Kent Haruf - Benediction

I didn’t know this was their place, Mary said.

I knew them a little. They traded at the store. After the one brother got killed the other one went out with a woman in town and he and her stayed together till he died. I believe she’s still in Holt. A nice woman, I understand.

I’ve known all that, Lorraine said. But I never heard what became of the girl and the baby she had.

They’re up in the mountains someplace. The baby’s grown up by now, of course. The neighbors look after the ranch.

Nobody lives here?

No. And she won’t sell it or let anybody else operate it.

But what are we doing here, Daddy?

I just wanted to look at this place one last time. For sentimental reasons, I suppose. We can go on now. I’ll show you where to.

They went farther east on the county road and then he said, Turn in here, if you would.

Right here?

Yeah.

It’s not even a road.

It was no more than two tire trails in the sandy ground going out through pasture grass. After half a mile or so, the track began to rise and twist up onto a sandhill.

Daddy, I don’t know if we should try this.

We’ll make it. Just don’t stop in this sand, you’ll get us stuck. Somebody’ll have to walk out of here and get help.

They drove on, the car bucking and rocking, the grass sweeping underneath, making a whispering noise. Once they got up on top where it was flat, Dad said, All right, we can stop now. This is it.

He opened the door and climbed out with his cane and Mary and Lorraine got out, holding on to him, and the three of them walked away from the car and stood on the windy hill. There were more hills to the east and south, the town far distant to the north, with the grain elevators white above the green of the mass of trees, and elsewhere all the flat open space.

I wanted to tell you what I decided, Dad said. What I was thinking about. I’m going to ask you to bury something up here.

Bury what, honey?

It doesn’t matter what it is. My cap or something. An old pair of my shoes. These eyeglasses here in my pocket if you want.

Why this place here? We’ve never come up here before.

I have. You can see this whole country from this place. I brought you both up here today to look with me.

All right, honey, we can bring something up here. I don’t have any idea what it’ll be.

They stood taking it all in, the wind blowing steadily, but it was still hot at noon.

It was only a simple little goddamn thing, Dad said. That’s all it was.

What was, honey?

Me crying in town back there at the store. That’s what set me off. It was my life I was watching there. That little bit of commerce between me and another fellow on a summer morning at the front counter. Exchanging a few words. Just that. And it wasn’t nothing at all.

No, that’s not right, it wasn’t either nothing, Mary said. It was everything.

Well. It made me cry anyway, seeing it this morning. I cried like a baby.

Daddy, it’s all right, Lorraine said.

I don’t know, he said. I couldn’t seem to help it.

She and Mary took his arms, standing in the wind, looking at the country. Then they returned to the car.

They were halfway back to town when Dad said, Darwin Purdy.

What’s that, dear?

That fellow we saw coming out of the store. If I had a name like that I’d change it to Bill Jones or Bud Smith. He’s a pretty decent fellow, though.

What about changing it to Dad Lewis? Lorraine said.

He smiled. No ma’am, he said. I wouldn’t go so far as that.

Why not?

Look what become of him. Old man crying on Main Street, driving around out in the country making a nuisance of himself.

OH, I’VE BEEN TALKING TO Richard at night sometimes, Mom, after you and Daddy are in bed.

I didn’t know you still had any feelings for him. I thought you weren’t that sure of him.

I’m not. But there’s nobody else right now.

All right. I just don’t want you to be hurt anymore.

Haven’t you been hurt yourself, Mom?

Of course, but almost all of my life here with Dad has been good.

You’re lucky. Not many have had what you’ve had. Or we don’t recognize it. Most of us just settle for some imitation of it so we don’t have to live alone.

But I won’t have him tire out your father.

I know.

He can come but he can’t stay long.

He just wants to come in and say a few words.

Why does he?

He wants to see Daddy before he’s gone.

They never cared for each other before.

It’s how people are when somebody’s dying. They want to forget the past. Forgive things.

Just so he doesn’t upset him.

Richard drove out from Denver late in the afternoon and got out of his car and stretched and looked at the old white two-story house and came up to the door and Lorraine let him in. He kissed her. You taste good, he said. Is he sitting up?

No, he’s in the bedroom.

Mary came out to the front room. He opened his arms to hug her but instead she only shook his hand. Now we need to be quiet. I don’t want him disturbed.

How is he today?

He got up for a couple of hours this morning. He sat out here and slept and ate a little lunch and then went back to bed. He came out again for a short time this afternoon. He just now went back. I’ll see if he’s still awake.

While she was gone Richard kissed Lorraine again. That’s enough, she said. Save it for tonight.

Mary returned and led them to the bedroom where Dad was lying propped up on a pillow. The window shade was pulled down and the room was dim and shadowy. Richard went over to the bed and sat down on a chair. How are you doing, Mr. Lewis? Dad looked at him. Do you remember me?

Yeah. I know who you are.

I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad.

I’m not feeling bad. I’m dying.

Yes sir. That’s what I meant. I’m very sorry.

Dad looked at the bar of light below the brown window shade and turned back. What do you want here?

Richard looked at Lorraine and her mother, standing near the door. I came to say good-bye to you. I wanted to get here before it was too late.

Good-bye, then.

Yes sir. I won’t stay long.

Dad stared at his face, then shifted his eyes to Lorraine.

You don’t need to worry, Mr. Lewis. I’ll take care of her.

That’s no comfort, Dad said.

Pardon?

I can’t see why you’d think that would be good news to me. I never thought you was good enough for her.

Well. Hell. Goddamn. I’m sorry you think that way.

I’m sorry too, Dad said. I’m sorry I got to.

Richard stood up. I’ll at least hope you’re in no pain. I’m going to hope that much.

Not that kind I’m not, Dad said.

Richard nodded his head at this and looked once more at Lorraine and Mary and went out of the room.

Oh, Daddy, Lorraine said. What are you doing?

I’m too far down the road to soften my words now.

But still, Daddy. She came to the bed and kissed him and when she went out to find Richard her mother sat on the chair he’d been using.

Don’t start lecturing me, Dad said.

I won’t. I feel the same way.

Do you?

Only I wouldn’t say it the way you did.

I felt like it, he said. What reason have I got to hold back now?

Well, you didn’t.

Out in the living room Richard was standing at the window.

Do you want to go out, Lorraine said, and get something to eat? Then I’ll meet you at the Chute after a while.

If you think I’m good enough for you.

I don’t know if you are or not, she said.

At nine thirty when she got to the Chute Bar and Grill she saw that his car was there in the parking lot. She stood outside and smoked a cigarette as cars went by on the highway, pickups, loaded grain trucks. It was a warm summer night with only a hint of breeze.