The bloodless air is the equal, and the snow pellets my cap, sifts below my collar. I pay attention my hogs come grunting from their shed, wondering i have come to feed them. I ought to feed them better than that lousy slop, but i'm able to’t until I know my boy is safe. I instructed him now not to head and look, that the hogs just squeal due to the fact I by no means kill them. They continually squeal while they are happy, however he went and regarded. Then he ran off somewhere.
I brush the snow from my road plow’s windshield and climb in. The vinyl seats are cold, but i like them. they are smoothand clean cleaned. The lug wrench is where it has constantly been beside my seat. I heft it, placed it back, I start the salt spreader, decrease my shear, and head out to clean the mountain road.
The snow piles in a wall towards the berm. No motors pass. they're stranded at the side, and as I plow beyond them, a line falls in behind me, but they usually drop lower back. They don’t recognize how long it takes the salt to work. they may benot unusual fools. They rush round in such climate and emerge as dead. They in no way take a seat still and watch for the salt to work.
I assume i am getting too vintage to do that anymore. I wish I should relaxation and watch my hogs get old and die. whenthe final one is close to death, i will feed him his exceptional meal and leave the gate open. however with a view to mostprobably now not occur, because I realize this stretch of course 60 from Ansted to Gauley, and i do a terrific activity. Mr. Weeks always brags on what an amazing process I do, and when I meet the alternative truck plowing the uphill side of this road, i'm able to honk. so one can be Mr. Weeks coming up from Gauley. I suppose how I in no way met Mr. Weeks in my lifestyles however in a snowplow. sometimes I look out to Sewel Mountain and spot snow coming, then I call Mr. Weeks. however we are not pals. We don’t come round every different in any respect. I don’t even recognise if he’s got own family.
I skip the rest prevent at Hawks Nest, and a brand new batch of fools line up behind me, but pretty quickly i'm on my ownonce more. As I plow down the grade toward Chimney Corners, my lighting are the simplest ones on the road, and the snow takes up the yellow spinning of my dome light and the white curves of my headlights. I smile at the pretties they make, but i am tired and want i was home. I worry approximately the hogs. I must have given them extra slop, howeverwhen the first one dies, the others will consume him short enough.
I make the big turn at Chimney Corners and spot a hitchhiker status there. His the front is smooth, and he appears half offrozen, so I stop to permit him in.
He says, “good day, thanks, Mister.”
“How a long way you going?”
“Charleston.”
“you obtain circle of relatives there?” I say.
“Yessir.”
“I simplest go to Gauley Bridge, then I tum around.”
“That’s high-quality,” he says. he's a well mannered boy.
The fools p.c. up at the back of me, and my low gears whine faraway from them. allow them to fall off the mountain for all I care.
“This isn't always true weather to be on the street” I say.
“certain ain’t, but a fellow’s were given to get home.”
“Why didn’t you take a bus?”
“Aw, buses stink,” he says. My boy continually talked like that.
“wherein you been?”
“Roanoke. worked all 12 months for a person. He supply me Christmastime and a place of alternate.”
“He appears like an excellent guy.”
“You guess. He’s got this farm out of doors of city — horses — you ain’t visible such horses. He’s gonna allow me work the horses next year.”
“i've a farm, however I handiest have some hogs left.”
“Hogs is good enterprise,” he says.
I examine him. “You ever see a hog die?” I look back at the road snow.
“sure.”
“Hogs die tough. I visible people die in the conflict less difficult than a hog at a butchering.”
“by no means observed. We shot and fixed them quite quick. They do proper clever jerking round, however they’re useless by means of then”
“perhaps.”
“What can you do with a hog in case you don’t butcher him? promote him?”
“My hogs are antique hogs. now not appropriate for some thing. I simply been letting then die. I make my money in thispiece of street each winter. Don’t want plenty.”
He says, “Ain’t were given any children?”
“My boy run off whilst my wife died. however that changed into tremendous time ago.”
he's quiet a long time. where the street is patched, I work my shear up, and cross slower to allow extra salt hit behind. In my reflect, I see the lighting fixtures of vehicles sneaking up behind me.
Then of a surprising the hitchhiker says, “What’s your boy do now?”
“He became learning a mason’s change when he run off.”
“Makes true cash.”
“I don’t realize. He become most effective a hod provider then.”
He whistles. “I achieved that two weeks this summer time. I never been so sore.”
“It’s difficult paintings,” I say. I think, this boy has true muscle mass if he can carry hod.
I see the lighting fixtures of Mr. Weeks’s snowplow coming in the direction of us. I tools into first. i'm now not in a rush. “Scrunch down,” I say. “I’d get in hassle for picking you up.”
The boy hunkers inside the seat, and the lights from Mr. Weeks’s snowplow shine into my cab. I wave into the lighting, notseeing Mr. Weeks, and we honk when we pass. Now I circulate towards middle. I want to do a great job and get all thesnow, however when the road of vehicles in the back of Mr. Weeks comes towards me, i get fidgety. I don’t want to purpose any injuries. The boy sits up and starts speaking again, and it makes me jittery.
“i was kinda scared approximately coming thru Fayette County,” he says.
“Uh-huh,” I say. I attempt no longer to comb any automobiles.
“rattling, but a number of hitchhikers gets killed up here.”
a man lays on his horn as he goes past, however I must get what Mr. Weeks left, and i am always too close to middle.
The boy says, “That soldier’s bones — Jesus, but that changed into creepy.”
The ultimate car edges through, but my returned and shoulders are shaking and that i sweat.
“That soldier,” he says. “you recognize about that?”
“I don’t know.”
“They determined his duffel bag at the lowest of fanatics’ leap. All his grip changed into in there, and his bones, too.”
“I keep in mind. That became too terrible.” The snow makes such fine pix in my headlights, and it rests me to observethem.
“there was a massive retard were given killed up here, too. He become the handiest one they ever discovered with all his meat on. rest of them, they simply discover their bones.”
“They haven’t observed any in years,” I say. This snow makes me think about France. It was snowing like this after theydropped us over France. I yawn.
“I don’t know,” he says. “maybe the guy who executed them all in is dead.”
“I parent so,” I say.
The hill bottoms out slowly, and we pressure on to Gauley, clearing the stretch beside New River. The boy is smoking and taking in the snow.
“It snowed like this in France the wintry weather of ‘40-4,'” I say. “i used to be in the paratroops, and that they dropped us wherein the Germans were thick. My platoon took a farmhouse with out a shot.”
“damn,” he says. “Did you knife them?”
“Snapped their necks,” I say, and that i see my man tumble into the sty. people die so easy.
We come to Gauley, where the road has already been cleared by means of the opposite trucks. I pull off, and the line of cars catches up, sloshing with the aid of. I grip the wrench.
“appearance beneath the seat for my flashlight, boy.”
He bends ahead, grabbing below the seat, and his head is became from me. but i am way too tired now, and i don’t needto clean the seat.
“She ain’t there, Mister.”
“well,” I say. I study the lights of the vehicles. they may be fools.
“thank you once more,” he says. He hops to the ground, and i watch him strolling backward, thumbing. i'm nearly too tired to force home. I take a seat and watch this boy walking backward till a automobile stops for him. I suppose, he's a polite boy, and lucky to get rides at night time.
all the manner up the mountain, I depend the guys in France, and that i ought to stop and remember again. I never get any farther than that night time it snowed, Mr. Weeks passes me and honks, but I don’t honk. time and again, I attempt tomatter and can’t…
I pull up beside my house. My hogs run from their refuge inside the outdoor and grunt at me. I stand by way of my plow and observe the first rims of light around Sewel Mountain via the snowy limbs of the trees. vehicles hiss through at theeasy avenue. The kitchen light nevertheless burns, and that i realize the residence is empty. My hogs stare at me, gigglebeside their trough. they're anticipating me to feed them, and that i walk to their pen.
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