The Sweet Hereafter by Russel Banks

Author:Russel Banks [Banks, Russel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

From the porch you had a great one hundred eighty degree view that included The Range, as they call it, from Mount Marcy to Wolf Jaw.

A million dollar view. For the area, it was an old house, and it had fallen on bad times. In the late 1800s, Dolores’s grandfather had been a successful dairy farmer, she told me as we stood in the driveway before going inside. He’d built it himself from trees cleared off this land, and her father and then she herself had been raised in it. Back then, Dolores said, even in her father’s day, these forested mountains were alpine meadowlands. It was like Switzerland, she said, although I can’t say what Switzerland’s like. Now, for miles, straight to the horizon, you saw nothing but trees hardwoods, mostly, and hemlock and pin and if it weren’t for the occasional old stone wall sinking into the leafy ground, you’d think you were in the forest primeval.

Abbott Driscoll was a shriveled guy in a wheelchair; he’d had a stroke a few years before, and his whole right side had blinked out. He had long thinning white hair, bright blue eyes, and soft pink skin, and he drooled a little and sat canted to one side, like a baby in a high chair.

Although he seemed bright enough, his speech was seriously impaired, and I could make out only about half of what he said. Most of the other half Dolores translated, whether I wanted her to or not. He spoke in these odd cryptic sentences that didn’t really mean a whole lot to me but to Dolores were like Delphic pronouncements. I guess she loved the hell out of the guy and heard what she wanted to hear.

I sat at the kitchen table opposite him, while Dolores took what appeared to be her customary position behind his wheelchair, where she rubbed his shoulders affection lately and now and then stroked his hair back.

It was a brief interview, mainly because I did a lot more talking myself than I normally do. I was still distracted by the business with Zoe. Essentially, I repeated what I had told Dolores outside the church, but said it at least three times, with a slight variation each time, as if I was cross examining myself. I felt slightly out of control.

Abbott mostly gargled and sputtered, interrupting me occasionally with stuff like Blame … creates …

gabble gabble… and Cluck cluck cluck… lives… longer.

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