corn while the rain smacks the glass cab of the combine. Dylan keeps asking what to do in case
the combine gets stuck. He tells him not to worry. He assures him it’d be worth it, even if
things go badly, because they’d finally be able to fix the dishw asher for mother.
The dark clouds are imminent. They set to work. Forbes takes the lead in McCole’s
combine. Every minute or so he looks back to check on Dylan. And at the outset everything is
going well. But then the clouds boil over them bringing rain that strikes the soil hard, and
harder. Mud clogs in the throat of Forbes’ unfamiliar machine. He keeps having to stop to
clean it out. While he does, Dylan applies the brake and lets his antiquated motor idle at too
rapid a rate.
As Forbes sticks his hand deep into the machine, the gears suddenly suck it off. As if he
had accidentally touched a burner on a stove, he jerks his arm back and stares at it curiously.
His severed wrist looks like a hideous sculpture. Out of the stump wrist blood begins to spurt.
He falls to the ground.
Dylan, panicking, revs the motor too high. The combine catches fire…. He tries to get
out but the cab door is stuck. Forbes goes into shock and passes out as the black smoke engulfs
his only child….
McCole buried his hands into h is pockets. “I just came over to invite you to Charles’s birthday
party. It’s today. You heard about him?”
Forbes dug absently into the soil. “I can’t move on if the rain won’t come,” he said.
“You still have the green tent, don’t you?”
Forbes pulled from his pocket a 4x6 inch corner of the green tent. It was powdery,
frayed.
49
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