Pew by Catherine Lacey

Author:Catherine Lacey
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

THURSDAY

I WAS SITTING by the little round window watching the tree branches when I heard the attic door unlock and footsteps on the stairs. Hilda appeared, eased into the room.

Now, I’m not sure that, uh—well … there’s this neighbor of ours who has been asking to see you ever since Sunday and I just thought you might have had enough visiting with people, so I told him I just didn’t think there was time but … well, he just insists. Normally I would put my foot down, but Mr. Kercher is a very quiet man and he usually doesn’t take to insisting on anything. His daughter married the Hindmans’ boy, so he retired here—can’t remember where from—and he’s a real nice neighbor—set up this nature trail over there in the woods last year and he wants to take you on a walk through it? You don’t have to go, but if you’d like, he’s here and we don’t have to be anywhere until after lunch.

Mr. Kercher stood on the front porch holding his hat.

The morning is cool, he said. Unusually cool, but not for long. Therefore, I will go for a walk in the little woods we have here. Would you join me?

I nodded and followed him away from the house, down the sidewalk, toward a shadowy cluster of pines at the end of the block. We were silent as we went. Several times I thought Mr. Kercher was about to say something, but he gave up before a word came.

The pines were narrow and sparse. A path had been patted down between them. Every few paces, there was a stone on which someone had painted little white arrows to guide the way.

Hello, Mr. Kercher said, stooping to pet a pile of green moss. He looked at the moss the way I’d seen people look at children or babies sleeping in strollers, soft bodies someone larger had to protect. Goodbye, he said just as quietly and seriously as before. He stood again and we kept walking.

Where I am from, we have many woods, many hikers. Here, not so many—people go to church instead. So we must let the forest know we appreciate it.

We kept walking, slowly, each step soft. A few feet off the path a dark bird was bathing in a puddle. She turned her beak toward Mr. Kercher as we passed, chirped, then flew deeper into the woods. We climbed a slight hill, and when we reached the top, the light shifted, made the world more stark and clear. There was a log on its side and Mr. Kercher sat, so I sat next to him and we listened to a creek below us, listened to the water pass over the stones and the stones be washed with water. A wind came and went.

In our silence I felt as if something had been given back to me that I’d lost a long time ago. Mr. Kercher did not look at me and I did not look at him. There was no need.

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