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£f Stroud said he didn't want a funeral. He wanted to be cremated and have that be the end of it. I didn't knowwhy hewastalking about dying, and I didn't know what to say.I asked him what he wanted done with his ashes. "Now why would I care about that?" We were sitting out back on the patio, and he was smoking. He scowled at me, the cigarette in his mouth. "What about your wife and your son?" I asked him. "Were they cremated?" He'd been slouching down in his chair, and now he pulled himself up and took a deep drag off his cigarette. "No," he said, "I buried them out at the cemetery." He looked straight at me, then pointed toward the trashpile on the other side of the motel's backyard. "Yousee all that mess? Where you think it came from?" I figured it was trash from the motel, but I didn't want to say that. After all, I'd found his old hat out there, so some of it must have been his, but he was such a clean old man—always scrubbing and disinfecting his apartment—it seemed odd that he'd dump trash out behind where he lived. "If you don't want to talk about your wife and son," I told him, "I can understand that. I was just wondering, since you were talking about being cremated." 94 25 Stroud said he didn't want a funeral. He wanted to be cremated and have that be the end ofit. I didn't know why he was talking about dying, and I didn't know what to say. I asked him what he wanted done with his ashes. "Now why would I care about that?" We were sitting out back on the patio, and he was smoking. He scowled at me, the cigarette in his mouth. "What about your wife and your son?" I asked him. "Were they cremated?" He'd been slouching down in his chair, and now he pulled himself up and took a deep drag off his cigarette. "No," he said, "I buried them out at the cemetery." He looked straight at me, then pointed toward the trashpile on the other side of the motel's backyard. "You see all that mess? Where you think it came from?" I figured it was trash from the motel, but I didn't want to say that. After all, I'd found his old hat out there, so some ofit must have been his, but he was such a dean old man-always scrubbing and disinfecting his apartment-it seemed odd that he'd dump trash out behind where he lived. "If you don't want to talk about your wife and son," I told him, "I can understand that. I was just wondering, since you were talking about being cremated." 94 "Look here," he said, "I asked you a question." "I guess it came from the motel. I don't know. Where did it come from?" He leaned forward. "Came from the motel, that's right, some of it, after part of it burned and we tore some of it down. We hauled things out and left them there all piled up and never moved them. That's true. But some of it was old things that belonged to me and Ramona and the boy. When Tru died, Ramona held onto everything, you see. Didn't throw nothing away.And then when shedied, I sort oflost mymind. I couldn't even go back in the apartment. Slept out in one of the rooms for a long time. I couldn't stand to look at her things or at Trus things that she'd kept. And then one day I went in there and drug out everything that reminded me of her and him—well, not everything, but most everything—and I threw them out there. All Ramonas dresses and clothes and soforth, they all out there. All of Tru's things. Letters he wrote home. The mattress me and Ramona slept on. It's all been out there in the rain and sun a long time. I couldn't bring myself to keep the stuff, you see, but I couldn't throw it away either. SoI guessI threw it away and kept it both. It's out there, but it's ruined and gone." I asked him if he ever regretted throwing those things away. "Look here...
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