Sonora, from her throne on the porch, laughed and said, “He’s my father, and he can lick all of you guys put together, if you don’t watch out!”
“Sonora!” Latha said to her.
Junior removed his grip from Every’s shirt front and offered his hand. “Gee, sir, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know who you was.”
Every said, “Sonora’s just a-foolin you. I’m not her dad, but I might just have to lick y’all all together if you don’t knock it off. Now tell me, what’s all this rumpus about, anyhow?”
“It’s his fault,” Junior said, pointing to J.D. Pruitt. “He hit me first.”
Clarence Biggart said, pointing to Junior, “Burl Coe put im up to it. He darred im to trip ole J.D. and ole J.D. couldn’t do nuthin but hit im fer it.”
“Well, why are all the rest of you fellers fightin?” Every asked.
“Aw, we aint fightin serious,” Earl Coe put in. “It aint a real fraction. We’uns was just horseplayin, to show them damn Dubya Pee Ayers who rules the roost around here.”
“No need somebody gettin hurt for that,” Every said. “If all you want to do is find out who rules the roost, why don’t y’all just hold a Indian wrasslin?”
“Whut’s thet?” Junior asked.
“You aint never Indian-wrassled?” Every asked. “Well, come over here to the porch and I’ll show you.” He and Junior sat down in opposite directions on the porch steps and Every put their arms up together, elbows down on the cement step, and their hands clenched. “Now the idee,” Every said, “is to see if you can force my hand down and I try to force your hand down. Winner’s strongest. Not only is he strongest but he’s also got the most will power and spunk. Okay. Here we go.”
Every and Junior strained together, the knot of their clenched hands vibrating for a moment before Every let his hand be pushed down, saying, “There! See, you beat me. Now you take on one of the others.”
There began a round of eliminations. Junior Indian-wrestled with Clarence Biggart and lost; Clarence matched Earl Coe and won, but lost to Gerald Coe. Gerald beat Merle Kimber but lost to J.D. Pruitt, who defeated both Burl Coe and Chester Duckworth, and then engaged Hank Ingledew in a match that lasted nearly four minutes before Hank forced J.D.’s hand down.
Hank then took on Eddie Churchwell, Leo Dinsmore, and Dorsey Tharp, defeating each of them.
“The winner!” Every declared, raising Hank’s arm. “What’s your name, son?”
“John Henry,” he said, and added, “Ingledew. And now I’ll take you on, sir, if you want to Indian-wrassle.”
“Why, I was the first one eliminated,” Every protested. “This boy here beat me in the first match.”
“I saw that,” Hank said. “You let him. You just let him do it. Come on and Indian-wrassle with me.”
“Okay,” Every said, and sat down and matched arms with Hank. Their clenched hands strained and quivered for half a minute, then Hank smashed Every’s hand down. “Oof!” Every exclaimed. “Wow, that’s too much for me.”
“Aw, you wasn’t even tryin!” Hank protested. “Come on, goddamn ye, and try.”
“Swear all you want,” Every said sternly. “Just don’t bring the Lord’s name in to help ye.” And he took Hank’s hand again and they matched up for only a few seconds before Every drove his arm swiftly down.
“Haw!” Hank exclaimed, “I knew you could do it! Come on, best two out of three. I took one, you took one, now let’s settle it!”
Once again they matched up, and Hank closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and all the muscles in his neck bulged out. Minute after minute went by, and each of them began to grunt with enormous effort, but their hands remained totally immobile, not even trembling.
Five or six minutes passed. Seven. “Let up!” Latha said. “Your eyeballs are going to pop right out of your heads.” But the others were urging them on. “Break his arm off, Hank!” “Give it to im, Hank!” “Come on, Hank boy, you can do it, Hank boy!” The W.P.A. boys were taking sides with Every. “Kill im, mister!” “Attaboy, hold im thar, ole feller!” “Don’t give an inch, Dad!”
Soon they stopped yelling and held their breaths, waiting. The clenched hands began to move, an inch this way, an inch that way.
The only sound was the insects in the grass, and the noises of toads. Latha suddenly looked at the porch swing and wondered where Donny was. Not like him to miss a night. She returned her eyes to the contest, in time to see that Every had Hank’s arm tilted at a downward slant. And then with a crash it was over.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Hank complained. “You aint human, mister! That aint a human arm you got, it’s a ox’s! Who are ye, anyhow? Whut’s yore name?”
He told him his name.
“Oh,” Hank said. Then he said, “I’da knowed that, I’da tried a little harder and whupped ye.”
“I’d be glad for another go-round,” Every offered.
“Not me,” Hank said. “My arm feels lak it was pulled plum loose off my shoulder, I caint even feel nuthin in it.”
Gerald Coe said to Every, “I’ve heerd my dad say some fine things about ye, mister, I don’t keer whut others say.”
“Who’s your dad?” Every asked him.
“Lawlor Coe,” he said. “My name’s Jerl, and them thar are my brothers, Earl and Burl.”
“I’m sure pleased to meet you,” Every said. “Your dad’s one of the finest men I’ve known. Him and me were friends all the way back, and he was just about the only true-blue pardner I ever had.”
Merle Kimber spat, then said, “Birds of a feather always flock together.”
Gerald Coe doubled his fists at Merle and said, “You son of a bitch, I’ll pluck all yore feathers!”
“Now, boys—” Every said.
Latha found herself wondering again why Donny had not come. It was so unusual for him not to be here that she felt like going up to his house to make sure he was there. Her attention was returned to the argument by something Hank Ingledew was saying.
“Wonder,” Hank was saying to Every in a low, snide tone, “wonder if ole Lawlor helped ye rob thet bank.”
The quiring of the tiny lives in the grass and trees was all the sound for a long little spell. She was alone with him now on the porch—Sonora and the boys had gone off somewhere—she was alone with him, but fretting more about Donny’s absence than Every’s anguish. She wondered if Dolph had made good his threat to “fix that durn kid.” Could he be so mean? If Donny didn’t show up soon, she was just going to have to force herself to go up to the Murrison place and ask about him.
Every sat brooding with his elbows on his knees and his jaw in his hands. He’s sure in a fine mess, she reflected, and even had a notion that Every was a bringer of bad luck. Why else would she have received—on the very day he appeared—a letter ordering the post office to close and a letter ordering her to send Sonora back to Little Rock?
Every spoke. “Latha,” he said, and his voice was nervous, “what if they try to have me indicted for that bank robbery?…”
“Every,” she pointed out to him, “there is something called a ‘statute of limitations,’ I don’t know exactly how it works, but it means that you can’t be convicted of a crime committed long ago.”
“Oh?” he said.
“But even if that didn’t work for you,” she said, “there’s another law that would. The only way they can convict you is to get the testimony of the one person who saw you do it. And the law says that a wife cannot testify against her husband.”
He thought that over for a while, figuring out what she meant, and then he laughed and said, “Are you trying to blackmail me into marrying you?”
I was sort of hoping he’d come and kiss me when I said that, she told herself, feeling disappointed. “Come into the house,” she said, “and I’ll mend your trousers.” She led him into her bedroom and got a needle and some thread from her sewing table. She inspected the rip, lifting his coat-tail. “Goodness, that’s a bad tear,” she said.
“Well, take them off and I’ll see what I can do.”
Every reddened, and began to look around him. “Uh,” he said, “why don’t I just step into the closet and pass them out to you?”
“Why, Every!” she said. “For shame!” And he blushed even deeper. “How can you be so modest with me?”
“Aw, heck, Latha,” he protested. “It’s not like we were already married yet.”
“It’s not?” she said. “Yet?” she said. “Seems to me like we’ve been married for eighteen years, at least.”
“Aw, now, heck, shoot,” he mumbled. Then he said, “Well, at least pull down the winder shades.”
She pulled down the window shades, and lit a coal-oil lantern to see her work by. He unbuckled his belt, and turned his back to her and unbuttoned his fly and lowered his trousers. He was wearing polka-dot shorts, and she laughed. “Them’s mighty snazzy underpants fer a preacher,” she said, and he said, “Goshdarn ye, no wise cracks, now,” and without turning to face her he reached back and handed her his trousers. Then he whipped the coverlet off the bed and wrapped it around his waist and sat down on the bed.
She sat down at her table and began mending the tear, but she kept an eye on him. “Tsk tsk,” she clucked. “I’ll bet this is the first time a woman’s seen your hairy legs since you became a preacher.”
“You—” he said, then he laughed and said, “Why, no, it’s not, neither. Sometimes when I give a baptizing in a shallow creek I roll my britches up as far as they’ll go, and I’ll have you know there’s many a woman has admired my hairy legs.”
“Is that all they’ve admired?” she asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Has a woman ever admired your hairy legs except at a baptizing?”
“You trying to get me to tell if I’ve had a girlfriend?”
“I am.”
“Well, yes. There was one I nearly married a few years back, out in California, but as far as that matter goes, she never saw my legs, nor me hers.”
She asked then what she wanted to: “Why have you never taken a wife, Every?”
“You’d never believe me if told you.”
“I might. Try and see.”
“Naw,” he said. “You don’t believe I can talk with the Lord. You don’t even believe in the Lord, as far as that goes. You’d just laugh and poke fun if I told you.”
“Every,” she said solemnly, “if you wanted me to, I would believe anything you say.”
“Then believe the Lord talks to me!” he said. “Or talks in me, at least!”
“I believe the Lord talks in you, Every.”
“All right!”
“All right, what does He have to do with your being a bachelor?”
“Well, Latha,” he said, “you see, He told me one time that if I was patient enough, and good enough, He would allow me to find you again.”
Her hands stopped sewing, and her blood pounded in her ears, and for a moment she almost did believe in the Lord; she wanted to believe in the Lord, she wanted the Lord to talk to her or in her too, and tell her what to do. She was too choked up for speaking, but finally she said in a small voice, “That’s very flattering.”
“Of the Lord?” he said. “The Lord don’t flatter nobody.”
“Are you happy you found me?” she asked.
“I caint tell you how much I am,” he said.
“You’ve been rather reserved,” she remarked. “You haven’t exactly been acting like a man who’s found his long lost love.”
“Well, I didn’t know how you would take it,” he said. “I didn’t know if you would be glad to see me, or not. I guess I was sort of waiting for you to make the first move.”
“You seem to be still waiting for me to make the first move.”
“I caint help it.”
“Well, are you going to come over here and kiss me, or do I have to come over there and kiss you?”
He laughed happily. “Why don’t we meet halfway?”
“All right,” she said. “Here I come.” And she put aside his trousers and stood up.
He stood up too, but when he did so the coverlet wrapped around his waist came loose and flopped to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but she had already gone beyond the halfway line, and when he raised up she shoved hard against his shoulders and pushed him back and down on the bed and she climbed up beside him and brought her mouth down to his and kissed him for a long, tight, moist time. But he did not raise his arms to put them around her.
“There!” she said, when she broke the kiss. “I met you more than halfway.”
“You sure did, didn’t you?” he said. “And if you don’t backtrack a little bit, there’s going to be an embarrassment coming between us.”
“I don’t care,” she said, misinterpreting him, and lowering her face to kiss him again. Still he did not put his arms around her.
He twisted his mouth loose from hers. “Latha!” he said sharply.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Don’t you like to kiss?”
“Not in this position,” he said.
“You want to get on top?” she asked.
“No, Latha, this isn’t right. We can’t let ourselves get carried away.”
“Why not?”
“We aren’t really married yet,” he pointed out. “In the sight of God we have no sanction.”
She rose up off of him, and got off the bed. He sat up and drew the coverlet around his waist again. She felt like using some choice profanity. Instead she asked, “Do you mean we have to be legally hitched before you can even make love to me?”
Instead of answering, he asked his own question, “You never have read much of the Bible, have you?”
“No,” she said. “It’s never had anything to say to me.”
“That’s your loss, then,” he said. “For if you knew your Bible you would know how important it is for you to be married to the man you give your body to.”
“The father of my daughter was not married to me!” she came back at him.
“I’ve repented that,” he said. “Can you repent?”
“Repent being raped?” she demanded. “Every, you are insane.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I didn’t mean you have to repent acts committed against you. I ask only if you can repent those sins which you have committed yourself.”
“What sins, for instance?” she asked.
“Laying with Dolph Rivett, for instance,” he said.
“That was no sin,” she said defiantly. “That was heaven. Every, take off that silly coverlet and make love to me. We can both repent afterwards.”
“I can see I’ve got a lot to teach you about the meaning of repentance.”
“I won’t be taught. Life’s already given me all the lessons I can handle.”
“You’re wrong, Latha. If you’re rejecting the Word, then you’re rejecting me. I come to you with more than love; I come to you with the precious gift of the Word of God, and if you reject that present without even opening it to see what it’s like, then…why then I reckon you don’t want me either.”
“There’s another present I’d like to open first to see what it’s like,” she said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Your drawers,” she said.
“Don’t talk dirty,” he said.
“Dirty!” she said. “Dirty! Maybe your drawers are dirty, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Every, I swear, if that precious Word of yours teaches you that it’s dirty, then I don’t want to hear a word of your Word.”
He gazed sternly at her for a while, and then he said, “You’ve always been pretty feisty, haven’t you?”
“Feisty is another word like dirty,” she replied. “It doesn’t mean anything to me because it means so many different things to everybody else that I don’t care what it means. Anyway, I have never been ‘feisty’ as you mean it.”
“All right. You asked me if I’d had any girlfriends, have you had any boyfrie
nds?”
“Lately, you mean? Sure. Doc Swain is my boyfriend. So is Tull Ingledew. My very special true love is a five-year-old towhead named Dawny.”
“But you haven’t made love to them…”
“Well, last night me and Dawny—”
“Be serious, Latha.”
“No, I haven’t been made love to.”
“Except—?”
“You want a case history, darn it?”
“I’d be obliged.”
“Okay. Eighteen years ago last month I was violated by force. Since that time I’ve been made love to twice, which averages out to once every nine years.”
“Once was with Dolph Rivett, of course. When was the other time? Do you remember?”
“I sure do.”
“But—” he said, puzzled. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything of that time.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to remember,” she said. “Let’s see, how long ago was it? I’d say, roughly, about four and a half hours.”
He did not say anything. A minute or two went by. Then he said, “Would you hand me my trousers, please?”
“I’m not finished with them yet,” she said.
“I don’t care. Just hand them over.”
“I’m not finished with you either,” she said.
“What more’ve you got to say?”
“I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask em.”
“Are you going to propose to me, or not?”
“I was. I might still. I caint right now.”
“Why not?”
“What would you say if I did?”
“I would say, ‘Yes, on one condition.’”
He laughed hollowly and said, “Wow! I’m making progress. Eighteen years ago it was, ‘No, no, no, not if you were the last man on earth!’ All right, what’s your one condition?”
“That you come down off your religious high horse long enough to make love to me.”
“Why is that so important to you, Latha? Eighteen years ago I had to take it from you; now you’re practically begging me for it. Are you trying to get me to prove that I can still do it?”
The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 1 Page 17
