For somehow one wants to cry. Salty flow to wash all the terrible misunderstanding away.
Smith's car creeping by a coal siding for freight trains. Out onto a dark road along a river and train tracks. Clicked along here in the club car, the evening with Miss Tomson. Parents dead. Miss Needles of the post office fighting a losing battle against chiselers, twisters and louts. Miss Martin trembles. Poor kid. She wants warmth and friendship. Instead of the elbow jostling everywhere. Wrap my arms around her. God give me nerve. Rest on one of her breasts. White soft comfort. All hangs on a thread. Putting her hand on mine. Chilly cold thing comes up in the mind, you think how can anyone really feel heartfelt for me. There I am in the newspaper. Had a dignified mother and father carrying their backs straight. Never hurt a soul where a lonely sea beat waves up on a shore. And two trains a day went by. Hooting. Miss Martin a little hesitant secretary. On her first day she wore a filmy scarf, so shy stumbling over her words. Now says, you bastard.
Northward through low hills and tidy white clapboard towns, neat stark and full of dreams. Country side growing green. Long narrow lanes now, between woods and then crossroads with a white church and steeple. Wide shady porches of houses tucked in under the trees. Smith telling out the turns in a low voice into the little microphone, driver raising a finger quietly shaking head as he gets the message.
The road dips down, cross a bridge over the rapids of a river far below. Over another little bridge and up between dark tall shadowy pines. Light shut out from the sky. Left turn past a farm and red barns. And two little houses sitting like children's toys on a lawn. More woods. An old clapboard house, seven kids standing on the porch and two on a swing under a big tree. The road narrowing.
"Mr. Smith, is there a hotel way out here. The road's ending. What's it called."
"Miss Martin, ahem."
"It's got a name."
"No."
"Hotel with no name. But we're at the end of the road."
"Everything's going to be all right Miss Martin. Now don't worry about a thing. Driver, take the right turning. Through the pines. It's perfectly safe, just a little bumpy. Right, here."
Miss Martin sitting straight up in her seat, staring ahead and left and right, thick pine needles on either side. Blanket of brown years of needles underneath, dark and snake forbidding. Over a little hill in the road.
"Mr. Smith, no car's been down here for months it's nearly grown over. Where are we going."
"Miss Martin. This is not exactly a hotel"
"What is it."
"A moment Miss Martin, little trouble ahead with these branches. Driver, just proceed - I'm responsible for any scratches on the car."
Car squeezing between the low branches and new green leaves of maple trees. Down a little hill and ahead a clearing and the brown faint shingled roof of a log cabin. Stone chimney peeking out of the greenery. Driver turning round smiling through emerald tinted glass. In sight of shore.
"I'm not getting out Mr. Smith."
'We're here Miss Martin."
"I'm not getting out."
"Don't be silly. The driver is waiting."
"I'm not getting out."
"Why."
"I'm not getting out."
"Miss Martin, that's the northern office I've spoken about."
"You've never said a word to me about a northern office. This is utter isolation."
"There's a telephone in there Miss Martin. A bath room, kitchen, fireplace, fifty wave radio, which sends, receives and even dances when no one's looking."
"Don't try to be funny."
Smith with one hand on the handle of the door. Driver out. So discreet. Sensing the fly in the recent ointment. Don't try to be funny. Never been so distant from a laugh. Or hearing this kind of common chat. Such a big world with different kinds of personalities everywhere. A slaughter house.
"Very well Miss Martin, suit yourself. I'll get this stuff out. And the driver will take you home. Hand me that file please. And my gloves. My stick. I'm sorry there's been this misunderstanding between us. I know this outpost seems unused to you."
"You said a hotel Mr. Smith. I thought it was The Goose Goes Inn, you had some notepaper from there, that's what I thought. You never said anything about this place. It's all so uninhabited. I'm scared to be way out here."
"Chauffeur's walking around enjoying it. Hear the rapids down there, the Worrisome River."
Miss Martin primly sitting. Hands on her