The Second Coming by Walker Percy Read Free Book Online

or less what they said, but other people seemed to use words as signals in another code they had agreed upon. For example, the woman’s questions and commands were evidently not to be considered as questions and commands, then answered accordingly with a yes, no, or maybe, but were rather to be considered like the many signboards in the street, such as Try Good Gulf for Better Mileage, then either ignored or acted upon, but even if acted upon, not as an immediate consequence of what the words commanded one to do.
    Such a code, she reflected, may not be bad. Indeed, it seemed to cause people less trouble than words. At one time she must have known the code. It should not be hard to catch on to.
    A man sat down on the bench beyond her knapsack. She couldn’t tell if he was twenty-five or thirty-five. On the one hand, he was as slender as the first youth, but the curly hair which hugged his scalp was as dry and crinkled as a thirty-five-year-old’s. A blue vein throbbed in his slightly hollow temple. He wore matching red sweatshirt and pants, with a white stripe running along the seam of the pants, and odd shoes which were like sneakers except that the sole ran up the back of the heel. He was breathing heavily. These details she had observed in one glance. Now from the corner of her eye she became aware that he was looking at her and wished to speak. It was also clear to her, though she could not have said how, that ordinarily he was shy but that some unusual circumstances had given him leave to speak to her.
    â€œI just ran eighteen miles.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’ve been into running for three months.”
    â€œYou’ve been what?” What was the meaning of the expression “into running”? Perhaps he was in trouble. He was on the run.
    â€œIt’s changed my life.”
    She didn’t understand him but it was clear that he was speaking of something commonplace, something she might be expected to understand if she had not been away for a long time.
    â€œHow has it changed your life?”
    â€œIt got me out of my head.”
    â€œYou mean—” She was not certain what he meant. Had he gone crazy?
    â€œIn another three weeks I expect to be up to twenty-six.”
    â€œWhy twenty-six?”
    â€œThat’s the marathon distance. But this is no ordinary marathon.”
    â€œIt isn’t?”
    â€œNo. I’m getting ready for the Richmond marathon, but I’m doing it by running on the Long Trail—that’s what it was originally called and is still called in Vermont. I like that better than the Appalachian Trail, don’t you? You can run it from here north because once you get up it’s mostly flat, but very high. You’re right on the crest of a ridge, with nothing but valleys and clouds on either side. By the way, I’m Richard Rountree.” He held out his hand. She took it. It was very slender, dry, and fibrous. He seemed to be all gristle and bone.
    â€œI’m—” She began and stopped. She wanted to look at her driver’s license.
    He didn’t notice. “Would you like to go to Hattie’s tonight?”
    â€œHattie’s?”
    â€œYou know, down the hill. It’s nothing but a barn but the food’s not bad. The music is country and Western. Runners hang out there.”
    While he was talking, she was planning a declarative sentence. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said, uttering one word after another. The sentence sounded flat but she finished it and her voice did not go up into a question. “I don’t know where I’ll be staying tonight.”
    Though her voice sounded flat to her, like a person recovering from a stroke, like Rip coming down from the mountain and speaking to a villager, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he drew closer, crowding the knapsack, and crossed one thin leg over the other