The Pigman's Legacy (The Sequel to The Pigman) Read Online Free PDF Page B

faded.
    “We brought you some fudge,” I said, coming forward and offering the gift.
    “What kind?” he snapped.
    “Marble pecan, sir,” John announced.
    “Marble pecan?” the old man repeated slowly, almost taking each syllable apart. The twinkle in his eyes returned again. It was unmistakable this time. He started to smile and then stopped as if he were guarding himself with every word. “Well, I don't want your food. You young kids like to drug all us old people and then look through our shoe boxes for money.”
    “No, we don't,” I said sincerely.
    “Well, you can just get lost, because I'am a busted old man and I don't accept favors from strangers, especially kids. Wait till you're thirty before you come around to see me again,” the old guy snarled. He started to close the door. Neither John nor I did anything to stop him because we were so shocked by what the man had said. I felt terrible, because I knew that he must have been hurt a lot during his life. Once my mother and I lived near an old lady who smiled all the time and was nice to everyone, like I'm sure this old man must have been one day. Then this old lady's cat was poisoned one Christmas and she hardly ever came outside after that. Whenever I would play on my pogo stick outside her house, she'd open the window and shout that I was making too much noise. She used to make me cry because I'd never done anything wrong to her. The woman just never got over the murder of her cat, and I wanted to be able to say something to her but never could. And that's how I felt now. I think that's how John felt too, because he came closer to me and put his arm around my shoulder. Somehow when John touched me I felt again the kiss he had given me the night before—the kiss that reminded me of one of the most important things I've ever read in psychology, and that is that a person is what he does, not what he says.
    “We were only trying to be nice ,” I was finally able to say to the old man.
    “We want to help you,” John added so gently I wanted to hug him.
    “Why?” the man demanded to know, holding the door open just a crack now.
    “Because you look like you don't have any friends.” John just came out with it. “And you look like you haven't had a decent meal in two months!”
    I felt an anxiety attack come on when John said that. He was so direct about it, almost angry, and impatient with the old man. But then I realized John was probably right in being so strong. The old man's eyes began to fill up with tears. I think he couldn't believe what John had said. There was a very long pause. It seemed like the computer of his brain was reaching back desperately to remember what it was like to trust another human being.
    “You should be home with your parents,” he finally said. “No use wasting time with an old man.” He started to close the door again, and it must have been the way the light hit him, because we both noticed something blue and shiny swaying across his chest. John yelled, “Hey, what's that you're wearing around your neck?”
    We could tell right away that we had hit a soft spot. The old man reached for the shiny thing. It was some sort of rock hanging on a beautiful gold chain. A flash of pride crossed his eyes as he slowly opened the door wider and wider.
    “ This? ” he said. “ Tins was my life .”
    John and I checked each other to see if either of us understood what he was talking about. We had no idea what the man meant. He didn't say anything after that. He just went back inside, but he left the door open. I looked at John again and I wasn't quite sure at first, but I remembered that actions speak louder than words. “He wants us to follow him,” I whispered to John. In a flash John was dragging me along behind him into the house. We followed the old man into the living room. We weren't sure if he could hear us, because he seemed to behave as if no one was in the room. I think it was because he had to concentrate so much