I could only look at him with tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t believe him.
'I don’t know who told you different, or what kind of dirty dog would want to put a scare like that into a little boy, but I swear to God your mother’s fine.'
'But . . . but he said . . .'
'I don’t care what he said. I got back from Eversham’s earlier than I expected--he doesn’t want to see any cows, it’s all just talk--and decided I had time to catch up with you. I got my pole and my creel and your mother made us a couple of jelly fold-overs. Her new bread. Still warm. So she was fine half an hour ago, Gary, and there’s nobody knows and different that’s come from this direction, I guarantee you. Not in just half an hour’s time.' He looked over my shoulder. 'Who was this man? And where was he?
I’m going to find him and thrash him within an inch of his life.'
I thought a thousand things in just two seconds--that’s what it seemed like, anyway--but the last thing I thought was the most powerful: if my Dad met up with the man in the black suit, I didn’t think my Dad would be the one to do the thrashing. Or the walking away.
I kept remembering those long white fingers, and the talons at the ends of them.
'Gary?'
'I don’t know that I remember,' I said.
'Were you where the stream splits? The big rock?'
I could never lie to my father when he asked a direct question--not to save his life or mine. 'Yes, but don’t go down there.' I seized his arm with both hands and tugged it hard. 'Please don’t. He was a scary man.' Inspiration struck like an illuminating lightning bolt.
'I think he had a gun.'
He looked at me thoughtfully. 'Maybe there wasn’t a man,' he said, lifting his voice a little on the last word and turning it into something that was almost but not quite a question. 'Maybe you fell asleep while you were fishing, son, and had a bad dream. Like the ones you had about Danny last winter.'
I had had a lot of bad dreams about Dan last winter, dreams where I would open the door to our closet or to the dark, fruity interior of the cider shed and see him standing there and looking at me out of his purple strangulated face; from many of these dreams I had awakened screaming, and awakened my parents as well. I had fallen asleep on the bank of the stream for a little while, too--dozed off, anyway--but I hadn’t dreamed, and I was sure I had awakened just before the man in the black suit clapped the bee dead, sending it tumbling off my nose and into my lap. I hadn’t dreamed him the way I had dreamed Dan, I was quite sure of that, although my meeting with him had already attained a dreamlike quality in my mind, as I suppose supernatural occurrences always must. But if my Dad thought that the man had only existed in my own head, that might be better. Better for him.
'It might have been, I guess,' I said.
'Well, we ought to go back and find your rod and your creel.'
He actually started in that direction, and I had to tug frantically at his arm to stop him again and turn him back toward me.
'Later,' I said. 'Please, Dad? I want to see Mother. I’ve got to see her with my own eyes.'
He thought that over, then nodded. 'Yes, I suppose you do. We’ll go home first, and get your rod and creel later.'
So we walked back to the farm together, my father with his fish pole propped on his shoulder just like one of my friends, me carrying his creel, both of us eating folded-over slices of my mother’s bread smeared with black- currant jam.
'Did you catch anything?' he asked as we came in sight of the barn.
'Yes, sir,' I said. 'A rainbow. Pretty good-sized.' And a brookie that was a lot bigger, I thought but didn’t say.
'That’s all? Nothing else?'
'After I caught it I fell asleep.' This was not really an answer but not really a lie, either.
'Lucky you didn’t lose your pole. You didn’t, did you, Gary?'
'No, sir,' I said, very reluctantly. Lying about that would do no good even if I’d been able to think up a whopper--not if he was set on going back to get my creel anyway, and I could see by his face that he was.
Up ahead, Candy Bill came racing out of the back door, barking his shrill bark and wagging his whole rear end back and forth the way Scotties do when they’re excited. I couldn’t wait any longer. I broke away from my father and ran to the house, still lugging his creel and still convinced, in my heart of hearts, that I was going to find my mother dead on the kitchen floor with her face swollen and purple, as Dan’s had been when my father carried him in from the west filed, crying and calling the name of Jesus.
But she was standing at the counter, just as well and fine as when I had left her, humming a song as she shelled peas into a bowl. She looked around at me, first in surprise and then in fright as she took in my wide eyes and pale cheeks.
'Gary, what is it? What’s the matter?'
I didn’t answer, only ran to her and covered her with kisses. At some point my father came in and said, 'Don’t worry, Lo--he’s all right. He just had one of his bad dreams, down there by the brook.'
'Pray God it’s the last of them,' she said, and hugged me tighter while Candy Bill danced around our feet, barking his shrill bark.
'You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Gary,' my father said, although he had already made it clear that he thought I should--that I should go back, that I should face my fear, as I suppose folks would say nowadays. That’s very well for fearful things that are make-believe, but two hours hadn’t done much to change my conviction that the man in the black suit had been real.
