it turns to milk,” he told her.
But Maisie said, “Ansel was laying down, when I went to see him.”
“He does that,” said James.
“I mean laying still. Not doing anything.”
“Well, it was nice of you to come,” he said.
She shrugged impatiently, as if he hadn’t understood her. “You were out doing something,” she told him. She seemed to be starting all over again now, telling the story a second time. “You weren’t around.”
“I was helping Mr. Pike with some arrangements,” said James.
“That’s what Ansel said.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t around.”
“Well. When I came in I said, ‘Hey, Ansel,’ and Ansel didn’t even hear me. He was just laying there. I said, ‘Hey!’ and he jumped a foot, near about. He was a million miles away.”
James was making soup out of his ice cream. He had it down to a sort of pulpy mess now, the way he liked it, and then he looked up and saw Maisie wrinkling her nose at it. He stopped stirring and took his first bite. “Ansel’s a great one for daydreaming,” he said with his mouth full.
“He wasn’t daydreaming.”
“Oh.”
“He was crying, near about.”
“
Ansel?
”
“Well, almost,” said Maisie. She sat forward, with the ice cream still untasted in her hand. “I said, ‘Ansel,
what’s
the matter?’ But he never did say. His eyes were all blurry.”
“You got to remember Janie Rose,” James said. “It was only three days ago.”
“Well, I thought of that. But then I thought, no, Janie wasn’t all that much to him. She was right bothersome, as a matter of fact. We had her over for supper just a month ago, her and her family; we gave them chicken. Mama forgot about Janie being vegetarian. Janie said, ‘This chicken’s
dead,’
and her daddy said, ‘Well, I
hope
so,’ and everybody laughed, but Mama’s feelings were a little hurt. Though she went to the funeral and all, just like anyone else. I said, ‘Ansel, is that what’s bothering you? Janie Rose Pike being taken?’ But the way he was acting, I don’t think that was the real reason.”
“His feet hurt him sometimes,” said James.
“This is
serious
, James.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Anyway,” Maisie sighed, and she took the first mouthful of her ice cream. It bothered him, the way she ate it; she chewed, slowly and carefully, even though the ice cream was nothing but liquid now. When she had swallowed, she said, “All he would talk about was dying. He said he could see how it would all turn out; they would mourn him like they mourn Janie Rose, not sad he died but sorry they hadn’t liked him more. He’d rather they be sad he died, he said.”
“Oh, now,” said James. “He’s been on that for days. It’ll pass.”
“Will you listen? I can’t hardly sleep nights, for thinking about it. I keep wondering if he’s all right.”
“Of course he’s all right,” James said.
But Maisie was still hunching over, frowning into space. Her ice cream was forgotten. A child ran by, chased by another child, grabbing Maisie’s knee for support as he pivoted past her, and Maisie only brushed his hand away absentmindedly. “Those times he goes away,” she said finally, “those times he starts to get better and then goes off drinking for a night and can’t be found till morning. He’ll die of it.”
“He won’t die,” said James. “He could lead a life like any other man, if he wasn’t so scared of needles.”
“He
might
die,” Maisie said. “What if one of those nights of his, he don’t come back?”
But James was getting tired of this. “Look,” he said firmly. He swallowed the last of his ice cream and said, “Ansel only goes so far, you notice. Only enough to worry people. You ever thought of that?”
“What? Well, if that isn’t the
coldest
thing. How do you know how far he’ll go?”
“I just do,” James said. “I been through this.”
“Can you say for
sure
how far he’ll go?”
“I been through it
hundreds
of
But Maisie said, “Ansel was laying down, when I went to see him.”
“He does that,” said James.
“I mean laying still. Not doing anything.”
“Well, it was nice of you to come,” he said.
She shrugged impatiently, as if he hadn’t understood her. “You were out doing something,” she told him. She seemed to be starting all over again now, telling the story a second time. “You weren’t around.”
“I was helping Mr. Pike with some arrangements,” said James.
“That’s what Ansel said.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t around.”
“Well. When I came in I said, ‘Hey, Ansel,’ and Ansel didn’t even hear me. He was just laying there. I said, ‘Hey!’ and he jumped a foot, near about. He was a million miles away.”
James was making soup out of his ice cream. He had it down to a sort of pulpy mess now, the way he liked it, and then he looked up and saw Maisie wrinkling her nose at it. He stopped stirring and took his first bite. “Ansel’s a great one for daydreaming,” he said with his mouth full.
“He wasn’t daydreaming.”
“Oh.”
“He was crying, near about.”
“
Ansel?
”
“Well, almost,” said Maisie. She sat forward, with the ice cream still untasted in her hand. “I said, ‘Ansel,
what’s
the matter?’ But he never did say. His eyes were all blurry.”
“You got to remember Janie Rose,” James said. “It was only three days ago.”
“Well, I thought of that. But then I thought, no, Janie wasn’t all that much to him. She was right bothersome, as a matter of fact. We had her over for supper just a month ago, her and her family; we gave them chicken. Mama forgot about Janie being vegetarian. Janie said, ‘This chicken’s
dead,’
and her daddy said, ‘Well, I
hope
so,’ and everybody laughed, but Mama’s feelings were a little hurt. Though she went to the funeral and all, just like anyone else. I said, ‘Ansel, is that what’s bothering you? Janie Rose Pike being taken?’ But the way he was acting, I don’t think that was the real reason.”
“His feet hurt him sometimes,” said James.
“This is
serious
, James.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Anyway,” Maisie sighed, and she took the first mouthful of her ice cream. It bothered him, the way she ate it; she chewed, slowly and carefully, even though the ice cream was nothing but liquid now. When she had swallowed, she said, “All he would talk about was dying. He said he could see how it would all turn out; they would mourn him like they mourn Janie Rose, not sad he died but sorry they hadn’t liked him more. He’d rather they be sad he died, he said.”
“Oh, now,” said James. “He’s been on that for days. It’ll pass.”
“Will you listen? I can’t hardly sleep nights, for thinking about it. I keep wondering if he’s all right.”
“Of course he’s all right,” James said.
But Maisie was still hunching over, frowning into space. Her ice cream was forgotten. A child ran by, chased by another child, grabbing Maisie’s knee for support as he pivoted past her, and Maisie only brushed his hand away absentmindedly. “Those times he goes away,” she said finally, “those times he starts to get better and then goes off drinking for a night and can’t be found till morning. He’ll die of it.”
“He won’t die,” said James. “He could lead a life like any other man, if he wasn’t so scared of needles.”
“He
might
die,” Maisie said. “What if one of those nights of his, he don’t come back?”
But James was getting tired of this. “Look,” he said firmly. He swallowed the last of his ice cream and said, “Ansel only goes so far, you notice. Only enough to worry people. You ever thought of that?”
“What? Well, if that isn’t the
coldest
thing. How do you know how far he’ll go?”
“I just do,” James said. “I been through this.”
“Can you say for
sure
how far he’ll go?”
“I been through it
hundreds
of
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