Read Online Mister Boots by Carol Emshwiller - Free Book Online Page A

down with his feet on the cushions, and he pulls up the footstool, sits there, and examines him. First I thought he’d be so mad he might be rough by mistake, but he’s about as gentle as I ever saw anybody be. He bandages Boots in clean bandages. And tells him, “For heaven’s sake, stay off your feet!” Then he turns to my sister. “He must, you know. It’s important. And, my dear, there’s something else.” (You can tell he likes my sister.) “They have your mother in a nice box. Do we bury her out here with the dead babies, or—” he turns to our father, suddenly angry again “—cremate her and put her in a jug on the mantel? What do you expect me to do, just stand here and let all this go by as if nothing has happened? And another thing, the undertaker says your wife had marks of being whipped. That isn’t done anymore nowadays. I’d like to take a look at these children.”
    If I’m going to go on being a boy, he mustn’t do that.
    Our father’s looking more and more nervous. “You have to agree children are little savages.”
    â€œWhat about the clothes? The clothes?”
    Our father looks as innocent as he really is.
    â€œWhat have you got to say for yourself?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œMy clothes. What are you doing wearing my clothes?”
    Our father gets this funny look, like, Oh! He looks down at himself as if he’s surprised at what he has on. Then he looks back at the doctor, and there’s no doubt that these clothes belong to the doctor. They’re exactly like what he already has on—same exact gray—except the vest is tan on the doctor and cream-colored on our father. I picked the cream-colored one specially for Boots. I knew he’d look good in it.
    Nobody is paying any attention to me. I sidle over to where the pistol’s hidden under the cushion. My clothes—those old cut-off men’s overalls I wear—leave a lot of room to put things. They have man-sized pockets back and front.
    â€œWhat in the world were your clothes doing buried out in our vegetable garden?”
    They stare at each other. They wait. And then they look at me. Everybody does. I guess it’s all pretty clear.
    I don’t feel scared. After all, I have the pistol now.
    â€œDon’t worry,” our father says. “He’ll not do any such thing after he’s been with me awhile. He won’t dare.”
    â€œThose clothes cost a lot of money.”
    Our father looks down at himself again. “I can see that.”
    â€œIt’ll take more than a batch of knitting to pay for them. And I don’t go along much with wife beatings.”
    â€œDiscipline. And self-discipline. He’ll learn it in a hurry when he’s with me.”
    Our father is taking the jacket off and then the vest. Everybody’s looking at him, so I run again. But this is different. I’ve already found out where not to go. I go out, around the house, and then right back and in a window.
    As soon as he notices I’m gone, our father yells, “Don’t let him get away.”
    As I hoped, everybody rushes after me. I hear our father jump on his horse. I hear the car door open. The doctor is checking for me in his car. I hear my sister telling Mister Boots to sit down, and I hear that he doesn’t obey her, which is very unhorselike for a trusting horse in love, who’d jump off a cliff for you. Perhaps he’s more man than I think.
    I hear everybody get farther and farther away until, finally, everything’s quiet. They’re all off someplace. Even Boots. Nobody thinks to look back in the house.
    Now’s my chance to check for false bottoms. First I go to Mother’s cedar chest. It’s the most logical. I make a lot of holes in the bottom of it with a kitchen knife and a screwdriver, and it’s just a regular bottom. Then I make