“Good afternoon. What can I do for you, sir?” He said.
“Keenan Gleeson.This is a deputation from the Board of Aldermen.”
“Please come in.”
As Ientered, dusts in a dim hall welcomed usby embracing us gently. The plodding sound of our footsteps made on a wooden floor propagated throughout the house, and was reflected all the way back to us, which reminded us that the house is somewhat big. The house was otherwise so hushed that literally nothing but the footsteps were heard. By the side was a stairway to the second floor. I could actually see dusts stacked on each step of the stairway so much that they were visible to me. We were then guided to the parlour filled with leather-covered furniture and wall painted in white. We sat down on a shabby but soft sofa.
From the sofa I could see a portrait of a black frame on an easel. In the portrait, Miss Emily was with her father. I could feel the silence in the portrait. Monochromatic, the portrait was showing them gazing down on us. They were posed, but at the same time strict and imposing. They looked confident with the formal look. The little badge on each of their chest seemed to represent the Grierson family. Behind, flag of the United States stood nationalistically. By the time I was looking into her face again, she cleared her throat. “Hem.”
We all turned our eyes to the door where the real Miss Emilys was standing. I knew she knew it. Even so, I started to talk about it.
“Hello, Miss Emily. We are a delegation sent from the Board of Aldermen. I am Keenan.”
Her dry and sharp eyes were still.
“Umm, so, you recently, uh, hmm. Excuse me. Received a letter from the…”
“Mayor.” Johnson helped me out of my stumbling halts.
Looking at her properly, I now realized that she was chubby. But neither her fat stomach nor her mouth did not open up to speak. I did not know until then that a second hand of a clock could tick audibly. I tried to erase that sound.
“As you might be aware, you have been remitted taxes for years but that is no longer possible by law.”
She grimaced. The wrinkles made curves on her whitish forehead.
“I have no taxes in Jefferson, Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
Johnson and Winifred tried to help me against her brazen argument. However, soon, they lost and we were out of the house with no result.