by Jim Thompson
“Cynical?” I said. “Aw, now, Robert Lee. What for have I got to be cynical about?”
18
The fire was on late Friday night, and it was almost dawn Saturday before I got home. I scrubbed myself up, and put on some clean clothes. Then I went out into the kitchen, and started to fix breakfast.
Myra came out fuming and fussing, asking me what in the world I was up to. I told her about the fire and how people were criticizin’ me, and she shut up fast. Because she didn’t want to be an ex-sheriff’s wife any more than I wanted to be an ex-sheriff, and she knew I was going to have to do some humpin’ or we might be.
She finished cooking breakfast for me. I ate and went downtown.
It being Saturday, all the stores were open extra early, and any farmers that weren’t already in town were on their way in. They stood around on the sidewalks, their black cloth hats brushed and clean-looking, their Sunday shirts fairly clean, and their overalls ranging from middling-dirty to downright filthy.
Their wives wore starched-stiff sunbonnets and Mother Hubbards made out of calico or gingham. Their kids’ clothes—except the kids that were old enough for hand-me-downs—were made out of meal sacks, with the faded labels still showing on some of ’em. Men and women, and practically every boy and girl over twelve, were chewing and spitting snuff. The men and boys poured the snuff down inside their lower lip. The women and girls used snuff-sticks, frayed twigs that they dipped in their snuff cans and then put in the corners of their mouths.
I moved around among the men, shakin’ hands and slapping backs and telling ’em to just come and see me any time they had a problem. I told all the women that Myra had been askin’ about ’em and that they just had to come and see her sometime. And I patted the kids on the head, if their heads weren’t too high up, and gave them pennies and nickels, depending on how tall they were.
Naturally, I was busy with the townspeople too, doing my dangdest to make friends or to get back any I’d lost. But I couldn’t be sure I did any better with them than I did with the farmers, and I couldn’t be sure I did any good with the farmers.
Oh, almost everyone was pleasant, and no one was what you’d call downright unfriendly. But too many of ’em were cautious, kind of cagey when I hinted around at the subject of voting. And if there’s one thing I know it’s this: a fella that’s going to vote for you don’t lose much time in declaring himself.
I tried to run a tally in my mind, and it looked to me like the best I could hope for was a near-draw with Sam Gaddis. That was the best, despite all the dirty talk that was going on about him. And if he was that strong now, in spite of the talk, how could I be sure he wouldn’t be even stronger in the run-off?
I ate some crackers and cheese for lunch, passing them around amongst the fellas I was talking to.
About two o’clock, I had to go out to the cemetery for Tom Hauck’s buryin’, but a passel of other folks went, too, by way of amusin’ themselves, so you couldn’t really say it was a waste of time.
I worked through the supper hour, eating some crackers and sardines and passing them around amongst the fellas I was talking to.
Finally, it got too late to work any longer. But by then, I was so keyed up from talking, so restless and high-strung that my nerves seemed to be standing on end. So instead of going home, I sneaked over to Amy Mason’s house.
We went back into the bedroom. She held me off for a minute, kind of cold and peevish-actin’, and then she seemed to change her mood suddenly. And we went to bed.
It happened pretty fast, considering how wore out I was. But afterwards my eyes drifted shut, and I seemed to sink down into a deep dark pit, and—
“Wake up!” Amy was shaking me. “Wake up, I said!”
I said, “Huh, whassa matter, honey?” And Amy said again that I was to wake up.
“Is that how little I mean to you? That you can fall asleep like a hog in a wallow with my arms around you? Or were you saving yourself for your precious Rose Hauck?”
“Huh? What?” I said. “For gosh sake, Amy—”
“Rose is staying at your place, is she not?”
“Well, sure,” I said. “But just on account of her husband’s death and buryin’. She—”
“And why didn’t you tell me she was staying there? Why did I have to find it out for myself?”
“But, looky,” I said. “Why the heck should I tell you? What’s it got to do with us? Anyways, you already knew all about me an’ Rose, an’ it didn’t seem to bother you none.”
She stared at me, her eyes sparkling with anger, and suddenly turned her back to me. Then, just as I was about to put my arm around her, she turned and faced me again.
“Just what do I already know about you and Rose? Tell me!”
“Aw, now, honey,” I said. “I—”
“Answer me! Just what do I know about you? I want to know!”
I said I’d just made a slip of the tongue, and there wasn’t anything to tell her about Rose and me. Because of course, she didn’t want to know about us. No woman that sleeps with a man wants to know that another woman is doin’ it, too.
“I was just referrin’ to the other night,” I said. “You know, when you was teasin’ me about Rose, and I told you there wasn’t nothing between us. That’s all I meant when I said you already knew all about us.”
“Well—” She was anxious to believe me. “You’re sure?”
“O’ course, I’m sure,” I said. “Why, my gosh, ain’t we the same as engaged to get married? Ain’t we goin’ to go away together just as soon as we figure out what to do about my wife an’ we’re sure there ain’t any kickbacks from them two pimps I killed? That’s right, ain’t it, so why would I be fooling around with another woman?”
She smiled, her lips kind of trembly. She kissed me, and snuggled up in my arms.
“Nick…don’t see her anymore. After she’s gone home, I mean.”
“Well, I sure don’t want to,” I said. “I sure don’t aim to, anyways. I sure won’t see her, Amy, unless I just can’t noways get out of it.”
“Yes? And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, she’s Myra’s friend,” I said. “Even before Tom got himself killed, Myra was always after me to give Rose some help, an’ I felt sorry for her so I usually did. So it’ll look awful funny if I stop all of a sudden, without even waitin’ until she can hire a farm hand.”
Amy was silent for a moment, thinking things over. Then her head moved in a little nod.
“All right, Nick. I suppose you will have to see her—one more time.”
“Well, I’m not sure that’ll be enough,” I said. “I mean, it prob’ly will, but—”
“One more time, Nick. Just to tell her that she’d better employ some help because you won’t be seeing her again. No,”—she put her hand over my mouth as I started to speak—“that’s it, Nick. Just once more, and never again. If you want me, that is. If you want to keep me from being very, very angry with you.”
I said, all right, that’s the way it would be. There just wasn’t much else I could say. But what I was thinking was that Rose was going to have something to say about this, and I could get in just as much trouble by not heeding her as I could Amy.
Amy just wasn’t giving me a chance, god-dang it! I was just as anxious to be shet of Rose as she was to have me. But it would take time and if I didn’t have the time, if I could only see Rose once more…
“Nick, darling…I’m still here.”
I said, “Yeah, danged if you ain’t.” And I hugged her close and kissed and petted her, putting a lot of enthusiasm into it. But I tell you frankly, I didn’t feel much. And it wasn’t just because I was so tired I could hardly lift a finger.
I’d been almost on the point of hitting on a plan, something that would not only take care of Rose without me seeing her more than once, but would take care of Myra and Lennie at the same time. And then Amy had spoke up, and the pieces of a plan had scattered every which way. A
nd I knew I was going to have a heck of a time putting ’em together again, if I ever was able to.
“Nick!”—she was beginning to sound cross again—“you’re not going to sleep again, are you?”
“Me?” I said. “Me go to sleep around a pretty thing like you? Now, what do you think?”
She let me out the door, so drowsy herself she could barely keep her eyes open. I sneaked back across town, and believe me, sneakin’ is the word, because I was plumb wrung dry an’ there wasn’t enough juice left in me to wet a whistle.
I got to the courthouse, and slipped off my boots at the foot of the stairs. I sneaked up the stairs and got to my room, and got out of my clothes. Then, I slid into bed, careful as I could to keep the springs from squeaking. And I sighed and thought Oh, Lord, how long, god-dang it? One cross is bad enough, but I hadn’t ought to carry a whole god-dang lumberyard around with me!
Rose grabbed me. She swarmed all over me, and it was like her body was on fire.
“Goddam! What the hell took you so long, Nick?”
I tried to keep from groaning. I said, “Look, Rose we can’t do this, honey. It’s already Sunday morning.”
“Crap on Sunday morning!” she said. “Who gives a damn what day it is?”
“But—but this ain’t nice,” I said. “It just ain’t nice to fornicate on Sunday morning. Now, you just think about it, an’ you’ll see I’m right.”
Rose said she didn’t want to think about it, she just wanted to do it. “Come on, dammit!” she panted. “Come on! I’ll show you whether it’s nice or not!”
Well, I just couldn’t, you know. At least, I thought I couldn’t. And I guess the only way I managed to was because the good Lord gave me strength. He seen I was in a heck of a spot, like He naturally would, because if He’d noticed something like a sparrow fallin’, He’d just about have to see the predicament I was in.
So He gave me strength, I reckon. Which—an’ I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—was about the least He could do.
19
Rose went to church with Myra and me, Lennie staying at home because he didn’t always behave too well in crowds. After the services, Rose and Myra went on home to get dinner ready, and I hung around to do a little handshakin’ and baby-pattin’ and back-slappin’.
Sam Gaddis was doing the same thing, a gray-haired middle-aged fella with a dignified look about him. The minister had given him a kind of indirect boost in his sermon, which was about casting stones and judge not lest ye be judged, and now he seemed to be getting a better reception than I was. People would turn their heads to look at him, while they were shaking hands with me. I’d slap ’em on the back and they’d sort of take it as a shove toward Sam. And there was one woman that yanked her baby away just as I was about to kiss it, so that I danged near kissed my own belt buckle.
It looked to me like a case of, if you can’t lick ’em join ’em, so I eased my way through the crowd and grabbed Sam by the hand.
“I want you to know I’m a thousand per cent behind you, Sam,” I said. “All these dirty stories going around about you, I know they ain’t true Sam, even if it sounds like they are, so you got my moral support a thousand per cent, and I’m goin’ to be right up on the speaker’s platform with you tonight to prove it!”
He said, “Well, uh,” and cleared his throat awkwardly. He said, “Well, uh, that’s certainly very nice of you, Sheriff. But, uh—uh—”
What he wanted to say was that he didn’t want me within a thousand miles of him, let alone on the same speaker’s platform. But the kind of fella he was, he didn’t know how to say it.
“Well—uh, now—” he tried again. “I surely appreciate your offer, Sheriff, but wouldn’t it be better if, uh—”
I slapped him on the back, cutting him off. I said, by golly, I was going to do it and he didn’t need to worry about takin’ favors from me, because I wasn’t really doin’ him one.
“I figure it’s just the right thing to do,” I said. “You might say it’s something I got to do. So come tonight I’m goin’ to be up there on the platform with—oof!”
Zeke Carlton shoved past me, digging his elbow into my ribs. He dropped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and jerked his head at me.
“I’ll say it for you, Sam. You don’t want Nick around you, because he’s a sneaky, half-assed, triflin’ no-good excuse for a sheriff, and you’d be hurt just by bein’ seen with him, even if he didn’t stick a knife in your ribs!”
Sam cleared his throat again, looking more uncomfortable than ever. Zeke glared at me, like he wanted to spit in my face.
I said, “Well, now Zeke, that ain’t hardly no way to talk. Here it is Sunday, and we’re still here on the church grounds, and god-dang if you ain’t calling me names and using bad words like ‘half-assed’.”
“Balls!” he sneered. “Who the hell are you to be correctin’ me? Why—”
“I’m the sheriff,” I said, “an’ it’s my job to look out for wrong-doin’ particularly seein’ that the Lord ain’t abused right in His own front yard. So you just better not do it no more, Zeke, or I’ll by-golly march you right down to the lock-up!”
Zeke let out an angry snort; laughed on a shaky note. He looked around at the crowd, trying to swing them to his side. But we’re a real God-fearin’ community, like you probably gathered, and everyone was frowning at him or givin’ him frosty looks.
That made him madder than ever. “Why, God da—, gosh-darn it, don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to get at Sam through me! He knows I’m backing Sam so he wants to make trouble for me!”
“Now, that just ain’t so,” I said. “You know it ain’t so, Zeke.”
“The hell—the heck it ain’t!”
I said, no, sir it sure wasn’t and he knew it as well as I did. “I leave it to anyone here,” I said, “if they ever knew me to do a man dirty or even say so much as an unkind word about another fella as long as they’ve lived. Just ask anyone. I’ll leave it up to them.”
Zeke scowled and muttered something under his breath. Cuss words, it sounded like. I asked Sam if he thought I was out to harm him, and he scuffled his feet and looked embarrassed.
“Well, uh, I’m sure you wouldn’t, uh, do so—uh—”
“Right,” I said. “I wouldn’t. In the first place, it just ain’t my nature to hurt another fella, an’ in the second place I know it wouldn’t do no good. Because I figure you can’t be hurt, Sam. The way I see it, you’re as good as elected right now.”
Sam’s head snapped up. He kind of waved his hands, helplesslike, like he didn’t know whether to pee or go blind. And if he was surprised, he sure had plenty of company. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes popped open. Even Zeke Carlton was struck dumb for a moment.
“Now, see here, Nick—” he spoke up at last. “Now, let’s get this straight. Are you saying that you’re concedin’ the election to Sam?”
“I’m saying that I’m going to,” I said, raising my voice. “I’m concedin’ to Sam just as soon as he answers one question.”
Zeke asked what kind of question. I said a very simple question, stalling a minute to get as big a crowd as I could.
“A very simple question,” I repeated. “One that’s already on everyone’s lips, you might say, and that Sam would have to answer sooner or later.”
“Well, come on!” Zeke scowled impatiently. “Ask it! Sam don’t mind answering questions, do you, Sam? Sam’s life is an open book!”
“How about that, Sam?” I said. “I’d like to hear you speak for yourself.”
Sam said, “Well, uh, yes. I mean I’ll be glad to answer your question. Uh, anything I can, that is.”
“Well, this is about them dirty stories people are tellin’ on you,” I said. “Now, wait a minute! Wait a minute, Zeke, Sam,”—I held up my hand—”I know them stories ain’t true. I know Sam wouldn’t rape a little colored baby or steal the gold teeth out of his grandma’s mouth or beat his pappy to death with a stick of cordw
ood or rob a widder woman of her life’s savings or feed his wife to the hawgs. I know a fine fella like Sam wouldn’t do nothing like that. So all I’m asking is this; this is my question…”
I paused again, gettin’ everyone on their toes. I waited until you could have heard a weevil crapping on a cotton boll, and then I asked my question.
“All right,” I said, “here it is. If them stories ain’t true, how come them to get started? How come almost everybody claims they are true?”
Sam blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he closed it again. And he and Zeke looked at each other.
“Well, uh,” Sam began. “I, uh, I—”
“Now, hold up there!” Zeke butted in, turning to me. “What do you mean everybody’s saying they’re true? Who the hell’s everybody?”
“I stand corrected,” I said. “I reckon everybody ain’t saying it, when you get right down to cases. Prob’ly ain’t no more than two, three hundred people that are sayin’ it. But that still leaves the same question. How come even two, three hundred people that are sayin’ it is true that Sam raped a little colored baby an’ beat his pappy to death an’ fed his wife to the hawgs an’—”
“Never mind, dammit!” Zeke grabbed Sam by the arm. “Come on, Sam. You don’t have to answer no damn-fool question like that.”
“Well, of course, he don’t have to,” I said. “But I should think he’d want to. Don’t rightly see how he can get elected sheriff if he don’t answer.”
Zeke hesitated, scowling. He shot a glance at Sam, then gave him a nudge.
“All right, Sam. Maybe you’d better answer.”
“Uh, well, of course,” Sam nodded. “Uh, what was the question again, Sheriff?”
I started to tell him, but someone behind me interrupted.
“You know the question, Sam! How’d them stories about you get started? How come folks say they’re true if they ain’t?”
There was a loud murmur of agreement, with people nodding and nudging each other. Sam cleared his throat to speak, and there was another interruption. A catcall from the outskirts of the crowd.
