Anne Tyler - The Tin Can Tree

'I never heard that.'

There was a silence. Clara sat forward suddenly, throwing her arms around her knees in that swooping way she had and craning her neck up, and everyone looked at her as if they expected her to say something but she didn't. She just smiled at them, with her lips tightly closed.

'You've got your hair a different way,' James told her. Clara went on smiling at him and nodded.

'Yes, I do,' she said.

'Every thought of every curl is another stroke for the devil,' said her father. 'Have you ever thought of that? But Clara here don't care; she likes short hair.'

'Yes, I do,' Clara said again. The tone of her voice was indifferent, and she included her father in her smile. No one seemed to be as James remembered.

Out in the dining room, Mrs Pike said, 'Yes? Miss Lucy, I'm glad you're there. I was hoping you would hear the phone and -'

'You're back,' James's father said.

The others looked at him.

'You're back in this house.'

'Yes,' James said. 'Just for -' He stopped.

'Just for a while,' his father said. 'Just for the boy.'

'Yes.'

'Ah, well.'

Mrs Pike was talking loudly, apparently trying to break in on something Miss Lucy was saying. 'Yes, I know,' she said. 'I know-Miss Lucy, will you try and find Roy? First go and shout for him. Yes, I'm feeling fine, thank you. Then if he's too far away I'll leave a message. But I'd like to have Simon tell him -'

"The phone is a precarious instrument,' said James's father.

'Hush, now,' Clara told him. 'There's not a machine in this world you don't say that about.'

'A wavery thing,' said the old man, overriding her. 'On a thin line between what's real and what isn't. Is that person really sitting next to you, the way he sounds? When I called you at your neighbours, three Christmases ago -'

'Sir?' said James.

'When Clara called three Christmases ago, and Ansel wouldn't talk to her but stayed in the other room, I happened to be passing near enough to hear what was going on at the other end. Heard Ansel shouting how he wouldn't come. And it seemed to me his voice was trembly-like, unsteady. Is his sickness worse?'

'No,' James said. 'He's just a little weak sometimes.'

'It's the forces from inside that weaken.'

'He's all right,' James told him.

Simon was on the telephone now. He was talking to Miss Lucy. 'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'Then I got on the bus. I figured out the schedule in the drugstore.' James's father rocked sharply forward and slapped both slippers on the floor.

'That boy is too young to travel alone,' he said.

'He ran away,' said James.

'I realize that. He came to our door and asked to be a lodger. Did you tell him this family ran a boarding house?'

'No.'

'He seemed to think you had.'

He rocked on in silence for a minute; the only sound was Simon's voice. Then Clara looked up and, finding her father's eyes on her, gathered her skirts beneath her and spoke. 'He likes mayonnaise,' she said.

'Who does?' asked James.

'The little boy. He wanted a mayonnaise sandwich.'

'Oh.' He frowned at her a minute, and then looked over at his father. 'What were you going to do with him?' he asked.

'The boy? I figured someone'd come after him.'

'What if they hadn't?'

'You did,' said his father. 'Someone did. I don't hold with police.'

'You could have called the parents.'

'I don't speak on telephones.'

'His sister just died,' said James. 'His mother had enough to worry about.'

'Most do.'

'More than enough. Clara could have called.'

'I never turn a stranger from my door,' his father said. He let his head fall back against the rocker. 'Can you say that? Did you never let a man down?' He looked at James from under white, papery eyelids, waiting for an answer. Noone said anything. It seemed to James that his father had raised a banner in the room – the same one as in old days, long and dark and heavy. His lowered eyes were asking 'What can you do about it? Can you take my flag down?' and smiling faintly. Yet the lines around those eyes were deep and tired; his children sat limp, not bothering to answer. 'Ah me,' said the old man, and rolled his head to the other side and then back again and closed his eyes.

'This has nothing to do with me,' James said. 'It was his mother you made worry; it wasn't me.'

'Stop it,' Clara told him.

'Clara, are you against telephones?'

'You could have telephoned here,' his father said suddenly. He opened his eyes and looked over at James.

'I was hoping he hadn't got this far,' said James.

'I see. Have you got a telephone yet? I didn't think to ask.'

'No.'

'And money. Have you made a lot of money in your life?'

'No. But I get along.'

'Get along, do you.' He nodded to himself, several times. 'Changed your ways?'

'No.'

'No,' his father agreed, and relaxed against the back of the rocker again.

Mrs Pike and Simon came out of the dining room, Mrs Pike's hand still on Simon's shoulder. She said, 'We called collect. I'm sure you're relieved to hear that,' and then laughed a little and looked down at Simon. 'They're going to relay the message to Simon's daddy,' she said.

'Well, I'm glad you got through to them,' said Clara. 'Will you have a seat?'

'Oh, we couldn't. I'm sorry, I know I haven't said two words to you. Mr Green, it's nice to see you.' She advanced, smiling, heading straight for James's father and holding out one plump hand. He had to rise from his rocker to take it. She said, 'You're smaller-boned than James or Ansel. But you've got Ansel's fair skin.' The way she spoke of him made him seem like a child being compared to his parents, but he smiled graciously back.

'James gets his skin from his mother,' he told her.

'I guessed that.'

'He's back in this house now.'

Clara said, 'Mrs Pike, I wish you'd sit down and have some lemonade.'

'No, we really can't. I have to get Simon home – and I do thank you for taking care of him.' She said that directly to Clara, and Clara smiled at her with her narrow, gaunt smile. 'He don't usually run away, I don't want you thinking-'

'He's too young to be on his own,' said Mr Green.

'He's not on his own.'

'James used to run away.' He sat down in his rocker and looked up at her, staring out from under white arched eyebrows. Mrs Pike waited, and then when she saw that he wasn't going to continue she turned to the others.

'I thank my Lord we found him,' she said. 'I feel it's some kind of sign; I've been let off with a warning.' She squeezed Simon tight against her, and he smiled at the middle button of her dress and then broke away.

James stood up, preparing to leave, and Mrs Pike said, 'James, I thought we could go back by bus. You probably want to stay on a bit, now you're here.'

'No, I'll drive you back,' said James. He crossed over to his father and said, 'I guess I'll be going.'

'We still have your old bed,' said his father, but he seemed to know beforehand that James would say no. He rose again from the rocker, very slowly, and shook James's hand while he looked at the floor. It was a small, clean hand, that offered no resistance when James pressed it. To Mrs Pike, James's father said, 'It began when he was four. He ran everywhere.'

'What?' asked Mrs Pike.

'James.'

'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I'm glad to've met you, Mr Green -' and she shook his hand once more, holding her wrist slightly curved and offering just the tips of her fingers. 'I can't thank you enough for all you've done; any time you're in Larksvillc you just stop in on us.'

'We locked doors and tied knots,' said Mr Green, 'But he was like Houdini.'