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Show 77 dinky old social security check, people can't afford toilet paper or postage stamps, the essentials of life." The lady in the pantsuit also zeroed in on Amy. "Ten or twelve percent inflation wouldn't affect us,'you see, if our incomes were increasing the same amount. Or even if our taxes were reduced to make up for the rising cost of everything else." She must have been a school teacher once, Dyna figured. Then she remembered thinking it was about time for "Oscar's story," as Jan had called it in class, but she wasn't sure he was going to tell it. There was.- a lull about then, as Gram made the rounds, so she'd spoken up herself. "What about your tax problem, Oscar?" Right away he looked miserable. Dyna knew delinquent taxes weren't something you like to confess to and maybe she should have kept her mouth shut, but by then it was too late. Oscar put his hands under his legs against the chair and turned away from the camera. "Dyna . . . you know that's not something I can talk about real easy." "I know." "Your taxes go sky high?" Mr. Frazier asked. "Worse than that. I'm faced with losing my place over back taxes. That's what five years of inflation has done to me." Boy, did that activate the cameraman! "I'm sorry," he butted in for the first time, focusing on Oscar, "but would you repeat that? A little louder, please." Oscar was really embarrassed, Dyna could tell. His eyes sort of swung around the room, then settled on his knees. "My home!" It came out too loud this time. "The place my grandfather built, one of the few cobblestone houses still standing in this valley. They're going to sell it for back taxes." Mr. Frazier was pop-eyed. "Judas priest, Pruitt! You can't let 'em do it!" "I wish I could stop it!" Oscar said. After that, there was no holding back the old folks. Everyone knew someone who'd been forced to sell a home. Living in apartments . . . paying rent again . . . pining for their vegetable gardens and |
