eating her.”
“Not at all strange,” Dan said. “Just human. She’s jealous.” “That’s ridiculous!”
“No. Helen is a fiercely protective woman-protective of her children. With Mark gone, you and the house are her security and the children’s security. She doesn’t want to share you and your protection. Matter of self- preservation, not infatuation.”
“I see,” Randy said, “or at least I think I see.”
They drove up to the front of the McGovern house. Randy said, “It’s pointless for both of us to go in. Nothing you can do here. While you get Bubba Offenhaus, I’ll tell them they’re going to move and get them going.”
“Right,” Dan said. “Economy of effort and forces. Always a good rule of war.”
Randy walked to the house, wondering a bit about himself. Without being conscious of it, he had begun to give orders in the past few days. Even to the Admiral he had given orders. He had assumed leadership in the tiny community bound together by the water pipes leading from the artesian well. Since no one had seemed to resent it, he guessed it had been the proper thing to do. It was like-well, it wasn’t the same, but it was something like commanding a platoon. When you had the responsibility you also had the right to command.
The McGovern house was damp and it was chilly. It retained the cold of night. Lib, wearing corduroy jodhpurs and a heavy blue turtleneck sweater, greeted him at the door. She said, “I heard the jalopy and I knew it was you. Thanks for coming, Randy.”
She held out her hands to him and he kissed her. Her hands felt cold and when he looked down at them he saw that her fingernails, always so carefully kept, were broken and crusted with dirt. Still she was dry-eyed and calm. Whatever tears she had had for her mother were already shed. Randy said, “Alice told us. We’re all terribly sorry, darling.” He knew it sounded insincere, and it was. With so many dead-so many friends for whom he had as yet not had time even for thought-the death of one woman, whom he did not admire overmuch and with whom he had never been and could not be close, was a triviality. With perhaps half the country’s population dead, death itself, unless it took someone close and dear, was trivial.
She said, “Come on in and talk to Dad. He’s worried about how we’re going to bury her.”
“We’re arranging that,” Randy said, and followed her into the house.
Bill McGovern sat in the living room, staring out on the river. He had not bothered to dress, or shave. Over his pajamas and robe he had pulled a topcoat. Randy turned to Lib. “Have either of you had any breakfast?”
She shook her head, no.
Bill spoke without turning his head. “Hello, Randy. I’m not much of a success, am I, in time of crisis? I can’t feed my daughter, or myself, or even bury my wife. I wish I had enough guts to swim out into the channel and sink.”
“That can’t help Lavinia and wouldn’t help Elizabeth, or anybody. You and Lib are going to live with me. Things will be better.”
“Randy, I’m not going to impose myself on you. I might as well face it. I’m finished. You know, I’m over sixty. And do you know what the worst thing is> Central Tool and Plate. I spent my whole life building it up. What is it now? Chances are, just a mess of twisted and burned metal. Junk. So there goes my life and what good am I? I can’t start over. Central Tool and Plate is junk and I’m junk.”
Randy stepped over and stood between Bill and the cracked window, so as to look into his face. “You might as well stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said. “You’re going to have to start over. Either that or die. You have to face it.”
Lib touched her father’s shoulder. “Come on, Dad.” Bill didn’t move, or reply.
Randy felt anger inside him. “You want to know what good you are? That means what good you are to somebody else, not to yourself, doesn’t it? If you’re no good to anybody else I guess you’d better take the long swim. You know something about machinery, don’t you?”
McGovern pushed himself in his chair. “I know as much about machine tools as any man in America.”
“I didn’t say machine tools. I said machinery. Batteries, gasoline engines, simple stuff like that.”
“I didn’t start at Central Tool as president, or board chairman. I started in the shop, working with my hands. Sure, I know about machinery.”
“That’s fine. You can help Malachai and Admiral Hazzard. We’ve taken the batteries out of my car, and the admiral’s car, and hooked them on to the Admiral’s shortwave set so we can find out what cooks around the world. Only it doesn’t work right something’s wrong with the circuit-and the batteries are fading and I don’t know how we can charge ‘em.”
“Very simple,” said Bill. “Power takeoff from the Model-A. It’ll work so long as you have gas.”
“Fine,” Randy said. “That’s your first job, Bill, helping Malachai.”
“Malachai? Isn’t he the brother of our cleaning woman, Missouri? Your yardman?”
“That’s him. First-class mechanic.”
Bill McGovern smiled. “So I’ll be mechanic, second class?” “That’s right.”
Bill rose. “All right. It’s a deal. I’ll dress, and then-” He stopped. “Oh, Lord, I forgot. Poor Lavinia. Randy, what am I going to do about her-” he hesitated as if the word were crude but he could find no other-”body?”
“We’re attending to that,” Randy said. “Dan Gunn has gone up to get Bubba Offenhaus. I hope Bubba will handle the burial. Meanwhile, I think you and Lib better start packing. We’ll have to make three or four trips, I guess. How much gas have you got in your car?”
Lib said, “A couple of gallons, I think.”
“That’ll be enough to make the move, and you won’t need the car after that. We can use the battery for Sam Hazzard’s shortwave set.”
While they packed, Randy prowled the house searching for useful items. In a kitchen cupboard he discovered an old, pitted iron pot of tremendous capacity, and, forgetting the presence of death in the house, whooped with delight.
Lib raced into the kitchen, demanding a reason for the shouting. He hefted the pot. “I’ll bet it’ll hold two gallons,” he said. “What a find!”
“It’s just an old pot Mother bought when we were in New England one summer. An antique. She thought it would look wonderful with a plant. It looked awful.”
“It’ll look beautiful hanging in the dining-room fireplace,” Randy said, “filled with stew.”
The old pot was the most useful object-indeed it was one of the few useful objects-he found in the McGovern house. Twenty minutes later Dan Gunn returned, alone and worried. “Bubba Offenhaus,” he said, “can’t help us. Bubba would like to bury himself. He’s got dysentery. Running at both ends. He and Kitty were certain it was radiation poisoning. Symptoms are pretty much alike, you know. Both of them were in panic. He’ll get over it in a few days, but that’s not helping us now.” Randy said, “So what do we do?”
Dan looked at Bill McGovern, fully dressed now but still unwashed and unshaven, for there was no water in the house except a jug, for drinking, that Randy had brought to them the day before. Dan said, “I think that’s up to you to decide, Bill.” “What is there to decide?” Bill asked.
“Whether to bury your wife here or in the cemetery. You don’t have a plot in Repose-in-Peace but I’m sure Bubba won’t mind. Anyway, there’s nothing he can do about it, and you can settle with him later.”
Bill McGovern turned to his daughter. “What do you say, Elizabeth?”
“Well, of course I think Mother deserves a proper funeral in a cemetery. It seems like the least we can do for her. And yet “ She turned to Randy. “You don’t agree, do you, Randy?”
Randy was glad that she asked. Intervening in this private and personal matter was brutal but necessary. “No, I don’t agree. It’s six miles to the cemetery. We’d have to make the trip in two cars because of the-because of Lavinia. That’s twenty-four miles’ worth of gasoline, round trip, and we can’t afford it. We will have to bury Lavinia here, on the grounds.”
“But how-” Lib began.
“Where do you keep the shovels, Bill?” “There’s a tool shed back of the garage.”
While handing a shovel to Dan, and selecting one for himself, Randy examined the other tools. There was a new ax. It would be very useful. There were pitchforks, edgers, a scythe, a wheelbarrow. He would bring Malachai over before dark and they would divvy up the McGovern tools. In everything he did, now, he found he looked into the needs of the future.
Between house and river, a crescent-shaped azalea bed flanked the west border of the McGovern property. The bitter blue grass had been carefully tended, and the bed was shaded from afternoon’s hot sun by a live oak
