Machine Dreams

her hand in the water starlet-style. Far out Mitch saw the sea lifting, the whole edge curling and sucking in, piling up and rumbling. He yelled at them, wind crushing the words back. But Clayton turned and Katie was Jean, her black hair blowing. They looked at Mitch, trying to hear, and past them the wave kept building. Jesus, the weight of that hard water: he heard it rattling savagely onto glass, a drenching rain he could smell. Hard rain, sharp and cold, and when he opened his eyes he saw water lashing the windows. He sat up in bed and listened for the baby, but the house was quiet and the lights in the hall were out. Why was she up if she wasn’t feeding the baby? The room was drafty; she’d left a window open in the cold March night, and rain had wet the sill and the floor. He got up and closed the window, his skin prickling at the cold, and walked through the L-shaped hallway to the kitchen.
    One small light was burning, and she stood there in her robe, pouring milk into a saucepan.
    He leaned against the doorjamb, hearing the rain surround the house. “Baby wake up?” he asked her.
    “No.” She stirred the milk with a spoon. The burner under the pan was bright red and threw a glow against the enamel surface of the stove.
    “It’s three in the morning,” he said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
    Her voice was weak. “I’m pregnant again.” She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand and looked into the pan.
    He walked nearer and touched her shoulder. The side of herface was wet, and her throat. “What’s wrong with that, now?” he said more gently. “We’re married, aren’t we?”
    “But Danner’s only six months old, and you were just saying tonight how slow it is at the plant, and with all the bills from this house—”
    “Things will pick up at the plant. Things always pick up in the spring, and it’s March already.” Mentally, he calculated; he would probably have to fire one man and go out on jobs himself. Damn, he should never have told her the state of things. “You’re not to worry. We can afford another baby.”
    The milk was steaming and she pulled the pan from the stove, one hand at the small of her back. “We have to insulate the attic before another winter, and we just bought the new furniture, and you’ve picked out a car. We’re almost falling behind now.”
    “The car will wait. If we tune up the Nash, it’ll go a while. And I’ll do the insulation myself, hire a man from the plant to help. Maybe even Clayton—get the old guy up there to do an honest day’s work.”
    She sighed, moving to get a glass from the cupboard. “Don’t talk silly,” she said, as though he were serious. “Clayton’s not in shape to—”
    “Clayton will be all right,” Mitch said, his voice sharper than he’d intended. He lowered his tone. “I told you, he went down to this same place once a long time ago, in the thirties, and didn’t touch a drop for nearly fifteen years after. When he comes back, he’ll be fine.” Mitch sat down in a kitchen chair, the chair creaking as he leaned forward. He touched the table and followed the wavery grain of the wood with his fingertips as the rain intensified, pounding the concrete porch in back. Had he pulled those damn porch chairs into the breezeway last night? He’d thought to enlarge the porch in summer and put a roof over it. Well, later, and better for two kids than one. Now only the concrete—if business improved enough—and a fence around it for a good large play space, keep them out of the road and the fields. Those fields got so tall in summer and autumn; if kids wandered in you wouldn’t find them at all. Aloud, he said, “Clayton will be back at work in two weeks, then you’ll see I’m right.”
    She stood holding the warm glass in both hands. “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “Except for Katie’s getting sick during the war, he might never have started again. Just came on slow after that.”
    “They sure kept it quiet he was going away.”
    “Bess keeps everything quiet. Have to in this town. People always looking for something to gabble about.”
    They were silent, looking out the kitchen windows. The rain was so thick the narrow road and the fields opposite weren’t visible. Even through the walls of the house, Mitch could feel the cold of the water. He heard the rapid-fire pelting of hailstones. So it would turn colder; hail was a sure sign of spring snows. That would keep jobs spare for weeks more.