Pure Spring by Brian Doyle

bitten down short. He holds his salute.
    There’s a bowl of pennies and nickels and dimes on the hall table. Grampa always puts his change in there.
    â€œHis name is Sandy,” says Grampa Rip. “He found me. I got lost. He brought me home. I’m tired. Give him fifty cents out of the bowl.”
    Grampa pats Sandy on his sandy-colored head. Grampa’s big hand covers the head.
    â€œHe’s a friend of mine. We go away back. I’m goin’ to bed.”
    I give Sandy five dimes and he salutes again.
    Then, down the stairs, his big boots bang-banging and he’s gone.

8
Honee Orange and Tulips
    â€œI’ M VERY matutinal this morning,” Grampa is saying after reveille and an extra verse of “Up Lad” (there’ll be time enough for sleep after you’re dead). He’s been up since 5:00 A.M. in the morning. Said he was starving after a wonderful night’s sleep. Frying up a batch of pork rinds.
    â€œMatutinal?” I say.
    â€œRight!” he says. “Latin for the Greek goddess of dawn, Matuta! Very handy word. Impress your friends with knowledge. Be the most popular kid on the block!”
    I get to the Pure Spring truck early. I look in the window and see my birth certificate on the seat. He’s giving it back to me. I slip it in my wallet.
    â€œYou’re early,” Randy says behind me.
    â€œI’m very
matutinal
this morning,” I say.
    â€œYeah, right, smart ass! I figure I’d give your birth certificate back. I felt sorry for ya. You were sick and crazy there. I got worried. Maybe I was a bit hard on ya. Maybewe can be pals? No hard feelings?” He puts out his hand. “Shake?”
    I take my hand out of my pocket and put it out. His hand is small and hard and rough and strong. We shake.
    â€œPals?” says Randy.
    â€œMm,” I say.
    I don’t think I ever said “mm” in my whole life before. It sounds like yes but not quite.
    Maybe Randy’s not so bad after all. A liar and a thief, yes. But, so am I. So am I a liar and a thief.
    We drive off. Lots of silence.
    Then Randy: “What’s this fancy word business? Why cancha talk English? Ya said you were
what
this morning?”
    â€œMatutinal,” I say.
    â€œMa toot in al...”
    â€œGreek goddess of dawn — Matuta. Means you like the morning. A morning person. I was up early because my Grampa Rip couldn’t sleep because he was hungry —”
    â€œMatoota! Well, why don’t you just say you got up early? Why do you wanna say all this nutty stuff? I thought we were pals...my last helper was useless, he was lazy and stoopid and he picked his nose and ate it but at least he didn’t come up with all this baloney about Latin words and Greek goddesses and crap. What’s wrong with you anyway?”
    Inside, I’m smiling. Two reasons. One. I’m making a list of everything we’ve ever stolen — the name of the store, the date, the number of cases, the method. Two, I’m smiling because of Gerty. Because of you, Gerty! Now I’mnot so afraid of Randy any more. I’ve got much nicer things to think about.
    Randy is back on the subject of how charming he is.
    â€œI like ‘em tall, I like ‘em short, I like ‘em skinny, I like ‘em chubby. It don’t matter...they all come to Randy... they can’t help themselves...”
    I’m drinking my one free Honee Orange for the day and eating peanuts. Randy lifted two bags on our way out of our last store without paying for them.
    Do stolen peanuts taste better than bought peanuts? Randy says they do. And, oh, they taste so warm, Gerty, it’s like chewing sweet bark and the salt on them on your tongue and the crunchiness and the butternutty sunflowery orange smell of the oil on them and when you stick your nose right into the package you get all of it specially when you lick the salt, stick your tongue inside and lick the