‘Thank you.’
‘Ten miles or more on, and it’s a mighty dusty track. Sure you wouldn’t care for that drink o’ water. Comes bubblin’ up freshn’ cold. O’course I ain’t pushin’ it on you, neighbour; but I guess it’s kinda neighbourly to offer— specially to a body as parched-up as you look. It’s free to us — it’s free to you, neighbour. The Lord provides.’
The thought of water sparked Driver’s imagination. Cold water frosting a glass. Water trickling down a parched throat. Water that might even sluice away regrets, bad dreams, and soured ambitions even as it washed away the sweat and dust. For a second he thought he glimpsed something for which he had been searching. It couldn’t really be as simple as a drink on a scorching day, and yet…
‘Thanks,’ he said, and slid from the car.
Kez jerked his head. ‘Back o’ the shack. Foller me,’
But even as Driver stumbled after the lumbering red-head over the broken ground, the euphoria faded. The cynic at the back of his mind with whose help he had outsmarted his associates and beaten back his competitors, began to whisper. Nobody ever does anything for nothing. Nothing is for free. In the long run a gift costs more than the goods you pay for. What did the friendly scarecrow hope to get in return for his drink of water? If Driver ever offered a drink of water there would be strings attached. Why should there be one law for the city, and another for the backwoods?
Driver tripped against the hoe left lying on the baked ground, and stifled the mild blasphemy that he automatically voiced.
Kez turned to see Driver frowning at the rusty head and rough, near-black handle, Kes was disappointed that Driver had halted. So far everything had worked so smoothly. No fish had ever risen so daintily to the bait. Only a few yards more to the invitingly open door, and everything would be over bar the gutting and jointing.
‘C’mon, mister,’ urged Kez. ‘Y’want that water?’
‘Dropped your hoe,’ observed Driver, prodding it with his shoe toe.
‘Pick it up on the way back,’ replied Kez. ‘C’mon.’
But Driver did not move. Intuition is a matter of subconsciously interpreting signs and portents. In Korea the sergeant had picked off the sniper before the sniper had dropped him. In business he had forecast market trends before they hit the Dow Jones Index. There was something wrong about that hoe.
‘Thought you was in a hurry to get to Stotetown,’ grumbled Kez,
‘You in a hurry?’ asked Driver.
‘Got all day,’ replied Kez. ‘Thought you was thirsty. Don’t act like you was thirsty.’ The sun glinted on Driver’s glasses, obscuring his piggy eyes. It bothered Kez that he couldn’t see those eyes.
The hoe worried Driver. It had a significance that eluded him. Like — well, like a wife grown smugly contented after months of wild-cat spitting and scratching; and he hadn’t suspected that another man was servicing her. Like those mislaid files of accounts that suddenly turned up in the enemy’s office. It seemed as though the fat that encased his body was also smothering his mind. Think. Think! Why should a man be hoeing when any reasonable creature would be taking refuge from the sun? Why hoe a barren patch at this time of year? It wasn’t as if the red-head liked work, otherwise the shack wouldn’t be falling apart. Feeling the pricking down his spine, the sergeant would have reached for his gun: but there was no longer a gun handy — this was a different time, a different world, perhaps a different man. He glanced to where his car was parked, eighty or so yards away.
‘You ain’t agoin’ back?’ said Kez anxiously. ‘Not without that water.’ Then, conscious that he may have sounded over-eager, ‘Best water in these parts.’
Driver was conscious of the bill-fold tightly wedged into his hip pocket. He realized that he would be lucky if he managed to get away without losing that wad of notes. It was not the possible loss of money, but of face, that worried him. He’d sound such a fool, trying to explain to a flint-eyed cop that he’d fallen victim to this red-faced clod. He couldn’t do it.
‘No. I’m following you,’ smiled Driver with tight lips. In a race for the car his podgy body would be no match against the rangey limbs of his companion. The game had to be played through. ‘Lead on,’ he said.
Kez led the way to the open door.
‘You set yourself down in there,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch the water from round back. The cup’s kinda cracked, but I guess you won’t mind that.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Driver.
‘Thought you might like to set out o’ the sun,’ said Kez.
‘Glad of the chance to stretch my legs,’ replied Driver.
Kez glanced appealingly at the open door. This was not the way it should happen. Usually the meat walked meekly through the door, behind which Adam stood with axe upraised.
Already Adam’s arms were beginning to tire. He had held the axe aloft from the minute he heard footsteps on the path. Kez went barefoot until the first snows, so the steps could only belong to a well-shod stranger. They were heavy footsteps, too — a well-fed stranger. But the footsteps had halted, and talk was going on. What cause had Kez to stop for talk when he knew Adam was waiting with axe upraised? It was a heavy axe, and Adam’s arms began to shake a little; yet he durst not lower the weapon for fear of the stranger walking in before he had time to raise it again. That might lead to a struggle, and Adam did not like struggling — last year one of the scouts had delivered a vicious kick, and Adam had limped for days. He thought obscenities at Kez, who talked and talked while the axe grew heavier.
‘You could set on the porch awhile,’ be heard Kez say. ‘Mighty comfortable chair for rockin’.’
‘I’ve been sitting for long enough,’ replied the stranger, cheerfully obstinate. ‘You live here alone?’
‘Jus’ me an’ the dawg,’ replied Kez, preferring that the stranger should not suspect that someone might be waiting with an axe.
‘Two chairs,’ pointed out the stranger.
‘Oh, them,’ said Kez. Then his voice brightened. ‘Sometimes I set in the one. Sometimes I set in the other. Mighty comfortable chairs. C’mon through the house.’
‘The spring’s round the back,’ remarked the stranger.
‘Sure,’ said Kez. ‘Cool, clear, spring water. The Lord provides.’
‘Then I’ll walk round outside,’ said the stranger. ‘Shoes are dusty. Wouldn’t want to trample dirt inside your house.’
Adam’s muscles were screaming for respite. Soon he would either have to lower the axe or drop it. Sweat trickled into the corner of his eye.
‘Walk round outside,’ echoed Kez unhappily. He raised his voice, hoping that Adam would hear and deal with the change of plan. ‘To th’back. I guess the dawg’ll be waiting for us round the corner, but you’ve no cause to fear the dawg.’
At last Adam lowered the axe. With unusual agility, considering his fifteen stone, he hurried through the shack, past the bedroom where Betsey lay, and through the back door. As he took up his position by the wall, and raised the axe again, approaching voices could already be heard.
‘Appreciate what you’re doing for me, neighbour,’ the stranger was saying.
‘The Lord provides,’ responded Kez automatically.
Adam edged forward. One good downward blow would be sufficient, and out here there would be less mess to clear up. Then the stranger seemed to stand still again.
Driver’s long-dormant combat instinct was stirring. Ahead lay a blind corner. Instinctively Driver wanted to take it in a wide sweep to avoid any possible ambush; but the red-head was crowding him, almost pushing him against the wall. Between the red-head and the wall there was no room to maneuver, no freedom to use his arms. To give himself time to plan, Driver stopped by a window.