked at Joey and shook his head; they walked back to the steps again, and paused at the bottom step.

  “Mr. Ben,” Joey said. “Mr. Ben?”

  “Yes, Joey?”

  “I’d like right well to have Charley anyhow, whether he’s lame or not. I’d be real good to him, and he wouldn’t be hungry or get hurt or anything. I sure wish I could have him, Mr. Ben. You reckon if my father went to Mr. White …”

  Mr. Ben slowly shook his head. “Sam would never sell him,” he said, “as much as he could use the money. It might take him years to find another dog as useful to him, and he knows that. Besides, I’m not sure Charley would be happy in town, as much as he likes you. He has a sort of pride in his work; it’s part of him, and he wouldn’t be the same without it.”

  “But, Mr. Ben—”

  “He’d be like the Indians,” Mr. Ben said. “They had a pretty hard life, but it suited them. When it was taken away from them, even if they were made more comfortable, some of them sort of fell apart and got lazy and dirty and didn’t care any more.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joey said sadly, and then brightened. “But he’ll be all right. The vet said he would.”

  Mr. Ben nodded, and they said no more. Now that they knew Charley would recover, and that racking anxiety was gone, their great relief brought a lassitude upon both of them.

  “I reckon I better go pack up,” Joey said presently. “My father sounded like he was in a hurry.”

  “I’ll lend you a hand,” Mr. Ben said.

  They climbed the porch steps and went through the house and into the bedroom and slowly began to get Joey’s things together. Into their mutual lassitude a gentle pensiveness had fallen, for they were going to miss each other. Presently Joey paused in his laggard efforts and looked at the old man’s bent head; a small lump came into his throat. “I reckon I’ve been pretty lucky to have a Pond,” he said, after he’d swallowed it, and then, “I sure thank you for everything, Mr. Ben.”

  “You’re welcome, Joey,” Mr. Ben said, without looking up. “I think I should be the one to thank you. Don’t let it be too long before you come back again.”

  Whatever Joey was going to reply was interrupted by the rattling arrival of a car in the yard. They both got up and went to the window. The Model T was just stopping. Joe Moncrief had already seen the turkeys; he pointed at them and opened the door and jumped out. Bud and a girl, a pretty, dark-haired girl of thirteen, appeared from around the other side of the car and ran to join Joe Moncrief; they all stood pressing their noses against the screen to see the turkeys hanging from the ceiling.

  The girl, Bud’s cousin, was in the shadow of the porch roof now; Joey had seen her for only a moment in the sun as she ran around the car, but it seemed to him that he saw her the same way still. A special light, a nimbus, had gathered around her and glowed upon her and set her apart. Joey was confused. Something was happening to him that had never happened before, bringing with it a tingling lightness, at once melancholy and gay, that drew him to the girl within the nimbus and made him hesitate.

  “Mr. Ben,” he said, turning to the old man. “She’s pretty, Mr. Ben.”

  Mr. Ben had been watching him; Mr. Ben’s face held an odd little smile. “Ah, me,” he said. “There are new problems and discoveries every day, aren’t there? But this one will be more enduring than most.” He put his hand gently on Joey’s shoulder. “Come along, pilgrim,” he said. “We’d better go outside.”