a shady village past a general store and rambling houses of old inhabitants. Grey women on the porches. Tickling flowers on the edges of lawns. Smith's features an uncomplicated cast. Traffic never stops even when you're dead.
Cinder Village. Past the establishment of Mr. Brandy occupying a grassy fork in the road with a new neon sign. Further in the town, a square of old trees. The library. Drugstore. Houses of prominent citizens. Open high doors of the volunteer fire station. Rocking chairs on the porches. Hearse stopping for gas and oil. Down the little hill. To the cedar canopy over the tracks. A waiting room. Meeting a casket arriving on the train. One awful ghost.
"O.K., driver, wait here. Come Miss Martin.
Smith climbing down from hearse amid stares. Saloon across the road. Sun hot and shining. And no Bonniface. Ask the station attendant. Nope. Can't say I did. Wait a minute now you mention, saw a guy with a brown cardboard suitcase, all busted. About half hour ago. He took out a comb, leaning against that post playing some kind of music with a piece of paper. Thought he was taking a breather from the state institution. The song he was singing. Wearing a pair of crazy canvas boots, open down the front. Some song.
I was
Tested for the
Institution
And was crazy
Enough
To pass.
We thought the guy was nuts. A friend of yours? We were going to call the cops but he was gone all of a sudden. Left an envelope. On the window sill of the office. Are you from the institution.
"No."
"Letter addressed to George Smith."
"That's me."
"You George Smith."
"Yes."
"I'll get your letter."
Smith standing in the shade of the platform. Miss Martin next to a cart. Mr. Brandy's consorts whispering, leaning against the engine of the car. And through a loop hole in a green iron pillar, men lined up in the saloon across the street peering out the window. Silent hostile looks. From between the cardboard bathing beauty slugging beer. Hot shiny tracks down there on top of the pee sprinkled stones. Wintertime little boys stick tongues on the rails and they get stuck and the train comes and lops off their heads.
"Here's the letter. Ain't being nosey. But you the Smith. The George Smith. Paper's been full of."
"Lots of Smiths. Great many Georges."
"You sure look familiar."
"Bye bye."
Smith taking Miss Martin by the arm. By a soft touch inside her softer elbow. Moving her down the platform. All eyes. On a bench across the tracks. Two workmen. Glaring. With short legs, short arms. All one did was to arrive in a hearse. To meet an ancient friend. Who came to my college room for tea. And munched hard boiled eggs at various embassies during those golden years abroad. Full of happy research into the future troubles trembling we knew were brewing. We married young beautiful wives. Stepped into the exciting garden for croquet. And got promptly slammed about the head and ears.
11:30
Platform
Cinder Village
My Dear George,
I am most terribly sorry not to have waited for you longer. But I am in an acute state of distress. However, on the train I met a most friendly person who has helped me. And has kindly availed me of his house so that I may at least rest up for a few days before proceeding further. God knows where.
He asks me to enclose this letter to you. I can be reached through him. I hope I have not inconvenienced you in any way. And that the things I hear about you are totally untrue. I would be grateful for a loan. Nudum pactum.
Godly blessings
Upon you
In your fear.
BONNIFACE
P.S. I have one woeful case of hayfever with which I
can hardly breathe and can hardly see at all. Also
a slight case of shingles as well as blistered feet.
C.CB.C
Smith opening the next letter. A hooked finger ripping open the flap. As uncontrollable phrases pass through the mind. Dear Sir, we will be interested in viewing your residue what's left of you.
Pomfret Manor
Cinder Village
Dear Mr. Smith,
May I make so bold as to address you? I feel I know you as an old acquaintance through your friend Mr. Cedric Calvin Bonnif ace Clementine who told me much of you on our enjoyable ride together on the train. It seems we too live in your neck of the woods, although this may be news to you. But briefly let me come to the point. My wife and I would most assuredly be proud to have you among our guests this weekend, tonight 6:30 onwards.