the jerzycks. As Brian pedaled out of the jerzyck driveway, Mrs. Mislaburski opened her front door and came out on the stoop. She was dressed in a bright green wrapper. Her hair was bound up in a red doo-rag. She looked like an advertisement for Christmas in hell.
"What's going on over there, boy?" she asked sharply.
"I don't know, exactly. I think Mr. and Mrs. jerzyck must be having an argument," Brian said, not stopping. "I just came over to ask if they needed anyone to shovel their driveway this winter, but I decided to come back another time."
Mrs. Mislaburski directed a brief, baleful glance at the Jerzyck house. Because of the hedges, only the second story was visible from where she stood. "If I were you, I wouldn't come back at all," she said. "That woman reminds me of those little fish they have down in South America. The ones that eat the cows whole."
"Piranha-fish," Brian said.
"That's right. Those."
Brian kept on pedaling. He was now drawing away from the woman in the green wrapper and red doo-rag. His heart was hustling right along, but it wasn't hammering or racing or anything like that.
Part of him felt quite sure he was still dreaming. He didn't feel like himself at all-not like the Brian Rusk who got all A's and B's, the Brian Rusk who was a member of the Student Council and the Middle School Good Citizens' League, the Brian Rusk who got nothing but I's in deportment.
"She'll kill somebody one of these days!" Mrs. Mislaburski called indignantly after Brian. "You just mark my words!"
Under his breath Brian whispered: "I wouldn't be a bit surprised."
He did indeed spend the rest of the day in bed. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have concerned Cora, perhaps enough to take Brian over to the Doc in the Box in Norway. Today, however, she hardly noticed that her son wasn't feeling well. This was because of the wonderful sunglasses Mr. Gaunt had sold her-she was absolutely entranced with them.
Brian got up around six o'clock, about fifteen minutes before his Pa came in from a day spent fishing on the lake with two friends.
He got himself a Pepsi from the fridge and stood by the stove, drinking it. He felt quite a bit better.
He felt as if he might have finally fulfilled his part of the deal he had made with Mr. Gaunt.
He had also decided that Mr. Gaunt did indeed know best.
9
Nettle Cobb, without the slightest premonition of the unpleasant surprise awaiting her at home, was in high good spirits as she walked down Main Street toward Needful Things. She had a strong intuition that, Sunday morning or not, the shop would be open, and she was not disappointed.
"Mrs. Cobb!" Leland Gaunt said as she came in. "How very nice to see you!"
"It's nice to see you, too, Mr. Gaunt," she said... and it was.
Mr. Gaunt came over, his hand out, but Nettle shrank from his touch. It was dreadful behavior, so impolite, but she simply couldn't help herself. And Mr. Gaunt seemed to understand, God bless him.
He smiled and changed course, closing the door behind her instead.
He flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED with the speed of a professional gambler palming an ace.
"Sit down, Mrs. Cobb! Please! Sit down just came to t "Well, all right... but I tell you that Polly...
Polly is..." She felt strange, somehow. Not bad, exactly, but strange. Swimmy in the head. She sat down rather gracelessly in one of the plush chairs. Then Mr. Gaunt was standing before her, his eyes fixed on hers, and the world seemed to center upon him and grow still again.
"Polly isn't feeling so well, is she?" Mr. Gaunt asked.
"That's it," Nettle agreed gratefully. "It's her hands, you know.
She has..."
"Arthritis, yes, terrible, such a shame, shit happens, life's a bitch and then you die, tough titty said the kitty. I know, Nettle."
Mr.
Gaunt's eyes were growing again. "But there's no need for me to call her... or call on her, for that matter. Her hands are feeling better now."
"Are they?" Nettle asked distantly.
"You betcha! They still hurt, of course, which is good, but they don't hurt badly enough to keep her away, and that's better stilldon't you agree, Nettle?"
"Yes," Nettle said faintly, but she had no idea of what she was agreeing to.
"You," Mr. Gaunt said in his softest, most cheerful voice, "have got a big day ahead of you, Nettle."
"I do?" It was news to her; she had been planning to spend the