Changing the Past by Thomas Berger Read Free Book Online Page B

efforts in raising financial aid for crippled children. All the same, on the evidence of this book, he was certainly not likable.
    â€œThe only thing is,” Martha added, waiting until her husband got clear of the traffic at the station, for he was a nervous driver when at close quarters with other cars, “the dirt’s fascinating.”
    Hunsicker was in the strangest of states. Ordinarily he was eager to share the events of his day with Martha. Now he had had what was obviously as remarkable an experience as a human being could have, whatever the little man’s authenticity. That is to say, however his sleight of hand and/or hypnotic techniques were performed. Reason would have to rule him a charlatan in the absence of any evidence that such a shabby little person, operating out of a dusty bedpan shop, was an agent of divinity. Yet Hunsicker was unable to find a means by which even to introduce the subject to his wife, whom he had known for thirty years. Therefore, instead of taking the conversational initiative that would by tradition seem to be the responsibility of him who has only just returned from the big city, he remained silent for several blocks.
    Finally Martha said, “I gather your day was not the greatest.” She had been maternal to him, even as a young woman.
    â€œNo,” he said quickly. “I’m just exhausted. I didn’t catch my usual forty winks on the train. At my age I really need that little nap after the working day. But how about you? Did you sell the Workman place?” The reference was to an unimpressive colonial house for which the owner wanted an astronomical figure. Martha had assured him he would never get it and that she could not afford to do much to sell something that no one would consider on the proposed terms, but he said he was quite satisfied to wait passively amidst her other listings.
    She smiled. “Not bloody likely, but I do think I’ve found a good prospect for the Horning.” Martha was an excellent saleswoman, with a deceptively soft approach that often proved effective with initially resistant clients. Not only could she sell a huge house to someone who wanted a cottage, but such a buyer seldom displayed a subsequent regret. She was a large woman, not fat in the sense of ill-proportioned, but big. She was as tall as her husband, which meant taller in high heels, and looked as though she would weigh more, but that was an illusion, though in fact he was slender for his age. He had always found her a reassuring presence, yet now could not as yet find a way to tell her about the unsettling encounter with the strange little man.
    â€œGreat,” he said now. “But we’d better not spend the commission before you collect it.” He made the same comment with respect to every imminent sale. She agreed as always. Surely one of the reasons why they had been satisfactorily married so long was that they never quarreled about money. Both were conservatives in that area, having little taste for gloss and frippery, but shared an interest in providing Elliot with the best education and, when that had been accomplished, improving the house in which they were domiciled and the grounds around it. Last year the entire side yard had been resodded.
    As always he let Martha out of the car at the top of the driveway and then continued on to the garage, before which he braked and, having found the gadget in the glove compartment, pressed the button that caused the garage door to rise. Inside, as he left the car, he reflected as usual on the need to take one whole Saturday and throw out the accumulation of useless material that filled most of the space which, had they owned one, would have been occupied by a second vehicle. Some of this—a snow tire, the frame of an old window screen, a rolled-up throw rug—constituted a fire hazard.
    Before entering the house by the back door, he glanced towards the dogwoods at the bottom of the