He stood with the door opened only a little ways, kind of peeking out, like he was afraid I would try to come in. Right away then I knew something was wrong, because friends don’t do that to each other. He was shaking his head back and forth slowly, and already starting to close the door, almost as if he didn’t know me. “I’m forbidden to let anyone in,” he said. His voice was weak and full of fear. “I’m just not allowed to.”
“John,” I said. “You got to let me in.” Something was very wrong. “I’d like to talk to you, John,” I said. “John? Let me in.” I started to push on the door, but he got it closed before I could do anything. And then the kitchen light went out and the whole house was dark.
I just stood there for a minute or more, collecting myself. I was really scared. Well sir, the next thing I did, I went all around the house and peeked in every window that I could, only I couldn’t see anything, because all the lights was out. I tried to pull up on every window, but they were all locked. And then I tried all three doors and the cellar door, too, but I got nowhere.
It was as if no one had lived in the house for years, it was shut up so tight. I stood there in the dark, with just the silence and a little night wind blowing ever so easy.
The river was really coming up, rising up the slope in back of the house. It made an eerie slurping sound in the dark, sliding along heavy like it did.
My stomach was rolling with pain, and I was sweating, no matter the cold. I was really scared that something terrible had happened to Carrie and John. What it was I didn’t even want to guess.
I didn’t see any movement over at John’s all the next day or that night either. I thought about it off and on all day and decided against saying anything to anyone else just yet. Actually, it really wasn’t none of my business. And for all I knew, everything was like it always was with the both of them.
The next afternoon then I spied John out back going into his milk-house. He was carrying a box of something that looked real heavy. Well, to me that was as good a time as any. I figured to go on over and talk to him while he was still in the milkhouse, maybe even block his way and keep him in there until he told me what was going on.
When I got to the doorway I could see him taking quarts of peaches from the box and letting them down easy into the water to cool them. He looked up at me as I stood there, for I blocked the light from outside, you see. He did not smile at me.
“Carrie always liked her peaches,” he said finally. He was cleaned up pretty good this time. He nodded. “And I do, too.” He shook his head carefully. “Got lots of them.” He reached me a quart. “You want to take one home?” Except he didn’t seem too happy, it was almost as if it was the most normal day in the world to him. Just like nothing was unusual. I could hardly believe it.
“Look here,” I said, and I was trying to hold down both my Dutch temper and all my fears. “Just what is going on, John? Just what the hell is going on with you?”
“There ain’t nothing going on,” he said slowly, eyeing me carefully. I felt really awkward. It was his farm and all. I didn’t want him thinking I didn’t trust him. If you don’t trust a man, you got nothing good between you and him ever again. I didn’t want that to happen.
But I waited just a moment and then I decided to take the chance. “Where’s Carrie?” I asked.
He stood there quietly for a little bit, looking me over. And then I guess he decided I had the right. “In the house,” he said. “She’s been bad sick. Real bad.” He put the last of the peaches into the trough. “Well,” he said quietly, “you know how it is. Ain’t none of us getting any younger.” He tried a smile that didn’t quite work. “Ain’t that right?”
“Maybe somebody ought to come in,” I said. “Give you a hand. Lots of us would be proud to.”
“I don’t need no hand,” he said. “I don’t want no one helping.”
“Maybe Carrie needs a doctor,” I tried.
“No doctor,” he said. “Ain’t no doctor can help Carrie now.” Just as matter of fact as that.
“Well,” I said, “I could do something.” I said it as slowly and as clearly as I could. “Somebody should be helping you out.”
He dropped the empty box onto the floor. “I don’t want no help,” he said. “I don’t want nothing from nobody.” He almost seemed angry or something.
I looked at him for a long time. But there was nothing to see in his face.
“Okay,” I said, after what seemed like a couple of minutes of him staring at me and me at him. “If that’s how you want it, John.”
“That’s how I want it.”
“You know I consider you my friend.”
“I know that,” he said.
Well, there it is. That’s the whole of our conversation that day. I shrugged my shoulders and left. I looked back once and saw him still standing tall in the doorway of the milkhouse, glaring out at me. And when he turned around I left and didn’t look back no more.
Now when you go over all this you have to remember that we are an isolated and a rural people, as I said, and we have our ways. If he wanted to be all by himself to take care of Carrie until she died, if that was what was happening to her, who was I or who was anyone to stop him. May seem odd, but that’s how people our way are. We take care of our own. We mind our own beeswax. And if we don’t want no help, why, that is our concern entirely. I guess I understood that in him. I didn’t like it, but I understood it.
The idea of Carrie being on her way to dying just almost destroyed me is all. The thought of never even getting to see her again. That was an awful thing to think about. It wasn’t till a couple of days later, after going over and over it in my head, that I got the first feelings that maybe there was more still, maybe John was not telling me the full truth. Just all of a sudden I had that thought. And then I couldn’t get it out of my mind.
But it was obvious to me that he was nervous and frightened and not acting like himself at all. So I concluded that maybe the idea of him holding back wasn’t so far fetched.
Maybe Carrie wasn’t just sick.
Maybe it was far worse than that. Something was making him act peculiar. And I sure did want to find out what that was.
I sat on my porch swing that evening, kicking myself easy and watching John’s place. I felt sneaky and miserable doing it, like I was some kind of spy, but I just kept on staring over there. And as it started to get dark, only his kitchen light was on, just like always.
Sometimes when a thing’s going wrong, a body gets to having a compulsion. It just takes hold of him, and he can’t help but do the first thing that occurs to him. He’s just got to.
Well, that was what happened to me. All of a sudden I couldn’t sit still no more. I figured to go on over to John’s house and get inside somehow and see what was going on. Whether he wanted me to or not. Trust or not. I had to see if Carrie was still alive, see if she was sick, see what was up. Anything would be better than sitting on that old swing and looking at his kitchen light and wondering.
I moved down off my porch and started towards his house. My stomach had begun to churn with fear, although to be truthful, I don’t know even yet exactly what I was afraid of. Maybe just of what I was about to do. Handy to his house I began to slow up. My upper lip got to feeling cold and clammy. And the closer I came to the bright light of John’s kitchen, the darker everything else around me seemed to be.
It was really strange and unusual that night. In spite of all the rain just earlier that evening and in the past weeks, the sky was so clear and so dark you could see stars right down to the horizon. There was some houses way off in the distance, with their lights on, and it was hard to tell what was lights from the houses and what was stars. You don’t often get that.