The Tin Can Tree

'I'm fine.' James said.

'You look kind of tired.'

He straightened up and tucked his shirt in. There was Great-Aunt Hattie, only a few yards away now, being led gingerly by Mrs Hammond. Aunt Hattie looked neither to the right nor to the left: she seemed to be pretending Mrs Hammond wasn't there. The closer they got to the camera, the farther away her eyes grew.

'Right here would be a good place,' said Mrs Hammond. 'Don't you think so, James? In front of the roses?'

'Fine,' James said. He had started adjusting his camera and wasn't really looking now. But when he raised his eyes again he saw that the old woman had been placed directly in front of a circular flower bed; she seemed to be rising from the middle of it, like an intricately sculptured garden decoration. James smiled. 'I've changed my mind,' he said. 'I don't think she should have those flowers behind her.'

'They're so pretty, though,' Mrs Hammond said sadly.

'Well. But I think she should have just grass behind her. You mind moving over, Miss Hattie?'

'I have just one thing to say,' Miss Hattie said suddenly.

'Ma'am?'

'Don't push me. You can tell me where to go, but don't push me around.'

'Oh, I won't,' said James.

'The last time I had my picture taken -'

'I think he wants you to move over," Mrs Hammond said. 'Could you step this way, dear?'

The aunt stepped stiffly, jerking her chin up. 'I was saying, Co

'If I were you I'd let my beads show,' said Mrs Hammond. 'They're such nice ones.'

'Well, just for that I won't,' snapped Aunt Hattie. She raised her hands, heavy with old rings, and fumbled at the neck of her crepe dress until she had closed it high around her throat, hiding the beads from sight. 'Now no one can see them,' she said, and Co

'I try and I try,' she told him, and he looked up from fiddling with his camera and smiled.

'Why don't you go on and see to the others,' he said, 'and I'll call you when I'm through. I bet you haven't even had your ice cream yet.'

'No. No, I've been so busy. Well, I might for just a minute, maybe -' She trailed off across the yard, looking relieved, and the last part of her to fade away was her voice, which still flowed on and on.

'She's putting on weight, don't you think?' Aunt Hattie asked.

James had the camera ready now, but he was waiting because he wanted the picture to be just right. He bent down and cleared away a dandelion from one of the tripod legs, and then over his shoulder he called. 'You comfortable like that? Don't want to sit down?'

'No. I'll stand.'

Co

She shifted her feet a little. 'How many prints you plan to make of this?' she asked.

'Ma'am?'

'How many copies.'

'Oh. As many as you want.'

'Well, I want none,' she said. 'I'd like to request that you make the one picture asked of you and have that be that.'

'Oh, now.'

'Co

'Da

'Da

'Da

'You saw him. You saw him. But do you think I do? They rush him away the moment I come around; he looks back over his shoulder all bewildered. He's only seven.'

'Could you turn more toward me?' asked James.

'They think he insulted me last Valentine's Day.'

'Oh, I don't think Da

'Made me a present. None of these easy-breaking things from the gift shop. Made me a ceramic saltshaker in school, and it was the exact shape of my head, with even the wrinkles painted in.'

'That's nice,' said James.

'Do you know where the salt came out?'

'Well, no.'

'My nose. Ho, out of my nose. Two little holes punched for nostrils, and out came the salt. Can you picture Co

James laughed. 'I sure can,' he said.

'Well, of course she hadn't seen the thing, prior to my unwrapping it. She thought it was a bobby-pin holder or something. She said, "Da

'Maybe you could -'

'I still use it, though.'

'Ma'am?'

"The saltshaker. I use it daily.'

'Well, I would too,' said James.

'Then you see why he shouldn't have my picture.'

That stumped him; he had to consider a minute. (If Miss Hattie Hammond was fading out, should he not just let it pass and agree with her?) But Miss Hattie seemed the same to him as ever, as sharp as a rock against the green of the lawn 'I don't see what you mean,' he said.

'Ah well.'

'I don't understand what pictures have got to do with it.'

'Not much,' she said. 'But they're photographing me because I'm old, you know. They think I'm dying. (I'm not.) They think they'll have something to remember me by. But pictures are merely one way, Mr Green. Should a person that I like have a picture of me?'

'I wouldn't let it worry me,' said James. 'I find no one ever looks at pictures anyway, once they get hold of them.-'

‘I don't want Da

'Well,' James said. He frowned down at his fingers, sticky now with dandelion mild. 'Well, plenty of-'

'Photographs,' said Miss Hattie, 'are the only thing. Don't interrupt. Everything else is a mingling of things. Photographers don't agree, of course. Why else would they take pictures? Press everything flat on little squares of paper – well, that's all right. But not for people that' you'd like to stay interested in you. Not for Da

'Now, wait a minute,' said James, but Miss Hattie held up her hand.

'I already know,' she said. ‘I know photographers.'

James gri