Long Lankin: Stories Read Online Free Page A

smooth lawns. The afternoon was ending. In the trees the birds were going mad.

A Death
     
    They lowered the coffin into the grave, and Stephen turned away his face. He watched idly a small, fat man who moved with curious stealth along the perimeter of the dark yew trees. Far in the distance the sea was swollen and rough, and dotted with flecks of white. A cold wind came from the north, carrying with it a few small drops of rain. The little man had halted, and now stood motionless against the restless trees, staring fixedly across the headstones at the bedraggled groups of mourners. Stephen looked back to the grave. They were watching him, he tried to weep, but he had no tears. Beside him Alice sobbed, and that seemed ironic. She had hated the old man. He frightened her, or so she said.
    The ceremony ended and they moved away from the grave.
    —How do you feel? Alice asked. Are you all right?
    —Yes. Fine. I’m glad it’s over now.
    He put his arm around her shoulders as she stumbled through the thick damp grass. She had not even yet become accustomed to her pregnancy. The wind blew in the trees and rattled the branches as if they were hung with bones. He shivered, and said:
    —Let’s get out of this place.
    They began to walk faster, but when they came to the main path Alice’s steps faltered, and she hung back, murmuring:
    —O my God …
    He looked where she was looking, and saw coming toward them the fat little man who had stood in the trees behind the grave. He wore a dusty black overcoat that reached well past his knees. His head was completely bald, and on the back of it a hat, too small for him, sat crookedly. As he hurried along on his little legs he cast frightened glances to right and left. He stopped before them and leaned close with an air of conspiracy. The rain was releasing from his coat a dull faint smell.
    —Stephen, he breathed. My sympathy.
    Stephen took the offered hand and glanced uneasily at his wife. She stood with downcast eyes, tightly clutching her gloves.
    —Such a wonderful old person, Stephen, the little man said, gazing up at him with intense bright eyes. As you know, I knew him well and it was such a shock to see him go like that so suddenly. Dear me, such a shock. Indeed yes.
    —I’m sorry, Stephen said. I don’t seem to remember —
    —Come, the little man interrupted him. I’ll walk with you to your car.
    He stepped between them with a neat little hop. With protection now on either side of him he lost his furtive air. Stephen looked over the top of the bald pate between them at his wife, signalling frantically with his eyes, but she would not look at him. The little man said:
    —You know, sometimes I feel that a whole race is passing. Certainly, Stephen, your father is an example. Not just a generation mind, but, yes, a whole race. Don’t you agree?
    Stephen said nothing, and the little man turned to the wife.
    —Don’t you agree with me, Alice?
    She stared at him in fright and said:
    —What? Yes. O yes.
    Stephen glanced at her, but she had retreated again, her hand to her mouth.
    —Ah yes, a whole race, the little man said with satisfaction. It will be a great loss when they are all gone. What has this new generation to offer the world? Only the fruits of their fear.
    After a little silence Stephen said stiffly:
    —I don’t see how the world can be made any worse.
    The little man looked up at him from under his eyebrows, slyly smiling.
    —But there are so many new evils, he said softly.
    Stephen coughed.
    —Surely there are no new ones.
    But the little man was gazing away out at the ugly sea, lost in thought. Suddenly he started.
    —What say? Pardon?
    —I said—I said surely there are no new evils. You said—
    —Ah yes yes yes. We’re told there can be nothing new, yes, but look at the things that have happened these last few years. Terrible. Terrible indeed. Sometimes I think that — that — what was I saying?
    He was becoming agitated, and was looking