Weird Shorts | Page 6

each step brought clearer thoughts and a unity of purpose. She was
euphoric by the time she stood with her bare toes touching the side of
the bathtub. She laid the knife on the floor, set the plug, and turned on
the hot water.

Now what was the killer's first ritual? Melinda asked herself as she
looked at the trussed figure in the tub.
THE OLD BLACK DUDE
The old black dude came every Thursday morning right around 7:30
whether the Hales were home or off on another of their extended
cross-country tours in their hedonistically large motor home.
Sometimes he woke her if she slept late, his weed-eater doing a better
job of edging the lawn than her father's old circular-blade edger had
ever done -- faster, too. Then he mowed the lawn with an
industrial-sized mower, calmly and methodically walking back and
forth, leaving faintly visible rows, each one perfectly straight. Finally,
he used his leaf blower to clear the sidewalk and driveway of clippings,
patiently pursuing the last tiny blades of grass, leaving the property
immaculate.
He always wore overalls and long-sleeved shirt, boots, and a
wide-brimmed straw hat. He parked his pickup and trailer right out
front, never in the driveway, pulled up close to the drainage ditch
because there were no storm drains or curbs in this subdivision. She
had seen him at many of the other neighbors' houses, too, always
working in his systematic and unhurried manner, even during the
hottest parts of the day. The only time his routine varied was when
branches had been blown down by a storm. He gathered them to add to
the compost heap in a far corner of the backyard and then commenced
his regular duties.
What did he think about as he walked placidly behind his mower? she
wondered. The question consumed her as she watched him from her
window, her air conditioning cool, her life so sedentary compared to
his. His steps rarely varied in length; his gaze seldom left his intended
path; he almost never paused to catch his breath or to survey the job at
hand. What was he thinking about?
One Thursday morning her curiosity prodded her beyond endurance,
and she made a pitcher of iced tea, poured two glasses, put some
packets of sugar in her pocket, pinched off a few sprigs of mint, and

walked to the fence where the old black dude had just finished mowing
the last bit of the Hales' lawn.
"Hello?" she called, "would you like to have a glass of iced tea? It's
awfully hot today."
He looked over at her, and the smile on his face was so beautiful that
her heart stood still for a moment.
"Why, thank you, Missy," he said, and he reached over the fence to
take the proffered glass. "You're mighty kind to an old man."
She could feel her face flush. "I'm Andrea. I live here with my husband.
I've seen you all over the neighborhood. You do a lot of the lawns
around here."
"Yes, ma'am, I do. Will you be needing your lawn done?"
"Oh, no. My husband takes care of the lawn. I just thought maybe you'd
like to cool off a little." Again she could tell that here face was
reddening. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.
"Well, Missy, you're mighty thoughtful, and I do appreciate your
kindness." He smiled at her gently, and her embarrassment eased, but
she hadn't the courage to ask her question, so she took his empty glass
and walked back to her air-conditioned house.
The next Thursday morning she again took two glasses of tea out to the
fence and called to the old black dude. This time he motioned her over
to the picnic table in the Hales' backyard. They sat opposite each other
as they sipped their tea.
Up close like this he looked more ageless than old. His face was
creased, but with life experiences rather than from sagging skin. Sweat
stood out in droplets that sometimes merged and formed tiny rivulets
that coursed down his cheeks. He pulled out a blue bandana and wiped
his face, but the sweat popped out again almost immediately.

"Is this all you do, mow lawns?" said Andrea.
"Well, Missy, I earn my living this way, but I do lots of other things,
too."
"I -- I didn't meanÖ"
"I know what you meant, little Missy. It's all right," he said kindly. "I
was just funnin' you a little. Yes, I mow lawns for my living. What do
you do?"
"I'm a housewife. No children yet. Sometimes I write; you know,
stories and letters and stuff."
"Do you really? I like to read, but I've never tried writing."
Andrea drew a breath to tell the old black dude about