Basic Training by Kurt Vonnegut Read Free Book Online Page B

admonishing him to be careful. “It’d take your arm off quicker than you could say ‘Jack Robinson,’” he said proudly. “You’re the only one I’d ever let look at it except Hope,” he added. He shook his head mournfully. “A fellow’s in pretty sad shape when he can only trust two people, isn’t he, now?”
     
    Haley nodded, and found himself wondering who it was that
he
could trust. Everyone seemed intent on worrying him into a pattern of their own making, rather than trying to understand what it might be like to be Haley Brandon. He wondered most about Hope. With discomfiting insight, he recognized that any attention she might have shown him was probably a subtle defiance of her father. “Like protecting Caesar and Delores from him,” he thought ruefully.
    When they set about flinging bales onto the wagon, the circle of Haley’s thoughts grew smaller, with limits set at the hard work on hand. He was pleased to see that he was accomplishing nearly as much as Mr. Banghart. It was more a matter of rhythm than strength — swinging the bales several times, then giving them a hearty boost with a knee on their upward arcs. True, when the load was three bales high, pitches more hefty than Haley’s were called for, but he was able to make himself useful by sitting atop the load, and pulling the bales into place as Mr. Banghart tossed them.
     
    “It’s a load!” he cried, when the fifth tier was complete.
     
    Mr. Banghart shook his head. “We’ll stack her seven high and save time,” he said.
     
    “That’ll be above the stakes,” Haley warned.
     
    “I’ve done it a million times,” said Mr. Banghart. “Nothing to it. Just drive easy, that’s all.”
     
    Haley looked dubiously at the horses, who were keeping their harness taut and clinking with their restlessness. In a few minutes he was seated uneasily on a swaying load seven bales high, with Mr. Banghart beside him, singing, and preparing to start the team for the barn. He peered over the edge of the bales at the ground and had the chilly impression of being perched on a steep cliff overlooking a gorge miles below.
     
    At Mr. Banghart’s soft clucking, Caesar and Delores started off evenly and good-naturedly. The bales rocked as the wheels struck rocks and pits in the lane, but not one had dropped off when the wagon rolled at last onto the hard-packed earth of the barnyard near the house. Mr. Banghart had looked at the Sun and guessed that the time was between 8 and 9 o’clock. Haley noted that the General was no longer abed, for his beloved automobile, immaculate and glistening as a thousand-dollar casket, was out of the garage and parked in the driveway near the kitchen door. No one was outside.
     
    Suddenly the bales beneath Haley gave a great heave, and he felt himself hurtling downward, with Mr. Banghart shouting in mid-air beside him. The whack of his chest against the earth stunned away his breath and senses. When he regained them, it was in time to roll out of the way of Caesar and Delores, who had made a full circle in the barnyard, and now bore down upon him with fury. The emptied wagon clattered behind them, its steel-bound wheels screeching on dry bearings and striking sparks from rocks as it came. The team turned into the driveway at a full run. The wagon shot a spray of gravel rattling against the back of the house, and its right wheels skidded into a shallow ditch to set it careening at a crazy angle.
     
    Haley tried to shout at the horses, but managed only a whisper, which was immediately overwhelmed by a splintering, ripping, staggering crash, followed by silence, unruffled save for a muted, rhythmic roar in the now-motionless horses’ throats. On one side of the General’s new automobile stood Caesar, his harness askew and dragging, blood streaming from his wounded mouth. On the other side Delores lay gasping, festooned in a tangle of snapped lines and straps.
     
    “God save us,” moaned Mr. Banghart sitting up.