Dickson was in his head now. “What do you believe in, Will Burk?” he heard Buddy ask.
“Goddamnit, what’s it any of your business?” Will almost shouted this. His sweeping quickened. “I believe in doubt, if you have to know. Or I believe in being saved from religion.” This brought a smile. He remembered Mr. Harris, his high school history teacher, who taught them to know thine enemy, so he had the class read a little of Mr. Marx. Will thought the old Commie had it right—that “opium for the masses” line.
I’m one of the not-masses, he thought. I believe in birds and trees and Aunt Amanda’s shoofly pies. A nip of whiskey every now and then. And, of course, the beauty of the female body, can’t forget about that.
Around 10:00, Woody brought him a glass of water. “How you doing?”
Will shrugged and spat.
Woody was two years older, and Will used to catch rides home from football practice with him in his sunrise red Chevy that flew over the hills at 90 mph. “My first day”—Woody talked fast, always talked fast—“I had to do this for ol’ Dickhead, too. That was two years ago, and I don’t think it’s been swept since.”
Will downed the water. “You got any beer in that car of yours?”
Woody looked at the Bel Air. “Not today. Can’t say I’d recommend it either, with ol’ Dickson. If ’n you want to keep your job.”
Woody offered him a stick of gum. “Don’t take it personal or nothing. This is just how he treats all the new hires.” He took in what Will had swept so far. “You’re getting it.”
Woody turned to head back to the pumps, but Will stopped him. “Did he try to convert you?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Me and everyone else that’s worked here since 1901. Just tell him what he wants to hear and he’ll leave you alone.” Then Woody added, “Buddy’s all right, just a stuffy bastard sometimes. But he’ll treat you right once you survive this.”
Will mopped his forehead and combed his hair before he returned to sweeping.
A raven cawed from somewhere to the north, close by. All morning, Will had heard or seen two of the big black birds, and several times he watched one fly down to the incinerator and pick up bits of donuts and hamburgers. Just about every time, the raven flew straight up to an outcrop above the plaza. “You got a nest up there, don’t you?” Will said as he watched for movement on the cliff. He considered how far a hike it might be, how much time it might take, and when he might be able to go look. Not today, but soon.
By 11:30, Will saw the end of his sweeping another fifty yards or so away. This close to the incinerator, the smell of rotten food wafted over him, rank in the dead air of summer. He had some shade, now, at least, but his hands burned with each grip of the handle. He’d given up cursing Dickson. And he’d stopped thinking about the fool he was, thinking his time working through high school at Ernie’s shop would somehow elevate his status in the pump jockey world. Instead, Will wished for another cup of water, or even better, a cold beer. And he wondered about that fire.
At noon, he pushed the broom one last time and walked into the garage to hand it to Dickson. “I hope you had time to think about all I asked you,” the old man said.
Will ignored him. He found his thermos of water and held it gingerly away from his blisters. Again, he thought of his father—all of those years of silence, of never getting answers, the power in just shutting up. Dickson got called out to the pumps, and Will sat on a swivel chair in the garage to eat his lunch.
Finally, after his meal, Will approached the pumps. There was a break in traffic, so the men gathered in a loose circle. Will shook hands as Dickson said their names. Along with Woody, Will knew round-faced Scoop, who’d taught him in Sunday school when Will used to go, and Dino, whose red hair flared at first base on the Doylesburg softball team. But he didn’t know the other one—a tall, bald man named Bishop; he lived somewhere on this side of the mountain, just off the Blue Mountain exit.
Will crossed his arms and listened. Someone asked Bishop about a barn fire.
“It was as big as the Bailey fire two years ago,” Bishop said slowly. “Almost as big as the sock factory fire way back.” He kept his head down. “And there wasn’t a damn thing we could do. We pulled in and emptied our tanks, sprayed close to ten thousand gallons, all for nothing. We saved the other buildings, but not the big one.”
Scoop saw the question on Will’s face. “The Peter Franklin farm at the edge of Hopewell, just on the other side of that little ridge there.” He pointed to the southwest, across the pike. Will looked to see a thin column of smoke still rising.
“The daughter, Ada, works at HoJo’s,” Woody said. “She’s a looker,” he added with a wink. “I already tried, but she’s too religious for me. You might have better luck.”
“Anyone hurt?” Dickson asked Bishop.
“Not too bad, I don’t think. Jesse Shupe sucked in too much smoke and had to sit in the ambulance for a while. And one of the Franklin women burned her hands real bad. I think it was Kate, the mother. Those two women, boy, I tell you, they went into that burning barn before anyone else showed up, and they got all them animals out, all but one that got pinned under a beam. Them cows must’ve been some kind of panicked, but those women loosed every one.”
They were all quiet for a moment. Then Dickson asked, “Cause?”
“Hard to tell. Probably green hay or bad wiring. Seems like it’s always one of those two.” Bishop turned to face the pike. “They say the daughter’s a powwow doctor. Say she can heal people, cows even.” He watched the traffic. “I hope she can work her magic on her mother and them cows that got burned.”
A Cadillac pulled up, and Dickson told Bishop to take his lunch break. Then he swung his arms and clapped. “OK, Burk, time to pop that cherry.” A retired couple waited in their shiny car.
“Easy now,” Scoop teased.
“Don’t scratch that baby,” added Dickson. For a moment, this was the only customer, so the men stood or leaned on the pumps to watch.
“That boy’s starting out in style,” Dino said, while he tucked his shirttail into his pants. “You watch out, Buddy, he’ll be manager in no time. No doubt about it.”
“Normally we’d all help you,” Woody explained. “But this first time, we want to make sure you get it right in case Dickson, here, decides to go find that broom again.”
Will ignored them, tried to look calm while he checked the oil.
“You missed a spot.” Woody nodded toward the back window Will had just washed.
“And make sure you wipe the headlights,” someone else added.
When the Cadillac pulled away, Scoop slapped Will’s shoulder and said, “Congratulations.”
Under his breath, Dino said, “Well, it’s done.” Then louder, “I think he owes us a case of beer, what you say?”
They all agreed.
Will just shook his head and looked away.
The banter continued all afternoon
