Part 14 (2/2)
”Her kitchen,” said Lillian, ignoring him, ”was so spanking clean you just couldn't believe she ever used it. I asked for a drink of water and she held the gla.s.s underneath the tap and poured slowly so that not one drop fell in the sink itself. It wasn't affectation. She did it so casually that I just knew she always did it that way. And when she gave me the gla.s.s she held it with a clean napkin. Just hospital-sanitary.”
”She must be a lot of trouble to herself. Did she agree to come with us right off?”
”Well-not right off. She called to her husband about what the weather forecast was, and he said that the newspapers all said it would be fair tomorrow but that he was waiting for the latest report on the radio.”
”All the newspapers said so, eh?” the newspapers said so, eh?”
”Of course, they all just print the official weather forecast, so they would all agree. But I think they do subscribe to all the newspapers. At least I've watched the bundle the newsboy leaves-”
”There isn't much you miss, is there?”
”Anyway,” said Lillian severely, ”she called up the weather bureau and had them tell her the latest and she called it out to her husband and they said they'd go, except they said they'd phone us if there were any unexpected changes in the weather.”
”All right. Then we'll go.”
The Sakkaros were young and pleasant, dark and handsome. In fact, as they came down the long walk from their home to where the Wright automobile was parked, George leaned toward his wife and breathed into her ear, ”So he's he's the reason.” the reason.”
”I wish he were,” said Lillian. ”Is that a handbag he's carrying?”
”Pocket-radio. To listen to weather forecasts, I bet.” The Sakkaro boy came running after them, waving, something which turned out to be an aneroid barometer, and all three got into the back seat. Conversation was turned on and lasted, with neat give-and-take on impersonal subjects, to Murphy's Park.
The Sakkaro boy was so polite and reasonable that even Tommie Wright, wedged between his parents in the front seat, was subdued by example into a semblance of civilization. Lillian couldn't recall when she had spent so serenely pleasant a drive.
She was not the least disturbed by the fact that, barely to be heard under the flow of the conversation, Mr. Sakkaro's small radio was on, and she never actually saw him put it occasionally to his ear.
It was a beautiful day at Murphy's Park; hot and dry without being too hot; and with a cheerfully bright sun in a blue, blue sky. Even Mr. Sakkaro, though he inspected every quarter of the heavens with a careful eye and then stared piercingly at the barometer, seemed to have no fault to find. I Lillian ushered the two boys to the amus.e.m.e.nt section and bought enough tickets to allow one ride for each on every variety of centrifugal thrill that the park offered.
”Please,” she had said to a protesting Mrs. Sakkaro, ”let this be my treat. I'll let you have your turn next I time.”
When she returned, George was alone. ”Where-” she began.
”Just down there at the refreshment stand. I told them I'd wait here for you and we would join them.” He sounded gloomy.
”Anything wrong?”
”No, not really, except that I think he must be independently wealthy.”
”What?”
”I don't know what he does for a living. I hinted-”
”Now who's curious?”
”I was doing it for you. He said he's just a student of human nature.”
”How philosophical. That would explain all those newspapers.”
”Yes, but with a handsome, wealthy man next door, it looks as though I'll have impossible standards set for me, too.”
”Don't be silly.”
”And he doesn't come from Arizona.”
”He doesn't?”
”I said I heard he was from Arizona. He looked so surprised, it was obvious he didn't. Then he laughed and asked if he had an Arizona accent.”
Lillian said thoughtfully, ”He has some kind of accent, you know. There are lots of Spanish-ancestry people in the Southwest, so he could still be from Arizona. Sakkaro could be a Spanish name.”
”Sounds j.a.panese to me. -Come on, they're waving. Oh, good Lord, look what they've bought.”
The Sakkaros were each holding three sticks of cotton candy, huge swirls of pink foam consisting of threads of sugar dried out of frothy syrup that had been whipped about in a warm vessel. It melted sweetly in the mouth and left one feeling sticky.
The Sakkaros held one out to each Wright, and out of politeness the Wrights accepted.
They went down the midway, tried their hand at darts, at the kind of poker game where b.a.l.l.s were rolled into holes, at knocking wooden cylinders off pedestals. They took pictures of themselves and recorded their voices and tested the strength of their handgrips.
Eventually they collected the youngsters, who had been reduced to a satisfactorily breathless state of roiled-up insides, and the Sakkaros ushered theirs off instantly to the refreshment stand. Tommie hinted the extent of his pleasure at the possible purchase of a hot-dog and George tossed him a quarter. He ran off, too.
”Frankly,” said George, ”I prefer to stay here. If I see them biting away at another cotton candy stick I'll turn green and sicken on the spot. If they haven't had a dozen apiece, I'll eat a dozen myself.”
”I know, and they're buying a handful for the child now.”
”I offered to stand Sakkaro a hamburger and he just looked grim and shook his head. Not that a hamburger's much, but after enough cotton candy, it ought to be a feast.”
”I know. I offered her an orange drink and the way she jumped when she said no, you'd think I'd thrown it in her face. -Still, I suppose they've never been to a place like this before and they'll need time to adjust to the novelty. They'll fill up on cotton candy and then never eat it again for ten years.”
”Well, maybe.” They strolled toward the Sakkaros. ”You know, Lil, it's clouding up.”
Mr. Sakkaro had the radio to his ear and was looking anxiously toward the west.
”Uh-oh,” said George, ”he's seen it. One gets you fifty, he'll want to go home.”
All three Sakkaros were upon him, polite but insistent. They were sorry, they had had a wonderful time, a marvelous time, the Wrights would have to be their guests as soon as it could be managed, but now, really, they had to go home. It looked stormy. Mrs. Sakkaro wailed that all the forecasts had been for fair weather.
George tried to console them. ”It's hard to predict a local thunderstorm, but even if it were to come, and it mightn't, it wouldn't last more than half an hour on the outside.”
At which comment, the Sakkaro youngster seemed on the verge of tears, and Mrs. Sakkaro's hand, holding a handkerchief, trembled visibly.
”Let's go home,” said George in resignation.
The drive back seemed to stretch interminably. There was no conversation to speak of. Mr. Sakkaro's radio was quite loud now as he switched from station to station, catching a weather report every time. They were mentioning ”local thundershowers” now.
The Sakkaro youngster piped up that the barometer was falling, and Mrs. Sakkaro, chin in the palm of her hand, stared dolefully at the sky and asked if George could not drive faster, please.
”It does look rather threatening, doesn't it?” said Lillian in a polite attempt to share their guests' att.i.tude. But then George heard her mutter, ”Honestly!” under her breath.
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