The Good Atheist by Michael Manto Read Free Book Online Page B

whose name I’d neglected to ask for, and drove back to the motel. The lawyer had given us a brief description of our property. Selene was still in heels and formal dress. I was still in my best suit. We changed into clothes more suitable for crawling around an old cottage and left the keys to the truck with Dan behind the counter. He also gave us directions to the lawyer’s.
    Richard Abrams was waiting for us when we got to his office, and he led the way out of town towards the cottage. We followed in our rental car. The smooth highway narrowed to two lanes, and after a few more miles we turned onto a potholed county road. I switched the car over into hover-mode, and the ride smoothed out. Then pot-holes gave way to rutted gravel, the road narrowed and the steep green hills closed in around us.
    A few more miles, and the lawyer slowed down and turned off into the trees. I slowed down and found the small dirt road where the lawyer had turned. It was deeply rutted, and the ruts were filled with water. I kept the car in hover-mode and passed smoothly over the ruts. The driveway was narrow and the limbs of the trees on either side touched overhead, forming a dark green tunnel. Eventually the driveway brought us to an old cottage made of fieldstone and timber. I brought the car to a stop, it settled to the ground in a puff of dust, and our gull-wing doors swooshed open.
    Selene and I climbed out and stood in silence, surveying our new country property. Moss grew on the roof of the cottage and tall grass and weeds flourished in the eaves troughs. A rickety wooden porch extended across the front, and the wood frames around the windows hadn’t been painted in years. While we watched, a large flake of paint detached itself from one of the window frames and drifted like a fleck of dandruff to the ground.
    Selene crossed her arms and frowned. “What a dump!”
    “It needs a little love, I’ll admit,” I said.
    “What it needs is a bulldozer,” she said.
    We stood for a few moments taking in the scenery. The cottage sat in the middle of a wide grassy clearing surrounded by high tree-covered hills. Just beyond the cottage was a large pond, with a wooden dock and a boat tethered to it. A pair of Adirondack chairs sat at the end of the dock. A garden ran down from the cottage to the pond.
    “It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
    “There’s nothing out here,” Selene said.
    “The solitude is so peaceful.”
    “We’re in the middle of nowhere, miles from any other human being,” Selene moaned.
    “A chance for some peace and quiet!”
    “I’ll go nuts with boredom,” she said.
    Richard walked over from his car to stand with us, and pointed to the woods and fields to the north and east beyond the cottage. “You’ve got a little over two acres, extending all the way to the foot of the hills in that direction,” he said. Then he pointed to the south. “And over that way your property extends a good two hundred feet into the woods.”
    “There’s nothing out here,” Selene moaned again.
    Richard appeared to ignore her and indicated a dilapidated wooden structure to our left. “That’s the toolshed over there.” The roof sagged in and the door was held closed by a rusted chain. It looked large enough to hold four hover-cars. He started ticking off the features of the property. “The pond over there is stocked with trout. There is a greenhouse at the back of the property. Your grandfather grew tomatoes in it.” He nodded in the general direction. I could see sunlight glinting off of a large glass structure in the distance.
    “What are the taxes?” I asked.
    He referenced his datapad and tapped it. “Thirty-five thousand credits annually.”
    “Euro?”
    He shook his head. “American.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”
    Selene muttered. “Even thirty-five U.S. will still be hard to carry.”
    But the good lawyer was not to be deterred. “Your grandfather left everything to you. This entire