´Cold, Cold Waterµ The old man was a creepy feature in our house that summer. Each morning, afterbreakfast, my mother would wheel him out onto the landing outside our kitchen door,and there he remained for most of the day.His eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. He was nearly blind; supposedly hecould see only shadows. His nose was bony and hawkish, jutting out from a face that was just a mass of wrinkles. His pale skin appeared paler under the early morning sun,and no matter how warm it was, a heavy afghan lay across his lap and over the armsof his wheelchair. His lips were always parted, and sometimes you could catch aglimpse of his two remaining front teeth. The only time he ever spoke now was to ask for water. ´Cold, cold water,µ he rasped softly whenever he was thirsty. It neversounded like a request, but an observation, as though he was seeing in his mind somemountain stream whose crystal clear water was babbling through a formation of rocks. He would repeat the words at almost exactly intervals, never certain anybody was close enough to hear.I was fourteen then, and every time I had to pass him to enter through thekitchen door, my scrotum shrunk slightly, as if the temperature on the landing washovering just above zero. ´Cold, cold water.µ His eyelids drooped a bit, so you couldsee only a sliver of green and white. I knew he couldn·t see me, but the way his eyesappeared made me feel that he wasn·t blind, but that I was invisible. That was the summer my brother, Ricky, decided to kill the Greek. I never fora moment believed he would actually do it. He had changed quite a bit in the last year;he had developed opinions-- on just about everything, it seemed-- started to passjudgment on everything and everybody. But he had not changed that much. So whenhe told me his plans, I was sure that it was all talk.
We sat on out on the back stairs of our house. He was sitting on one of thehigher stairs, as though that somehow reflected that he was older than me andtherefore ought to be elevated. On the landing the old man loomed over us, a silentsentinel.´Why would you want to kill him anyway?µ I asked.He took a moment to answer. He looked over the railing at our small backyard, which, no matter how our mother tried to dress up with annuals each year, stillmanaged to appear sad and pitiful.´It·s just the way it has to be,µ he said. ´There·s an order to things, and theGreek is out of order.µI considered this, but it just didn·t make any sense to me. The Greek hadbought the neighborhood candy store last year. It was true that he was not aslikeable as Mr. Bellini, the old owner who had dispensed candy to the kids and milk and bread to their parents for about a hundred years. He always seemed sullen, walking around in a dirty t-shirt. His black hair was receding and slicked back and hisdark eyes were somewhat protuberant, as though he was always on the verge of losing his temper. He was not the nicest human being, but I couldn·t see that he was worthy of being killed, and I told Ricky as much.´He beats his wife and daughter, you know,µ he said curtly.´Oh, his daughter«µ I said knowingly. Ricky had had a crush on the Greek·sdaughter, Lori, since he first laid eyes on her. I couldn·t blame him, really; she wasquite pretty, with long wavy dark hair and the kind of face you·d see on a cameo-- andher body wasn·t bad, either. For some reason, though, Ricky, lately, had lost interest inher.´Don·t give me ¶Oh, her daughter· like you know everything,µ he chided me.´She·s aside from the point.µ´Oh?µ´Yeah,µ he said in a brooding tone.´You don·t like her anymore?µ
´I like her just fine,µ he said, but the way he said it led me to believe that whathe was saying wasn·t quite the truth.´But you·re not interested in her anymore,µ I pointed out.´No.µ´Then you don·t mind if I took a try at her.µ´Yeah, I mind,µ he snapped.´What?µ´You just stay away from her.µ´Why?µ´Just stay away from her-- that·s all,µ he said. He stared over the railing again.In the yard birds were swooping down, landing in the lawn and pecking at the grassseed our mother had spread yesterday. It was no wonder why the lawn always had thescruffy look, with tiny bare spots here and there. You just couldn·t put down enoughgrass seed-- there were just too many birds. On the landing the old man started tomurmur, ´Cold, cold water,µ but neither one of us took much notice.´You know I nearly got her,µ Ricky said in a mischievous way.´Yeah?µ´Yeah,µ he swore.´What happened?µ A look of disdain passed over his face. ´I·m not sure I should say.µ´Well, I·m not going to beg you,µ I told him.´Cold, cold water,µ came from the landing above.Ricky glanced up at the old man, and seemed disgusted.
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Cold Cold Water
´Cold, Cold Waterµ
The old man was a creepy feature in our house that summer. Each morning, after breakfast, my mother would wheel him out onto the landing outside our kitchen door, and there he remained… (More)
The old man was a creepy feature in our house that summer. Each morning, after breakfast, my mother would wheel him out onto the landing outside our kitchen door, and there he remained… (More)
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