The Crow's Nest 9

9

            “They were not particularly pleasant people you understand.  He was a hard man; very gruff.  There it does not show” said the mother gesturing toward the portrait of the man.  Turning toward the woman the mother stated “She came from the coast; North Yarmouth I believe.  Her people were sea captains; merchant class traders.  Nothing more”.  Returning to the male portrait she continued “He was trained as a bookkeeper in Boston.  They met there.  Married.  Land and lumber it was in the end.  After the Civil War these coastal traders could no longer compete with the steam traders.  They moved inland to speculate on land”.  The mother’s eyes turned from the portraits.  I couldn’t tell if these were her direct ancestors.  I didn’t dare ask.  Margaret had left.  She didn’t care. 

            “ Do you know their names?” I asked

            “I certainly do.” said the mother.

            “Would you tell me the names?”

            “I certainly will not.” she said.  “That’s why they are being sold to you so inexpensively.”  There was an awkward pause. 

            “I will pay you now.” I said decisively and stood up.

            “Take your portraits outside first.  I will have your total when you come back in.  Leave the front door open when your out please.”

            I did as I was told.  In the daylight the portraits looked better.  I didn’t stop to contemplate them.  I believed I was being watched.  I opened the truck cab and put the man in first, facing the back of the seat.  As I did that I saw a clear penciled name at the top of the frame.  I kept moving and leaned the woman face forward against the man.  I covered them with a packing blanket.  The man’s name I had read.  His last name was the mother’s maiden name.  I went back inside.

            Standing, I prepared to pay.  The mother looked up at me.  “That old minister; the broken down one.” she said.  “He’s been after those portraits for years.  Comes here.  Comes right up to the front door.  He’s broken down you know.  Walks like a fence gate loose in the wind.  Seems to watch me and seems to sense something.  I don’t like that or him.  VERY tight with his wallet.  Wouldn’t even talk money on those.  Claimed he’d got a right to ‘em through a sister’s husband’s grandfather.  Claimed he knows just who they are.  Well I know who they are AND know his broken down figure…:  HE’S HID behind the Bible his whole life.  He says to me that GOD wants him to have the portraits.  I say to him THERE IS NO GOD.  He knows that, he does.  He never says anything more.  I’d sell HIM to you if I could.  A miserable man he is.  Always comes right to the door.”  She stopped speaking but was still looking up at me.

            “Well now… PAY ME UP.  We are done.” She said turning the paper slip toward me.  I bent to see the total and then began stacking the payment in piles of twenty dollar bills; one hundred in each pile, excepting the last.  The mother picked up the money by pile.  “Good riddance to both of them” she said.  “The next time he stops I will make Margaret take him up to the room and see the empty wall.”

            The front door closed behind me, the key turned in the lock and a fresh breeze blew across my face.  I liked the feel of that breeze.  It brought me back into the real world and erased the feeling that I was in some sort of underground tunnel when inside with the mother.  I was a little concerned that the portraits harbored some sort of old evil.  “They can’t” I said to myself.  “They’re just her old people.  She’s erasing her trail.  That’s the whole point of this.  She knows it’s the end and she is cleaning it all out neat and tidy.”