Cry of Angels

32

32 TlO WALKED BACK AND FORTH, CALCULATING. EM AND I SAT SHELLing peanuts, watching him deliberate. The principle was sound, we all agreed on that. By rights the automatic potato bin should work like a charm. The manager of the Valley Farm store had grown so accustomed to seeing Tio hanging around studying his operations that he took the boy aside to give him advice from time to time. Always keeping your shelves and bins stocked was basic, he said; customers never liked to buy the last few items of anything. In shoe stores, he pointed out, didn't they always bring you shoes to try on from somewhere in the back? It was because that vast display you saw along the walls was mostly empty boxes! And there never was a more faithful disciple. Tio stuffed paper in the bottoms of half-empty hampers. He sawed shelves in half lengthwise , shortening their depth so that it took only half the stock to keep them looking full. But that was simple. Practical. What Tio craved was automation. 281 A C R Y O F A N G E L S So when he spotted the tray bin at the new cafeteria in Galaxy Plaza, the idea set him on fire. He rushed back to Mr. Teague's and immediately began construction on the world's first automatic, selfadjusting sweet potato bin. The principle of the tray bin was elementary enough: by the use of springs or counterweights down in the bin, the load was shifted higher each time a tray was removed from the stock, bringing the next tray level with the top of the bin. You never knew how many trays were left until you lifted the last one out. If it worked with trays, it ought to work with sweet potatoes, Tio said. He fitted heavy springs in the wooden potato bin and covered them with a loose plywood bottom. As the potatoes were removed, lightening the load, the potatoes would rise, keeping the bin looking full. Tio hoisted hampers of potatoes to test their weight. He put a foot in the bin and felt the tension of the springs. Finally, he was satisfied. "Okay, Em, climb in the bin and mash that plywood bottom all the way down." It seemed more sensible to me to check the tension by just pouring in the potatoes, and letting them depress the springs gradually. But when I ventured that suggestion, I only drew the creator's wrath. "You, who can't even build yourself a decent ironin' board, knows all about such things, I reckon, and can say how it ought to be done. Em, climb in that bin." Em smilingly obliged, and when the platform was depressed Tio wedged a peg through a knothole to hold it down. "Em, don't you think he ought to . . ." Em put a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. When the bottom was secured Em stepped out and started helping Tio fill the bin, emptying hamper after hamper. I walked outside for another bag of peanuts. As I was closing the lid of the roasting machine a blur of motion caught my eye up the road, descending from toward the fairgrounds. I stood on Mr. Teague's steps and watched it coming, an aged yellow school bus, careening down the road like a runaway rollercoaster car. It rattled across the bridge and with a screech of brakes turned into the curve up to Mr. Teague's, looking for sure as though it wouldn't make it, but miraculously it did, sliding to a catty-cor282 B O O K T H R E E nered halt inches away from the gas pumps and skirting pea gravel across the front of the store. "Merciful God, let me off!" a voice cried, and a moment later the boarders were pouring out the door. "I didn't do so bad for a first time," said Mr. Rampey, sliding out of the driver's seat. "Thought I done pretty good, didn't you, Lucia?" Mr. Teague, brought out by the commotion, stood in amazement as the old people got their legs steady under them, tugging at garments . "What do you think of it, Alvah?" said Mr. Rampey. "We got transportation now." He turned to Tio. "Fill 'er up, boy." "We got a coffin, is what we got," said Mrs. Porter, helping Ruby Lampham...