Sympathy for the Devil - By Tim Pratt Page 0,163

one or the other; Mama wasn’t quiet much.

She swept up Karen and walked on, deep in her conversation with Mrs. Avila, and Markie followed them down the hill from the church. It was hot and very bright, but the wind was fresh and there were seagulls wheeling and crying above the town. Their shadows floated around Markie on the sidewalk, all the way down Hinds Street to the old highway where the sidewalk ended and the dirt path began. Here the ladies in their Sunday dresses shouted their goodbyes to each other and parted company, and Markie’s Mama swung round and began a conversation with him, barely pausing to draw breath.

“Got a letter from Grandpa, honey, and he sent nice presents of money for you and the baby. Looks like you get your birthday after all! What do you want, you want some little cars? You want a holster and a six-shooter like Leon’s got? Whatever his damn mother buys him, honey, you can have better.”

“Can I have fishing stuff?” Markie didn’t like talking about presents before he got them—it seemed like bad luck, and anyway he liked the idea of a surprise.

“Or I’ll get you more of those green soldiers—what? No, honey, we talked about this, remember? You’re too little and you’d just get the hooks in your fingers. Wait till you’re older and Ronnie can show you.” Ronnie was Karen’s daddy. Markie didn’t want to go fishing with Ronnie; Ronnie scared him. Markie just put his head down and walked along beside Mama as she talked on and on, making plans about all the wonderful things he and Ronnie would do together when he was older. She was loud enough to be heard above the cars that zoomed past them on the highway, and when they turned off the trail and crossed the bridge over the slough her voice echoed off the water. As they neared their house, she saw Mrs. O’Farrell hanging out a laundry load, and hurried ahead to tell her something important. Markie got to walk the rest of the way by himself.

Their house was the third one from the end in a half-square of little yellow cottages around a central courtyard. It had been a motor court, once; the rusted neon sign still said it was, but families like Markie’s paid by the week to live here year in and year out. It was a nice place to live. Beside each identical clapboard house was a crushed-shell driveway with an old car or truck parked in it, and behind each house was a clothesline. In front was a spreading lawn of Bermuda grass, lush and nearly indestructible, and beyond that low dunes rose, and just beyond them was the sea.

Off to the south was a dark forest of eucalyptus trees, and when Markie had been younger he’d been afraid of the monster that howled there. Now he knew it was just the freight train, he’d seen where its tracks ran. To the north was the campground, where the people with big silver trailers pulled in; then the bridge that crossed the slough, and the little town with its pier and its general store and hotels.

It was a good world, and Markie was in a hurry to get back to it. He had to change his clothes first, though. He didn’t like going into the house by himself, but Mama looked like she was going to be talking to Mrs. O’Farrell a while, so he was careful not to let the rusty screen bang behind him as he slipped inside.

Ronnie was awake, sitting up in bed and smoking. He watched Markie with dead eyes as Markie hurried past the bedroom door. He didn’t say anything, for which Markie was grateful. Ronnie was mean when he had that look in his eyes.

Markie’s room was a tiny alcove up two stairs, with his bed and a dresser. He shed the blue church suit and the hard shoes, and quickly pulled on a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt. Groping under the bed he found his knapsack. His father had bought it at an Army Surplus store and it had an austere moldy smell, like old wars. He loved it. He put it on, adjusting the straps carefully, and ran from the house.

“Bye, Ma,” he shouted as he ran past, and she waved vaguely as she continued telling Mrs. O’Farrell about the fight the people in the next house had had. Markie made for the big state