times.”
“I believe you don’t even give it a thought,” said Maisie. “That’s what Ansel said. He said, ‘What does
James
care—’ ”
“Well, we’ve got to be clearheaded about this,” James said.
“You’re clearheaded, all right.” She jabbed her spoon into her ice cream and left it there, standing straight up in the middle of the cup. “ ‘What does James care,’ he said, and then just lay there with his eyes all blurry—”
“I do everything I can think of,” said James.
“Oh, foot.”
“I try everything I know.”
“Then tell me this, if you do so much all-fired good. Can you say that never, never once in all your life, have you thought about Ansel’s going off and letting you be someday?”
“Well, for—”
“Never thought how nice it would be to live on your own for a change, just one little old TV dinner to pop into the—”
“I try
every
thing I
know!
” James shouted, and then noticed how loud his voice was and lowered it. “I mean—”
But Maisie just folded in the rim of her Dixie cup with all her concentration, as if her mind was made up. Then she rose and said, “Well, I’ll be seeing you.” Her skirt was rumpled in back, but she didn’t bother smoothing it down. When she walked away James stood up, from force of habit, and waited until she was halfway across the yard before he sat down again. Inside he felt slow and heavy; he was chewing on his lower lip, the way he did when he didn’t know what to say. All the way across the yard he watched her, and turned his empty ice cream cup around and around in his hands.
In front of him some children were playing statues. An out-of-town boy was flinging the others by one arm and then crying, “Hold!” so that they had to freeze there, and when he came to Janice Hammond, who was the littlest, he swung her around so hard that she spun halfway across the lawn and landed against Mrs. Hammond, who was heading over toward James. “Hold!” the boy said. Mrs. Hammond looked down at Janice,who was clutching her around the middle. She said, “
Oh
, Janice,” tiredly, and was about to pull away, but the other children stopped her. “No, Janice has got to stay that way,” said the out-of-town boy, and Mrs. Hammond seemed too tired to argue. She stood still, rising above Janice’s circled arms like the figure of someone passively drowning, and called out, “James, we’re ready with Aunt Hattie.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Over there. Standing up. We wanted her to sit but she says no, she’ll do it standing. Die with her boots on. She doesn’t like cameras.” She came to life suddenly and disentangled herself from Janice, ignoring the other children’s protests. “She’s fading,” she said. James looked over at Janice, surprised, and Mrs. Hammond caught his look and shook her head. “Aunt Hattie, I mean,” she said. “Just fading away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said James. He gathered up his equipment and came after her. “She looked all right to me.”
“Well, she fades out and then in again.”
They circled a little group of women, all standing in identical positions with folded arms while they watched the children playing statues. “I don’t like doing this if she don’t want me to,” James called. “Some people just have an allergy to cameras.”
But Mrs. Hammond smiled brightly at him over her shoulder and kept walking. Out here on the grass the sun was still hot, and the back of Mrs. Hammond’s powdered neck glistened faintly. She had the same brittle little bones as her niece Maisie, only covered now with a solid layer of flesh. James looked away from her and shifted his equipment to the other shoulder. “Right here would be a good place,” he said. He hadn’t reallylooked around; he just wanted to stop and not do anything any more. The heaviness inside was weighing him down. He set the camera on its tripod and then leaned on it, with his chin propped on his hand, and
“I believe you don’t even give it a thought,” said Maisie. “That’s what Ansel said. He said, ‘What does
James
care—’ ”
“Well, we’ve got to be clearheaded about this,” James said.
“You’re clearheaded, all right.” She jabbed her spoon into her ice cream and left it there, standing straight up in the middle of the cup. “ ‘What does James care,’ he said, and then just lay there with his eyes all blurry—”
“I do everything I can think of,” said James.
“Oh, foot.”
“I try everything I know.”
“Then tell me this, if you do so much all-fired good. Can you say that never, never once in all your life, have you thought about Ansel’s going off and letting you be someday?”
“Well, for—”
“Never thought how nice it would be to live on your own for a change, just one little old TV dinner to pop into the—”
“I try
every
thing I
know!
” James shouted, and then noticed how loud his voice was and lowered it. “I mean—”
But Maisie just folded in the rim of her Dixie cup with all her concentration, as if her mind was made up. Then she rose and said, “Well, I’ll be seeing you.” Her skirt was rumpled in back, but she didn’t bother smoothing it down. When she walked away James stood up, from force of habit, and waited until she was halfway across the yard before he sat down again. Inside he felt slow and heavy; he was chewing on his lower lip, the way he did when he didn’t know what to say. All the way across the yard he watched her, and turned his empty ice cream cup around and around in his hands.
In front of him some children were playing statues. An out-of-town boy was flinging the others by one arm and then crying, “Hold!” so that they had to freeze there, and when he came to Janice Hammond, who was the littlest, he swung her around so hard that she spun halfway across the lawn and landed against Mrs. Hammond, who was heading over toward James. “Hold!” the boy said. Mrs. Hammond looked down at Janice,who was clutching her around the middle. She said, “
Oh
, Janice,” tiredly, and was about to pull away, but the other children stopped her. “No, Janice has got to stay that way,” said the out-of-town boy, and Mrs. Hammond seemed too tired to argue. She stood still, rising above Janice’s circled arms like the figure of someone passively drowning, and called out, “James, we’re ready with Aunt Hattie.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Over there. Standing up. We wanted her to sit but she says no, she’ll do it standing. Die with her boots on. She doesn’t like cameras.” She came to life suddenly and disentangled herself from Janice, ignoring the other children’s protests. “She’s fading,” she said. James looked over at Janice, surprised, and Mrs. Hammond caught his look and shook her head. “Aunt Hattie, I mean,” she said. “Just fading away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said James. He gathered up his equipment and came after her. “She looked all right to me.”
“Well, she fades out and then in again.”
They circled a little group of women, all standing in identical positions with folded arms while they watched the children playing statues. “I don’t like doing this if she don’t want me to,” James called. “Some people just have an allergy to cameras.”
But Mrs. Hammond smiled brightly at him over her shoulder and kept walking. Out here on the grass the sun was still hot, and the back of Mrs. Hammond’s powdered neck glistened faintly. She had the same brittle little bones as her niece Maisie, only covered now with a solid layer of flesh. James looked away from her and shifted his equipment to the other shoulder. “Right here would be a good place,” he said. He hadn’t reallylooked around; he just wanted to stop and not do anything any more. The heaviness inside was weighing him down. He set the camera on its tripod and then leaned on it, with his chin propped on his hand, and
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