Machine Dreams

dress. She’d been supposed to wear it in April for Easter, and remembering that fact made him consider what the hell they would all do now, snuck up on like this, to get through the next few weeks. After that he would be able to think of something, things would happen, even small things like a road job in the south of the state so that he could go away and live in a rooming house in Wierton or somewhere and work all day until he couldn’t think except to eat dinner late at a cheap coffee shop and go to sleep—talk to strangers who didn’t know anything about this and so would make remarks about the weather or the front page. Front page of what? Christ, time went on and on. He couldn’t go unless he felt they wanted him to, leave them alone with it, then they could put it somewhere:
she’s your darling, I’m afraid
, but she never had been. Except in how he supposed if he’d got his in the war, she might still be lying in her bed, a sickly little kid whose fingers and wrists swelled. It was like the numbers had got mixed up and Bess had been right to be afraid: somehow after he’d got back from the war, all the numbers changed around and Katie had come out wearing his. All the time had caught up with him, all the floating around since he was a kid younger than her and moving from one household to another; floating around is what it was and there she was now, wearing his number and floating. He saw her on a wide, wide sea, riding the flowers and the words he heard in the room:
at the Rapture the body shall rise, we all shall rise at the Rapture (to be with God in the air), at the Rapture the body shall rise.
But the body only floated, the rug of flowers stirred like a banner from below, so easy, so gentle, and now the whole floor was gently moving, barely but perceptibly moving, he could feel it himself: they were all floating, restful and lulled, moved according to tides he’d experienced before but hadn’t understood. Surely they all felt it; he stood up from his chair as the minister’s voice continued, and far off he heard rifle shots. The shots kept on as though in celebration or ceremony, and as he turned toward the open window he felt Bess near him; she was pulling him, pulling him back, her hand cold on his shoulder, what could she want of him? He tried to ask and her hand became more insistent, shaking, shaking him. Her face was surprisingly young, the face of a young woman, and as he awakenedthe face aged in a flash of seconds. She leaned into his field of vision, filling it totally.
    “You must be dead tired,” she said. “You’ve fallen asleep here in the chair.”
    “Is Katie all right?” His own voice sounded strange to him.
    “Yes, and asleep. She woke when I came in and told me about the movie.”
    “Hadn’t you better call Reb?”
    “No, he’ll be by tomorrow anyway—she really is sleeping. I’m sorry you had such a scare.”
    Mitch sat up now and rubbed his eyes. “We lost Katie’s shoes.”
    “Those old shoes,” Bess said. “I’m glad they’re lost; they were completely worn out.” She watched his face and realized he didn’t believe her. “I’ve taken Katie’s temperature. She’s not chilled or feverish, she seems to be fine. Now, would you like some tea?”
    He nodded and she turned away; he heard the tread of her footsteps in the hall and saw vaguely the young face in the dream. It really had looked like her; he must have seen a photograph.
    Scary how time flew by and you couldn’t tell, ever, what would happen. He would get married, he would start thinking of it. Mary Chidester wasn’t the one; he would play the field, no ties to bind, but he would look at things differently.
    * Printed by permission of copyright owners from the song: “ DO NOTHIN’ TILL YOU HEAR FROM ME ” © Copyright 1943 Robbins Music Corp. copyright renewed 1970 and assigned to © Copyright 1972 Harrison Music Corp./Robbins Music Corp. International copyright secured. All rights reserved.

ANNIVERSARY SONG
Jean

1948
    J ean stood by the window and watched him park the Nash. The car was too big for the small garage and Gladys insisted Mitch park on the street, just to the right of her sidewalk. Gladys was the only resident of the street whose sidewalk was poured cement instead of haphazard bricks. She’d told Jean how she bargained long and hard for that sidewalk in the ’20s, when the city had pay-off revenues from stills.
I marched myself down to City Hall
, she was fond of