Free Bluebottle by James Sallis

something, I listen. What they don't want to tell me is their business, I figurethey have reasons.
    "What she did talk about a lot then was stuff she was reading, all these thoughts clambering about in her head.
    One week she'd show up having just read Hesse, or The Seven-Storey Mountain, and that's where everything would begin and end, that was the whole world. Maybe life wasn't about possessions, about personal
     gain or power, she'd tell me, maybe what was important was this struggle, trying to understand yourself and others even when
     you knew you never could. Or she might talk about communities, what they were, how important it was to become part of one,
     to turn away from what she called the lure of your own reflection in the mirror."
    "I can't remember being that young anymore, Lew. I know I was, all those grand thoughts running through me, but I can't remember
     it, can you?"
    "Some days, a few good days, I'm still that young."
    Verne nodded. "Let me get coffee started."
    She came back with the sugar bowl and a quart carton of Schwegmann milk. "Ready in a minute."
    "Her name was Mary Catherine, but she went by Cathy. Didn't take me long to catch on to how smart she was, and I asked if
     she'd thought about college. ''You didn't go to college,' she said, "and you know everything.' What I knew, I told her, I'd managed to learn the hard way, assbackwards
     and stubborn like I did most things, reading books the way ore companies strip-mine mountains, taking what I could of the
     best stuff and leaving the rest in ruin, and I wasn't about to recommend that for anyone else.
    " 'It can get expensive,' I told her, 'but there are all kinds of scholarships and loans available.'
    "I remember her looking up at me and saying, 'Oh, that wouldn't be a problem.'
    "Month or so later she tells me she's been accepted up at LSU. She'll come visit on holidays, she says, and she does, the
     first couple, but then she stops. Not that I was surprised. Never expected anything else."
    Verne went to the kitchen, returning with coffeepot and hotpad. Cups were already set out on the table. She poured.
    "You still didn't know who she was?"
    "Not a clue. I must have changed living quarters a couple of times in the next few months, I was doing that a lot then—"
    "At least you had a place," Mother said.
    LaVerne's eyes met mine. She shook her head gendy.
    "Then one day I'm coming home, around the big house and through unruly hedges—I was supposed to cut them, as part of my rent,
     but never got around to it—to the little one where I live out behind, and someone's waiting by my door, looks like he might
     juggle tractors to stay in shape.
    " 'Do something for you?' I ask.
    " 'Nope.'
    "I have the keys in my fist, sticking out between fingers.
    " 'You Griffin?'
    "Yeah.
    " 'Jimmie Marconi says he appreciates what you did for his kid.'
    "I don't know this Marconi or his kid, I tell the guy.
    " 'Sure you do. Mary Catherine.' His eyes remind me of Cathy's back when I first saw her. Flat, blank, affectless.
    " 'She's okay, then?'
    "He shrugs. 'How okay's someone like that ever get? You askin' me if she's straight, yeah, she's straight. For now.'
    " 'Look, it's hot out here. You want a beer?'
    " 'Mr. Marconi told me I should find you and tell you this, so I did. Now you got his message. No way I'm goin' in your house,
     sit down with you.'
    " 'Okay,' I said after a moment.
    " 'Mr. Marconi says you ever need a favor, anything he can do for you, come see him.'
    " 'Thank him for me. But what I did had nothing to do with him.'
    " 'In Mr. Marconi's world, everything has to do with him.' And tipping one finger to his hat, he waded away into the hedges, merry mystery to all and to all a good
     night."
    I was sipping brandy by this time. Mother peered pointedly at my snifter each time I swirled or lifted it.
    "Sounds like you sure got to know yourself some fine folk here in the city," she said. "I know who I have to know."
    Verne touched her wrist softly.