No Country For Old Men by Warren Eyster

"Is there water nearby?" said Mijack, making as if to point at the dogs.
The woman kept silence, taking what she thought was her advantage; but it was not. The man was at peace, but stated his need and his desire, and cold afford to stand still and, if necessary, long. So she nodded.
As they walked, Mijack looked at the land to see how well it was tended, how much had been planted, and where the boundaries ran. At the same time he studied the woman who was walking a little before him. She was short, sturdy, thick-boned, with broad hips and strong feet. She was young, without childishness. She walked heavily without lifting her legs, yet with forcefulness, and she never touched the dogs. He liked the plainness of her, liked the thickness of her waist, and how she kept her chin high and looked straight ahead. It did not matter that her lips were thin and long or that her hair was sand-colored without curl.
"I'm not often thirsty," said Mijack. "When I am- it's a bad feeling."
The dogs, at the sound of his voice, looked backward at him.
"With hunger it's otherwise. I'm almost always hungry. But I don't have to eat. I can go well enough without food."
The orchard swung his head here and there in another kind of admiration, for though he knew something of trees, he knew nothing about fruit. The apples were small and bright green, some so small they were not shaped yet. The trees appeared to be a little old, past their best seasons, but the woman told him the next five to eight years would be the most productive ones. Mijack looked at the trees again, with more respect for them. He felt a fitness in himself to be walking among them.
As they emerged from the shadows and the faint overhead rustling, he caught sight of the barn, clean and beautiful, with a weather vane pointing in the right direction, and a pattern of latticed windows for airing. Two piles of manure hid part of the side. The windmill had shining blades and a high tower. It did not matter that the house was low, rambling, in need of repair, especially along the porch. He did not have to look further to know he was among his own kind. He did not need to speak to show that he approved.
The woman stepped on the platform, took hold of the handle and began to swing it up and down. The pump sounded of metallic retching, and then as the water began to rise was more quiet.
"Am I welcome to water?" said Mijack. "Otherwise I could not drink."
"You are welcome."
Mijack took down the dipper.
The dogs had run to the end of the trough. He threw the first dipperful in their direction. He liked dogs, without liking them to drink before he had.
The woman watched the pump working.
"I have been drinking from the river, "he said, to explain why he was waiting for the pump to chill.
Her face moved toward him to indicate attention; she was not going to commit herself to any point of view in what was his own affair.
Biting into the long-handled dipper, leaning beside the pump so that the excess of water fed into his mouth would spill into the warped, faintly lichened trough, Mijack drank. Then he paused.
"You have hands," he said. "I been noticing them."
The tone of voice was harsh. The young woman saw that the man's eyes were more steadfast than her own, both commanding and challenging. The surface coldness of his features had a pleasantness about it.
"God's will," she murmured.
Mijack tasted iron tang in the water because the dipper was tin and the white strainer cloth-bulb that hung from the spout was red-brown.
"Yes," he said. "His will and your willingness."
Being plain of appearance, the woman was acquainted with flattery. With outright suspicion she looked him over, her eyes bold in defense, almost sassy. The dog touching her skirt was warmth.
"How old?" asked Mijack.
The woman made no answer.
"Has this been your life always?" he said, waving an arm toward the fields.
"If you've got all the water you want," she said, "you'd soon be moving on."
"That depends," Mijack said. "Maybe I'm going nowhere further than here." He drank the best part of a second dipper, then hung it on the pump. "If you don't dance, card-play, idle over books, or look at men other than you did at me."
The woman tossed her head angrily, threw off suspicion, and seemed to settle into a sullen resentment of her situation and his presence.
Mijack went close to her. "I'm not speaking idly," he said. I'm taken with you. Are you married or in prospect?"
The woman did not answer at once. Then she said, "You'd best come to the house."
"Yes," said Mijack. "Take me. I wish words with your father."
"Walk with me," Mijack said to her.
Now they were in the orchard.
"Abide with me," he said. "Be my companion."
He pulled a leaf until the branch tugged loose and swung upward, jiggling with freedom. He opened one of her hands, and put the leaf on her palm, and studied her fingers in this new relationship.
"Take me as easily as you do this. Judge me now," said Mijack,
"without further proof."
"But I will not," said the young woman, her color rising.
"A man can't stay from his work."
She nodded, acknowledging, yet resenting.
"I've asked all my questions," said Mijack , slowly. "I let for you to decide."
"Stay on here three, four days, " said the young woman, angrily. "I don't know nothing about you yet."
"In your heart you do not need more time to decide," said Mijack. "We aren't children, you and I. Haste? In a man approaching fifty? I have chosen you, Susie. If you can't choose, then I'm not for you."
He made as if to take the leaf from her, but her hand closed upon it.


No Country For Old Men by Warren Eyster
Random House, New York
Copyright 1955 by Warren Eyster
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 54-5965