Nobody's Fool

windows.
    When the pickup was three-quarters loaded and listing even more dangerously, Sully roped off the load and surveyed it dubiously. There was no reason the blocks on the right side of the truck should be heavier than the ones on the left, but they must have been, because the truck was tilting right. As Sully stood there, ankle deep in muck, he realized that he was faced with an honest-to-God decision. He could, against his better judgment, take the unbalanced load out onto the highway and hope for the best, or he could unload it partway, make the first load a small one, drop it off and go find Rub to help him finish.
    Free will. An issue much discussed in his philosophy class, and one of the first things to disappear. His professor, a very young man it seemed to Sully, had surprised him by taking the position that there was no such thing as choice, that free will was merely an illusion. Sully had been one of the few older students in the large class and had never said much, but he wished he had the professor here now so he could explain why this wasn’t really a choice. He’d probably go about it by disproving the truck. To Sully it looked for all the world like a choice. His. Fuck it, he decided.
    Climbing into the cab, Sully turned the ignition, ground the truck into gear, released the brake, paused and stepped on the accelerator. He might have stopped when he heard and felt the tires spinning in the mud, but he didn’t, even though he knew what that meant. Instead, he gunned the engine, put the accelerator to the floor, months of submerged fury suddenly at the surface, the high-pitched unrelenting scream of the truck’s engine almost his own, the truck’s rear wheels shooting mud all the wayup the side of Carl Roebuck’s half-built house. Then, without moving either forward or back, the truck began to shake so violently that Sully was barely able to keep his hands on the wheel until the engine finally hiccuped twice, shuddered and died. Just as well, too. The rear wheels’ lug nuts were already below ground. Stupid, he thought. Just an hour ago he’d been wondering if a second stupid streak in the same year was a possibility, and now here he was right in the middle of one before he’d even had a chance to contemplate the odds. Sully got out and surveyed the situation. The wind had picked up, and whistling through the pines nearby it sounded like laughter.
    Mrs. Gruber, who had been disappointed by the snail, phoned midmorning, wondering if Miss Beryl’s mail had been delivered and if she’d looked over the circular that announced the grand opening of the new supermarket out by the interstate exit. Miss Beryl, as Mrs. Gruber feared, had tossed the circular into the trash without so much as a glance.
    â€œThey have some wonderful bargains,” said Mrs. Gruber, who hated to miss a grand opening of anything. She had pored over the circular with mounting excitement and regret, the latter caused by the fact that she did not drive and that the supermarket was five miles away. The circular had been six full pages, and each page was in full color, picturing deep red cuts of beef, Kelly green vegetables. Even the most mundane items, like toilet paper and laundry detergent, looked exotic and thrilling. And all at incredible savings. Mrs. Gruber wanted to go to the supermarket and find out for herself if the circular truly represented the wonders of the new store. She knew it was against the law for advertisers to say things that weren’t true, so she was hopeful. Wasn’t it just like Miss Beryl to toss the circular, she thought, genuinely irked by her friend’s perverse refusal to be excited by anything exciting. “Go find it,” she urged Miss Beryl. “Take a look at it.”
    â€œIt’s in the trash,” Miss Beryl told her. “Under my wet tea bag.”
    â€œYou won’t believe the bargains,” Mrs. Gruber said, quoting almost directly from the circular itself.
    Miss Beryl glanced out the front room window, hoping the snow might be pretext for refusal. She did need to go to the store today, though the North Bath IGA would do her fine. It was close, and she didn’t mind that there weren’t any bargains. It was Miss Beryl’s view that anything involving crowds of jostling bargain seekers wouldn’t be a bargain. Butmost of the snow had melted, and the street was actually dry in a few spots.
    â€œIt’ll be