All The Bells on Earth by James P. Blaylock Read Free Book Online Page A

personal life wasn’t any business of Argyle’s, and hadn’t been for a long time.
    “How
is
Darla? I haven’t seen her in …” He shook his head, as if he was unable to remember.
    “She’s fine,” Ivy said.
    “What was her husband’s name?”
    “Jack.”
    “They’re still happy, then?”
    “Tolerably. You know—ups and downs, like the rest of the world.”
    “You’re not giving anything away, are you?” He smiled wistfully. “You aren’t still hard on me, are you?”
    There was no answer to the question; whatever she was, it had little to do with him. The waitress approached just then, carrying the iced tea pitcher. Argyle pulled his lunch check out of his shirt pocket along with a five-dollar bill and waved it at her, smiling broadly and starting to say something.
    And at that moment the check and the five-dollar bill burst into flame, flaring up like burning phosphorus with a bright, white glow. He dropped it on the ground, jerking his hand back and shaking it as if he’d been burned. The waitress, without seeming to think twice about it, bent over and poured iced tea on the burning paper, which fizzled out.
    She picked it up and looked at the five-dollar bill, which was charred black along one edge. She shrugged. “Looks okay,” she said. “No harm done.” A busboy appeared and wiped up the floor with a rag, and at that moment Linda Marvel came in through the front door carrying a dripping umbrella. Ivy waved at her and motioned her over, relieved to be saved from Argyle, who seemed to be embarrassed nearly to the point of apoplexy. He stood unblinking, gaping at the waitress, then opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
    “I guess the candle …” He gestured, not finishing the sentence. He tried to piece his smile back together. Linda slid past him and sat down in the empty seat. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I’ll just … I’ll leave you two alone.” He rubbed his hands together, looking detached, as if he’d been tapped on the shoulder by a ghost.
    “Did you burn yourself?” Ivy asked.
    “No. Not at all. Thursday, then?”
    “Fine. Ten.”
    He nodded and fled, going out through the door and into the rain where he hurried away down the sidewalk on foot, pulling his coat shut and angling out into the street.
    “Do you want the candle relit?” the waitress asked, pouring what was left of the iced tea into Ivy’s glass. “I don’t know why it was lit anyway. Usually we don’t light them until later. A customer must have lit it.”
    “I don’t think it
was
lit,” Ivy said. “Do we need a candle?” She looked at Linda, who shook her head. “I guess we don’t care about the candle.” She touched the bumpy glass vase that the candle was in. The glass was cool.
    The waitress shrugged, and Ivy looked out the window again, distracted now. She could still see Argyle, far down the block, hurrying through the rain in the direction of Maple Street, probably heading home. He cut a very small and sorry figure from this distance, and Ivy was suddenly struck with the notion that whatever power he’d ever had over her had been illusory. Had she changed?
He
certainly had. There was a loud crack of thunder just then, and the rain poured down in a torrent, concealing him altogether behind a gray veil of mist.

8
     
    W ALT RECOGNIZED THE MAN coming toward him. Hell. It wasn’t the burglar at all; it was worse—a minister, the Reverend Bentley from the storefront church down on Grand Street who had the irritating habit of making door-to-door forays through the neighborhoods, looking for converts, passing out little tracts.
    Walt turned around to avoid him, but it was too late. He’d been seen, recognized. Bentley hurried forward, as if he had something urgent to say. He looked rumpled and beat, and his wet jacket was streaked with dirt. The rain let up just then, and for a moment the sun showed through a gap in the clouds. The minister looked up at the clouds and smiled, as if he’d put