The Rainy Season
“It was an old man, heavyset, in overalls and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a worn-out painter’s cap on his head, flecked with paint. There was a truck in the driveway, an old blue Chevy with a camper shell that had seen a lot of hard use in its prime, and it wasn’t in its prime anymore. Whoever the man was, he wasn’t a salesman.
“What can I do for you?” Phil asked him.
“You wanted a dowser.”
He had phrased it as a statement rather than a question. The phrase “dowsing for bo...nes” leaped into Phil’s mind. His late-night conversation with the priest seemed almost like a dream to him now. One way or another, he hadn’t expected anything to happen this quickly.
“Did someone call you?” Phil asked “My wife took the call. This is the address she wrote down.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” Phil said. “I’m Phil Ainsworth, by the way.”
“Dudley Lewis. Pleased to meet you. People call me Uncle Dudley. I’m a member of the American Society of Dowsers.”MoreLess
“What can I do for you?” Phil asked him.
“You wanted a dowser.”
He had phrased it as a statement rather than a question. The phrase “dowsing for bo...nes” leaped into Phil’s mind. His late-night conversation with the priest seemed almost like a dream to him now. One way or another, he hadn’t expected anything to happen this quickly.
“Did someone call you?” Phil asked “My wife took the call. This is the address she wrote down.”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” Phil said. “I’m Phil Ainsworth, by the way.”
“Dudley Lewis. Pleased to meet you. People call me Uncle Dudley. I’m a member of the American Society of Dowsers.”MoreLess
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