cap. His skinny arms were twisted around him covering his little chest.
Fire by Axel Peterman
You cold? He shook his head no. Snot was running in two gluey strings down onto his upper lip. The littlest one looked at me with pleading eyes. I am, he said. You all go get in my truck. The one thing that worked on that truck was the heater. In the back, the oldest kid wanted to know? He wasn’ t but ten years old, but he had him a worried forehead, and sad eyes. Like he’ d seen something he didn’ t want to see. That old man dead in the front seat for one. In the front, I said. You know how to start it, don’ t you? He nodded. Kids these days, especially up here, know more than you’ d think. Which it ain’ t always a good thing. I told him, Well, get going. The heater’ s already going to be on. Crack a window so youse don’ t gas yourselves.
The old woman followed them when they got out of the car. I went around and got in on her side and sat there looking at the dead man, wondering what to do with him. He had long, tangled white hair like bleached sphagnum moss. His face looked puffy, but his skin was almost healthy-looking except for the main fact of his being cold dead. The woman had stopped and was looking at me. What do you want, she asked? The question took me by surprise. Want? I don’ t want nothing. I just came by the store here. It’ s closed, she said skeptically. There was something about her manner, but I figured it was just the shock of having her husband die like this. At least he had pulled off the road. Yeah, and I was just leaving when I seen youse. Where were you going? She crossed her arms and pushed her chin up in the air, letting me know this wasn’ t no invitation to friendly chit-chat. What? To the rez. I was going to the rez to sell a rifle I got in the back. What kind of rifle? I couldn’ t figure this woman. Was she crazy? Drunk? But I didn’ t smell it on her. Maybe drugs, I thought to myself, because you never can tell who might be using these days. It’ s a. 22, I finally said. Semi-auto. No big deal. I’ m going to try selling it to a guy who works at the casino. Who, she said. Never mind who. Is it loaded? Yeah. I think it is. Maybe I should have unloaded it, I thought. I looked at her. It’ s in the back of the truck? Yeah, in the back. I thought she was probably thinking about the boys. You know, they might get curious about it. But then she nodded, satisfied, and waddled over to the truck. I watched her go. Something about her made me uneasy, but I tried to tell myself that she was just in shock. How would I like it if my wife died just like that? Not that I had me a wife. I was pretty much a one man band.
I got out of their car, went around to the driver’ s side, and started tugging on the old man. I thought I might could stretch him out on the back seat if I could move him, but he wouldn’ t budge, and I just couldn’ t handle the job alone. He was bigger than he looked, and dead he probably weighed twice as much as when he was alive. It seemed so anyways. Finally I gave him a hard yank using all my strength, and he moved all right, just pitched over and I tried to keep ahold of him, but he was half-way out before my foot slipped, and I sat down on the ground with him flipping backwards on top of me. I cracked my head a good one on the icy pavement. The place where the car was parked had a little slope to it, and we rolled over and then I ended up on top of him, like we were buds exchanging a bear hug.
Strange how he appeared to me, close as I was to him. He had no beard, or even a hint of whiskers, and his skin was stretched taut over a long skull. High, round cheekbones. Thin lips drawn into a slight pucker. Sunken cheeks. What it was, he didn’ t look dead. His eyes were shut, but he looked like he’ d open them any minute and wonder who in hell I was. I got to my feet, dusted snow off my jacket and backside, and then I yelled and waved for the kids.
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