Unspeakable Read Online Free PDF Page A

on his palm. Crouching down in front of David, he gave the boy a closer look.
    "An Indian brave made this, David. A Comanche warrior. Long time ago."
    "Wow," the boy exclaimed in a reverent and hushed voice. He extended his hand to touch the weapon, but timidly withdrew it before making contact.
    "It's okay. You can touch it."
    "How come it's bumpy?"
    "That's the way the Indians made their knives back then."
    David ran his finger along the bluish, rippled blade. "Cool," he said in the same reverential tone. Slowly Jack came to his feet. Keeping his eyes on the woman's face, he replaced the knife in its scabbard. He then raised both hands in surrender.
    She didn't take kindly to the mockery, but, giving him a retiring look, she stepped aside and signaled that it was okay if he looked at the engine.
    He removed his straw cowboy hat and sunglasses, placed the sunglasses in the crown of his hat, and set it on the fender. Poking his head beneath the raised hood, he bent over the motor. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead and splashed onto the hot casing, making a small sizzling sound as it evaporated.
    Hell of a new experience, this was. He'd never run across a deaf woman before. Or one who had such an enormous burr up her ass.
    Turning, he asked her to start the engine and rev it, which she did. Jack's knowledge of cars wasn't extensive, but this diagnosis was elementary. Something was blocking the fuel line. He set to work.
    David took up a post just beneath his elbow. Obviously wishing to impress Jack, he boasted,
    "We have a whole ranch."
    "I see that."
    "Just the three of us. Mom, Grandpa, and me. I'd like to have a brother or sister, but Mom says I'm a handful all by myself and anyway you can't have a baby without a daddy, she says. Do you like peach pie, Jack? My mom makes good peach pie and Grandpa makes vanilla ice cream and I get to sit on the tub while he's turning the crank, and the ice cream's good on peach pie or just plain. Can you swim? Grandpa says when he has time he's gonna teach me to swim, 'cept Mom's afraid of cottonmouths in the river. We've got a river, and I've caught fish before, and after Grandpa and me took their guts out Mom cooked 'em and we had 'em for supper. I can already do a face float and that's the first step to swimming, a face float. Maybe you could see my room. I've got a Dallas Cowboys poster on my closet door. Do you have a little boy?"
    "No, I never had a little boy. Or a little girl either." As he removed a filter from the fuel line, he smiled down at the boy.
    The woman was hovering nearby. She signed something. Looking chagrined, David reported,
    "She says I'm probably wearing out your ears with so much—I didn't get the last."
    "Chatter?" Jack ventured.
    "Maybe," David said. "Sometimes Grandpa calls me a chatterbox."
    "I don't mind if you talk. I like having company."
    "We never have company."
    "How come?" Jack addressed the question to David, although he was looking at the woman.
    "I think it's 'cause my mom's deaf or something."
    "Hmm." Jack put the filter to his mouth and blew into it hard. Then he replaced it and motioned for her to try the ignition again. She got in and turned the key. After she pumped the accelerator several times, the car started.
    Jack lowered the hood and dusted off his hands. "There you go." He replaced his sunglasses and hat. "Shouldn't give you any more problem. You had a piece of grit stuck in your filter."
    "You sure are smart."
    "Not too smart, David. It happened on my truck once. Cost me fifty bucks for a mechanic to blow out the speck." Turning to the boy's mother, he said, "I'd like to see Mr. Corbett now, please."
    "Can I show him where Grandpa's at, Mom?"
    She shook her head no, and motioned for David to get into the car.
    "Point me in the right direction and I'll find him," Jack said.
    "It's that way, past those trees," David told him. "But I'll take you. It's not far." David's mother stamped her foot to get his attention. Her fingers moving