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the end of his life； and every now and then he'd just gift somebody with two or four hundred acres when he got into his cups。〃
〃Were none of those deeds recorded？〃 Louis asked； fascinated in spite of himself。
〃Oh； they were regular bears for recording deeds； were our grandfathers；〃 Jud said； lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the old one。 〃The original grant on your land goes like this。〃 Jud closed his eyes and quoted； 〃From the great old maple which stands atop Quinceberry Ridge to the verge of Orrington Stream； thus runneth the tract from north until south。〃 Jud grinned without much humor。 〃But the great old maple fell down in 1882； let's say； and was rotted to moss by the year 1900； and Orrington Stream silted up and turned to marsh in the ten years between the end of the Great War and the crash of the stock market。 A nice mess it made！ It ended up not mattering to old Anson； any…ways。 He was struck and killed by lightning in 1921； right up around where that burying ground is。〃
Louis stared at Jud。 Jud sipped his beer。
〃It don't matter。 There's lots of places where the history of ownership is so tangled it never gets unraveled； only the lawyers end up makin money。 Hell； Dickens knew that。 I suppose the Indians will get it back in the end； and I think that's the way it should be。 But that don't really matter； Louis。 I came over here tonight to tell you about Timmy Baterman and his dad。〃
〃Who's Timmy Baterman？〃
〃Timmy Baterman was one of the twenty or so boys from Ludlow that went overseas to fight Hitler。 He left in 1942。 He e back in a box with a flag on the top of it in 1943。 He died in Italy。 His daddy； Bill Batennan； lived his whole life in this town。 He about went crazy when he got the telegram。 。 。 and then he quieted right down。 He knew about the Micmac burying ground。 you see。 And he'd decided what he wanted to do。〃
The chill was back。 Louis stared at Jud for a long time； trying to read the lie in the old man's eyes。 It was not there。 But the fact of this story surfacing just now was damned convenient。
〃Why didn't you tell me this that other night？〃 he said finally。 〃After we。 。 。 after we did the cat？ When I asked you if anyone had ever buried a person up there； you said no one ever had。〃
〃Because you didn't need to know；〃 Jud said。 〃Now you do。〃
Louis was silent for a long time。 〃Was he the only one？〃
〃The only one I know of personally；〃 Jud said gravely。 〃The only one to ever try it？ I doubt that； Louis。 I doubt it very much。 I'm kind of like the preacher in Clesiastes…I don't believe that there's anything new under the sun。 Oh； sometimes the glitter they sprinkle over the top of a thing changes； but that's all。 What's been tried once has been tried once before 。 。 。 and before。 。 。 and before。〃
He looked down at his liver…spotted hands。 In the living room； the clock softly chimed twelve…thirty。
〃I decided that a man in your profession is used to looking at symptoms and seeing the diseases underneath。 。 。 and I decided I had to talk straight to you when Mortonson down at the funeral home told me you'd ordered a grave liner instead of a sealing vault。〃
Louis looked at Jud for a long time； saying nothing。 Jud flushed deeply but didn't look away。
Finally Louis said： 〃Sounds like maybe you did a little snooping； Jud。 I am sorry because of it。〃
〃I didn't ask him which you bought。〃
〃Not right out； maybe。〃
But Jud did not reply； and although his blush had deepened even more…his plexion was approaching a plum color now
…his eyes still didn't waver。
At last； Louis sighed。 He felt unutterably tired。 〃Oh； fuck it。 I don't care。 Maybe you're even right。 Maybe it was on my mind。 If it was； it was on the downside of it。 I didn't think much about what I was ordering。 I was thinking about Gage。〃
〃I know you were thinking about Gage。 But you knew the difference。 Your uncle was an undertaker。〃
Yes； he had known the difference。 A sealing vault was a piece of construction work； something which was meant to last a long； long time。 Concrete was poured into a rectangular mould reinforced with steel rods； and then； after the graveside services were over； a crane lowered a slightly curved concrete top into place。 The lid was sealed with a substance like the hot…patch highway departments used to fill potholes。 Uncle Carl had told Louis that sealant…trade…named Ever…Lock…got itself a fearsome grip after all that weight had been on it for a while。
Uncle Carl； who liked to yarn as much as anyone （at least when he was with his own kind； and Louis； who had worked with him summers for a while； qualified as a sort of apprentice undertaker）； told his nephew of an exhumation order he'd gotten once from the Cook County D。A。's office。 Uncle Carl went out to Groveland to oversee the exhumation。 They could be tricky things； he said…people whose only ideas concerning disinterral came from those horror movies starring Boris Karloff as Dr。 Frankenstein's monster and Dwight Frye as Igor had an entirely wrong impression。 Opening a sealing vault was no job for two men with picks and shovels…not unless they had about six weeks to spend on the job。 This one went all right 。 。 。 at first。 The grave was opened； and the crane grappled onto the top of the vault。 Only the top didn't just pull off； as it was supposed to do。 The whole vault； its concrete sides already a little wet and discolored； started to rise out of the ground instead。 Uncle Carl screamed for the crane operator to back off。 Uncle Carl wanted to go back to the mortuary and get some stuff that would weaken the sealant's grip a bit。
The crane operator either didn't hear or wanted to go for the whole thing； like a little kid playing with a toy crane and junk prizes in a penny arcade。 Uncle Carl said that the damned fool almost got it too。 The vault was three quarters of the way out… Uncle Carl and his assistant could hear water pattering from the underside of the vault onto the floor of the grave （it had been a wet week in Chicagoland） when the crane just tipped over and went kerplunk into the grave。 The crane operator crashed into the windshield and broke his nose。 That day's festivities cost Cook County roughly 3；000…2；100 over the usual price of such gay goings…on。 The real point of the story for Uncle Carl was that the crane operator had been elected president of the Chicago local of the Teamsters six years later。
Grave liners were simpler matters。 Such a liner was no more than a humble concrete box； open at the top。 It was set into the grave on the morning of a funeral。 Following the services； the coffin was lowered into it。 The sextons then brought on the top； which was usually in two segments。 These segments were lowered vertically into the ends of the grave； where they stood up like bookends。 Iron rings were embedded into the concrete at the ends of each segment。 The sextons would run lengths of chain through them and lower them gently onto the top of the grave liner。 Each section would weigh sixty； perhaps seventy pounds… eighty； tops。 And no sealer was used。
It was easy enough for a man to open a grave liner； that's what Jud was implying。
Easy enough for a man to disinter the body of his son and bmy it someplace else。
Shhhhh。 。 。 shhhh。 We will not speak of such things。 These are secret things。
〃Yes； I guess I knew the difference between a sealing vault and a grave liner；〃 Louis said。 〃But I wasn't thinking about about what you think I was thinking about。〃
〃Louis…〃
〃It's late；〃 Louis said。 〃It's late； I'm drunk； and my heart aches。 If you feel like you have to tell me this story； then tell me and let's get it over with。〃 Maybe I should have started with martinis； he thought。 Then I could have been safely passed out when he came knocking。
〃All right； Louis。 Thank you。〃
〃Just go on。〃
Jud paused a moment； thinking； then began to speak。
39
〃In those days…back during the war； I mean…the train still stopped in Orrington； and Bill Baterman had a funeral hack there at the loading depot to meet the freight carrying the body of his son Timmy。 The coffin was unloaded by four railroad men。 I was one of them。 There was an army