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idea, he said.
    Myers took the saw, nosed the blade into the cut Sol had started, then began sawing. He found a rhythm and stayed with it. He kept pressing, leaning into the saw. In a few minutes, he sawed through and the two halves of the log dropped onto the ground.
    That’s the idea, Sol said. You’ll do, he said. He picked up the two blocks of wood and carried them over and put them alongside the garage.
    Every so often—not every piece of wood, but maybe every fifth or sixth piece—you’ll want to split it with the ax down themiddle. Don’t worry about making kindling. I’ll take care of that later. Just split about every fifth or sixth chunk you have. I’ll show you. And he propped the chunk up and, with a blow of the ax, split the wood into two pieces. You try it now, he said.
    Myers stood the block on its end, just as Sol had done, and he brought the ax down and split the wood.
    That’s good, Sol said. He put the chunks of wood by the garage. Stack them up about so high, and then come out this way with your stack. I’ll lay some plastic sheeting over it once it’s all finished. But you don’t have to do this, you know.
    It’s all right, Myers said. I want to, or I wouldn’t have asked.
    Sol shrugged. Then he turned and went back to the house. Bonnie was standing in the doorway, watching, and Sol stopped and reached his arm around Bonnie, and they both looked at Myers.
    Myers picked up the saw and looked at them. He felt good suddenly, and he grinned. Sol and Bonnie were taken by surprise at first. Sol grinned back, and then Bonnie. Then they went back inside.
    Myers put another piece of wood on the sawhorses and worked awhile, sawing, until the sweat on his forehead began to feel chill and the sun had gone down. The porch light came on. Myers kept on working until he’d finished the piece he was on. He carried the two pieces over to the garage and then he went in, used his bathroom to wash up, then sat at the table in his room and wrote in his notebook.
I have sawdust in my shirtsleeves tonight
, he wrote.
It’s a sweet smell
.
    That night he lay awake for a long time. Once he got out of bed and looked out the window at the mound of wood which lay in the backyard, and then his eyes were drawn up the valley to the mountains. The moon was partially obscured by clouds, but he could see the peaks and the white snow, and when he raised his window the sweet, cool air poured in, and farther off he could hear the river coursing down the valley.
    The next morning it was all he could do to wait until they’dleft the house before he went out back to begin work. He found a pair of gloves on the back step that Sol must have left for him. He sawed and split wood until the sun stood directly over his head and then he went inside and ate a sandwich and drank some milk. Then he went back outside and began again. His shoulders hurt and his fingers were sore and, in spite of the gloves, he’d picked up a few splinters and could feel blisters rising, but he kept on. He decided that he would cut this wood and split it and stack it before sunset, and that it was a matter of life and death that he do so. I must finish this job, he thought, or else … He stopped to wipe his sleeve over his face.
    By the time Sol and Bonnie came in from work that night—first Bonnie, as usual, and then Sol—Myers was nearly through. A thick pile of sawdust lay between the sawhorses, and, except for two or three blocks still in the yard, all of the wood lay stacked in tiers against the garage. Sol and Bonnie stood in the doorway without saying anything. Myers looked up from his work for a minute and nodded, and Sol nodded back. Bonnie just stood there looking, breathing through her mouth. Myers kept on.
    Sol and Bonnie went back inside and began on their supper. Afterward, Sol turned on the porch light, as he’d done the evening before. Just as the sun went down and the moon appeared over the mountains, Myers split the last chunk and