Free Clara Callan by Richard B. Wright

the job they did. They had even raked up all the chips into a pile. Just as they were leaving, the Brydens pulled into their driveway. They had spent the day opening their summer cabin at Sparrow Lake. I think they were amused by the pride I took in my woodpile. I can’t help it. It was deeply satisfying to show them the neatly stacked cord of wood against the shed. We had supper together and later sat on their veranda listening to the firecrackers from the fairgrounds. Then some children came running along the street, laughing and holding sparklers. Tiny showers of light in the darkness.
Saturday, May 25 (11:45 p.m.)
    A terrible thing has happened to me. This afternoon I was set upon by the two men who came by the house yesterday. They hurt me, or one of them did. I have filled the bathtub twice with hot water. But the kitchen stove has gone out and there is no more, and I am too tired tobother with it until morning. Yet I cannot sleep and must record what happened to me.
    This afternoon I went for a walk along the railway tracks. I have done it countless times and usually I go no further than Henry Hill’s. I am afraid of his dog and seldom go past the place. Today, however, the old man and the dog were gone and so I walked as far as Trestle Bridge. I sat on the bridge for perhaps twenty minutes watching the fields turn dark and light under the passing clouds and then I started home. I hurried a bit because I was thinking again of the collie which is bad-tempered. I wanted to get past Henry’s before he and the dog returned, and I felt better when I did. Then as I came around the bend in the tracks, I saw two figures ahead. They were dark against the blue of the sky. One had his arms spread wide like a child walking on the top of a fence. From time to time the figure stumbled and fell between the tracks. Then I could see that it was the man and the boy who had split and piled my wood yesterday. As they came towards me, the man ignored the boy’s antics, walking quickly
and looking down as though he were angry or harried. Each time the boy fell, he would run to catch up and try again to balance himself on the tracks.
    I don’t believe I felt any fear at the sight of them. I used to watch Father talking to such men through the screen door of the kitchen. Giving them a ten-cent piece or a bag of apples and sending them on their way. Such men nearly always defer to authority. They are used to being told what to do, and so I was not afraid at their approach. When I got within perhaps fifty yards, the man looked up and saw me and stopped. The boy stopped too and stood on the rail with his hand on the man’s shoulder. I walked steadily on. I could see now that the man was grinning with his wide comical mouth and he called out to me. “Hello there, Missus. How are you today? Do you remember Donny and me? We chopped that cord of wood for you yesterday, didn’t we, Donny?”
    The boy said nothing, just looked at me. There was only his vacant face with its terrible white eye. I wished them a good day, and then theman did an annoying thing. As I passed, he turned and began walking alongside me. As I quickened my pace, he did likewise, and all this time he was chattering. “Out for a stroll, are you, Missus? A little nature walk? Sure is a nice day for it. That’s what Donny and me are doing. Taking a stroll and listening to the birdies.” And on and on with this foolishness. The youth followed. The sole on one of his shoes had come loose and was flapping in the cinders between the tracks. I remember that flapping sound behind me. The tramp’s presumption was both irritating and bedevilling. That is how I felt at that point, irritated but not yet fearful, as the man walked along beside me with his chattering, grinning mouth, and the boy followed in his broken shoes.
    I kept thinking that it was all quite ridiculous, and finally I halted and told the man to stop his nonsense and get away from me. Then I may have made a