In The Garden Of The North American Martyrs Read Online Free PDF Page A

jackets and shirts and letting the jet of hot air breathe across their faces and chests.
    â€œYou know,” Tub said, “what you told me back there, I appreciate it. Trusting me.”
    Frank opened and closed his fingers in front of the nozzle. “The way I look at it, Tub, no man is an island. You’ve got to trust someone.”
    â€œFrank—”
    Frank waited.
    â€œWhen I said that about my glands, that wasn’t true. The truth is I just shovel it in.”
    â€œWell, Tub—”
    â€œDay and night, Frank. In the shower. On the freeway.” He turned and let the air play over his back. “I’ve even got stuff in the paper towel machine at work.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with your glands at all?” Frank hadtaken his boots and socks off. He held first his right, then his left foot up to the nozzle.
    â€œNo. There never was.”
    â€œDoes Alice know?” The machine went off and Frank started lacing up his boots.
    â€œNobody knows. That’s the worst of it, Frank. Not the being fat, I never got any big kick out of being thin, but the lying. Having to lead a double life like a spy or a hit man. This sounds strange but I feel sorry for those guys, I really do. I know what they go through. Always having to think about what you say and do. Always feeling like people are watching you, trying to catch you at something. Never able to just be yourself. Like when I make a big deal about only having an orange for breakfast and then scarf all the way to work. Oreos, Mars Bars, Twinkies. Sugar Babies. Snickers.” Tub glanced at Frank and looked quickly away. “Pretty disgusting, isn’t it?”
    â€œTub. Tub.” Frank shook his head. “Come on.” He took Tub’s arm and led him into the restaurant half of the bar. “My friend is hungry,” he told the waitress. “Bring four orders of pancakes, plenty of butter and syrup.”
    â€œFrank—”
    â€œSit down.”
    When the dishes came Frank carved out slabs of butter and just laid them on the pancakes. Then he emptied the bottle of syrup, moving it back and forth over the plates. He leaned forward on his elbows and rested his chin in one hand. “Go on, Tub.”
    Tub ate several mouthfuls, then started to wipe his lips. Frank took the napkin away from him. “No wiping,” he said. Tub kept at it. The syrup covered his chin; it dripped to a point like a goatee. “Weigh in, Tub,” Frank said, pushing another fork across the table. “Get down to business.” Tub took the fork in his left hand and lowered his head and started really chowing down. “Clean your plate,” Frank said when the pancakes were gone,and Tub lifted each of the four plates and licked it clean. He sat back, trying to catch his breath.
    â€œBeautiful,” Frank said. “Are you full?”
    â€œI’m full,” Tub said. “I’ve never been so full.”
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    Kenny’s blankets were bunched up against the tailgate again.
    â€œThey must have blown off,” Tub said.
    â€œThey’re not doing him any good,” Frank said. “We might as well get some use out of them.”
    Kenny mumbled. Tub bent over him. “What? Speak up.”
    â€œI’m going to the hospital,” Kenny said.
    â€œAttaboy,” Frank said.
    The blankets helped. The wind still got their faces and Frank’s hands but it was much better. The fresh snow on the road and the trees sparkled under the beam of the headlight. Squares of light from farmhouse windows fell onto the blue snow in the fields.
    â€œFrank,” Tub said after a time, “you know that farmer? He told Kenny to kill the dog.”
    â€œYou’re kidding!” Frank leaned forward, considering. “That Kenny. What a card.” He laughed and so did Tub. Tub smiled out the back window. Kenny lay with his arms folded over his stomach, moving his lips at the stars.