have wandered off before returning, because Andy could not remember feeling him standing there before. Andy opened his eyes.
Peter said, “Daddy, come look at what I found.”
Andy got up and let Peter lead him to the base of an oak.
The squirrel must have died during the harsh winter and remained buried under the snows. With the coming of spring, it had begun to decay. The corpse lay on its back, split open. Some sort of scavenger had cleaned most of the meat and organs from it, and it was little more than a furred shell. It was missing its tail and a leg. Ants crawled among its ribs. The squirrel’s small teeth were exposed in a rictus, and they were amazingly white.
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Peter.
“Nothing’s the matter. It’s just dead, Petey. It comes to all of us, sooner or later, death does. It’s the way the good Lord made life work. Look at it up close. Go ahead. Don’t be afraid.”
Peter obediently squatted and stared.
“Now touch it.”
Peter extended a pudgy finger. An ant in its single-minded travels immediately crawled onto this bridge from dead squirrel to living boy. Peter jerked his hand away.
Andy grabbed the boy’s wrist and brought it back into contact with the small corpse. “No, I said touch it.”
Peter tried to jerk away. Andy squeezed the back of the child’s neck with his other hand and immobilized him.
As he held the boy’s hand there, a steady stream of ants followed the first, vanishing up the boy’s jacket sleeve.
3
The union rep tapped Andy on the shoulder while he was waiting for the blow to end.
“Let Jerry watch it and come with me,” he shouted in Andy’s ear.
Andy turned away from the huge dark furnace, out of whose open top refulgent light gushed, born of 330 tons of molten metal. He followed the rep across the busy mill floor and into an office. The rep sat down behind an empty desk with a green rubberized top and indicated that Andy should sit too. Andy did.
Andy wore thick brown Carhartt coveralls, work boots and gloves. From a breast pocket, held by an alligator clip, hung his photo identity badge. In the photograph, Andy looked bewildered.
Andy’s face as he sat uneasily in the chair was blackened with soot. His hair was mussed. He wore protective goggles over his eyes. Removing one glove now, he lifted the goggles atop his head and waited for the rep to speak.
“Listen, Stiles, your probation period is almost over, and I gotta make some kinda report.”
Andy nodded, but said nothing.
“Now, you’re a decent worker. You punch in on time, you don’t miss no days, and you pull your weight. But as far as sociability goes, getting along with your coworkers … well, hell, you just don’t.”
Andy continued to sit mute, staring at his hands in his lap. They looked funny, one gloved, one ungloved. The ungloved one was plainly his, but the gloved one seemed to belong to someone—to something—else.
“Like now for instance. Just look at you. You can’t even talk to me. It gives some guys the creeps. And then there’s the other thing.”
Andy looked up from the puzzle of his hands. “What other thing?”
The rep seemed embarrassed. “What your coworkers claim. That you, uh, talk to it.”
“To what?”
“To the furnace.”
Andy looked back into his lap and mumbled something.
“What?” demanded the rep. “What’s that? If you got something to tell me, tell me.”
Still with bent neck, Andy said, “It started talking first.”
“Oh, shit,” said the rep wearily.
There was mutual silence for a full minute. Then Andy spoke.
“I didn’t believe it myself at first, you know. I wasn’t, like, looking for something like this to happen. But the universe is weird, Mister Ptakcek, it really is. The Lord filled it with marvels and wonders, for our edification. And if He chooses to make the furnace talk to me—for I surely believe it’s His doing—then I ain’t got no choice but to listen, and to answer
Peter said, “Daddy, come look at what I found.”
Andy got up and let Peter lead him to the base of an oak.
The squirrel must have died during the harsh winter and remained buried under the snows. With the coming of spring, it had begun to decay. The corpse lay on its back, split open. Some sort of scavenger had cleaned most of the meat and organs from it, and it was little more than a furred shell. It was missing its tail and a leg. Ants crawled among its ribs. The squirrel’s small teeth were exposed in a rictus, and they were amazingly white.
“What’s the matter with it?” asked Peter.
“Nothing’s the matter. It’s just dead, Petey. It comes to all of us, sooner or later, death does. It’s the way the good Lord made life work. Look at it up close. Go ahead. Don’t be afraid.”
Peter obediently squatted and stared.
“Now touch it.”
Peter extended a pudgy finger. An ant in its single-minded travels immediately crawled onto this bridge from dead squirrel to living boy. Peter jerked his hand away.
Andy grabbed the boy’s wrist and brought it back into contact with the small corpse. “No, I said touch it.”
Peter tried to jerk away. Andy squeezed the back of the child’s neck with his other hand and immobilized him.
As he held the boy’s hand there, a steady stream of ants followed the first, vanishing up the boy’s jacket sleeve.
3
The union rep tapped Andy on the shoulder while he was waiting for the blow to end.
“Let Jerry watch it and come with me,” he shouted in Andy’s ear.
Andy turned away from the huge dark furnace, out of whose open top refulgent light gushed, born of 330 tons of molten metal. He followed the rep across the busy mill floor and into an office. The rep sat down behind an empty desk with a green rubberized top and indicated that Andy should sit too. Andy did.
Andy wore thick brown Carhartt coveralls, work boots and gloves. From a breast pocket, held by an alligator clip, hung his photo identity badge. In the photograph, Andy looked bewildered.
Andy’s face as he sat uneasily in the chair was blackened with soot. His hair was mussed. He wore protective goggles over his eyes. Removing one glove now, he lifted the goggles atop his head and waited for the rep to speak.
“Listen, Stiles, your probation period is almost over, and I gotta make some kinda report.”
Andy nodded, but said nothing.
“Now, you’re a decent worker. You punch in on time, you don’t miss no days, and you pull your weight. But as far as sociability goes, getting along with your coworkers … well, hell, you just don’t.”
Andy continued to sit mute, staring at his hands in his lap. They looked funny, one gloved, one ungloved. The ungloved one was plainly his, but the gloved one seemed to belong to someone—to something—else.
“Like now for instance. Just look at you. You can’t even talk to me. It gives some guys the creeps. And then there’s the other thing.”
Andy looked up from the puzzle of his hands. “What other thing?”
The rep seemed embarrassed. “What your coworkers claim. That you, uh, talk to it.”
“To what?”
“To the furnace.”
Andy looked back into his lap and mumbled something.
“What?” demanded the rep. “What’s that? If you got something to tell me, tell me.”
Still with bent neck, Andy said, “It started talking first.”
“Oh, shit,” said the rep wearily.
There was mutual silence for a full minute. Then Andy spoke.
“I didn’t believe it myself at first, you know. I wasn’t, like, looking for something like this to happen. But the universe is weird, Mister Ptakcek, it really is. The Lord filled it with marvels and wonders, for our edification. And if He chooses to make the furnace talk to me—for I surely believe it’s His doing—then I ain’t got no choice but to listen, and to answer
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