Read Online For Those Who Hunt the Wounded Down by David Adams Richards - Free Book Online
Authors: David Adams Richards
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hair was tossed up under it. She had three studs in each ear. “Tell Nevin not to bother me no more,” he said simply. “No more.” And this immediately erased Alvin’s annoying smile.
Jerry went out to his truck, as the first snow fell against the flat grey windows on the street. A week passed before anyone saw him again.
5
By June the air was still and great fields of hay lay hot in the sun near the stream that smelled of small fish and flat rocks and the bittersweet longing scent of shale gravel under the bridge.
Andrew did not know how close he was to the centre of the conflagration until his mother’s boyfriend – that is, the man who had taken him to the camp last September – told him.
“Oh, he lived right over there,” the man said.
“He did?”
“Right across the river in that white house.”
There was nothing about the house one way or the other that looked unusual or spectacular. There weresome flat boards out back lying in the small triangle between the shed and the back door. There was a back porch, where Bines supposedly unwrapped his eyes at 3:00 on the morning he came from the hospital.
“And that’s where Rils came in to shoot him,” the boy said excitedly.
“No – that wasn’t here – that was at his wife’s house.”
The heat made the air soundless and sweet and the branches were filled with new leaves. The boy’s mother had just bought him a fishing rod, so the man could take him out fishing, and he felt sorry for them both – felt sympathy for his mother for buying him this rod and sorry too for the man.
Andrew’s uncle had come with them today. And the two men began to discuss Bines.
The boy looked over at the house. Its back window was closed. Some shrubs sat in the warm air, and under the blue sky they could see a bird-feeder on a stick.
“How long was Mr. Rils in town?” the boy asked, trying to bait a hook, and sound grown up, and watching as the worm dangled into the water and then was swept into the eddies a few feet away.
“Oh, a week or two.”
“Last December.”
“And Vera found out and became angry with Bines.”
“No, Vera never knew much about what was going on,” the uncle maintained.
The whole idea the two men spoke about was that Bines had somehow reached toward another world,Vera’s world, and had for a moment tried to divorce himself from the world he was in. Now one of the men countered that that too was a falsehood. And Vera knew this.
And they went over point by point what Jerry gave and what he would want for it. If he gave kindness he would want devotion.
The boy had not seen Bines much at all.
Last fall Bines had come into the camp again to help them retrieve a moose. There was sleet in the air and the trees were dark. The men had searched for the moose all afternoon and then one of them had gone to get Jerry to help. He arrived at about 10:00 that night.
“Who shot it?” Bines had said.
“I did,” the boy’s uncle said.
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many times did you hit it?”
“Only once.”
“What were you using?”
“A .308.”
“Well, that would bring it down – bring it down,” Jerry said. “Anyway,” he said, “we’ll go find the calf – because the calf won’t leave it.”
The men hadn’t thought about the calf, and when they got into the trucks for the long ride back to the chopdown everyone was silent.
Jerry took a light from his truck and went into thewoods and walked for about fifteen minutes about the perimeter.
“It’s over here,” he said, and then he told the boy’s uncle to bring him the gun.
Now, as the boy thought back to that night, and how it had stormed later on, he thought about how the talk centred on Jerry’s wife, Loretta Bines.
“He brought her down a long way,” someone said, as the boy lay in his bunk. “What a kind, sweet little girl she was –”
“His first wife – no one hears of her anymore – he took them both down.”
And again the
Jerry went out to his truck, as the first snow fell against the flat grey windows on the street. A week passed before anyone saw him again.
5
By June the air was still and great fields of hay lay hot in the sun near the stream that smelled of small fish and flat rocks and the bittersweet longing scent of shale gravel under the bridge.
Andrew did not know how close he was to the centre of the conflagration until his mother’s boyfriend – that is, the man who had taken him to the camp last September – told him.
“Oh, he lived right over there,” the man said.
“He did?”
“Right across the river in that white house.”
There was nothing about the house one way or the other that looked unusual or spectacular. There weresome flat boards out back lying in the small triangle between the shed and the back door. There was a back porch, where Bines supposedly unwrapped his eyes at 3:00 on the morning he came from the hospital.
“And that’s where Rils came in to shoot him,” the boy said excitedly.
“No – that wasn’t here – that was at his wife’s house.”
The heat made the air soundless and sweet and the branches were filled with new leaves. The boy’s mother had just bought him a fishing rod, so the man could take him out fishing, and he felt sorry for them both – felt sympathy for his mother for buying him this rod and sorry too for the man.
Andrew’s uncle had come with them today. And the two men began to discuss Bines.
The boy looked over at the house. Its back window was closed. Some shrubs sat in the warm air, and under the blue sky they could see a bird-feeder on a stick.
“How long was Mr. Rils in town?” the boy asked, trying to bait a hook, and sound grown up, and watching as the worm dangled into the water and then was swept into the eddies a few feet away.
“Oh, a week or two.”
“Last December.”
“And Vera found out and became angry with Bines.”
“No, Vera never knew much about what was going on,” the uncle maintained.
The whole idea the two men spoke about was that Bines had somehow reached toward another world,Vera’s world, and had for a moment tried to divorce himself from the world he was in. Now one of the men countered that that too was a falsehood. And Vera knew this.
And they went over point by point what Jerry gave and what he would want for it. If he gave kindness he would want devotion.
The boy had not seen Bines much at all.
Last fall Bines had come into the camp again to help them retrieve a moose. There was sleet in the air and the trees were dark. The men had searched for the moose all afternoon and then one of them had gone to get Jerry to help. He arrived at about 10:00 that night.
“Who shot it?” Bines had said.
“I did,” the boy’s uncle said.
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many times did you hit it?”
“Only once.”
“What were you using?”
“A .308.”
“Well, that would bring it down – bring it down,” Jerry said. “Anyway,” he said, “we’ll go find the calf – because the calf won’t leave it.”
The men hadn’t thought about the calf, and when they got into the trucks for the long ride back to the chopdown everyone was silent.
Jerry took a light from his truck and went into thewoods and walked for about fifteen minutes about the perimeter.
“It’s over here,” he said, and then he told the boy’s uncle to bring him the gun.
Now, as the boy thought back to that night, and how it had stormed later on, he thought about how the talk centred on Jerry’s wife, Loretta Bines.
“He brought her down a long way,” someone said, as the boy lay in his bunk. “What a kind, sweet little girl she was –”
“His first wife – no one hears of her anymore – he took them both down.”
And again the
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