Read Online The Lost Highway by David Adams Richards - Free Book Online
Authors: David Adams Richards
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life.
“I’m sorry,” Sam yelled, jumping down from the cab. “I didn’t see you—I’m sorry.”
The old man yelled from the office door: “Watch what in hell you’re doing—that’s me flesh and blood!”
Sam didn’t want to lose his job, because he was preparing to get married. This is what Alex had heard. Sam and Minnie were taking a three-month course at the church. The one hitch in everything was this. Each time he saw Sam, the same dazzling jealousy returned. And in truth he thought only of her.
“I’ll let him go if he came close to you—he’s been careless with the big shifters,” his uncle said that night at supper. “If I let him go he’ll never have a cent—and he’ll never afford to marry the Tucker girl.”
But the boy knew this would be appalling. He also knew it was in his power to help destroy the relationship, at this moment. He swallowed hard.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he told Jim. “It was an accident—and, in fact, I know it is not yet my time.”
(That is, he tried to sound wise, but he also believed it at that moment.)
That night, going to bed, masturbating, thinking of her dress lifting, he was overcome with shame. He could not go to communion the next day, and when he went to confession, having to confess what he had done, in the privacy of his room he was certain the priest knew who he was.
“I’ll not forget,” Sam whispered the next weekend. “You taking up for me. And either will Minnie.”
“Never mind it,” Alex said angrily.
For the first time, Alex saw how the world stood—Sammy Patch with Minnie and him alone. Sam Patch with nothing but this dirt job that he, Alex, could take from him if he wanted to. But he felt the only way he would win approval is by going forward with his vocation, even if there were moments when he felt it was a sham. But who did he want to win approval from?
Minnie Tucker.
Then there came a test. One was his uncle asking him emphatically if he would or would not be available to work in the fall. Alex knew that this meant his uncle was asking if he was prepared to someday take over the business. That though they had not often got along, his uncle still considered him to be the one who would some day succeed him. In fact, because of his uncle’s dislike for his father, he was always trying to make something up to Alex in the end.
“I don’t think so—thank you for all you have done for me,” Alex answered with insincerity, which he had already learned to evoke through piety.
The old man, however, caught unawares by this sudden compliment, had tears come to his eyes. He went over and patted Alex roughly on the shoulder (the only affection he ever showed) and walked away unsteadily.
But Minnie’s test was worse. For he knew what she was asking him, and he didn’t know she would. It was the unexpectedness of it that caused so much pain.
She met him one morning at church, and in the drizzle of a March storm walked up the church lane with him after mass. She spoke of non-essential things for a long time, and tried to rehabilitate her father to him just a little. He was, after all, a good soul. A man who had his moments of lively grace and humanity.
“I am sure he was,” Alex said too stiffly. Again, the stiffness was a posture—a collaboration between saintly betterment and moral high-handedness. He knew this, and so did Minnie. This was the start of something that Alex had not had before, his pretentiousness toward goodness—this, in fact, is what one did not need religious study for. In fact, the world so opposed to religious study had this terrible pretentiousness as well.
Then she asked, as they stopped along the wet road and she suddenly took his hand: “Is it true you are going to be a priest?”
This was the moment, under the low clouds and drizzles of snow, amid the long sloping snowdrifts that ran down to the water, that said: There will be no other moment like this again. Tell her you love her and you will
“I’m sorry,” Sam yelled, jumping down from the cab. “I didn’t see you—I’m sorry.”
The old man yelled from the office door: “Watch what in hell you’re doing—that’s me flesh and blood!”
Sam didn’t want to lose his job, because he was preparing to get married. This is what Alex had heard. Sam and Minnie were taking a three-month course at the church. The one hitch in everything was this. Each time he saw Sam, the same dazzling jealousy returned. And in truth he thought only of her.
“I’ll let him go if he came close to you—he’s been careless with the big shifters,” his uncle said that night at supper. “If I let him go he’ll never have a cent—and he’ll never afford to marry the Tucker girl.”
But the boy knew this would be appalling. He also knew it was in his power to help destroy the relationship, at this moment. He swallowed hard.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he told Jim. “It was an accident—and, in fact, I know it is not yet my time.”
(That is, he tried to sound wise, but he also believed it at that moment.)
That night, going to bed, masturbating, thinking of her dress lifting, he was overcome with shame. He could not go to communion the next day, and when he went to confession, having to confess what he had done, in the privacy of his room he was certain the priest knew who he was.
“I’ll not forget,” Sam whispered the next weekend. “You taking up for me. And either will Minnie.”
“Never mind it,” Alex said angrily.
For the first time, Alex saw how the world stood—Sammy Patch with Minnie and him alone. Sam Patch with nothing but this dirt job that he, Alex, could take from him if he wanted to. But he felt the only way he would win approval is by going forward with his vocation, even if there were moments when he felt it was a sham. But who did he want to win approval from?
Minnie Tucker.
Then there came a test. One was his uncle asking him emphatically if he would or would not be available to work in the fall. Alex knew that this meant his uncle was asking if he was prepared to someday take over the business. That though they had not often got along, his uncle still considered him to be the one who would some day succeed him. In fact, because of his uncle’s dislike for his father, he was always trying to make something up to Alex in the end.
“I don’t think so—thank you for all you have done for me,” Alex answered with insincerity, which he had already learned to evoke through piety.
The old man, however, caught unawares by this sudden compliment, had tears come to his eyes. He went over and patted Alex roughly on the shoulder (the only affection he ever showed) and walked away unsteadily.
But Minnie’s test was worse. For he knew what she was asking him, and he didn’t know she would. It was the unexpectedness of it that caused so much pain.
She met him one morning at church, and in the drizzle of a March storm walked up the church lane with him after mass. She spoke of non-essential things for a long time, and tried to rehabilitate her father to him just a little. He was, after all, a good soul. A man who had his moments of lively grace and humanity.
“I am sure he was,” Alex said too stiffly. Again, the stiffness was a posture—a collaboration between saintly betterment and moral high-handedness. He knew this, and so did Minnie. This was the start of something that Alex had not had before, his pretentiousness toward goodness—this, in fact, is what one did not need religious study for. In fact, the world so opposed to religious study had this terrible pretentiousness as well.
Then she asked, as they stopped along the wet road and she suddenly took his hand: “Is it true you are going to be a priest?”
This was the moment, under the low clouds and drizzles of snow, amid the long sloping snowdrifts that ran down to the water, that said: There will be no other moment like this again. Tell her you love her and you will
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