by Jon Hassler
Carla hung up and cried again, and that was when Trish, home from the choir trip, came into the apartment.
“What’s the matter?” Trish asked. She put down her suitcase and followed her mother as she lumbered from the phone into the bedroom and flopped heavily onto her bed.
“What’s the matter?” she said again.
Her mother wiped her eyes on the pillow and heaved herself over in bed so that she faced the wall.
“Your Uncle Miles is dead.” said Carla.
“Who’s Uncle Miles?” said Trish.
Superintendent Stevenson’s health took a miraculous turn for the better.
When Stevenson was told so bluntly by Wayne Workman that Miles was dead, his heart leaped into his throat the way it had when Jeff Norquist jumped out the window. When he attended the prayer service at the funeral home, his heart rattled and thumped the way it had at Fred Vandergar’s retirement party. When he stood at the snowy, open grave, his heart shuddered the way it had the previous week when the study-hall girls screamed bloody murder. His heart performed these three tricks on three successive days, and the superintendent was certain that each day was his last, for surely no heart would send out such frightening signals unless it were preparing to stop.
But it didn’t stop, and that was why on the day after the funeral the superintendent began to revise his opinion of his heart. It occurred to him as he sat at his window watching Mrs. Horky trying to open the eyes of first-hour English in the classroom across the courtyard that he might have in his breast a better heart than he had thought. Any heart that jumped, rattled, thumped, and shuddered, and then returned to this steady beat must be a fairly good heart, a serviceable heart.
Second hour he tested it. He stood up very straight and walked quickly to the door of his private lavatory, where he stopped and timed his pulse. He took a deep breath. He trotted back to his chair. He timed his pulse again. He touched his toes. He felt like a boy.
Third hour, he went to the outer office and told Delia Fritz to get the governor on the phone; he wanted to thank him for sending out the state troopers and the National Guard. Fourth hour, he asked Delia to call in all copies of the Faculty Handbook, for it was obsolete. Fifth hour he told Delia to inquire of the Community Fund officers whether they could use his help. Sixth hour, he told Delia to see about having his filing cabinets returned from her office to his.
After school he went home and put his arms around the heavy softness of Mrs. Stevenson’s middle and lifted her, astounded, three inches off the floor.
About the Author
Jon Hassler was born in Minneapolis in 1933. He received degrees from St. John’s University in Minnesota, where he is now Regents’ Professor Emeritus. Jon Hassler is the author of nine widely acclaimcd novels: Staggerford, Simons Night, The Love Hunter, A Green Journey, Grand Opening, North of Hope, Dear James, Rookery Blues, and The Dean’s List.
Jon Hassler
“A WRITER GOOD
ENOUGH TO RESTORE
YOUR FAITH IN FICTION.”
—The New York Times