Flannery O'Connor
THE HEART OF THE PARK*
Enoch Emery knew when he woke up that today the person
he could show it to was going to come. He knew by his blood. He
had wise blood like his daddy.
At two o'clock that afternoon, he greeted the second-shift gate
guard. "You ain't but only fifteen minutes late," he said irritably.
"But I stayed. I could of went on but I stayed." He wore a green
uniform with yellow piping on the neck and sleeves and a yellow
stripe down the outside of each leg. The second-shift guard, a boy
with a jutting shale-textured face and a toothpick in
his
mouth, wore
the same. The gate they were standing by was made of iron bars and
the concrete arch that held it was fashioned to look like two trees;
branches curved to form the top of it where twisted letters said,
CITY FOREST PARK.
The second-shift guard leaned against one
of the trunks and began prodding between his teeth with the pick.
"Ever day," Enoch complained; "look like ever day I lose fif–
teen good minutes standing here waiting on you."
Every day when he got off duty, he went into the park, and
every day when he went in, he did the same things. He went first to
the swimming pool. He was afraid of the water but he liked to sit
up on the bank above it if there were any women in the pool, and
watch them. There was one woman who came every Monday who
wore a bathing suit that was split on each hip. At first he thought
she didn't know it, and instead of watching openly on the bank, he
had crawled into some bushes, snickering to himself, and had watched
from there. There had been no one else in the pool-the crowds didn't
come until four o'clock-to tell her about the splits and she had
splashed around in the water and then lain up on the edge of the pool
*
This is a self-contained chapter from a novel in progress.
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