Free The Gardener's Son by Cormac McCarthy Page B

was the only thing I could think of. I wanted to get her pitcher took but Daddy wouldnt have it. He said he didnt want to remember her dead. I have a pitcher of Bobby.
    She fumbles an old purse from among the folds of her skirts and opens it and takes out an old yellow tintype.
    M ARTHA Me and Mama went back up to Pickens about a year fore she died. I was just a young girl. Went up on the train. We’d had this horse and his name was Captain and I used to ride him just everwheres and he’d foller me around like a dog and I remember whenever we got ready to leave from up there why they sent me over to Mamaw’s because the feller was fixing to come and get him. They had done sold him, you see. But me and Mama went up there. We went up there and we was in Greenville that Saturday afternoon and I looked and there in the street was old Captain. He was harnessed up in an express wagon standin there in front of a store and whenever I seen him I just run across the street and throwed my arms around his neck and kissed him and I reckon everbody thought I was crazy standin there in the middle of the street and me about growed, huggin and kissin an old horse and just a bawlin to beat the band.
    She looks down at the picture in her hand.
    M ARTHA Sometimes I wish I’d not even kept it. That lawyer said that the image of God was blotted out of his face. That’s what he said about Bobby. I ort not even to of kept it. I think a person’s memory serves better. Sometimes I can almost talk to him. I caint see him no more. In my mind. I just see this old pitcher.