We haven’t got any money. We haven’t got—”
“Shut up,” said C.
The boards creaked from the warmth, frost formed on the windows. The walls groaned and stretched in the middle, then everywhere, as the house woke from the dead.
“YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS, DO YOU?”
“Not his,” he answered.
The electric lights tunneled out into the yard. The ice melted in the water pipes in the basement and C turned on all the faucets, letting the rust empty into the sinks. They dismantled the bed and carried it down to the first floor, and were asleep before C had time to think about not going on another day, or Cell had time to decide to go back to the dormitory.
C KNEW THAT HE WOULD BE DISCOVERED, AND THAT BY NOW EVERYONE knew that someone—probably him—was living in the gray house. That morning he got up and walked down to the bank. Cell watched him leave and got out of bed thinking, He better not say shut up to me again—just for a little mistake. This goddamn snow, thought C.
The bank was closed when he arrived. C sat on the bench outside and waited for Merle Wood to come back and talk to him. Merle would be eating lunch at his mother’s house. C looked out into the street. Tire tracks in the snow, making no noise. Snow swallows sounds. He knew he’d only been away a little this side of three years, and knew that that wasn’t enough time to really change anything, and was enough time to change many things a little . . . If they could only have forgotten about my father. A short, squarish figure stepped out of Merle Wood’s mother’s house and stood for a minute adjusting his gloves and coat collar before venturing out onto the street and toward the bank. Even from that far away he could tell it wasn’t Merle. Rabbit! thought C. That’s Rabbit! And Rabbit, Merle’s son, stepped down from the porch and came toward him in the slow, lumbering gait of his father, his squinted eyes darting up and down the street, noticing not only C, but that his coat was worn about the elbows and that his skin was not healthy—had not been exposed enough to the weather . . . taking this all in at a glance and seeing that nothing else had come or gone.
“Hello, Rabbit,” said C, leaving his arm on the top of the bench.
“Hello, C,” said Rabbit. “Good to see you home again.”
They looked at each other.
“Good to be here.”
Rabbit took out a shining bunch of keys and opened the bank. Then he stood in the doorway, waiting.
“I heard you were going to school. The University, I heard.”
“That’s right.”
“Almost three years, summers too. Graduate?” His fleshy hands played with the keys.
“Nope.” C came into the bank. “I went over to the house last night and noticed that a lot of the furniture was gone. I thought that what probably happened—”
“Sam sold it. We helped out—as we could—but there was just some of that stuff that no one could use.”
“About the house, Rabbit. I was thinking that maybe Sam had—”
“He borrowed seventeen thousand dollars on mortgage. That was six months ago. Every month he sends money from Springfield, Illinois.”
“O.K.”
Rabbit Wood sat down on the top of the desk and lit a smoke.
“Your father, Merle, I guess he—”
“He retired and moved to Quincy with his new wife. I noticed you’re not alone. Married?”
“I guess. Yourself ?”
“Not yet,” said Rabbit. “Not until June.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Ester.”
“Oh?” He didn’t know her very well, but knew Rabbit had been going up to Dubuque to see an Ester Willams since way before he left. He had brought her down occasionally and once introduced her, but he’d forgotten.
“Yep,” said Rabbit, and smiled.
“So you and Ester. When’s the wedding?”
“June.”
“You’re lucky.”
Rabbit smiled.
“How are you going to live?” Rabbit asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something, or something will happen. It’ll work out . . . now that the house is still ours.”
“You better get a job, C. Men shouldn’t live without work. It isn’t right.” He was still playing with the keys, but what he said was serious.
“That’s probably true. I got to be getting back now. Nasty weather.”
“Say,” said Rabbit before he closed the door. “I saw you come in last night. So I called Ralph and got him to turn on the current for you.”
“Thanks,” said C. “I wondered.” Then he shut the door and began walking back home.
CELL WAS EATING A BOLOGNA SANDWICH. “WHAT’S THE MATTER?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“We have to leave, don’t we?”
“No. But Rabbit Wood runs the bank, and he’s this prudish kid that used to be in my class in high school.”
“So you wish you could be like that?”
“No. I don’t think so. But maybe I wish I could if I could all the way; I mean be like that. It might be better.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, he said everyone should work . . . that it isn’t right not to. He even said that it isn’t right to live if you don’t work.”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s what he meant.”
“So what?”
“So I guess I feel that way too, only I have no intention of working.”
“You want me to leave, don’t you?”
“No. Why did you think that?”
“Because of saying things that sound bad that I can’t understand—like maybe you would be better off without me.”
“Well, that’s not it.”
“Then we can’t stay here. That Rabbit said we couldn’t.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then
