but what had really stunned him was the fact that he had forgotten what it was like, because he was shocked but he was not really surprised. It hadn’t really surprised him. Because surprises come out of the clear blue sky, and this was not like that at all, because he had been living knowing it could happen almost all of his life, and knowing that long was waiting that long, too. But he had forgotten it, too, because he had been so busy trying to keep it from happening that he had forgotten all about what it really was, and all of a sudden there it was and it was him and this: him facing Dudley Philpot, and Dudley Philpot holding the pistol.
2.
I told him and that didn’t do no good at all. I told him and he just kept right on. He knew it wasn’t my fault and he come lighting into me like that. Just like I was the one and he know good and well it wasn’t none of me. I told him I couldn’t help it, and he know Gile Cunningham as good as I do. I come right straight on there and told him just as soon as it happened and if he was going to do something he ought to done it then, but all he done was just say that then and I thought I was out of it. I thought he was just going to say that and let me go on and he did and I thought that was it. He wouldn’t let me give it to him and he said for me to tell Gile and I did and I figured it was him and Gile then, and it was, and then he come sending for me again and I thought it was all over and done with. I just thought he was ready to take it and let me go on then and here he come with all of this. Just like I ain’t had it at all and I had it right there for him to take in the first place. All of this about something like that and I had it right there and he wouldn’t let me give it to him, like what difference did that make. All this now and I still ain’t give it to him and I had it all the confound time.
he made it on past Neely’s Crossing and came on until he saw the sweet gum tree, and then he left the railroad and came on down across the right-of-way to where he knew the trail began. He had to slow down and catch his breath then, but he couldn’t stop. He was trotting and then he was walking, and then he was trotting again.
I tried to tell that crazy fool, trouble-making Gile, he said to himself without realizing it. I tried to tell him and that didn’t do no good at all. I told him. I said, look, Gile, I got to do that first, and he didn’t pay that no attention at all. He made me do it. He made me. He had me and I told him and he made me do it anyhow. He had me then and what else could I do and there I was then and all I could do was go on and I did and I was going along that street and I came on past the sweet shrubs and the warehouse, and then I slowed back down again because I was almost there and I had to think about what I was going to tell him because it wasn’t nothing but I knew good and well he wasn’t going to like it and he sure God didn’t.
Then I was there and I went on through the store to the office, and he was busy talking to old man Cliff from the secondhand store up the street. Standing there leaning back against the front edge of the desk smoking, looking down at their feet, and then he saw me and looked at me and I waited, and I was still trying to think up something but all I was doing was waiting and then old man Secondhand Cliff was gone and I was standing there with my hat, like that, and he was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk again.
“Well, Will?”
“How you, Mister Dub?” I said.
“Pretty good, Will. How you?”
“Not so good, Mister Dub,” I said.
“Well, let’s see now.” He said that like he always did and I heard it and heard that kind of breathing that goes with that kind of talk, and I was thinking, that’s the way white folks talk, they have noses like that and they breathe like that when they talk.
“Mister Dub,” I said.
“Just a minute, Will, “and he took the key from his pocket and opened the drawer and took out that little old checker-back school tablet. Then he took out the metal box.
“Mister Dub,” I said.
“All right, Will.”
Then I took the money from my watch pocket and unfolded it.
“Take it out of this, Mister Dub,” I said.
“Where’s that check, Will?”
“I ain’t got it, Mister Dub,” I said.
“You ain’t got it?”
“No, sir,” I said, “not this time.”
“Well, where the hell is it then, Will?”
“Sir?”
“Where’d you get all that cash money from, Will?”
“Well, you see, Mister Dub, I had another little transaction. I had to take care of that,” I said.
“But what are you doing with all that cash money, Will?”
“He cashed it, Mister Dub,” I told him.
“Who cashed it, Will?”
“Gile Cunningham, Mister Dub,” I said.
“Giles Cunningham?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“What the hell is that nigger doing cashing your checks, Will?”
“Well, sir, you see I owed him a little something, too, and I was on my way here but I kinda bumped into him first.”
“You know I’m the one that cashes your checks, Will.”
That’s how it started. About nothing and all I could think about then was all this about a percent. So he can deduct that measly percent and a quarter for surcharge. Gile didn’t charge me nothing for cashing it. I did not look at him then, because I know good and well what was coming. I didn’t say nothing.
“You know that, Will,” he said, not looking at me. I wasn’t looking at him either, but I saw him.
“But I got your money, Mister Dub,” I said. “I was on my way here.”
“Didn’t you tell him I cash your checks for you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. I told him,” I said.
“Well, what the hell did he cash it for then?”
“I don’t know, sir, Mister Dub. I told him.”
“You sure you told him?”
“Yes, sir. I’m dead sure, Mister Dub. But you know Gile Cunningham, Mister Dub.”
“You get out of here and get it back.”
“But he on his way out of town, Mister Dub. That’s how come he done it, anyhow.”
“Well, you get out there and catch him and tell him I say send that damn check in here.”
“But he already gone, Mister Dub.”
“You get out of here and don’t come back till you get it.”
“Yes, sir, but he gone for four or five days.”
“Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know, sir, Mister Dub. He didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, you get ahold of him as soon as he gets back and bring that check in here.”
“But I can’t make him give it to me, Mister Dub. You know Gile Cunningham, Mister Dub. You know how he is.”
“Well, goddamn it, you tell that black son-of-a-bitching bastard I say bring it in here hisself or you tell him I say his black ass’ll wish he had.”
“He didn’t mean you no harm or nothing like that, Mister Dub,” I said.
“You tell him what I said.”
All I said then was, “Yessir,” and I didn’t spend a single penny of my own money all that time. My own money now. Mamie and them gone back out to Indian Stand again and all that. All because of that and all of it is just about as near nothing as anything I ever heard tell of in my life. Me waiting around all that time now.
And then as soon as I come back in there and seen his face like that I could tell what had happened and I already knowed, anyhow. Because I know Gile Cunningham and I know Gile Cunningham don’t care, trouble or no trouble, and he ain’t never been one to bite his tongue for nobody and everybody know it. White folks know that just like everybody else and that’s why don’t none of them do nothing but look at him and leave him alone. Gile Cunningham don’t care nothing about no two-bit peckerwood like no Dub Philpot.
As soon as I come in and seen his face like that, I knowed I was in for it, and I knowed just about what had happened. I had been hoping all day that it was going to be all over, but I knowed t
hat it was just beginning then.
3.
He had been standing there looking toward Dud Philpot then. Knowing that he himself was being looked up and down, but he didn’t look him back in the eye. Because he knew white folks and he knew they didn’t like for you to do that. They thought you might be figuring on doing something if you did that, and that made them uneasy and there was no telling what they were liable to do to you then. But he was watching him and he could also feel him and he could sense every move he might make as soon as it started. He was waiting then, and then he realized that he was supposed to start talking first.
“I come as soon as I got your word, Mister Dub, and I brung the money too. I was right over yonder at the cab stand waiting all the time I been over there all day.”
“What did I tell you to do?
“When, Mister Dub?
Will Spradley had moved his feet then. He mad now. He good and mad now. He getting ready to raise hell now. He bound to raise holy hell now. All about a measly little percent. All because Gile done that and then he couldn’t make him do what he said. He got to raise hell now.
“I done what you told me, Mister Dub,” he had said. “I told him what you told me to.”
“I told you to bring that goddamn check in here in the first place.”
“Yes, sir,” he had said.
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, sir. You sure did, Mister Dub.”
Dud Philpot had been sitting, holding the desk, looking at him then, gripping it harder and harder every time he spoke, his face getting redder, his knuckles whiter; and Will Spradley wanted to say something to calm him down but he couldn’t think of it fast enough then, and the next thing he knew Philpot was standing up.
“Yes, sir, Mister Dub, you sure did.”
“Goddamnit, I’m beginning to believe you think you’re getting smart, Will Spradley. Trying me. You and that Giles.”
“No, sir, Mister Dub, nothing like that, Mister Dub. No sir, Mister Dub, not me.”
His eyes were narrow then and he was breathing, coming close, and his neck and ears were getting redder and redder, and he was glaring and then all of a sudden he started to shake all over as if it had just come to him what he was angry about.
Will Spradley had moved about again then, watching him without really looking at him. He going to start something now. He bound to start something now. Just as sure as I’m standing here. Just as sure as rain and I’m here. White folks. He had moved again then, but he didn’t really move, he just didn’t stand still.
“It was just a mistake, Mister Dub. Gile Cunningham, he—”
“Goddamn your black nigger soul to hell.” Dud Philpot struck at him then, reaching, swinging across the desk, but Will Spradley moved, almost without moving, and Philpot missed him and almost lost his balance.
“Aw, Mister Dub, ain’t no use of that.”
Philpot was halfway around the desk then and he swung again, but Will Spradley twisted to one side and took that blow with his elbow up in front of his face, and began backing away, and then he turned to make a break for the door. But before he could make it there, Philpot had leapt back to the desk and snatched the pistol from the already open top drawer and leveled it at him.
“Make one more move, you black-livered bastard, and I’ll blow your nigger brains out. You hear me nigger? Do you hear me, you sneaky black son-of-a-bitch?”
“Mister Dub, I ain’t done nothing. I ain’t done a thing! What did I do, Mister Dub? You know me, Mister Dub.”
Will Spradley was coming slowly on back toward him then. He got me now. He got me. Goddamn that goddamn trouble-making Gile Cunningham. And ain’t nothing I can do because then where would I be? All the people in this town and it’s got to be me, and he know good and well it ain’t me.
“You know me, Mister Dub.”
Dud Philpot changed the pistol to his left hand then and swung his right but missed him and lost his balance again, and Will Spradley jumped forward to keep him from going down and jumped back, realizing that he had touched him.
“Aw, Mister Dub.”
Dud Philpot slapped him again then, forehand and backhand.
“I’ll teach you.”
“I ain’t done nothing, Mister Dub. You been knowing me all this time, Mister Dub. You know that, Mister Dub.”
“Shut up!”
“But Mister Dub—”
That was when Dud Philpot began hitting him with the pistol.
“What you going to do, Mister Dub? I ain’t done nothing I ain’t done a thing. What you going to do, Mister Dub?”
Dud Philpot struck him a gashing swipe on the side of his head with the barrel then, and Will Spradley staggered, watching him through the blood and fell and started crawling toward the door.
“Please, Mister Dub, please, sir,” he said, but he knew that Dud Philpot was getting too tired to raise the pistol again.
“I told you not to move.”
That was when he kicked him. It was not strong enough to hurt, but Will Spradley pitched himself forward into a sprawl.
“Get up!” Dud Philpot’s voice was almost a whisper.
But Will Spradley didn’t get up any further than his knees, and he kept his legs together and held one arm around his stomach and the other hand before his blood-streaked face. I said, Please, sir, and he still doing it. I told him please sir, because he got me and he know it. I could get him, too, but I can’t because then it would be all that. I could do it right now if I wanted to. I could ram him right now and grab him and turn him every way but aloose. He ain’t thought about that. He so worked up, he forgot about that. I could grab him right now. All I got to do is ram right on into him. Lord, don’t let him think about that now. He surely kill me if he think about that. If he think about that, I’m gone and ain’t nobody going to do nothing either. White folks.
“Please don’t, Mister Dub,” he said in a falsetto that was no less deliberate than habitual. “Please have mercy, Mister Dub. Oh Lord, Jesus, have mercy, Mister Dub.”
Dud Philpot had started kicking him again then, but he had to stop and catch his breath every time, and at first all Will Spradley had done was keep himself covered as he was and wait.
I said please and he was still doing it, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to shoot me and he was too tired to aim straight anyhow, and I was thinking it was almost over because he was too tired and weak to be mad, because he was so tired he was going to have to start thinking about it and remember it wasn’t me because he knew—good and well knew—it was Gile. So he had doubled over, hoping that would hurry it because he had to get somewhere and get the bleeding stopped.
But the next kick had not come and that was when he had suddenly realized how much danger he was really in. That’s the part that really scared me and I was hauling out of there and out here before I knew it, gun or no gun, because I could hear him just standing there huffing and puffing like that, and I knew if he fainted it was going to be me if he come to saying I did it and if he didn’t come to, I didn’t have no chance at all. White folks. White folks. White folks. But now I got to get there and tell Gile.
And black ones, too. Yeah, them too. Goddamn right, them too. Because ain’t no use of them saying that because that don’t make me that, just because I didn’t do that. They can call me anything they want to, but anybody say I’m that don’t know what they talking about. That’s all right with me because goddamn the luck I know they going to say it anyhow, because all I want to do now is get there and tell Gile. They can say anything they goddamn want to.
he came on and on and on pulling against the pain and pumping against the stiffness and the swelling and then he had his second wind and his second chance. But he still couldn’t really believe it was happening to him.
XIV
Not that I didn’t already know people like Will Spradley. I have always known and heard about people like him. But I must say that it has also been my good fortune to have also always known qui
te a few who could easily have been very much like him but were not. There was Ed Riggins, for instance, better known as Evil Ed Riggins and perhaps even better as Old Man Evil Ed. By which people of all persuasions in and around Gasoline Point meant that he was not only somewhat foul-mouthed as if on principle but also downright badassed when crossed.
He was one I was to find myself remembering again as soon as I realized what turn the story Will Spradley was telling me was about to take. Any time his name used to be mentioned around the fireside or on the swing porch, somebody always had to say something about how he never was one to take any stuff from anybody, especially white people, whom he almost always called white folks. Even when he was addressing them individually, he would say, What say white folks or, Howdo white folks or say, Lookahere white folks and so on, and he was the one who referred to important looking white women not as Miss Ann or Miss Lady but as Miss I Am, as in “Look at Miss I Am up there, call herself clerking on that typing machine. White folks, white folks, white folks. I declare to God!”
Everybody knew the one about how he used to signify at his own boss man back in the old days up in the farming country before moving down into Mobile County during the wartime shipbuilding boom in Chickasaw. All you had to do was be somewhere sometime as I was in the barbershop that time when somebody reminded him of Old Man Jake Turner Cuthbert.
Whoever it was went on to say, I remember one time when damn near half the farm folks in that district was still standing around that little old two-by-four crossroads town after dark, waiting for old man Jake to get back from the county seat with the payroll. You remember that, Ed? And Old Ed Riggins said, Goddamn right I remember it and all them old hunch-shouldered, boney-butt peckerwoods standing around everywhere waiting for him, too, just like us, and I’m the one got to tell him. I said, Where the hell is that goddamn old white man with my money I done sweated all the week for? I said, This is Sadday night. I said, I done give him the time he hire me for and now this here is my goddamn time he messing with. He ain’t paying me for this and look at all these stores still open so people can settle up a few things and pick up a little something and get on home. Goddamn.
The Spyglass Tree Page 10
