The Man Everybody Was Afraid of
“The planks of a wooden bridge rumbled under the hard little car wheels. The bridge crossed an inlet edged and islanded with reeds. The water lay calm and glossed with red from the last light of the sun. Far out on it a rowboat looked lonely. A sign at the end of the bridge read LA CALETA STATE PARK—U.S. WILDFOWL REFUGE. The blacktop veered and went among old live oaks hung with moss. Houses clustered there, half a dozen of them, stucco, low-roofed, bristly with TV antennas, economy cars in the ...driveways. He parked at the mailbox numbered 310.
Sand was soft and fine under his shoes as he crossed a yard where some kind of creeping succulent tried to flower before it was buried. Two cars were in this driveway and another in the garage. He pushed the doorbell. On the door someone had mounted a carving of a bird. It was clumsy work but he guessed it was meant to be a sea eagle. That might have been a fish in its claws. The light was poor. He waited on a woven reed mat dyed with flowers, but no one came to let him in.MoreLess
Sand was soft and fine under his shoes as he crossed a yard where some kind of creeping succulent tried to flower before it was buried. Two cars were in this driveway and another in the garage. He pushed the doorbell. On the door someone had mounted a carving of a bird. It was clumsy work but he guessed it was meant to be a sea eagle. That might have been a fish in its claws. The light was poor. He waited on a woven reed mat dyed with flowers, but no one came to let him in.MoreLess
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