The Genocides by Thomas M. Disch Page B

tongue,” she counseled, “or they’ll oblige you. They don’t trust the two of us. We shouldn’t even talk together, or they’ll think we’re plotting. And you’d better try and get well again. Eat more. They don’t like you laying around not working. You understand what saved your life, don’t you? I did. You’re a damn fool to let them break your leg for you. Why wouldn’t you talk? They only wanted to know your occupation?”
    “Jackie, was she—”
    “It wasn’t any different for her than for the rest. You saw the machines. But you’ve got to get your mind off her. You—you’re lucky to be alive. Period.”
    “The girl who feeds me—who is she?”
    “Anderson’s daughter. He’s the one in charge here. The wiry old man with the constipated look. Watch out for him. And his son, the big one, Neil. He’s worse.”
    “I remember him from that night. I remember his eyes.”
    “But most of the people here aren’t any different from you and me. Except they’re organized. They’re not bad people. They only do what they have to. Lady, for instance, Blossom’s mother, is a fine woman. I have to go now. Eat more.”

    “Can’t you eat more than that?” Blossom scolded. “You have to get your strength back.”
    He picked up the spoon again.
    “That’s better.” She smiled. There was a deep dimple in her freckled cheek when she smiled. Otherwise, it was a commonplace smile.
    “What is this place? Does just your family live here?”
    “It’s the commonroom. We only have it for the summer, because Daddy’s the mayor. Later when it’s cold, the whole town moves in. It’s awfully big, bigger than you can see from here, but even so it gets crowded. There’s two hundred and forty-six of us. Forty-eight, with you and Alice. Tomorrow do you think you can try walking? Buddy, he’s my brother, my other brother, made a crutch for you. You’ll like Buddy. When you’re healthy again, you’ll feel better—I mean, you’ll be happier. We aren’t as bad as you think. We’re Congregationalists. What are you?”
    “I’m not.”
    “Then you won’t have any trouble about joining. But we don’t have a real minister, not since Reverend Pastern died. He was my sister-in-law’s father—Greta. You’ve seen her. She’s the beauty among us. Daddy was always important in the church, so when the Reverend died, he just naturally took over. He can preach a good sermon, you’d be surprised. He’s actually a very religious man.”
    “Your father? I’d like to hear one of those sermons.”
    “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Orville. You think because of what happened to the others that Daddy’s bad. But he’s not cruel deliberately. He only does what he has to. It was—a necessary evil—what he did. Can’t you eat more? Try. I’ll tell you a story about Daddy, and then you’ll see that you haven’t been fair to him. One day last summer, at the end of June, the bull got out and started after the cows. Jimmie Lee—that was his youngest—went out after them. Jimmie Lee was sort of Daddy’s Benjamin. He put great stock by Jimmie Lee, though he tried not to show it to us others. When Daddy found Jimmie Lee and the cows, they were all burnt up, just like they say happened in Duluth. There wasn’t even a body to carry home, just ashes. Daddy went almost out of his mind with grief. He rubbed the ashes into his face and cried. Then he tried to behave like nothing happened. But later that night he just broke down again, crying and sobbing, and he went off by himself to the grave, where he’d found him, and he just sat there for two whole days. He has very deep feelings, but most of the time he doesn’t let them show.”
    “And Neil? Is he the same way?’
    “What do you mean? Neil’s my brother.”
    “He was the one who put the questions to me that night. And to other people that I knew. Is he another one like your father?”
    “I wouldn’t know about that night. I wasn’t there. You’ve