closed. That must have been because of the Drno.
We got Felix into the back seat without any trouble. He sat there with the top down, sobbing away. I think we could have sent him up a tree, and he would have been up among the branches and birds’ nests, sobbing away.
But he wouldn’t give us the keys. The keys were too materialistic a concern for him to consider at such a time. So I had to go through his pockets, while Mother told me to hurry up, hurry up. I happened to glance in the direction of the church, and I saw that Dwayne Hoover, maybe having told everybody to stay behind, that he had some private business with Felix to conduct, was coming in our direction.
He might have been expected to remain close to the hearse, and to duck curious and possibly accusing eyes by getting into the undertaker’s Cadillac limousine behind it. But, no—he was going to trudge fifty yards out into the parking lot instead, and we were the only people out there, since we had fled the church so quickly. So it was like a scene in a cowboy movie, with the townspeople all huddled together, and with a half-broken, tragic, great big man going to meet destiny all alone.
The hearse could wait.
He had business to settle first.
• • •
If this confrontation scene were done as a playlet, the set could be very simple. A curb along the back of the stage might indicate the edge of a parking lot. A Rolls-Royce with its top down, which is the expensive part, could be parked next to that, aimed left. Flats behind the curb could be painted with trees and shrubbery. A tasteful wooden sign might make the location more specific, saying:
FIRST METHODIST CHURCH
VISITORS’ PARKING
ALL PERSONS WELCOME.
Felix would be sobbing in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce. Mother, whose name was Emma, and I, whose name is Rudy, would be between the convertible and the audience. Emma would have the heebie-jeebies, wanting to get out of there, and Rudy would be frisking Felix for the keys.
FELIX: Who cares about the keys?
EMMA: Hurry up—oh, please hurry up.
RUDY: How many pockets can they put in a London suit? God damn it, Felix.
FELIX: You’re making me sorry I came home.
EMMA: I could die.
FELIX: I loved her so much.
RUDY: Did you ever!
(RUDY happens to look in the direction of the church, off right, and is appalled to see DWAYNE approaching.)
RUDY: Oh, my God.
FELIX: Pray for her. That’s what I’m going to do.
RUDY: Felix—get out of the car.
EMMA: Let him stay there. Get him to hunker down.
RUDY: Mother—look behind you. Here comes Dwayne. (EMMA looks, hates what she sees.)
EMMA: Oh. You’d think he’d stay with the body.
RUDY: Felix—get out of the car, because I think somebody just might want to beat the shit out of you.
FELIX: I just got home.
RUDY: I’m not kidding. Here comes Dwayne. He beat the shit out of Doctor Mitchell a week ago. This could be your turn.
FELIX: I’ve got to fight him?
RUDY: Get out of the car and run!
(FELIX gets out of the car, muttering and complaining. His tears have abated some. The danger is so unreal to him that he doesn’t even look to see where the danger may be coming from. He is distracted by the dent and scratch on the side of the car as DWAYNE enters right and stops.)
FELIX: Oh, look at that. What a shame.
DWAYNE: It really is—a beautiful machine like that.
(FELIX straightens up and turns to look at him.)
FELIX: Hello. You’re the husband.
DWAYNE: Where do you fit in?
FELIX: What?
DWAYNE: I’m the husband, and I never felt worse in my life—but I couldn’t cry the way you cried. I never heard anybody cry like you did, male or female. Where do you fit in?
FELIX: We were sweethearts in high school.
(As DWAYNE thinks this over, FELIX takes a bottle of pills from a pocket and starts to open it.)
EMMA: NO more pills!
RUDY: My brother isn’t well.
EMMA: He’s insane—and I used to be so proud of him.
DWAYNE: I’d be sorry to believe he was crazy. I’m hoping he was crying because he was sane.
EMMA: He can’t fight. He never could.
RUDY: We’re on our way to the hospital.
FELIX: Just a damn minute here. I was crying because I’m sane. I’m the sanest person in this whole shit-storm! What the hell’s going on?
EMMA: GO ahead and get your brains beat out.
FELIX: YOU must be the worst mother a person ever had.
EMMA: I never disgraced myself and