"Palwick, Susan - Cucumber Gravy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Palwick Susan)

The second cucumber went sploosh, just then, and Humphreys and I both jumped a little. Humphreys didn't puke, this time; he got back on his knees and made another sign of the cross and muttered some more. When he was done I picked up that gravy bag and put it in the corner with the other one, the one I'd tossed back into the den from the living room, and then Humphreys and I sat back down to wait for the third cucumber to go gravy. Five minutes, now.
"Why do you suppose they come here?" he asked me.
"Damned if I know. Maybe they're sick and their people send them away so they won't infect everybody else. Maybe they're dead already when they get here, and Earth's their eternal reward. Now that's scary, isn't it? Maybe when we die we're all going to land on some alien's doorstep, and we just have to hope they'll have comfortable chairs for us and find out what kind of art we like." My heaven will have Lay-Z-Boy recliners and Penthouse Pets, but I wasn't going to tell Humphreys that.
He smiled. "In my father's house are many mansions."
"What?" But the last cucumber went sploosh, so I never did find out what Humphreys had been talking about. He did his little praying routine again, and I piled the third cucumber in the corner with the other two.
He looked at the gravy bags, and then at me. "How do you—what do you do with them? Afterwards?"
"I bury them. I've got these things all over my property."
He nodded. "Do you need help?"
"If you're as good with a shovel as you are with a pail, I could use the help, Reverend. Thank you."
So we piled the gravy bags into my pickup, and I threw a tarp over them and loaded up a couple of shovels, and then I drove out to the next gravesite. I've been keeping track of where the cucumbers are, so I can pick a fresh place each time. I brought the gun with me, but that was in case we ran into snakes or something: I wasn't worried about Humphreys anymore, not that way.
He was good with a shovel, strong and fast. He hadn't always been a preacher, you could tell. He'd done manual labor someplace. Watching him dig, I started to get curious. When we stopped to take a break, I said, "So when were you in front of guns before?"
"In Africa." He wiped the sweat off his face. "In Zaire, back during the eighties. A group of us were rebuilding a church. Mobutu's thugs had burned it down because the clergy were speaking out against the government. And the soldiers came when we were rebuilding, and they lined us up against a wall and threatened to shoot us all. I still don't know why they didn't. They killed plenty of other people, before and after that." His eyes got far away, then, and he said, "All the people I worked with there—they're all dead now."
"That's not right," I said.
"No." He started digging again, and I let him. I know how working with your hands can help, when you're upset about something. I re-roofed the house all by myself, after Nancy Ann left.
We got the cucumbers neatly buried, one to a grave, and Humphreys said a little prayer over each one, and then we got back into the truck to go back into the house. I was worried. I had to figure out what to do about him, and it would have been easier if he'd been easier to hate. "Reverend," I said, "you were right before. I'm scared about what will happen if people find out about what's been going on out here."
"I'm not going to tell them," he said. "This is under the seal of clerical confidentiality, Welly. I take that very seriously."
I didn't know if I could believe him or not. I wanted to, but that's not the same thing. "I just hope I can trust you, Reverend."
"I hope you'll learn that you can. I can't expect you to, yet. You've only known me a few hours. Earning trust takes longer than that."
I grunted. That was a better answer than a lot of other people would have given. "Well, listen, you let me know when Sam dies."
"He may not die, not for a long time. We have to hope the chemo will work. We have to hope he'll be healed. But if he dies, certainly, I'll call you." Humphreys smiled. "He'll be having a church service, I have to warn you."
"Call me anyway." We were back at the house. I stopped the truck and said, "You left that bag inside, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"Wait here. I'll get it for you. I'll be right back out."
The paper lunch sack was still sitting in the hallway, next to where Humphreys had gotten sick. It was wet from the soapy water he'd used. I threw the old sack away and got a fresh one, and then for good measure I threw another eighth into the plastic bag. I knew Sam would notice, and that kind of gesture's good for business, if you don't do it very often. I guess it was my way of gambling that he'd stay alive. And if he mentioned it to Humphreys, maybe the Reverend would be more likely to keep his mouth shut.
I took the sack back out and handed it to Humphreys. "I have something for you, too," he said, and gave me his business card. "Call me if you ever want to talk, about anything at all. You can call me any time. Both my home number and the church number are on there."
"Kind of you," I said, although I was thinking, when hell freezes over. "Thank you, Reverend."
"You're welcome, Welly." He held out his hand, and I shook it, and then he got back into his car and drove away. I watched his car until it disappeared, and then I went back into the house. I almost threw the business card away, but something made me toss it into one of my kitchen drawers instead. Don't ask me what. It wasn't like I planned on calling him. It was just a superstitious thing, maybe like what he'd said about the emergency baptisms. Having his business card probably wasn't going to help me, but it couldn't hurt, either.
I was hot, from all that digging. I opened the fridge and got out a beer and drank it down in one gulp. Then I got my cell phone and took it into the living room, and sat back in my recliner and started dialing the phone company.
The End