Long Lankin: Stories Read Online Free

mother is dead.
    —Do I need to be told that?
    Again his eyes wandered to the window.
    —When we were young we used to walk up here. Fields then. Nothing but fields. The city was smaller. It was easy to live and we thought we would live forever. But everything dies. I’ve lost two wives. I’ve seen too many deaths and now all I live for is to see my own.
    Suddenly he turned to them, and his little eyes were bright. He clasped his hands together and said briskly:
    —You’re going away.
    —Yes.
    —When?
    —Monday we —
    —Where?
    —France first and then —
    —How will you live?
    —Well, we’ll … we’ll find things as we go along. Fruit picking or — anyway I have a little money.
    The old man nodded once, and gave a long sigh. He leaned back against the pillows and after a moment he said quietly:
    —You have my money.
    Peter looked at him, and his forehead wrinkled.
    —How do you mean, dad?
    —I sent instructions yesterday that you were now solely in charge of my affairs.
    —What does that mean?
    Muriel leaned across the bed towards Peter. There was apprehension in her eyes. She clutched his hand, but he did not look at her. The old man glanced in her direction and said:
    —Be quiet, girl. Now, my boy, I shall tell you what it means. You are from now head of the firm of Williams and Son.
    Peter’s mouth was open as he stared at his father. There was a long silence. At last Peter said:
    —But I am going away, dad.
    The old man waved a hand.
    —The business runs itself. You may take your holiday. It means merely that you will now be rich enough to enjoy it.
    —But dad …
    —Well?
    —I don’t know. This is all very —
    Muriel struck his wrist with her knuckles, and he turned to her in surprise. She said slowly:
    —We’re going away, Peter.
    He smiled, and as though explaining to a child he said:
    —Yes, of course, Muriel. You heard dad saying we could go.
    —That’s not what he said, and you know it.
    They stared at each other, and the old man watched them, the thin smile on his lips. He said to her quietly:
    —Everything dies, my dear. Everything.
    Without looking at him she stood up and walked stiffly to the door.
    —Where are you going? Peter called.
    She paused with her hand on the door, but did not turn.
    —I’m going, she said.
    And was gone. Peter turned to his father, and the old man said innocently:
    —The young lady seems upset. I wonder why.
    —I don’t know.
    The old man picked at the sheet, his lips pursed. After a moment he said:
    —Peter, I think I may have exaggerated a little. Head of the firm — a figure of speech, you understand. But you have the money, which I suppose at this stage is what matters. Anyway, the business would bore a young man. Am I right?
    —I suppose so, dad.
    Peter uncoiled himself from the bed.
    —I think I better follow her. You’ll take care of yourself until we get back.
    —Of course.
    He went to the door, and there the old man’s voice stopped him:
    —But you won’t be going away now, will you?
    —Why do you say that?
    He pulled the sheets an inch nearer his chin and folded his hands again over his stomach. He said:
    —I shall live a little longer, now.
    Peter went out into the corridor. With the door almost closed he stopped and looked back at his father through the narrow opening. The old man was smiling to himself. When he turned to the door, Peter quickly closed it, but not before he heard:
    —And bring your mother with you next time, boy.
    Outside the hospital Muriel stood and watched the gardener cutting down the dead stalks of flowers. When Peter came up she did not move or speak. He said peevishly:
    —Why did you run out like that? He is my father, after all.
    —I’m sorry, she said in a flat voice.
    They turned and started down the drive. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and said:
    —I think we’ll have to wait a week or two now before we go. This changes things.
    —Yes.
    They moved slowly between the