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Mrs
.
Bentley
was
a
saver
.
She
saved
tickets
,
old
theater
programs
,
bits
of
lace
,
scarves
,
rail
transfers
;
all
the
tags
and
tokens
of
existence
.
"
I
’
ve
a
stack
of
records
,
"
she
often
said
.
"
Here
’
s
Caruso
.
That
was
in
1916
,
in
New
York
;
I
was
sixty
and
John
was
still
alive
.
Here
’
s
Tune
Moon
,
1924
,
I
think
,
right
after
John
died
.
"
That
was
the
huge
regret
of
her
life
,
in
a
way
.
The
one
thing
she
had
most
enjoyed
touching
and
listening
to
and
looking
at
she
hadn
’
t
saved
.
John
was
far
out
in
the
meadow
country
,
dated
and
boxed
and
hidden
under
grasses
,
and
nothing
remained
of
him
but
his
high
silk
hat
and
his
cane
and
his
good
suit
in
the
closet
.
So
much
of
the
rest
of
him
had
been
devoured
by
moths
.
But
what
she
could
keep
she
had
kept
.
Her
pink
-
flowered
dresses
crushed
among
moth
balls
in
vast
black
trunks
,
and
cut
-
glass
dishes
from
her
childhood
—
she
had
brought
them
all
when
she
moved
to
this
town
five
years
ago
.
Her
husband
had
owned
rental
property
in
a
number
of
towns
,
and
,
like
a
yellow
ivory
chess
piece
,
she
had
moved
and
sold
one
after
another
,
until
now
she
was
here
in
a
strange
town
,
left
with
only
the
trunks
and
furniture
,
dark
and
ugly
,
crouched
about
her
like
the
creatures
of
a
primordial
zoo
.
The
thing
about
the
children
happened
in
the
middle
of
summer
.
Mrs
.
Bentley
,
coming
out
to
water
the
ivy
upon
her
front
porch
,
saw
two
cool
-
colored
sprawling
girls
and
a
small
boy
lying
on
her
lawn
,
enjoying
the
immense
prickling
of
the
grass
.
At
the
very
moment
Mrs
.
Bentley
was
smiling
down
upon
them
with
her
yellow
mask
face
,
around
a
corner
like
an
elfin
band
came
an
ice
-
cream
wagon
.
It
jingled
out
icy
melodies
,
as
crisp
and
rimmed
as
crystal
wineglasses
tapped
by
an
expert
,
summoning
all
.
The
children
sat
up
,
turning
their
heads
,
like
sunflowers
after
the
sun
.
Mrs
.
Bentley
called
,
"
Would
you
like
some
?
Here
!
"
The
ice
-
cream
wagon
stopped
and
she
exchanged
money
for
pieces
of
the
original
Ice
Age
.
The
children
thanked
her
with
snow
in
their
mouths
,
their
eyes
darting
from
her
buttoned
-
up
shoes
to
her
white
hair
.
"
Don
’
t
you
want
a
bite
?
"
said
the
boy
.
