The Weight of Stones Read Online Free PDF Page A

interest in the whole thing, the way he came at things. He was aware that some people spoke of him in a certain light.
    He passed through the kitchen and downed the last of his cold black coffee. He set the mug in the sink and grabbed his long coat from its hook in the hall. He was warming up his old red Mazda pickup when he was startled by a knock on the window. He turned and looked into the face of his neighbour, Carl Seeburger, who was standing there with his wispy silver hair glowing like a baby’s down in the back light of the rising dawn. The old German had been their neighbour for just eighteen months now, having replaced a longtime and affable family by the name of Dewar. For eighteen months, he and McKelvey and some of the others on the street had battled sporadically, and sometimes loudly, over the trio of dogs that Seeburger kept, without much apparent attention, in his backyard. McKelvey rolled the window down without smiling.
    â€œDid I forget my lunch bag again?” McKelvey said.
    Seeburger’s lips began to work and, as always, a tiny white froth appeared at the corners of his mouth. He crossed his long arms across his chest and said, although it sounded more like a direct accusation, “Did you call the city about my dogs?”
    â€œJesus Christ. It’s seven o’clock, Carl, you should be in bed,” McKelvey said, and immediately began to roll the window back up, move his foot to the clutch.
    Seeburger, dressed in faded grey work pants that were a little too short, and a worn red and blue flannel shirt and suspenders, stepped closer to the truck. He was a tall man, and he had to bend down to level his face with the window. McKelvey caught a whiff of strong cheese and wool. Even though he had apparently been living in the country for forty years now, Seeburger’s accent was still thick and harsh. Is sounded to McKelvey like a machine cutting and splicing. McKelvey believed it spoke to the man’s stubborn refusal to go with the flow.
    â€œJust because you work for the city, you think that gives you the right to use your connections to hassle tax-paying citizens? This is a free country, Mr. McKelvey, and I will not be treated like a criminal. If I choose to own dogs, that is my right. Protected by the Constitution. And if you have any more problems with my dogs, I would wish that you would be man enough to address me directly rather than use your connections to have me harassed by the city by-law office.”
    It was the right morning, or it was the alignment of the stars. Or it was just the way McKelvey felt lately. As though he were functioning in a sort of suspended animation. Everything was as in a dream, and he couldn’t think anything through with clarity. Anything could happen. McKelvey moved his right hand to ensure the stick shift was in park, then popped his seatbelt and was out of the vehicle standing toe to toe with his neighbour. Seeburger stepped back, his eyes blinking with anticipation.
    â€œListen, let’s get something straight here,” McKelvey said and pointed an index finger. “I hate your fucking dogs, Carl. I really do. I wish death upon their ugly howling heads every night when I close my eyes and try to fall asleep in a neighbourhood that until eighteen months ago was a goddamned piece of heaven. Secondly, I don’t have any connections with the bylaw office, and even if I did, I wouldn’t require the use of said connections, because I would take care of things myself. I’m not beyond getting my hands dirty. In fact, I enjoy it from time to time.”
    â€œOh, yes? Is that a threat, Mr. McKelvey?”
    â€œOh no, it’s not a threat,” McKelvey said, “it’s a guarantee.” Then he opened the door and held it there for a moment before sliding behind the wheel. Something within himself, a coiled spring or a bottled surge, wanted his neighbour to do something wild and crazy, take a swing perhaps.