Read Online Killing Cousins by Fletcher Flora - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fletcher Flora
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important enough for anyone to keep, and even if there were it wouldn’t really matter, for there was also almost no chance, the way matters were going so smoothly, that any investigation or comparison would ever be made. Still, for perfection’s sake, the letter must be written on Howard’s machine. What he would do, Quincy thought, was write it out in longhand this afternoon and then type it tonight when he went to Willie’s.
Back in Quivera, he had lunch in the hotel coffee shop and a couple of beers afterward in the hotel taproom. While drinking the beers, he carried on a lively conversation with the bartender, who was a frustrated philosopher, and when he left he was, consequently, in a cheerful and creative frame of mind. He went immediately to his small apartment and began to compose on plain paper, sitting at a table by a window overlooking the front yard and the street, the letter from Howard to Willie. He enjoyed the task so hugely that he was tempted to write pages, but he was compelled by the character of Howard to reject the temptation. It was certain that Howard had never in his life subjected himself to the ordeal of writing more than a few lines at a time, and so Quincy, now Howard’s proxy, kept the letter short and the words small and the punctuation restricted to capitals and periods. When he was finished, he read what he had written with satisfaction:
D EAR WILLIE:
I’m gone and I won’t be back. Don’t try to find me because you can’t and even if you could I wouldn’t come back anyhow. I drew out all the money in the savings account and cashed all the government bonds but you can have everything else and welcome except the Buick which I’m driving.
I know what you thought. I know what everyone thought. You and everyone thought I was just a kind of good natured common guy who didn’t ever want to be anyone or anything but someone around Quivera but you were all wrong. All my life ever since I was a kid I’ve had a secret notion to run off somewhere a long way off and live the way I want to and now I’m going and gone forever. Maybe I’ll paint pictures or something like Gauguin.
I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anyone. If this makes you unhappy or causes you any trouble I’m sorry but I’ve got a notion you won’t miss me much. If you want to do me a favor you can tell Mother and Father goodbye for me. I didn’t see them before I left because I was afraid I’d get weak and not go.
Goodbye forever.
H OWARD
After reading the letter over, Quincy struck out the line about maybe painting pictures like Gauguin. He considered it extremely unlikely that Howard had ever heard of Gauguin.
EIGHT
He walked to Willie’s, carrying a bag with a change of clothing in it, and he got there about ten o’clock. Willie, who was waiting for him downstairs in the living room, opened the door at once.
“Quincy,” she said, “where in hell have you been?”
“This morning,” he said, “I went to KC to make arrangements with my Cousin Fred about the Buick, but I’ve been home since the middle of the afternoon. Why?”
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do until it becomes sufficiently late, so I didn’t think there was any particular hurry.”
“At least you could have come and kept me company.”
“Under the circumstances, Cousin, I think we had better be a little cautious about keeping each other company for a while.”
“No one else has been here at all. It wouldn’t have made the slightest difference if you’d come.”
“That’s true, as we now know, but you’ll have to admit that we couldn’t have anticipated it. You’re inclined to be emotional, Cousin, in situations where you should be detached. It’s a damn good thing, in my opinion, that you have me to help you.”
“You’re a darling to be so helpful, Quincy, and I admit it. It was just that I kept being lonesome and wanted you to come, but now that
Back in Quivera, he had lunch in the hotel coffee shop and a couple of beers afterward in the hotel taproom. While drinking the beers, he carried on a lively conversation with the bartender, who was a frustrated philosopher, and when he left he was, consequently, in a cheerful and creative frame of mind. He went immediately to his small apartment and began to compose on plain paper, sitting at a table by a window overlooking the front yard and the street, the letter from Howard to Willie. He enjoyed the task so hugely that he was tempted to write pages, but he was compelled by the character of Howard to reject the temptation. It was certain that Howard had never in his life subjected himself to the ordeal of writing more than a few lines at a time, and so Quincy, now Howard’s proxy, kept the letter short and the words small and the punctuation restricted to capitals and periods. When he was finished, he read what he had written with satisfaction:
D EAR WILLIE:
I’m gone and I won’t be back. Don’t try to find me because you can’t and even if you could I wouldn’t come back anyhow. I drew out all the money in the savings account and cashed all the government bonds but you can have everything else and welcome except the Buick which I’m driving.
I know what you thought. I know what everyone thought. You and everyone thought I was just a kind of good natured common guy who didn’t ever want to be anyone or anything but someone around Quivera but you were all wrong. All my life ever since I was a kid I’ve had a secret notion to run off somewhere a long way off and live the way I want to and now I’m going and gone forever. Maybe I’ll paint pictures or something like Gauguin.
I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anyone. If this makes you unhappy or causes you any trouble I’m sorry but I’ve got a notion you won’t miss me much. If you want to do me a favor you can tell Mother and Father goodbye for me. I didn’t see them before I left because I was afraid I’d get weak and not go.
Goodbye forever.
H OWARD
After reading the letter over, Quincy struck out the line about maybe painting pictures like Gauguin. He considered it extremely unlikely that Howard had ever heard of Gauguin.
EIGHT
He walked to Willie’s, carrying a bag with a change of clothing in it, and he got there about ten o’clock. Willie, who was waiting for him downstairs in the living room, opened the door at once.
“Quincy,” she said, “where in hell have you been?”
“This morning,” he said, “I went to KC to make arrangements with my Cousin Fred about the Buick, but I’ve been home since the middle of the afternoon. Why?”
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do until it becomes sufficiently late, so I didn’t think there was any particular hurry.”
“At least you could have come and kept me company.”
“Under the circumstances, Cousin, I think we had better be a little cautious about keeping each other company for a while.”
“No one else has been here at all. It wouldn’t have made the slightest difference if you’d come.”
“That’s true, as we now know, but you’ll have to admit that we couldn’t have anticipated it. You’re inclined to be emotional, Cousin, in situations where you should be detached. It’s a damn good thing, in my opinion, that you have me to help you.”
“You’re a darling to be so helpful, Quincy, and I admit it. It was just that I kept being lonesome and wanted you to come, but now that
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