Bradbury, Ray - SSC 09

by The Small Assassin (v2. 1)

  He sent a bunch of children skipping ahead of his cheek of tobacco.

  Back in the barber shop, Simpson looked around. 'Where's Miss Weldon? Unh.' He looked through the window. 'There she is, brushing him off again, while he lies there. Fixing his coat, buttoning it up. Here she comes back. Don't nobody fun with her, she resents it.'

  The barber clock said twelve and then one and then two and then three. Mr. Simpson kept track of it. 'I make you a bet that Odd Martin lies over there till four o'clock,' he said.

  Someone else said, 'I'll bet he's there until four-thirty.'

  'Last time — ' a snickering of the shears ' — he was there five hours. Nice warm day today. He may snooze there until six. I'll say six. Let's see your money, gents!'

  The money was put on the shelf by the hair-ointments.

  One of the younger men shaved a stick with his penknife. 'It's sorta funny how we joke about Odd. Sometimes I wonder if we ain't really just scared of him, inside us. I mean, we won't let ourselves believe he's really dead. We don't dare believe it. We'd never get over it if we knew. So we make him a kinda joke. We let him lay around. He don't hurt nobody. He's just there. But I notice old Sawbones Hudson's never really touched Odd's heart with his stethoscope. Scared of what he'd find, I bet.'

  'Scared of what he'd find!' Laughter. Simpson laughed and snished his shears. Two men with crusty beards laughed, a little too loud. The laughter didn't last long. 'Great one for jokin', you you are!' they all said, slapping their gaunt knees.

  Miss Weldon, she went on manicuring her clients.

  'He's gettin' up!'

  There was a general half-rising of all the bodies in the shop and a lot of neck twisting to watch Odd Martin gain his feet. 'He's up on one knee, now up on the other, now someone's givin' him a hand.'

  'It's Miss Weldon. She sure got over there in a rush!'

  'What time is it?'

  'Four-fifteen! You lose, Simp! Pay us!'

  The bet was settled.

  'That Miss Weldon's a queer beetle herself. Takin' after a man like Odd.'

  Simpson clicked his scissors. 'Being an orphan, she's got quiet ways. She likes men who don't say much. Odd, he don't say hardly anything. Just the opposite of us crude, crude men, eh, fellows? We talk too much. Miss Weldon don't like our way of speakin'.'

  'There they go. The two of ‘em. Miss Weldon and Odd Martin.'

  'Say, take a little more off around my ears, will you Simp?'

  Skipping down the street, bounding a red rubber ball, came little Radney Bellows, his blond hair flopping in a yellow fringe over his blue eyes. He bounced the ball abstractedly, tongue between lips, and the ball fell under Odd Martin's feet where he sat once more on the tar barrel. Inside the grocery, Miss Weldon was doing her supper shopping, putting soup cans and vegetable cans into a basket.

  'Can I have my ball?' asked little Radney Bellows upwards at the six feet two inches of Odd Martin. No one was within hearing distance.

  'Can you have your ball?' said Odd Martin haltingly. He turned it over inside his head, it appeared. His level, grey eyes shaped up Radney like one would shape up a little ball of clay. 'You can have your ball, yes; take it.'

  Radney bent slowly and took hold of the bright red rubber globe and arose slowly, a secretive look in his eyes.

  'I know something.'

  Odd Martin looked down. 'You know something?'

  Radney leaned forward. 'You're dead.'

  Odd Martin sat there.

  'You're really dead,' whispered little Radney Bellows. 'But I'm the only one who really knows. I believe you, Mr. Odd. I tried it once myself. Dying, I mean. It's hard. It's work. I laid on the floor for an hour. But my stomach itched, so I scratched it, and the blood got up in my head and made me dizzy. Then — I quit. Why?' He looked at his shoes. ' ‘Cause I had to go to the bathroom.'

  A slow, understanding smile formed in the soft pallid flesh of Odd Martin's long, bony face. 'It is work. It isn't easy.'

  'Sometimes, I think about you,' said Radney. 'I see you walk by my house. Nights. Sometimes two in the morning. I wake up. I know you're out walking around. I know I should look out, and I do, and, gee, there you are, walking and walking. Not going hardly any place.'

  'There's no place to go.' Odd sat with his large, square, calloused hands on his knees. 'I try thinking of some — place to — go — ' He slowed, like a horse to a bit-pull ' — but it's hard to think. I try and — try. Sometimes I almost know what to do, where to go. Then, I forget. Once I had an idea to go to a doctor and have him declare me dead, but, somehow — ' his voice was slow and husky and low ' — I never got there.'

  Radney looked straight at him. 'If you want, I'll take you.'

  Odd Martin glanced leisurely at the setting sun. 'No. I'm weary, tired, but I'll — wait. Now I've gone this far, I'm curious to see what happens next. After the flood that washed away my farm and all my stock and put me under water, like a chicken in a bucket, I filled up like you'd fill a thermos with water, and I came walking out of the flood, anyhow. But I knew I was dead. Late of nights I lay listening in my room, but there's no heartbeat in my ears or in my chest or in my wrists, though I lie still as a cold cricket. Nothing inside me but a darkness and a relaxation and an understanding. There must be a reason for me still walking, though. Maybe it was because I was still young when I died. Only twenty-eight, and not married yet. I always wanted to marry, never got around to it. Here I am, doing odd jobs around town, saving my money, ‘cause I never eat, heck, I can't eat, and sometimes getting so discouraged and downright bewildered that I lie in the gutter and hope they'll take me and poke me in a pine box and lay me away for ripening. Yet, at the same time — I don't want that. I want a little more. I realize it whenever Miss Weldon walks by and I see the wind playing her hair like a little brown feather — ' He sighed away into a pause.

  Radney Bellows waited a minute, then cleared his throat and darted away, bouncing his ball. 'See you later!'

  Odd stared at the spot where Radney had been. Five minutes later he blinked. 'Eh? Somebody here? Somebody speak?'

  Miss Weldon came from the grocery with a basket of food.

  'Like to walk me home, Odd?'

  They walked along in a comfortable silence, she careful not to walk too fast, because he set his feet down carefully. The wind rustled in the cedars and in the elms and the maples all along the way. Several times his lips parted and he glanced aside at her, and then he shut his mouth tight and squinted ahead, as if looking at something a million miles off.

  Finally, he said, 'Miss Weldon?'

  'Yes, Odd?'

  'I been saving and saving my money. I've got quite a handsome sum. I don't spend much for anything, and — you'd be surprised,' he said, sincerely. 'I got about a thousand dollars. Maybe more. Sometimes I count it and get tired and I can't count no more. And — ' He seemed baffled and a little angry with her, suddenly. 'Why do you like me, Miss Weldon?' he demanded.

  She looked a little surprised, then smiled up at him. It was almost a child look of liking she gave him. 'Because. You're quiet. Because. You're not loud and mean. Like the men at the barber's. Because. I'm lonely, and you've been kind. Because you're the first one that ever looked at me. The others don't even see me, not once. They say I can't think. They say I'm senseless because I didn't finish sixth grade. But I'm so lonely, Odd, and talking to you means so much.'

  He held her small white hand, tight.

  She moistened her lips. 'I wish we could do something about the way people talk about you. I don't want to sound mean, but if you'd only stop telling them you're dead, Odd.'

  He stopped walking. 'Then you don't believe me, either,' he said, remotely.

  'You're ‘dead' for want of a good woman's cooking, for loving, for living decent, Odd. That's what you mean by ‘dead'; nothing else!'

  His grey eyes were deep and lost. 'Is that what I mean?' He saw her eager, shiny face. 'Yes, that's what I mean. You guessed it right. That's what I mean.'

&
nbsp; Their footsteps went along together, drifting in the wind, like leaves floating, and the night got darker and softer and the stars came out.

  Two boys and two girls stood under a street lamp about nine o'clock that evening. Far away down the street someone walked along slowly, quietly, alone.

  'There he is,' said one of the boys. 'You ask him, Tom.'

  Tom scowled uneasily. The girls laughed at him. Tom said, 'Okay, but you come along.'

  Odd Martin walked along, pausing now and then to examine a fallen leaf with the tip of his shoe, turning and lifting it.

  'Mr. Odd? Hey there, Mr. Odd!'

  'Eh? Oh, hello.'

  'Mr. Odd, we — ' Tom swallowed and looked around for assistance. 'That is — we want you to — well — we want you to come to our party!'

  A minute later, after looking at Tom's clean, soap-smelling face and seeing the pretty blue jacket his sixteen-year-old girl friend wore, Odd answered. 'Thank you. But I don't know. I might forget to come.'

  'No, you wouldn't. You'd remember, because this is Hallowe'en!'

  Tom's girl pulled his arm. 'Let's go, Tom. Let's not have him. Let's not. Please. He won't do, Tom.'

  'Why won't he do?'

  'He's — he's not scary enough.'

  Tom shook her off. 'Let me handle this.'

  The girl pleaded. 'Please, no. He's just a dirty old man. Bill can put candle-tallow on his fingers and those horrid porcelain teeth in his mouth and the green chalk marks under his eyes and scare the ducks out of us. We don't need him!' And she perked her rebellious head at Odd.

  Odd Martin stood watching the leaves under his shoe-tips. He heard the stars sitting in the sky for ten minutes before he knew the four young folks were gone. A round dry laugh came in his mouth like a pebble. Children. Hallowe'en. Not scary enough. Bill'd do better. Candle-tallow and green chalk. Just an old man. He tasted the laughter, found it both strange and bitter.

  Morning again. Radney Bellows flung his ball against the store front, caught it, flung it again. Someone hummed behind him. He turned. 'Hi, Mr. Odd!'

  Odd Martin, walking with green paper dollars in his fingers, counted them. He stopped on one spot and held himself in one position. His eyes were senseless.

  'Radney,' he cried out. 'Radney!' His hands groped.

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Odd!'

  'Radney, where was I going? Just now, where was I going? Going somewhere to buy something for Miss Weldon! Here, Radney, help me!'

  'Yes, sir, Mr. Odd!' Radney ran and stood in his shadow.

  A hand came down, money in it, seventy dollars of money. 'Radney, run buy a dress for — Miss Weldon — ' The hand opened, the money fell, the hand remained out, opening, making gasping, seeking moves, wrestling, wondering moves. There was numbed terror and longing and fear in Odd's face. 'The place, I can't remember the place, oh God, help me remember. A dress, and a coat. For Miss Weldon, at — at — '

  'Krausmann's Department Store?' said Radney.

  'No.'

  'Fielder's?'

  'No!'

  'Mr. Leiberman's?'

  'That's it! Leiberman! Here, here, Radney, run down to — '

  'Leiberman's.'

  ' — and get a new green dress for — Miss Weldon, and a coat. A new green dress with yellow roses painted on it. You get them and bring them to me here. Oh, Radney, wait.'

  'Yes, sir?'

  'Radney — you think, maybe, I could clean up at your house?' asked Odd quietly. 'I need a — a bath.'

  'Gee, I don't know, Mr. Odd. My folks'r funny. I don't know.'

  'That's all right, Radney. I understand. Run now!'

  Radney ran on the double. Odd Martin stood in the sunlight, humming a tune in his mouth. Radney ran with the money past the barber shop; poked his head inside. Mr. Simpson stopped snipping Mr. Trumbull's hair and glared at him. 'Hey!' cried Radney. 'Odd Martin's humming a tune!'

  'What tune?' asked Simpson.

  'Goes like this,' and Radney hummed it.

  'Yee God's Amaughty!' bellowed Simpson. 'So that's why Miss Weldon ain't here manicurin' this mornin'! That there tune's the Weddin' March!'

  Radney rushed on. Pandemonium!

  Shouting, laughter, a squishing and pattering of water. The back room of the barber emporium steamed and sweated. Everybody had his turn. Mr. Simpson heaved a bucket of hot water down over Odd Martin sitting in a galvanized tin tub. Mr. Trumbull banged and whisked Odd's pale back with a big beardy brush on a stick. Old man Gilpatrick doused him with a half quart of cow-soap, that bubbled and frothed and stank sweetly, and every once in a while Shorty Phillips hit Odd with jigger of eau de cologne. They all funned and ran around, slipping, in the steam. 'Put some more on ‘em!' More water. 'Scrub with that brush, you!' The brush sizzled on Odd's spine. Mr. Simpson gunked in his throat, laughing: 'Always said marriage is what you needed, Odd!' Somebody else said, 'Congratulations!' and smacked Odd right square on his shoulder blades with a can of ice-water. Odd Martin didn't even notice the shock. 'You'll smell fine now!'

  Odd sat blowing bubbles in one cupped hand. 'Thanks. Thanks so much for helping. Thanks for scouring me. Thanks, I needed it.'

  Simpson put a hand over his own smiling mouth. 'Nothing's too good for you, ya know that, Odd.'

  Someone whispered in the steamy background, 'Imagine. . . her. . . him. . . and married. . . moron married. . . to an idiot. . . why. . .'

  'Shut up, back there!' Simpson frowned.

  Radney ran in. 'Here's the green dress, Mr. Odd!'

  An hour later they perched Odd in the barber chair. Someone had lent him a new pair of black shoes. Mr. Trumbull polished them vigorously, winking at everybody. Mr. Simpson snipped Odd's hair, took no money for it. 'No, Odd keep your money. This is all a weddin' present to you. Yes, sir.' And he spat. Then he shook rose-water on Odd's scalp. 'There, Moonlight and roses!'

  Odd Martin looked around. 'You won't tell nobody about this marriage,' he asked, 'until tomorrow? Me and Miss Weldon sort of want a marriage without the town poking fun. You see?'

  'Sure, Odd,' said Simpson, finishing the job. 'Mum's the word. Where you goin' to live? You buyin' a farm?'

  'Farm?' Odd stepped from the chair. Somebody'd lent him a nice new tan coat, and someone else'd pressed his pants sharp for him. He looked elegant. 'Yes, I'm going over to buy the property now. Have to pay extra, but it's worth it. Extra. Come on, Radney.' He paused at the door. 'I bought a house out on the edge of town. I have to go make the payment on it now.'

  Simpson stopped him. 'What's it like? You didn't have much money.'

  'It's a small house,' said Odd, 'but it'll do. Some folks built it a while back, then moved away East somewhere. It was up for sale for only five hundred, so I got it. Miss Weldon and I are moving out there tonight, after our marriage. But don't tell nobody, please, until tomorrow.'

  'Sure thing, Odd. Sure thing.'

  Odd went away into the four o'clock light, Radney at his side, and the barber shop men fell down into chairs and grabbed their ribs and laughed.

  The sun went down slow and the snipping of the shears continued, with the buzzing of flies, the clock ticking, and the men sitting around nodding their heads, showing their teeth, waving their hands, joking. . .

  The next morning at breakfast, little Radney Bellows sat thoughtfully spooning his cereal. Father folded his newspaper across the table and looked at Mother. 'Everybody in town's talking about the quiet elopement of Odd Martin and Miss Weldon,' said Father. 'People, looking for them, can't find them.'

  'Well,' said Mother, 'I heard he bought her a house.'

  'I heard that, too,' admitted Father. 'I phoned Carl Rogers this morning. He says he didn't sell any house to Odd. And Carl is the only real-estate dealer in town.'

  Radney Bellows swallowed more cereal. He looked at his father. 'Oh, no, he's not the only real-estate dealer in town.'

  'What do you mean?' demanded Father.

  'Nothing, except I looked out the window at midnight and I saw something.'

/>   'You saw what?'

  'It was all moonlight. And you know what I saw? Well, I saw two people walking up the Elm Glade road. A man and a woman. A man in a nice new coat, and a woman in a green dress. Walking real slow. Holding hands.' Radney took a breath. 'And the two people were Mr. Odd Martin and Miss Weldon. And walking out the Elm Glade road there ain't any houses out that way at all. Only the Trinity Park Cemetery. And Mr. Gustavsson, in town, he sells tombs in the Trinity Park Cemetery. He's got an office in town. Like I said, Mr. Carl Rogers ain't the only real estate man in town. So — '

  'Oh,' snorted Father, irritably, 'you were dreaming!'

  Radney bent his head over his cereal and looked out from the corners of his eyes.

  'Yes, sir,' he said, finally, sighing. 'I was only dreaming.'