The Bellwether Revivals
“It was a muggy Thursday afternoon in late March and the underarms of his cotton shirt were dark with sweat, his upper lip glistening. The peak of his baseball cap had been a perfect horseshoe shape when he’d knocked on the old man’s door, but now it was creased along the middle, forming a gable above the solemn features of his face. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I tried.’ Oscar had been waiting outside the door for a while, hoping that the sight of Herbert Crest might jog the old man’s memory. There had been some improvement in Paulsen’s physical state (he’d regained some of the strength in his left side) but the wires of his brain were still tangled up. All week, the old man had been staring back at Oscar with a misty panic, a terrifying blankness, calling him ‘Herb’ and ‘Hebb’ and ‘Herbie’. One morning, down by the parlour window after breakfast, Paulsen had pushed a pair of used ticket stubs into his hand. LARKIN’S BALLOON TOURS: REDEEMABLE FOR ONE RIDE ONLY. It had near enough broken his heart.
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