It was there, but now it was coming down. Maybe it was time to stop hiding his paper, too. What difference did it make? They would leave him alone if he wished. Maria could listen to the radio and tell him if something was going on. Could he think with them so close? Could he think with them far away?
Maybe Silve could create a poem. He had a way with words. Silve, himself, was a poem. So Silve could say the words, Maria could clear away everything that was not necessary, and he could be the secretary and write it down. He would only need to listen and write down what they said.
“What did you say?” Sam asked Henry. He had not been listening.
“I said this is the best job I ever had,” Henry repeated. “You don’t get cold or wet. Food all the time, and there ain’t nothing heavy. I appreciate you talking to Silve.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m a regular employment agency for Silve.”
“I just want you to know I’m going to try real hard not to let you all down. It’s real nice here.”
“Your hands hardly shake anymore,” Sam said and pointed to Henry’s hand that held the screwdriver.
Henry held both of them up and looked at them. “It’s been a long time since they did what I wanted.”
“Got that table unscrewed?” Sam asked.
“She’s ready.”
“Let’s move it out of the way.”
Henry, with his steady hands, picked up one end and Sam the other. They carried it out to the hallway. The benches soon followed. Then Sam sank the claw of his hammer into the plaster and pulled out a chunk of the wall. Silve and Maria came down the steps when they heard the noise.
“So now we begin,” said Silve in his poetic voice.
“Now we begin,” Sam repeated.
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