A Shelter of Others by Charles Dodd White

Author:Charles Dodd White [White, Charles Dodd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Shelter of Others
ISBN: 9781945814143
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2016-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

The mind is a forest too. Its trails and brakes are patterns for no easy reckoning. The inevitable circularities can make strange faces familiar. As it has today. Lavada has shown me this man, this disguise. He calls himself friend, but I see in him something dangerous. An undisclosed threat that only another old man can recognize. He brings violence, sleep.

How did he arrive? She told me my son brought him here, but I know that can’t be true. Mason has been gone so long. Any counterfeit of him who has passed has done so like a wraith, moving thinly through the walls, pressing himself through the narrowest chinks.

This man with the face like an idol, the hair like scorched and grimy grass, he is carrying something into this house that must be met. He is burdened with a charge that holds no pity for the outcome of his cause. Like a long rope, I must pay out my patience, let him settle, let Lavada sequester herself in his false gratitude, so that when he is unguarded I can strike and make proper defense before the hour is too late.

But there is time to let things settle, hope for some other means of safety. These quiet little wars are fought more than one might believe. The gambits of love and loyalty sacrificed all too often to be thought special. I must hazard my due.

If only I could be sure that this man is what I think he is. To discover the sure and certain mark of identity would put away all hesitation. It would throw down the force of chance that lives over us like impending storm. But then there would be no risk in the movement, no blood in the muscle. Like dead men, we would content ourselves with the solace of dirt, the solace that is only other dead matter. Let them think me dead, lacking consequence. In this single moment, I will be stronger than God.

SHE DID not trust the look in Sam’s eyes. There was depth, but a depth without kindness or recognition, as if he was preparing for some action but refused to disclose it. She checked his medicine boxes, the bright plastic cubes etched for each day of the week. Everything was in order. Not one pill had been passed over. His blood should have been as calm as a lake, but something was moving inside him. He was slowly boiling.

When she had introduced Irving to him, she had seen the change come across his face. He refused to take his hand, stared through him like he was better off pinned to the wall than walking free among equals. It embarrassed her. Was this some small prejudice against Indians rising up from the cover of dementia, something that had always been part of Sam’s beliefs, or was it merely a more general dislike for the unfamiliar. Either way, it made her feel apologetic, though she was unsure exactly how she might beg forgiveness without betraying Sam.

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