Collected Short Fiction by Marianne Hauser

Author:Marianne Hauser [Hauser, Marianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fiction Collective 2
Published: 2004-03-14T13:00:00+00:00

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The anonymous neighbors: she couldn’t refer to them by name, yet she discussed them, forever, I thought, rolling my eyes. She speculated about their social possibilities, their horticultural know-how, while she would spend much time in the front yard, slowly mowing the lawn in sight of the road. What a blessing it would prove to hear a human voice next door, to see lights in the windows and fresh healthy grass instead of sickening weeds! Each day she expected the neighbors to be on their way. Indeed, she saw their moving van in a red cloud of dust. But it was only the old garbage truck rattling past. She had been blinded by the sunset, she assumed, rubbing her eyes.

“Too bad they have no children,” she remarked, hoping to involve me in the drama. “It would have been fun for you to have a playmate nearby.”

“It’s all the same to me.” I whistled. I shrugged with studied indifference. I got on the swing, and swinging with all my might, I surveyed the wilderness below. Green waves surged forward and dropped away as I rose to the sun. I had not climbed the fence again, not since my encounter there with Mother. Had she climbed it again? I wasn’t sure. Up I flew into the noisy wind, my eyes smarting, the wilderness below a fogged mirage.

“I hear them coming,” Mother would cry, leaving the pot boiling on the stove to run to the front door. But it would only he the mailman on his bike. What on God’s green earth was delaying the Shays, the Mays? She stayed up late to watch for a light in the prolonged gloom. If they arrived near Memorial Day, she would welcome them with a bunch of her peonies which were glorious this season.

Memorial Day came and went. The glorious peonies had wilted; and Mother, gathering the curled, dry petals, admitted that she was sick of waiting. The house may not have been sold after all. The deal may have fallen through, she said to father who agreed too readily, rubbing his hands as he suggested that we forget the dismal business and spend the weekend at the lake, fishing.

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