"Yes, Jonas," he said, going out the door.
I swung around to Nevada and looked up at him.
"What do you think?" I asked.
He waited a long moment before he answered. Then he spit away a piece of cigarette paper that clung to his lip.
"I think your old man is resting real easy."
That reminded me. I had almost forgotten.
I got up from the chair and walked around the desk and over to the couch. I picked up the blanket and looked down at him.
His eyes were closed and his mouth was grim. There was a slightly blue stain under the skin of his right temple, going on up into the hairline.
That must be the embolism, I thought.
Somehow, deep inside of me, I wanted some tears to come out for him. But there weren't any.
He had abandoned me too long ago – that day on the porch when he threw me to Nevada.
I heard the door behind me open and I dropped the blanket back and turned around.
Denby was standing in the doorway.
"Jake Platt wants to see you, sir."
Jake was the plant manager. He kept the wheels turning.
He also listened to the wind and by now the word must be racing all over the plant.
"Send him in," I said.
He appeared in the doorway beside Denby as soon as the words were out of my mouth.
He was a big, heavy man. He even walked heavy. He came into the office, his hand outstretched.
"I just heard the sad news."
He crossed over to the couch and looked down at my father's body, his face assuming his best Irish-wake air.
"It's a sad loss, indeed.
Your father was a great man." He shook his head mournfully. "A great man."
I walked back behind the desk.
And you're a great actor, Jake Platt, I thought. Aloud I said, "Thank you, Jake." He turned to me, his face brightening at the thought of his act going over.
"And I want you to know if there's anything you want of me, anything at all, just call on me."
"Thank you, Jake," I said again. "It's good to know there are men like you in my corner."
He preened almost visibly at my words. His voice lowered to a confidential tone.
"The word's all over the plant now.
D'ya think I ought to say something to them?
You know them Mexicans and Indians.
They're a might touchy and nervous and need a little calming down."
I looked at him. He was probably right.
"That's a good idea, Jake.
But I think it would seem better if I talk to them myself."
Jake had to agree with me whether he liked it or not.
That was his policy. Not to disagree with the boss.
"That's true, Jonas," he said, masking his disappointment. "If you feel up to it."
"I feel up to it," I said, starting for the door.
Nevada's voice came after me. "What about him?"
I turned back and followed his glance to the couch.
"Call the undertakers and have them take care of him.
Tell them we want the best casket in the state." Nevada nodded. "Then meet me out in front with the car and we'll go home."
I went out the door without waiting for his reply. Jake trotted after me as I turned down the back corridor and went out onto the stairway leading to the plant.
Every eye in the factory turned toward me as I came through that doorway onto the little platform at the top of the staircase.
Jake held up his hands and quiet began to fall in the factory.
I waited until every machine in the place had come to a stop before I spoke.
There was something eerie about it.
It was the first time I had ever heard the factory completely silent.
I began to speak and my voice echoed crazily through the building.