Read Online Mastodonia by Clifford D. Simak - Free Book Online Page B

“Welcome to our town,” he said. “Are you staying for a while?”
    â€œRila is a friend,” I said. “We were in the Middle East together on a dig some years ago.”
    â€œI don’t know how long I’m staying,” Rila said.
    â€œYou from New York?” asked Ben. “Someone told me you were from New York.”
    â€œHow the hell could anyone know?” I asked. “You’re the first person she has met.”
    â€œHiram, I guess,” said Ben. “He said the license plates were New York plates. He told me someone had shot Bowser with an arrow. Is that right?”
    â€œSomeone did,” said Rila.
    â€œI tell you we got to do something with these kids,” said Ben. “They’re up to something all the time. They have no respect for nothing. They are just running wild.”
    â€œMaybe it wasn’t a kid,” I said.
    â€œWho else would it be? It’s just the kind of thing they’d do. They’re a bunch of monsters, I tell you. Some of them let the air out of my tires the other night. Came out of the picture show and I had four flats.”
    â€œNow why would they do that?” asked Rila.
    â€œI don’t know. They just hate everyone, I guess. When you and I were kids, Asa, we never did stuff like that. We used to go fishing, remember, and hunting in the fall. And there was the time you had all of us digging in that sinkhole.”
    â€œI am still digging in it,” I said.
    â€œI know you are. Finding anything?”
    â€œNot much,” I said.
    â€œI got to be getting on,” said Ben. “I have some people coming in to see me. It was good to meet you, Miss Elliot. I hope you have a pleasant visit.”
    We watched after him as he went bounding down the sidewalk.
    â€œAn old pal of yours?” asked Rila. “One of the gang?”
    â€œOne of the gang,” I said.
    We went across the street and into the supermarket. I got a cart and started wheeling it down the aisle.
    â€œWe’ll need potatoes and some butter,” I said, “and soap, and I guess a lot of other things.”
    â€œDon’t you make out a list?”
    â€œI’m a disorganized housekeeper,” I said. “I try to keep it in my head and I always miss an item or two.”
    â€œYou know a lot of people in this town?”
    â€œSome. Some from when I was a boy, folks who stayed on and never left. Other new ones I have met since I came back.”
    Slowly we loaded the cart. I forgot some items and Rila, running through a hypothetical shopping list, reminded me of others I would have forgotten. Finally, I wheeled the cart up to the checkout counter. Herb Livingston was ahead of us, putting down an armload of purchases.
    â€œAsa,” he said, the way he always talks, as if he is breathless with delight at seeing you. “I was going to phone you for a news item. I heard you had company.”
    â€œRila,” I said, “meet Herb Livingston. He is another of the old gang, and now he owns the weekly paper.”
    Herb beamed. “I am glad that you came to see us,” he told Rila. “I hear you’re from New York. New York City, I mean. We don’t get many people from New York.” He pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and a short pencil from his shirt pocket. “What is your last name, if I may ask?”
    â€œElliot,” said Rila. “Two l ’s and one t .”
    â€œAnd you’re visiting Asa. I mean that’s why you’re here.”
    â€œWe are friends of long standing,” said Rila shortly. “We worked together on an archaeological dig in Turkey back in the late fifties.”
    Herb made hentracks in his notebook. “And what are you doing now?”
    â€œI’m in the import-export business.”
    â€œI see,” said Herb, scribbling furiously. “And you’re staying out on the farm with Asa.”
    â€œThat’s