Page 22 of Creature
John watched with fascination as Harryunpacked a tabletop radio, a pair of black shoes, and severalpaperback books. Whistling cheerfully, he set the radio on a shelf,plugged it in, and spent a few minutes fiddling with the dial Hesmiled broadly when he found a station with a male singer.“Sinatra. He’ll do.” He winked at John. “I’ve never blown this muchdough in such a short period of time. It’s fun. Do you know thissong?”
“No. I think I was in thatcell for a long time, Harry.” The newspaper had led him to thatconclusion; very little felt familiar.
“Yeah. I forgot. Well,maybe you’ll like Sinatra. He’s good. But if you hate him, you canturn the station, okay? Anytime.”
“Thank you for letting meknow.”
Harry barked a laugh. “I’m trying toremember to tell you things. Okay, but look what else Ibrought.”
It looked as though he’d chosen the bookswith John in mind. Most of them were novels of various genres, butone was a factual discussion of World War Two and another was avolume of poetry. John reverently touched the covers.
The bag also contained several pairs ofsocks. “Put ’em on,” Harry said. “And shoes. We can try that walkwe were talking about.”
A walk outside. John’s hands shook so badlyhe couldn’t follow Harry’s directions, but Harry didn’t seem putout at having to help. Then Harry handed him the blue jacket he’dbeen wearing the first time John saw him. “It’s a little damp out.I forgot to get you a hat. Sorry.”
“I don’t think I can catcha cold,” John said, smiling to share the joke.
Harry helped him down the front steps, andthen they walked slowly. Partly because John was still weak andunsteady, but also because he wanted a close look at everythingthey passed. The iron rings set into the edge of the sidewalk fromwhen horses had been tied up on the street. The row of red-leafedtrees dripping slowly. The slightly wavy glass in the apartmentbuilding’s windows. A rosebush bare of all but thorns and a fewragged leaves.
If Harry minded the snail’s pace, he didn’tshow it. He strolled along with hands in his coat pockets,whistling the tune from the radio.
The park was just around the corner, whichwas fortunate because John wouldn’t have made it much longer. Hecollapsed onto the first bench, where he could gaze up at thebranches of towering evergreens and the gray sky above them or lookdown a gentle slope to a playground where the swings sat idle. Afew birds flitted and strutted about.
“That’s grass,” John saidreverently. “I used to imagine it, but it’s better inperson.”
Harry looked at him closely and then hoppedto his feet. He scurried around, collecting small items: someneedles from an evergreen tree, a twig he found on the ground, abit of mossy bark, several blades of grass. He brought them overand set them on the bench beside John. “You can touch them. Smellthem. You can smell, right?”
“Yes.” The pine needlespoked at his skin and had a sharp, slightly bitter odor. The mosswas exquisitely soft and spongy. The twig smelled of the earth onwhich it had rested. And the grass was fresh and sweet. It tickledhis palm and made him laugh.
“Thankyou,” he said, hoping the depths of his gratitude showed.“This is so precious to me. It’s a grand gift.”
“I’m glad I can do it.”Harry looked solemn. “I don’t think we’ll have longtogether.”
John fought to quell thesadness that wanted to rise inside him.Don’t be greedy, he remindedhimself.
“Then I’ll treasure thisall the more.”
***
Harry was quiet that afternoon. He seemedcontent to sit in the living room with John, listening to the radiowhile John read some very strange stories by an author namedAsimov. But Harry grew more restless as evening fell. Eventually hedisappeared into the bedroom, and when he came out, he wore a suitand tie and looked unhappy.
“I might be back late,” hesaid. “If you get tired, go to sleep anywhere you want.”
“All right.”
John wanted to ask about Harry’s plans butheld his tongue. Through the window, he watched Harry walk to hiscar and drive away.
Chapter Ten
Huber’s, Swan claimed, was one of the oldestrestaurants in Portland. Harry didn’t know or care if that wastrue, but it was certainly a beautiful place. The high archedceilings had stained-glass skylights, the bar and walls gleamed inrich dark mahogany, and the tile floor, although well worn, stillshowed its pattern. Harry wondered if anyone else in his hometownhad ever eaten in such a fancy place.
He ordered a turkey dinner, which was thehouse specialty. Since he still had the ghost of a headache, heintended to avoid booze. But Swan insisted, and Harry hoped thefood in his stomach would help him remain sober. Swan ordered abourbon for himself and something called Spanish coffee for Harry.The waiter served this with considerably more drama—flames andflashy pouring—than what had accompanied the previous night’s Irishcoffee.
“This place was aspeakeasy during Prohibition,” Swan said. “My father used to comehere for meetings. He and his colleagues drank Manhattans fromcoffee cups and the police looked the other way.”
“Cops were probably on thetake.”
“Perhaps. Even today, thePolice Bureau chooses to ignore certain activities when doing soadvances their own interests.”
