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Show The Chimney 107 "But..." the Swede dropped one blossom and bent to retrieve i t . Then he hunched over and cradled the disarrayed bouquet against his chest with both hands. "I'm sorry." Langley reached out to reassure the Swede with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm a guest in your home. I'm sorry." His appearance betrayed his gesture, however. He looked uncomfortable-his pomaded hair too shiny, his black suit with a chain across his vest too hot. The Swede crouched as he backed away, s t i l l clutching the flowers. "Forgive me," Langley mumbled, squeezing his temples with a crab-like hand. "I'm not at my best." He took pains to find scuff marks on his riding boots and brushed a piece of l i n t from his pant leg, realizing that he couldn't heed his better judgment that was advising him to depart. "Tell me about Anna," he said f i n a l l y. "She is helping the Father." The Swede bowed his head. "Oh, does she help him every day?" Langley examined a loose button on his vest, unable to look directly at the Swede. " I don't know, but most of the time, for sure." He stroked a petal. "But why don't you know? Doesn't she tell you what she's doing i f you love each other so much?" Langley forced himself to look up, afraid of the cut-glass eyes, but impelled not to refrain from them. " I talk with her, but she doesn't answer." Langley noticed that the man's eyes were magnified by tears, exaggerated in color and intensity. " I get on my knees and say 'Anna, talk to me,1 but she is silent." |
