"In Appreciation of Erskine Caldwell"

Young Steve rode up to the, house and tossed his bridle over the rail of the verandah. He leaped from his horse and bounded up the wide, wooden steps in two gigantic strides, almost falling over the sleeping form of his mother as she lay across the doorway. Undisturbed, she slumbered on, as Steve thundered down the hall, through the kitchen, out the back door, round again to the front of the house, on to his horse, and rode madly off across the plain. As the dust raised by his departure slowly settled, an ageing grey head appeared slowly from behind the ash tree beside the house. It oscillated slowly from side to side in a despairing fashion, and withdrew again behind the tree. Quiet once more settled like dust, on the scene. The sun continued to beat down on the hard, cracked ground, a vulture or two wheeled slowly overhead and the paint continued to blister off the old weatherboards of the house.

As it inevitably must, time passed, and that evening the elderly couple sat sipping their tea from Wedgewood cups, around the butterbox table.

"Have some more caviare, Ma," he wheezed.

"No more, Pa. I've had too much already."

And they sipped their tea.

From afar came the sound of galloping hooves, growing louder as the rider raced towards the house. The table shook as the front door was flung open, and feet pounded down the hall. Steve raced furiously in through the kitchen, out the back door, round again to the front of the house, then leaped on to his horse and rode madly off across the plain. In his wake came silence once more.

"More tea, Pa?"

"Thanks."

The night passed, taking with it the darkness. Pa rose early in the light of dawn, washed under the pump and sat down to breakfast. Ma stayed in bed watching the T.V., but Pa took her some caviare and tea on a tray. He collected his shovel from the barn and went round the front to dig a new well. By the time he'd dug 20 feet or so, the sun was high in the sky. Ma called from the steps "Lunch, Pa," and he went in.

As they stacked the plates in the Dishmaster, Steve burst into the kitchen, raced out the back door, round to the front of the house, leaped on to his horse and rode madly off across the plain. Only the hum of the machine was heard.

"Didn't hear him coming that time," said Pa.

"Nope," said Ma.

Since Pa was tired from his morning's exertions, Ma went out to dig during the afternoon and Pa settled in behind his ash tree.

Ma shovelled away incessantly, groaning now and then as the dirt rolled back down on her. About sundown she climbed out of the hole in time to see a small cloud of dust rapidly approaching the house. Steve pulled his horse up at the steps, raced in the front door, through the kitchen, out the back, round again to the front of the house, leaped on to his horse and rode madly off across the plain.

"Dinner, Pa," said Ma, and they went in.

Next day, after breakfast, Pa went back down the well and shovelled, while Ma scrubbed the house out. About noon Pa climbed out of the hole and went in to lunch at the butterbox table. Ma served him with caviare and they ate in silence. Through a crack in the wall, Ma saw a horseman approaching at high speed from across the plain. The front door crashed open, footsteps pounded down the hall, a stranger burst through the kitchen, out the back, round again to the front of the house, then on to his horse and rode madly off across the plain. Silence resumed.

" 'T' weren't Steve, Pa," said Ma.

"Nope. More tea?"

—Moi.