It was getting dusk, but there still were people on the street and he could sense that they were trying, very consciously, not to look at him.
And that was all right, he told himself. If they didn’t want to look, that was all right with him. They didn’t have to look. If it helped them any, there was no reason they should look.
He was the town’s disgrace. He was its people’s social cross. He was their public shame. He was the horrible example. And he was unique, for there never was more than one of him in any little town—there simply wasn’t room for more than one like him.
He reeled forlornly down the sidewalk and he saw that Elmer Clark, the village cop, was standing on the corner. Not doing anything. Just standing there and watching. But it was all right. Elmer was a good guy. Elmer knew exactly how it was.
Tobias stood for a moment to get his bearings and finally he had them; he set a dead sight for the corner where Elmer waited for him. He navigated well. He finally reached the corner.
«Tobe,» said Elmer, «maybe you should let me take you home. The car’s just over there.»
Tobias drew himself erect with fly-blown dignity.
«Couldn’t think of it,» he announced, every inch a gentleman. «Cannot let you do it. Very kindly of you.»
Elmer grinned. «Take it easy, then. Sure that you can make it?»
«Poshitive,» said Tobias, wobbling quickly off.
He did fairly well. He managed several blocks without incident.
But on the corner of Third and Maple, disaster overtook him. He fell flat upon his face and Mrs. Frobisher was standing on her porch where she could see him fall. Tomorrow, he was full aware, she would tell all the women at the Ladies Aid Society what a shameful thing it was. They all would quietly cluck among themselves, pursing up their mouths and feeling extra holy. For Mrs. Frobisher was their leader; she could do nothing wrong. Her husband was the banker and her son the star of Millville’s football team, which was headed for the Conference championship. And that, without a doubt, was a thing of pride and wonder. It had been years since Millville High had won the Conference crown.
Tobias got up and dusted himself off, none too quietly and rather awkwardly, then managed to make his way to the corner of Third and Oak, where he sat down on the low stone wall that ran along the front of the Baptist church. The pastor, he knew, when he came from his basement study, would be sure to see him there. And it might do the pastor, he told himself, a world of good to see him. It might buck him up no end.
The pastor, he feared, was taking it too easy lately. Everything was going just a bit too smoothly and he might be getting smug, with his wife the president of the local DAR and his leggy daughter making such good progress with her music.
Tobias was sitting there and waiting for the pastor to come out when he heard the footsteps shuffling down the walk. It was fairly dark by now and it was not until the man got closer that he saw it was Andy Donovan, the janitor at the school.
Tobias chided himself a bit. He should have recognized the shuffle.
«Good evening, Andy,» he said. «How are things tonight?»
Andy stopped and looked at him. Andy brushed his drooping mustache and spat upon the sidewalk so that if anyone were looking they’d be convinced of his disgust.
«If you’re waiting for Mr. Halvorsen to come out,» he said, «it’s a dreadful waste of time. He is out of town.»
«I didn’t know,» Tobias said, contritely.
«You’ve done quite enough tonight,» said Andy, tartly. «You might just as well go home. Mrs. Frobisher stopped me as I was going past. She said we simply have to do something firm about you.»
«Mrs. Frobisher,» said Tobias, staggering to his feet, «is an old busybody.»
«She’s all of that,» said Andy. «She’s likewise a decent woman.»
He scraped around abruptly and went shuffling down the street, moving, it seemed, a trifle more rapidly than was his usual pace.
Tobias wobbled solemnly down the street behind him, with the wobble somewhat less pronounced, and he felt the bitterness and the question grew inside of him.
For it was unfair.
Unfair that he should be as he was when he could just as well be something else entirely—when the whole conglomerate of emotion and desire that spelled the total of himself cried out for something else.
He should not, he told himself, be compelled to be the conscience of this town. He was made for better things, he assured himself, hiccuping solemnly.
The houses became more scattered and infrequent and the sidewalk ended and he went stumbling down the unpaved road, heading for his shack at the edge of town.
His shack stood on a hill set above a swamp just beyond the intersection of this road on which he walked with Highway 49 and it was a friendly place to live, he thought. Often he just sat outside and watched the cars stream past.
But there was no traffic now and the moon was coming up above a distant copse and its light was turning the countryside to a black and silver etching.
He went down the road, his feet plopping in the dust and every now and then something set a bird to twitter and there was the smell of burning autumn leaves.
It was beautiful, Tobias thought—beautiful and lonely. But what the hell, he thought, he was always lonely.
Far off he heard the sound of the car, running hard and fast, and he grumbled to himself at how some people drove.
He went stumbling down the dusty stretch and now, some distance to the east, he saw the headlights of the car, traveling rapidly.
He watched it as he walked and as it neared the intersection there was a squeal of brakes and the headlights swung toward him as the car made a sudden turn into his road.
Then the headlight beams knifed into the sky and swept across it in a rapid arc and he caught the dash of glowing taillights as the car skidded with the scream of rubber grinding into pavement.
Slowly, almost ponderously, the car was going over, toppling as it plunged toward the ditch.
Tobias found that he was running, legs pumping desperately and no wobble in them now.
Ahead of him the car hit on its side and skidded with a shrill, harsh grinding, then nosed easily, almost deliberately down into the roadside ditch. He heard the gentle splash of water as it slid to a halt and hung there, canted on its side, with its wheels still spinning.
He leaped from the road down onto the side of the car that lay uppermost and wrenched savagely at the door, using both his hands. But the door was a stubborn thing that creaked and groaned, but still refused to stir. He braced himself as best he could and yanked; it came open by an inch or so. He bent and got his fingers hooked beneath the door edge and even as he did he smelled the acrid odor of burning insulation and he knew the time was short. He became aware as well of the trapped and frightened desperation underneath the door.
A pair of hands from inside was helping with the door and he slowly straightened, pulling with every ounce of strength he had within his body and the door came open, but protestingly.
There were sounds now from inside the car, a soft, insistent whimpering, and the smell of burning sharper, and he caught the flare of flame running underneath the hood.
Something snapped and the door came upward, then stuck tight again, but now there was room enough and Tobias reached down into the opening and found an arm and hauled. A man came out.
«She’s still in there,» gasped the man. «She’s still—»