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I took a crate off the trailer, put it down for him to sit on, climbed on the tractor seat, and by then had my face fixed up, and had also had time to think. I said: “Listen, I love you chum, but this is her business, not mine.”

“You playing around with her?”

“I... what?

“You heard me, I think.”

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

“Nicer yet to do.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“She never mentions you. Talks all kind of stuff, never a word about you. Don’t that hit you funny?”

“Not even slightly amusing.”

“Might interest Val, though.”

“Not unless somebody tipped him.”

“Duke, that bassid’s no friend of mine, but between scum that washed dishes and a right guy that did time, I still string with the bedbug. You just as well know it.”

“I was detained one night.”

“Jail’s jail.”

It was a jolt to the belt, as I’d liked him, and it didn’t help much to see he still liked me and hated to say such stuff. Kind of a pall came down, so you could hear the birds. Then: “Duke, something goes on, and knowing what it could be, I got to make you talk.”

“What could it be, then?”

“Hollis Valenty.”

“I never heard of Hollis Valenty.”

“You sure? You sure that scum hasn’t been bragging on Hollis Valenty? You telling me the truth?”

I got down from the tractor seat, gave him a little cuff, just with the flat of my hand, but enough to remind him who he was talking to. I said: “Spit it out: who is Hollis Valenty?”

“A dream. What Vally lives for.”

And then: “Hollis Valenty’s a nit, a little bedbug he wants. That’s to be named, boy or girl, Hollis Valenty. After that, she can die tomorrow, for all that’s he gives a hoot. What does he care? He’s got this child, mingling his name and hers. He—”

He didn’t finish, as my lunch came up, and he held my head to steady me. When he saw my Thermos in the trailer, he unscrewed it and poured me some water. Soon as I’d rinsed my mouth, I said: “It’s not Hollis Valenty. That I know of.”

“Then what is it?”

“She lost weight.”

“You mean she’s sick?”

“I mean she’s not.”

I tried to leave it at that, but my face wouldn’t fix any more, and I burst out: “Permit me to change that a little. She wasn’t due to be sick, she was well on the road to health, with the help of a diet I gave her, that she wanted kept quiet for some reason — until she backslid, like the gutless slug that she is, as I knew she would all that time. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy, doing my labor, in lieu of the jail I never served in, but that you were kind enough to mention just now — so how’d you like to get out?”

“I take the jail part back.”

“I told you, shove off.”

“I was hell-bent to smoke you out.”

“You’ll be bent worse than that if you stand there chattering much longer.”

“At least we know it’s not you.”

He had a funny look as he got in his car, but I went back to my pumpkins, loading them on the trailer. Then she was there, in the outfit she’d worn on the trip, blowing a little and wanting to know what he’d come for. I paid no attention and went on with my work. She asked what had made me sick, and by that time I was loaded, ready to haul to the cottage, where I’d clean, cut, and wire. I started the tractor and pulled up to the patio, sounding like the field artillery. She walked along behind, and when I stopped she said: “You better come in and sit down. You’re white as a sheet.”

She took hold of me and led me into the living-room and sat me down in my usual place on the love seat. She went and got some buttermilk, said: “I’ve been putting this on my salad to vary the monotony. If you can drink it, it should settle your stomach.”

I drank it and she brought me another. Then she sat beside me and asked once more what made me sick. Then: “That lunch I gave you, every bit of that food, was all right, I would bet on it.”

“Wasn’t the food. Was the talk.”

“Something he said?”

“Hollis Valenty.”

“So he brought that up?”

“He knew it had to be something that was making you hide. He thought that could be it. With Marge, he figured it out.”

“And that made you sick?”

“Not really, just a little.”

She suddenly seemed quite friendly and told me sip my buttermilk a little bit at a time, as it would stay down better that way. Then: “What did you tell him it was?”

“Just a weak stab at a good idea, that lasted until you backslid. On account of you being ‘a gutless slug’ were my exact words, I think, if they matter at all.”

“Something I wanted to show you.”

She went out toward her bedroom, while I sat and sipped and sulked. She was going some minutes, but when she came back she had on the same maroon snakeskin shoes, but slacks and a different sweater. The sweater was blue, and hugged her in a way that made me feel faint all over again. The slacks were gray, and fit her like skin on a doe, so you could see the muscles and the set of her strength. She said: “I fell for these slacks and the little sweater to go with them, one day last week, when I slipped off to the city. But I was still too big to get into them. Now, though, I’ve lost still more weight, they slip on just like a glove.”

I said they were fine, and she came close, so I could see. All of a sudden, I could smell it, the package she had in her hand, which had to be the same old piece of pie, in the same old paper doily, that she’d taken to eat that night. She went into the kitchen with it, and I heard the clink of the garbage can. She came back and said: “You were so busy being spiteful, in the pumpkin patch just now, you didn’t notice how I got there. Or even ask, that I heard.”

“Well, how did you?”

“I ran.”

She ran down again, held my glass to my mouth for a little sip, put it down, wiped my lips with her handkerchief, and said: “For some time now, I’ve walked good as anybody. Today, when Bill left, and I had to know what he wanted — I ran. I forgot myself and ran. I was halfway out there when I realized what I was doing. I felt like a calf. A little calf. Running around her mother. In the pasture kicking her heels up.”

“I was busy, I didn’t see it.”

Me, you mean.”

“I was behind with my work.”

“What comes next after running?”

“That’s about it, I would say.”

“Oh no, Duke, there’s more!”

“I’ll bite. What is it?”

“Next in order is dancing.”

“All right, dance.”

“If someone taught me how.”

“Don’t you know how?”

“How would I know? Who would have danced with me? Who’d dance with a hogshead of tobacco?”

That stabbed my heart, because while I had known all the big reasons for her to start a new life, I kept forgetting there were little, childish ones too, that maybe meant a lot to her. I said: “I’ll teach you.”

“When you feel better, Duke.”

“I feel O.K. now.”

She went over to the radio, fiddled with it, found an FM station playing dance music. I gave her the general idea, put my arm around her, and said: “The two main things are: follow your partner’s lead, and keep time to the music. Don’t think of your feet. They’ll pick up the step, give them half a chance.”

We danced some little time, and it really was childish, the kick it seemed to give her. After she got the hang of it, so she relaxed nice to my lead and eased off from trying to concentrate, we could take it slower, and let it come dreamy. In between, while the announcer made with his chatter, we kept right on with our swaying, so when the music started again, we took up where we left off. Little by little, my face was deep in her hair, where it was fluffed by the little red ribbon, and my cheek began touching hers. She didn’t pull away, but let her mouth come edging around toward mine. Then I could feel lips, like soft, shy little flowers. Then, through my heart, crept a tiny, yellow thread.