Kent Haruf - Eventide

Then the service was over and Raymond and Victoria and Katie and Maggie and Guthrie went back up the aisle very slowly. Raymond led them, his hat on his head again as before, limping and hobbling with his crutches. They went outside to the black cars waiting in front at the curb in the sun. After some time, when the mourners had filed past and looked at the body, the mortician and his assistant rolled out the closed casket and slid it into the black hearse. Then they all drove away in a slow procession with the headlights of all the cars turned on in the broad daylight, heading out north and east to the cemetery three miles outside of town. Beside the grave when they were seated in the metal folding chairs under the awning, the preacher said a few words more and read from scripture once again, and he prayed for the safe translation of Harold’s immortal soul into everlasting heaven. Afterward he shook Raymond’s hand. And by that time the wind was blowing so hard that the caretakers had to lean far over to do their work, and they lowered the dark casket into the ground next to the plot in which the senior McPherons had been buried more than half a century before.

Then they all drove back to town and Raymond climbed once more into Victoria’s car. Honey, you can take me home now, he said.

You’re not going back to the hospital? You’re sure?

I’m going back to the house. I won’t be going nowheres else.

So she drove him through town and out south toward the ranch. He dozed off before they had gotten far out of Holt and then he woke when she stopped in front of the wire gate. She helped him into the house, then went back and got Katie. I’ll get supper pretty soon, she said. You need to eat something.

I’m going to rest for a little bit, he said.

She took his arm and led him into the bedroom off the dining room, where Maggie Jones had changed the sheets four days earlier, and he lay down in what had been his parents’ marriage bed so many years before and until recently had been Victoria’s bed. She propped his leg on a pillow and spread a quilt over him. I’ll have supper ready when you wake up, she said. Try to get some rest.

Maybe I can sleep now, he said. Thank you, honey.

She went out to the kitchen and he lay in the old soft bed with his eyes shut but soon he opened them again, sleep would not come to him, and he turned to look out the window and then turned again to look overhead, and he realized that this room he lay in was directly below his brother’s empty bedroom, and he lay under the quilt staring at the ceiling, wondering how his brother might be faring in the faraway yet-to-be. There would have to be cattle present there somehow and some manner of work for his brother to do out in the bright unclouded air in the midst of these cattle. He knew his brother would never be satisfied otherwise, if there were not. He prayed there would be cattle, for his brother’s sake.

IN THE WEEK AFTER HAROLD MCPHERON’S FUNERAL, THE first-grade teacher in the elementary school on the west side of Holt noticed one morning, within the first hour of classes, that something was the matter with the little boy in the middle of the room. He was sitting peculiarly, almost on his backbone, holding himself slouched far back in his desk, and he was only playing with the worksheet she’d handed out. She watched him for some time. The other children were all working quietly, their heads bent over the sheets of paper like so many miniature accountants. After a while she rose from her desk and walked back between the rows and came to him and stood over him. He looked as undersized and ragged as ever, like some wayward orphan turned up by mere happenstance and misfortune in her class. His hair needed cutting, it stuck out behind against the collar of his shirt, which itself was not clean. Richie, she said, sit up. How can you work like that? You’ll damage your back.

When she put a hand on his shoulder to urge him forward, he winced and jerked away. Why, what’s wrong? she said. She knelt beside him. There were tears filling his eyes and he looked very frightened. What is it? she said. Come out in the hall a minute.

I don’t want to.

She stood and took hold of his arm.

I don’t want to.

But I’m asking you to.

She pulled him to his feet and led him toward the hallway door, but as they passed her desk he grabbed at it, dragging one of her books to the floor with a loud flat crash. The other students were all watching.

Class, she said. Keep working. All of you get back to work. She stood until their heads were bent again over their desks and then took him under the arms and pulled as he struggled against her and kicked and caught at the door. She got him into the hall and knelt in front of him, still holding him.

Richie, what’s wrong with you? she said. Stop it now.

He shook his head. He was looking off along the hallway.

I want you to come with me down here.

No.

Yes, please.

She rose and took him by the hand in the direction of the office along the empty tiled hallway past the other classrooms, their doors all shut to the noises and murmurings rising from behind them. Are you sick? she said.

No.

But something’s wrong. I’m worried about you.

I want to go back to the room, he said. He looked up at her. I’ll do my work now.

I’m not concerned about that, she said. Let’s just see the nurse. I think the nurse should look at you.

She took him into a small room next to the school office where a narrow cot was pushed close to the wall opposite a metal cabinet with locked doors. The nurse sat at a desk against the far wall.

I don’t know what’s wrong with him, the teacher said. He won’t tell me. I thought you better have a look.

The nurse stood and came around and asked him to sit on the cot but he would not. The teacher left and went back to her classroom. The nurse bent over him and felt his forehead. You don’t seem hot to the touch, she said. He looked at her out of his big wet eyes. Will you open your mouth for me, please? She put her arm around him and he squirmed away. Why, what is it? Are you afraid of me? I won’t hurt you.

Don’t, he said.

I need to look at you.

He leaned away but she pulled him close and examined his face and looked briefly in his ears and felt along his neck, and then she lifted his shirt to feel if he was hot and then she found the dark bruises on his back and below the belt of his pants.

She peered into his face. Richie, she said. Did somebody do this to you?

He looked frightened and he wouldn’t answer. She turned him around and drew down his pants and underwear. His thin buttocks were crosshatched with dark red welts. In some of the places the welts had bled and clotted.

Oh, my God, she said. You stay right here.

She left and went next door and came back at once with the principal. She lifted the boy’s shirt and showed the welts to the principal. They began to ask the boy questions but he was crying by now and shaking his head and he wouldn’t say a word. Finally they called his sister out of her fifth-grade classroom and asked her what had happened to her brother. Joy Rae said: He fell off the slide at the park. He had a accident.

Would you go out? the nurse said to the principal.

All right, he said. But you let me know. We have to report this. We’re going to find out what’s going on here.

The principal went out and then the nurse said: Will you let me look at you too, Joy Rae?

I don’t have anything wrong with me.

Then you’ll just let me look, won’t you?

You don’t need to look at me.

Just for a moment. Please.

Suddenly the girl began to cry, covering her face with her hands. Don’t, she said. I don’t want you to. Nothing’s wrong with me.