The General Zapped an Angel by Howard Fast

Author:Howard Fast
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1969-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The Interval

Few will face it, but there is a beginning and an end; that’s the way it is, and after you turn fifty, it stares you in the face. You read the obituary pages and you find that people of your own age and people even younger than you are dying, and then it closes in on you and you can be alone, the way I was. When you are decently married for a long, long while you are fortunate to go first; but if you are left behind, you keep looking at yourself and wondering what you are waiting for.

I went up to northern Connecticut, to the foothills of the Berkshires, to see about putting our summer place on the market; but even as I spoke to the local real estate man, I found that I had no feelings one way or another about the place. I was indifferent to price or terms, and since I was so obliging a client, the broker parted with a few pleasantries and then said obliquely, as many New Englanders would:

“How about them fellers up on the moon?”

These Yankees change the subject to suit them; I was talking about the house but he wanted to talk about the moon—meaning he had regard for me or that he was returning my favor of obliging him, in his peculiar Connecticut manner. He didn’t care what I thought or felt about the moon; he himself felt queasy, and I wondered whether the whole world didn’t feel a bit queasy.

When I didn’t answer, he said, “Fine, full moon tonight.”

I nodded and left him, and then drove along Main Street to Old Turkey Gobbler Road and then three miles to the house. The house had stood on it’s knoll for two hundred years, and during that time a dozen owners had cherished it and changed this and added that; and we had cherished it, too, for the nineteen years we had it.

All the time I had looked at it in the past, it had always been a house warm inside, alive, full of the past and the lives and the spirit of all the kids who had played and grown up there and the smell of the good things that had been cooked there and the passion of the sex and the love and the hate that had happened there, the hungers satisfied and unsatisfied, the longings, the fulfillment, the disappointments, the fears, the apprehensions—so it had been all the times I had seen it in the past. But now it was quiet without passion. It was only a box, and inside it was very cold, for the edge of winter had touched it already, and New England winter comes quick and hard in the Berkshires.

But this winter had an edge of icy cold that was furtive rather than literal. You felt it creeping through your bones, and before any frostbite touched your skin, you felt it at the edge of your heart. I had begun to shiver

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