The Walking

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For Don Cannon, the only bookseller who matters (better late than never).

John Hawks died and kept walking.

They had not expected it, but neither did it take them totally by surprise. Garden was the first to notice, and he ran breathlessly into the kitchen to tell his father and his uncle. "I think Grampa's dead!" he called.

His father sucked in his breath. "Has he? Is he? "He's still walking." They went outside to see, standing together on the porch, letting the old screen door slam loudly against its frame behind them.

Sure enough, John Hawks was walking purposefully through the desert around the house, maneuvering through the obstacle course of saguaro and cholla and ocotillo just as he had for the past two weeks. From this vantage point, it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or not.

Robert Hawks put his arms protectively around his son's shoulders and turned toward his brother. "Cabe, check it out."

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