Free Third World by Louis Shalako Page B

were grace
personified, with the frontal silhouette v-shaped, and with the
wingtips gracefully curled up and the round body set low, braced
and supported by the powerful shoulders.
    Up close and hopping around on the
ground in their stiff, two-legs at once manner, uttering their
hisses and croaks as they jockeyed for position and tore at the
carrion, they were somewhat less attractive.
    There was no denying it, life with
Polly could be very good if he could just get on with
it.
    It was a question of putting it into
words, and the timing had to be right.
    Worse things could happen to a man than
being married to Polly Morgensen.
    “ Are you going to the dance
Saturday night?”
    “ Huh?” At first Hank didn’t
quite catch what he said.
    Ted regarded him in a dispassionate
fashion.
    “ If you don’t hurry up and
ask her, somebody else surely will.”
    Trying not to tense up too much or
appear too eager, Hank nodded in agreement.
    “ I reckon that’s
so.”
    It was a good idea to invite her, far
better than just showing up in the hopes of her being there—and
seeing her already occupied with another fellow.
    He looked at Ted with new
eyes.
    “ You know what? That’s a
darned good idea.”
    The worst that could happen was that
she might say no. In which case, he would have an answer and it
would be time to move on. If she said yes, it opened up new doors
for the future. Maybe not promises, but doors to another kind of
existence. He had to start somewhere or just forget the whole
idea.
    The ladies, heads still together but
clutching big handfuls of flowers and brightly-coloured weeds
approached. Their little gossip session was over. Hank wondered why
Emily was paying unusually close attention to him and he blushed a
little and very carefully and very correctly assisted Polly up onto
Blossom.
    How much time had they spent discussing
him?
    And what was the verdict? It was all a
big mystery to Hank Beveridge.
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    On Their Way
Again
     
     
    They were on their way again, with
Emily and Ted’s cart disappearing over the brow of the hill and for
all intents and purposes winking out of existence.
    Hank was again at a bit of a loss for
conversation.
    “ Emily will drop off my
flowers on the way home.”
    “ Ah, it’s good to have
friends.” Hank didn’t have too many friends.
    Although Red might qualify, he was the
sort that a young person like Polly might not find too
interesting.
    His hands felt sweaty on the reins. Red
was sixty-five, Hank just in his early forties. Yet he felt closer
to Red than to pretty much anyone else in town. Red was born on the
planet. There was some terrible gulf between him and young people
these days. They either looked on him with a kind of awe, or a kind
of genial contempt.
    The neighbour kids were always stealing
out of Red’s melon patch, and they had played some awful tricks on
him over the years. Hank wondered how he could stand it, especially
when things got bad but Red was philosophical. Maybe Hank didn’t
love people quite the same way. Yet no man was an
island.
    “ What’s that?” She rose up
in her seat and pointed off to the edge of the world.
    “ Huh.” Hank had been caught
flat-footed and foolish-looking, peering off into the dull backdrop
where the hills in the east melted into a low mass of seething grey
rain clouds.
    “ Well, I’ll be.” He was
about to call her young lady when he caught himself. “You have good
eyes.”
    Pulling a brass telescope out of his
saddlebag, Hank studied the horizon.
    He handed it over and she took a long
look.
    “ Nomads!” She chewed her
lip, causing a pang of something to go through him.
    Her lips were like raspberry wine…her
skin like a spring peach. Her long black hair was healthy and thick
and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking all the wrong thoughts.
Hank took the glass and studied them further.
    There was the mass of animals, several
different species, the dull blue-black of the local cattle,