Monday, January 25, 2010

Emmetsburg: Twenty-six

John pulled to a stop dead center of the crossroads at the edge of town. Leaning across the wheel he squinted east towards Cylinder. A golden morning sun hovered above the hills and fields to the east. It was fat and round, the heat, already becoming a presence. The sun was suspended, held aloft by arms of ochre dust rising from parched fields. A sweltering south wind painted a fine layer of sweat upon John and Anna's faces. John took a long breath and let it out dramatically through his nose. Anna knew immediately what he was thinking and touched his leg.

“Think maybe we ought to stop,” she said.

John was tortured at the thought and peered into the distance.

“Don't know.” he said simply.

“John,” she touched him again, firmer and more adamant this time. His gaze remained among the fields, lost there. Anna persisted. “John?”

“Maybe sometimes best just to let things be,” he said.

“Sometimes,” she said softly. “Sometimes best to put things to rest.”

John pursed his lips and felt the full weight of the moment.

“Just been so long, and the other night and all. Don't know if I want to risk that, Anna.”

She took his hand and lifted it to her lips. She breathed him in. He looked at her. figuring.

“I took that as a sign,” she said. “Time to say goodbye and get on with things, John Perkins. Start new.”

He conceded and yanked the truck into gear. Not a mile out of town St Mary's cemetery blanketed a rectangular patch of ground beside the road. It was a pretty little of green earth, such as it was, a solemn island bounded on three sides by unplowed fields. Nine tall firs separated that island from the world. Their mottled shade blanketed most of the cemetery, falling over ranks of neatly arranged stones. There was no fence or boundary. Instead it was as if those who resided there had reached some agreement with Iowa's endless farmland, or as if the land had given ground to those who lived and sacrificed and died here.

John guided the truck up to the gravel entrance and pulled to stop. They had not been here since the funeral. He leaned on the wheel and chewed his lip. There was a time when this place felt like a destination for John and Anna. Like a traveler might feel looking off along empty tracks leading to some unknown yet certain home. He looked at Anna, and pulled the truck forward when she gave a slight nod.

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