Driving Blind Read Online Free PDF

fifth button, and now—
    The same words that ended that
other
story, the
very same two words
, but this time shouted passionately, inside, silently, silently, to yourself!
    The two words!
    The same two words used at the end of the story about the thing coming up the stairs. The same two words at the end!
    Chris’ voice didn’t belong to him anymore:
    “—and she ran into something, there was something, there was, well, anyway, this, she … well, she tried … er, someone chased her … or … well, she ran, anyway, and she came, down she went and she ran and then, and then, she—”
    Vivian moved against him. Her lips sealed up that story inside him and wouldn’t let it out. The castle fell thundering for the last time into ruin, in a burst of blazing flame, and there was nothing in the world but this newly invented body of his and the fact that a girl’s body is not so much land, like the hills of Wisconsin, pretty to look at. Here was all the beauty and singing and firelight and warmth in the world. Here was the meaning of all change and all movement and all adjustment.
    Far away in the dim hushed lands below a phone rang. It was so faint it was like one of those voices crying in a forgotten dungeon. A phone rang and Chris could hear nothing.
    It seemed there was a faint, halfhearted criticism from Leo and Shirley, and then a few minutes later, Chris realized that Leo and Shirley were clumsily kissing one another, and nothing else, just clumsily adjusting faces to one another. The room was silent. The stories were told and all of space engulfed the room.
    It was so strange. Chris could only lie there and let Vivian tell him all of it with this dark, unbelievable pantomime. You are not told all of your life of things like this, he thought. You are not told at all. Maybe itis too good to tell, too strange and wonderful to give words about.
    Footsteps came up the stairs. Very slow, very sad footsteps this time. Very slow and soft.
    “Quick!” whispered Vivian. She pulled away, smoothing her dress. Like a blind man, fingerless, Chris fumbled with his belt buckle and buttons. “Quick!” whispered Vivian.
    She flicked the light on and the world shocked Chris with its unreality. Blank walls staring, wide and senseless after the dark; lovely, soft, moving, and secretive dark. And as the footsteps advanced up the stairs, the four of them were once again solemn ramrods against the wall, and Vivian was retelling her story:
    “—now he’s at the top stair—”
    The door opened. Auntie stood there, tears on her face. That was enough in itself to tell, to give the message.
    “We just received a call from the hospital,” she said. “Your Uncle Lester passed away a few minutes ago.”
    They sat there.
    “You’d better come downstairs,” said Auntie.
    They arose slowly. Chris felt drunk and unsteady and warm. He waited for Auntie to go out and the others to follow. He came last of all, down into the hushed land of weeping and solemn tightened faces.
    As he descended the last step he couldn’t help but feel a strange thing moving in his mind. Oh, Uncle Lester, they’ve taken your body away from you, and I’vegot
mine
, and it isn’t fair! Oh, it isn’t fair, because this is
so good!
    In a few minutes they would go home. The silent house would hold their weeping a few days, the radio would be snapped off for a week, and laughter would come and be throttled in birth.
    He began to cry.
    Mother looked at him. Uncle Inar looked at him and some of the others looked at him. Vivian, too. And Leo, so big and solemn standing there.
    Chris was crying and everybody looked.
    But only Vivian knew that he was crying for joy, a warm good crying of a child who has found treasure buried deep and warm in his very body.
    “Oh, Chris,” said Mother, and came to comfort him. “There, there.”

Grand Theft
    E mily Wilkes had her eyes pried open by a peculiar sound at three o’clock in the deep morning, with no moon, and only the