Read Online Fun With Problems by Robert Stone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Stone
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on his right, fronted by moss-covered old stone, and beyond that a sagging porch with a defunct oil furnace sitting on it. There was a light on in the back. He walked on and saw more houses, widely spaced on both sides of the road. They appeared and disappeared behind him. Then he heard singing, the real thing, a single voice.
Steps on, he came upon a young woman in gardening gloves cutting and gathering flowers, pulling clumps of nettle and pigweed as she worked. She was tall and pretty with graying black hair. No kid was she, but she seemed very youthful.
She looked up and saw him step out of the fog and put a hand to her hair, which was to himâas they said at AAâa trigger. Her eyes were blue, her look unguarded. She seemed to be shy and sweet and much nicer than his former girlfriend.
"Hi, Annie," he said to her. "Eric." They shook hands. "What kind of flowers?"
Annie had chosen mainly asters, zinnias and gerbera daisies, all of them dripping wet. Gathering flowers, which was something Annie did all season long, never failed to remind her of the days in her childhood when she was appalled at cutting them at all. She was practically ten before she could truly believe that they did not experience pain. The thought came back to her in various forms, borne on different memories.
She told him with a smile what kind they were. "I always think they have feelings," she said.
As she straightened up, he asked, "You think the flowers have feelings?"
"Well, not really." She brushed the soil and stems from her hands and smiled.
A chatterbox, he thought. Goofy like Lou, the ex.
"I understand. Too much pain, right?"
Annie affected to laugh heartily and turned away, blushing, toward the door. Eric followed her inside.
Taylor was sipping apple juice from a fruit jar at the kitchen table.
"This is Taylor, Eric," Annie told him.
"Neat," Eric said, glancing at the fireplace, at Taylor, and at the fifty-year-old furniture that had never made its way back to the mainland.
Annie hastened to display the garden flowers to her husband. "What do you think of these, Taylor? They'll work, don't you think?"
Taylor looked over his uninvited guest and burped rudely. He stared at the backpack Eric was removing.
"Good of you to join us, there, Eric."
Eric laughed as politely as he could.
A garlicky vegetable stew Taylor had made days before was simmering on the stove. "Eric is Lou's ex," said Annie.
"I heard," said Taylor.
Though he had passed forty that very summer, there was a quality about Taylor of late lingering adolescence. He kept staring at Eric's backpack.
Outside the kitchen window that looked on Annie's befogged garden, a male cardinal was fiercely attacking his own reflection in the glass. The cardinal was searching for a mate and was determined to drive off rivals. He had become obsessed by the house's windows; a tireless challenger kept appearing in them, matching him cry for cry, dealing him hurtful thumps. The bird's every sally was checked by this relentless enemy. But the love-driven red bird had heart. For days, from misty dawn until the dissolving of the light it had been fighting itself. Annie and Eric looked toward the window.
"Sad," Annie said.
"That's life, isn't it?" Eric said, turning to Taylor. Taylor looked at him without expression.
"It shouldn't be," Annie said.
Annie and Eric turned back to the window and then took a sneaking look at each other.
"Speaking of how life ought to be," Eric said after a moment, "I have some wine for us."
Annie blushed again.
"We don't..." she began.
"We don't drink it," Taylor said sharply. He stood up as Eric took his two bottles of cabernet out of the bag and put them on the table. Taylor took a pair of metal-rimmed
glasses from his blue chambray shirt pocket. Then he picked up one bottle after the other and examined them.
"God damn, man," he said softly. He was looking at the price stickers over the labels.
One thing Annie had learned to live with was
Steps on, he came upon a young woman in gardening gloves cutting and gathering flowers, pulling clumps of nettle and pigweed as she worked. She was tall and pretty with graying black hair. No kid was she, but she seemed very youthful.
She looked up and saw him step out of the fog and put a hand to her hair, which was to himâas they said at AAâa trigger. Her eyes were blue, her look unguarded. She seemed to be shy and sweet and much nicer than his former girlfriend.
"Hi, Annie," he said to her. "Eric." They shook hands. "What kind of flowers?"
Annie had chosen mainly asters, zinnias and gerbera daisies, all of them dripping wet. Gathering flowers, which was something Annie did all season long, never failed to remind her of the days in her childhood when she was appalled at cutting them at all. She was practically ten before she could truly believe that they did not experience pain. The thought came back to her in various forms, borne on different memories.
She told him with a smile what kind they were. "I always think they have feelings," she said.
As she straightened up, he asked, "You think the flowers have feelings?"
"Well, not really." She brushed the soil and stems from her hands and smiled.
A chatterbox, he thought. Goofy like Lou, the ex.
"I understand. Too much pain, right?"
Annie affected to laugh heartily and turned away, blushing, toward the door. Eric followed her inside.
Taylor was sipping apple juice from a fruit jar at the kitchen table.
"This is Taylor, Eric," Annie told him.
"Neat," Eric said, glancing at the fireplace, at Taylor, and at the fifty-year-old furniture that had never made its way back to the mainland.
Annie hastened to display the garden flowers to her husband. "What do you think of these, Taylor? They'll work, don't you think?"
Taylor looked over his uninvited guest and burped rudely. He stared at the backpack Eric was removing.
"Good of you to join us, there, Eric."
Eric laughed as politely as he could.
A garlicky vegetable stew Taylor had made days before was simmering on the stove. "Eric is Lou's ex," said Annie.
"I heard," said Taylor.
Though he had passed forty that very summer, there was a quality about Taylor of late lingering adolescence. He kept staring at Eric's backpack.
Outside the kitchen window that looked on Annie's befogged garden, a male cardinal was fiercely attacking his own reflection in the glass. The cardinal was searching for a mate and was determined to drive off rivals. He had become obsessed by the house's windows; a tireless challenger kept appearing in them, matching him cry for cry, dealing him hurtful thumps. The bird's every sally was checked by this relentless enemy. But the love-driven red bird had heart. For days, from misty dawn until the dissolving of the light it had been fighting itself. Annie and Eric looked toward the window.
"Sad," Annie said.
"That's life, isn't it?" Eric said, turning to Taylor. Taylor looked at him without expression.
"It shouldn't be," Annie said.
Annie and Eric turned back to the window and then took a sneaking look at each other.
"Speaking of how life ought to be," Eric said after a moment, "I have some wine for us."
Annie blushed again.
"We don't..." she began.
"We don't drink it," Taylor said sharply. He stood up as Eric took his two bottles of cabernet out of the bag and put them on the table. Taylor took a pair of metal-rimmed
glasses from his blue chambray shirt pocket. Then he picked up one bottle after the other and examined them.
"God damn, man," he said softly. He was looking at the price stickers over the labels.
One thing Annie had learned to live with was
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