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Show •175 He nodded, his eyes still on the centaur. "Sure. It's just that right now ... well you can see how I am. I'm not responsible. But listen, it's all right, really-I'm going to work something out soon. I think about it all the time." I was confused. "Think about what?" "My life." He took a step back and suddenly sat down cross-legged on the floor. "If a man could see things that other people didn't, and dodged around them, everybody would think he was crazy, but it wouldn't be the case at all." He stopped and looked at me for the first time. "Hi, Buck." "Why don't you let me hold that hammer for a while?" I said. "No." He took it down from his shoulder and cradled it in his lap. "After a while that man would have to pretend he didn't see any more than anybody else. Then he would be crazy but nobody would know." Through the boarded-up windows came no hint of what might be happening outside. Adam had done a competent job of walling himself in: the cedar boards were neatly joined edge to edge, the ends cut square and framed by wider boards which were mitered at the corners and nailed together. All around the walls, bolted steel shelves held my father's tools; the floor was scarred where he had dragged stones and heavy timbers over it; deep burns marked spots where casting metal had spilled over. He'd uncovered and |
