The Stories of John Cheever

It was an immense, still, and beautiful night. Instead of returning to the drive, he took a short cut through the garden and across a field toward the tool house. The ground was very dark. He moved cautiously and awkwardly. The heavy carcass smelled like a dog. “Mr. Brown, Mr. Brown, oh, Mr. Brown,” someone called. It was Agnes. Her voice was breathless and fretful. Agnes and Carlotta were standing in the field. They were in nightgowns. “We heard the noise,” Agnes called. “We heard the gun going off. We were afraid there had been an accident. Of course I knew Carlotta was all right. She was right beside me. Weren’t you, dear? But we couldn’t sleep. We couldn’t close our eyes after we heard the noise. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Jim said. “There was a coon in the garden.”

“Where’s the coon?” Carlotta asked.

“The coon’s gone on a long, long journey, dear,” Agnes said. “Come now, come along, sweet. I hope nothing else will wake us up, don’t you?” They turned and started back toward the house, warning one another of the sticks and ditches and other perils of the country. Their conversation was filled with diminutives, timidity, and vagueness. He wanted to help them, he wanted urgently to help them, he wanted to offer them his light, but they reached the house without his help and he heard the back door close on their voices.

 

The Enormous Radio