Ironweed - William Kennedy [67]
“Not bad,” Francis said. “Coulda been worse.”
“These sportswriters liked you.”
“I did crazy things. I was good copy for them. And I had energy. Everybody likes energy.”
Billy offered Francis a glass of beer but Francis declined and took, instead, from Billy’s pack, a Camel cigarette; and then he perused the clips that told of him stealing the show with his fielding, or going four-for-four and driving in the winning run, or getting himself in trouble: such as the day he held the runner on third by the belt, an old John McGraw trick, and when a fly ball was hit, the runner got ready to tag and head home after the catch but found he could not move and turned and screamed at Francis in protest, at which point Francis let go of the belt and the runner ran, but the throw arrived first and he was out at home.
Nifty.
But Francis was thrown out of the game.
“Would you like to go out and look at the yard?” Annie said, suddenly beside Francis.
“Sure. See the dog.”
“It’s too bad the flowers are gone. We had so many flowers this year. Dahlias and snapdragons and pansies and asters. The asters lasted the longest.”
“You still got them geraniums right here.”
Annie nodded and put on her sweater and the two of them went out onto the back porch. The air was chilly and the light fading. She closed the door behind them and patted the dog, which barked twice at Francis and then accepted his presence. Annie went down the five steps to the yard, Francis and the dog following.
“Do you have a place to stay tonight, Fran?”
“Sure. Always got a place to stay.”
“Do you want to come home permanent?” she asked, not looking at him, walking a few steps ahead toward the fence. “Is that why you’ve come to see us?”
“Nah, not much chance of that. I’d never fit in.”
“I thought you might’ve had that in mind.”
“I thought of it, I admit that. But I see it couldn’t work, not after all these years.”
“It’d take some doing, I know that.”
“Take more than that.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Yeah? Name one.”
“You going to the cemetery and talking to Gerald. I think maybe that’s the strangest thing I ever heard in all my days.”
“Wasn’t strange. I just went and stood there and told him a bunch of stuff. It’s nice where he is. It’s pretty.”
“That’s the family plot.”
“I know.”
“There’s a grave there for you, right at the stone, and one for me, and two for the children next to that if they need them. Peg’ll have her own plot with George and the boy, I imagine.”
“When did you do all that?” Francis asked.
“Oh years ago. I don’t remember.”
“You bought me a grave after I run off.”
“I bought it for the family. You’re part of the family.”
“There was long times I didn’t think so.”
“Peg is very bitter about you staying away. I was too, for years and years, but that’s all done with. I don’t know why I’m not bitter anymore. I really don’t. I called Peg and told her to get the cranberries and that you were here.”
“Me and the cranberries. Easin’ the shock some.”
“I suppose.”
“I’ll move along, then. I don’t want no fights, rile up the family.”
“Nonsense. Stop it. You just talk to her. You’ve got to talk to her.”
“I can’t say nothin’ that means anything. I couldn’t say a straight word to you.”
“I know what you said and what you didn’t say. I know it’s hard what you’re doing.”
“It’s a bunch of nothin’. I don’t know why I do anything in this goddamn life.”
“You did something good coming home. It’s something Danny’ll always know about. And Billy. He was so glad to be able to help you, even though he’d never say it.”
“He got a bum out of jail.”
“You’re so mean to yourself, Francis.”
“Hell, I’m mean to everybody and everything.”
The bleachers were all up, and men were filing silently into them and sitting down, right here in Annie’s backyard, in front of God and the dog and all: Bill Corbin, who ran for sheriff in the nineties and got beat and turned Republican, and Perry Marsolais, who inherited a fortune from his mother and drank it up and ended up raking leaves for the city, and Iron Joe himself with his big mustache and big belly and big ruby stickpin, and Spiff Dwyer in his nifty pinched fedora, and young George Quinn and young Martin Daugherty, the batboys, and Martin