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Show The Chimney 108 "I'm afraid that we don't speak a common tongue, s i r , " Langley said, fumbling at his vest for his watch which he read hastily and snapped shut again. "I'm afraid that I am confused, and yet, my t r a i n . . . " He straightened his jacket and smoothed the vented sides with the palms of his hands. "I must ask you one question, however. Don't you have a second story? The stairs on the outside of the house don't go anywhere and there are none in here." "No. I wait for Anna to come before I finish. The Church mens, they come and say they w i l l help me build stairs so that I can get me a wife, maybe two. To go to the celestial kingdom, they say I must have some wives. But I wait for Anna." "As I said, I'm afraid I'm confused. Anna comes home at night after she works with her father, does she not?" "Oh no, she never comes here. She is with the Father." The Swede pointed toward the ceiling. "Oh...The Father. I see." For some reason, Langley f e l t a mass of emotion in his throat and swallowed quickly to force i t back down. Unable to think of an adequate response, he reached over the wooden arm of the rocking chair for his hat. He pulled his gloves from the hollow, unfolded them, and stared once more at the frippery which he couldn't quite bring himself to define as pathetic-the lengths of lace, the room that was one vast bouquet of paper flowers with stamens of straw, the classical figurines with rounded breasts and arcing hips, the cut hearts and curlicued paper. The room, a study in embellished decay, thought Langley, s t i l l spoke a truth-the paradox that could be disgusting in maudlin stories and exquisite between lovers-the quality that Langley knew to be devotion. And the Swede, entombed with statues and dust, was content. |