The Tin Can Tree

Little prickles of sweat came out on her forehead. She tugged her blouse out of her bermudas, so as to make herself cooler, and almost missed the next ball when it whizzed low and straight toward her stomach. 'Watch it,' Simon said. 'You watch it. That one burned my hands.' She threw it overhand this time, and it fell a little short, so that Simon had to run forward to catch it. While he was walking back to his place a screen door slammed behind them, and Joan automatically turned her head and listened to find out what end of the house it had come from. 'Coming,' said Simon, and just then Joan saw, in the corner of her eye, someone tall in James's plaid shirt, untangling his way through the field and toward Joan. She turned all the way. 'Watch _!' Simon said, and something slammed into the side of her head and made everything green and smarting. She sat down, not because she had been knocked down but because she was so startled her knees were weak. Beside her, nestled in a clump of grass, was the baseball, looking whiter than she remembered. Her temple began throbbing and she lay all the way down on her back, with the scorched ground underneath her making little crisp brittle sounds. 'Joan!' Simon was shouting, and whoever wore James's plaid shirt was thudding closer and closer. It was Ansel. She saw that and closed her eyes. In the same moment Simon arrived, with his breath coming fast and loud. He thumped down beside her and said, 'Joan, oh, shit, Joan,' which made her suddenly grin, even with her eyes closed and her head aching. She looked up at him and said, 'Simon Pike -'and tried to sit up, but someone yanked her back by the shoulders. Where did you – 'she began, but then Ansel clapped his hand over her mouth. His hand smelled of Noxzema.

'You lie still,' he said. 'Don't you sit and don't you talk. I'll call an ambulance.'

'An ambulance?' And this time she out and out laughed, and sat up even with Ansel trying to press her back down again. 'Ansel,' she said, 'I really don't need an ambulance. I just got surprised.'

'I warned you,' Simon said. 'Oh Lord, people break so easy.' He settled back on his haunches, clutching his knees, and for a minute it looked as if he would cry.

'Oh, hey, now,' Joan told him. She struggled all the way up, letting Ansel keep hold of one of her elbows, and then reached down to give Simon a hand up. When she stood her head hurt more; it was throbbing. She patted Simon's shoulder. 'It was my doing,' she said. 'I turned to see who was coming.'

Ansel kept hanging on to her elbow, too tightly. She tried to pull away but he only tightened his grasp and bent closer over her, looking long and pale and worried with his light eyes blinking anxiously in the strong sunlight. 'You're coming inside,' he told her. 'I'll call a doctor.'

'I don't need a doctor, Ansel.'

'Terrible things can happen.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake,' she said. 'I'm not about to die on you.'

'You never know. You never can -'

She pulled away from him, this time so hard that he had to let her go, and reached out for Simon's hand instead, in case she got dizzier. Simon accepted her hand like a grave responsibility and led her soberly, toward the house. Ansel followed, panting from all this unexpected exercise.

'We'll go to my house,' he said, 'where I have iced tea.'

'No, thank you.'

'I want you to go to my house. I feel responsible. And anyway, I'm lonely. James has gone off to Dan Thompson's.'

'Oh, all right,' Joan said. It was true that she didn't want to go back to that parlour again. They veered toward the Greens' end of the house, with Ansel parting weeds ahead of them and kicking aside bits of rusted car parts so that Joan could have a clear passage. When they reached the back door he held it open for them and ushered them in with a bow, though neither Simon or Joan paid any attention to him.

'Head on to the front room,' he said. ‘I’ll tell you what, Joan: you can lie on my couch.'

'Oh, well, Ansel, I don't need -'

'It's not often I let someone do that.'

'All right,' she said, and went on toward the couch, feeling too aching to argue. The house smelled like James -a mixture of darkroom chemicals and shaving soap and sunshine – and there was a little of that medicine smell of Ansel's there too. She lay back on the couch and closed her eyes.

Ansel brought iced tea, with the ice cubes tinkling in the glasses and a sprig of fresh mint floating on top. It surprised her, because Ansel was used to being waited on himself. She had thought he wouldn't even know where the glasses were. He set the tray down on the coffee table and handed a glass to both Simon and Joan. Then he picked up his own glass and carried it over to the easy chair, where he sat down a little uncertainly, as if he had never sat there before. Maybe he hadn't. 'Cheers,' he said, and held his glass up high. 'In reference to this doctor business, Joan -'

'I feel fine.'

'But maybe you should see one anyway,' said Simon. 'You just don't know what might have happened.'

'Nothing happened. Will you hush?'

She took a sip of iced tea and closed her eyes. It felt good to be cool again. The room was dim and quiet, and the couch was comfortable, and the heat of outdoors had made her feel relaxed and sleepy.

'What else is good,' Ansel was telling Simon, 'is to drink iced tea with peppermint candy on it. You ever tried that?' His voice was far away and faint, because Joan was half-asleep. She heard him shift his position in the creaky old chair. 'You ever tried it?' he asked again.

'No,' said Simon. He was still being cautious with Ansel, although Joan couldn't figure out why.

'You ought to have your mother make it for you,' Ansel told him.

'She won't care.'

'Sure she will. Sure she will.'

'We drink mainly Cokes,' said Simon.

"This is better.'

There was a long silence. Joan reached over to set her glass on the floor, and then she lay down again and put the back of her hand across her eyes to shut the light out.

'James is at Dan Thompson's,' Ansel said.

'You told me that,' said Simon.

'He just walked out and left me here, alone.'

'I don't care.'

'If I drop dead today, he'll forget what name to put on the headstone.'

'I don't care.'

'Ah, well,' Ansel sighed, and there was the sound of his stretching in the chair. "There is a collection, in this world,' he said, 'of people who could die and be mourned approximately a week. If they're lucky. Then that's the end of it. You think I'm one?'

'I don't know,' said Simon. 'I'm not listening.'

'Oh.'

There was another pause, and someone's ice tinkled. Ansel's, probably. Ansel said, 'I'm going to go away from here.'

'Everyone is,' said Simon.

'What?'

'Grown-ups can go and not even let on they're going. I wish I could.’

'You can come with me,' Ansel said.

'Where's that?'

‘This town of mine. This place I come from.'

'Is it north?' Simon asked.

'North of what?'

'North north. Is it?'

'It's south,' said Ansel.

'Oh. I want to go north.'

'It's all the same. Who you kidding? This town has got a cop that acts like a night watchman. He goes through the town on foggy nights crying out the hours, singing "Sunshine on the Mountain" and all other sunny songs, middle of the night. Ain't that a thing to wake in the night to, boy.'

'Yeah, 'said Simon.

'To wake up after a nightmare to.'

'Yeah.'

The throbbing in Joan's head kept time to Ansel's words. She wanted to leave now, and stop listening to that thin voice of his going on and on, but the throbbing made a weight on her head that kept her down. She listened dreamily, without interrupting.