by Jim Thompson
She opened her mouth to speak, to call me some more dirty names I guess. Then she seemed to have some second thoughts on the matter, and she sat down quietly at the side of the lounge.
“You’ve got to help me, Nick. You’ve got to help me cover this up some way.”
“Well, now, I don’t rightly see how I could do that,” I said. “After all, you’re guilty of murder an’ fornicatin’ and hypocrisy, an’—”
“Huh! Wha-at!” She glared at me. “Why, you fork-tongued son-of-a-bitch! You call me names after what you’ve done! And I don’t suppose you’re at all responsible, are you?”
“Not a speck,” I said. “Just because I put temptation in front of people, it don’t mean they got to pick it up.”
“I asked you a question, damn you! Who planned those murders? Who tells a lie every time he draws a breath? Who the hell is it that’s been fornicating with me, and God knows how many others?”
“Oh, well,” I said. “It don’t count when I do those things.”
“It don’t count! What the hell do you mean?”
I said I meant I was just doing my job, followin’ the holy precepts laid down in the Bible. “It’s what I’m supposed to do, you know, to punish the heck out of people for bein’ people. To coax ’em into revealin’ theirselves, an’ then kick the crap out of ’em. And it’s a god-danged hard job, Rose, honey, and I figure that if I can get a little pleasure in the process of trappin’ folks I’m mighty well entitled to it.”
Rose stared at me, frowning.
“What is this?” she said. “What kind of nutty talk is that?”
“Well, now, I guess it does sound kind of nutty,” I said, “but that ain’t hardly no ways my fault. By rights, I should be rompin’ on the high an’ the mighty, the folks that really run this country. But I ain’t allowed to touch them, so I’ve got to make up for it by being twice as hard on the white trash an’ Negroes, and people like you that let their brains sink down to their butts because they couldn’t find no place else to use them. Yes, sir, I’m laborin’ in the Lord’s vineyard, and if I can’t reach up high, I got to work all the harder on the low-hangin’ vines. For the Lord loveth a willin’ worker, Rose; He liketh to see a man bustin’ his ass during workin’ hours. And I got them hours cut way, way down with eatin’ and sleepin’, but I can’t eat and sleep all the time.”
I’d let my eyes drift shut while I was talking. When I opened them Rose was gone, but I heard her moving around in Myra’s room.
I went to the door and looked in.
She’d stripped out of her clothes, and was trying on some of Myra’s. I asked her if she was figurin’ on going somewhere, and she gave me a look that would have fried an egg.
“Am I going somewhere,” she said bitterly. “As if you didn’t know what I was going to do, what I have to do!”
I said I reckoned she’d be taking the dawn train out of town, because no one would see her leave that way and she’d have a full day’s start before I got excited and worried about Myra and Lennie and got around to discovering that they was murdered.
“Of course, that dawn train don’t carry passengers, they just got a water-stop here. But I reckon them trainmen will be proud to let you ride when they see how friendly you are. I bet they won’t charge you a cent, which makes things pretty nice since you don’t have no money you can put your hands on.”
Rose bit her lips; shook her head wonderingly.
“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re getting a kick out of it!”
“Not really,” I said. “It’s just part of my job, you know, to gloat over folks in trouble.”
“Nick,” she said. “What’s happened to you? When did you get like this?”
I said, well, sir, if she meant when had the truth been revealed to me, it had been happenin’ for a long time. Bit by bit, I’d been given a glimpse of it, and now and then I’d think I knew what it was, and now an’ then I was just mystified and scared. I didn’t know from what for, and I’d get the idea that I must be goin’ crazy or something. And then, tonight, at her house, as I stood outside of myself plannin’ things, and then as I’d watched what I’d planned to take place, it was sort of like someone had pulled a trigger in my mind and there was one great big flash of light, and at last I saw the whole truth; at last I saw why things were as they were, and why I was as I was.
“I saw it all, honey,” I said. “I saw the truth and the glory; and it ain’t going to be nearways so bad for you as you might think. Why, a gal like you can make herself a mint in them river towns, just doin’ what you like to do, and I never knew no gal that done it any better. And speakin’ of that, and as long as we won’t be seein’ each other no more, I’ve got no objection to cleaving unto you for five or ten minutes even if you are sort of a fugitive from the law.”
Rose snatched up the alarm clock from the dresser and flang it at me. It smashed against the wall, and what I mean is it really smashed.
“Now, god-dang it, Rose,” I said. “How the god-dang heck am I goin’ to wake up in time for church?”
“Church! Church!” she moaned. “You going to church after—after—! Oh, you son-of-a-bitch! Oh, you sneaky, tricky, lying, mealy-mouthed bastard!”
“Now, there you go again,” I said. “There ain’t no sure use of pretendin’ no longer, ’cause now I know you’re mad at me.”
She cut loose with another blast of cuss words. Then, she whirled back around to the mirror, and began fussin’ with the dress she was trying on.
“It’s that Amy Mason, isn’t it?” she said. “You’re getting rid of everyone so you can marry her.”
“Well,” I said. “I got to admit I’ve been studyin’ about it.”
“I’ll bet you have! I just bet you have, you double-crossing skunk!”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ve been studyin’ about it, but the fact is I can’t make up my mind. It ain’t that she’s a sinner, because she’s one of the quality an’ they got their own laws and rules and I don’t have to bother with ’em. But I’m afraid marryin’ her might interfere with my work. Y’see, I got my job to do, Rose; I got to go on bein’ High Sheriff, the highest legal authority in Potts County, this place that’s the world to most people here, because they never see nothin’ else. I just got to be High Sheriff, because I’ve been peccul-yarly an’ singularly fitted for it, and I ain’t allowed to give it up. Every now an’ then, I think I’m goin’ to get out of it, but always the thoughts are put in my head and the words in my mouth to hold me in my place. I got to be it, Rose. I got to be High Sheriff of Potts County forever an’ ever. I got to go on an’ on, doin’ the Lord’s work; and all he does is the pointin’, Rose, all He does is pick out the people an’ I got to exercise His wrath on ’em. And I’ll tell you a secret, Rose, they’s plenty of times when I don’t agree with Him at all. But I got nothing to say about it. I’m the High Sheriff of Potts County, an’ I ain’t supposed to do nothing that really needs doing, nothin’ that might jeopardize my job. All I can do is follow the pointin’ of the Lord’s finger, striking down the pore sinners that no one gives a good god-dang about. Like I say, I’ve tried to get out of it; I’ve figured on runnin’ away and stayin’ away. But I can’t, and I know I’ll never be able to. I got to keep on like I’m doin’ now, and I’m afraid Amy would never understand that or put up with it. So I misdoubt I’ll be marryin’ her.”
Rose gazed at me in the mirror. She studied me for a long time, puzzled, angry, frightened, and then she shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, brother!” she said. “What a bull artist!”
“Now, god-dang it, Rose,” I said. “You just think about it a little and it’ll make plenty of sense for you. Ain’t it logical that I should appear here in Potts County, which is just about as close to the asshole of creation as you can get without havin’ a finger snapped off? And don’t I have to be just another fella—just a man, like I was the first time—and don’t I have to act like one, just the same as an
yone else? When in Potts County, do what the Potts County folks do, like the fella says. An’ if you want to promote anyone to glory, why do it privately, because people want logical explanations for everything, particularly for the miracle of promotin’ people to glory.”
Rose made a farting noise with her lips. “Brother!” she said again. “Are you ever full of crap!”
“Now, don’t you say that, Rose,” I said. “Please, please don’t. I’ve been a long time figuring things out, and now I finally done it; I finally explained things to myself, and I had to explain ’em, Rose, or go crazy. An’ even now, sometimes, I find a doubt or so creepin’ in, and I can’t stand it, I honest to God can’t stand it. So, please, honey, please don’t…don’t…”
I turned and stumbled off to my bedroom.
I prayed mightily and pretty soon I got a grip on myself, and my doubts went away. I prayed mightily and the strength flowed back into me, and I didn’t hardly mind at all the names that Rose was fussin’ and cussin’ at me. And I could even have kissed her goodbye when she left, and maybe’ve given her a pinch or two, if she hadn’t threatened to brain me if I so much as touched her.
24
I went to church like always, and I was asked to sing in the choir like I’d been doin’ up until the time it had looked like Sam Gaddis was going to beat me out for sheriff. So I sang out loud an’ clear, shouting the praises of the Lord, and god-dang if I didn’t practically raise the roof with Amens when the minister started preachin’. I reckon I must’ve prayed and shouted an’ sang louder than anyone in the church, and after everything was over the minister wrung me by the hand and called me Brother, and said he saw the spirit was truly in me.
“And where is good Sister Myra today? Not ill, I hope.”
“Well, no, I reckon not,” I said. “She and Lennie drove out to see Sister Rose Hauck last night, and I didn’t discover until this morning that the horse had run off and come back to town by hisself. I guess that’s what happened, anyway, because the horse is in the stable an’ she and Lennie ain’t come home yet.”
“Yes?” He frowned a little. “But haven’t you phoned the Hauck house?”
“Oh, I didn’t see no point in that,” I said. “I couldn’t have picked her up, anyway, before church and I sure didn’t want to miss church. I figured I’ll probably drive out in time to bring her in for evenin’ services.”
“Yes,” he said, still kind of frowning. “Well…”
“Hallelujah!” I said. “Praise the Lord, Brother!”
I went on home, and fixed myself a bite to eat. Then I washed up the dishes, and put ’em away, and after I’d done that I went into my room and dropped down on the bed. Just laid there, doin’ nothing in particular and not workin’ very hard at it.
I found a long hair sticking out of my nose, and I jerked it out and looked at it, and it didn’t look particularly interesting. I dropped it to the floor, wonderin’ if falling hair from fella’s noses was noted along with fallin’ sparrows. I raised up on one cheek of my butt, and eased out one of those long rattly farts, like you never can get rid of when other folks are around. I scratched my balls, tryin’ to decide at what point a fella stopped scratchin’ and started playin’. Which is an age-old question, I guess, and one that ain’t likely to be solved in the near future.
I listened, tryin’ to hear Myra out in the kitchen. I started puzzlin’ over where Lennie might be, and thinking maybe I ought to go out and look for him before he got into trouble. I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t take a run out to see Rose, and pleasure her up a little if Tom wasn’t to home.
It seemed like a good idea, the more I thought about it. And I was clean out into the living room before I suddenly remembered; and I dropped down hard into a chair, and buried my face in my hands. Trying to sort things out. Trying to fit them back together in the only way they made sense.
Buck came in—Ken Lacey’s deputy, you know. I was kind of befuddled for a minute, so absorbed with fittin’ things together that I couldn’t quite place him. But there was the gun hangin’ from his hip and his deputy sheriff’s badge and his long leathery face, so of course I remembered pretty fast.
We shook hands and I told him to set down. “I bet you prob’ly run into my wife downtown,” I said. “I bet she told you just to come right on up here and walk in without knockin’, because I wouldn’t mind a bit, didn’t she?”
“Nope,” said Buck.
“You mean it didn’t happen that way?”
“Yep,” said Buck.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Buck. “What happened was I was huntin’ me a skunk, and when I’m a-huntin’ skunk I don’t stand none on ceremony, I just bust right in wherever I smell him.”
“Well,” I said. “Well, now. How you standin’ all this weather?”
“Tol’able. Just tol’able.”
“You reckon it’s goin’ to get any hotter?”
“Yep,” said Buck. “Yes, sir, it’s goin’ to get a lot hotter. Wouldn’t surprise me none if it got so hot for a certain fella that didn’t keep his bounden bargain with me that he just naturally won’t be able to stand it.”
I got a bottle out of the sideboard and filled a couple of glasses. He took the one I handed him, and threw it against the wall.
“Like to keep my hands free,” he explained. “Kind of a habit with me when I’m around a fella that don’t keep his bounden agreements.”
“Buck,” I said. “I just couldn’t do it! I was willin’ to but it was just plumb impossible!”
“No, it wasn’t,” Buck said. “Moresomeover, it ain’t.”
“But you don’t understand, god-dang it! I possolutely couldn’t do it because—”
“Ain’t interested in no becauses or whys or whichfors,” Buck said. “You ’n’ me had a bargain, and I done my part in gettin’ Ken down here. Now you do your part an’ drop that rope over his neck, or I’m goin’ to put it around yours.”
I told him that would be a pretty trick to see, but maybe he’d better not attempt it. “Might be you’d get it around your own neck.”
“Maybe,” Buck said. “But then I reckon not. I reckon I could go right on a-playin’ a part, like I got so much practice doin’ around Ken Lacey.”
“Such as?” I said.
“Such as bein’ in such a state of fear and tremblin’ that I didn’t dast do anything when you told me you was goin’ to kill them two pimps. Also, along with being feared and trembly, I was just plain stupid, and I didn’t reckon there was no way we could ever convict you until this fella, George Barnes, came along and he don’t like you none at all nohow an’ I figure he could somehow prove the truth with me tellin’ him what it was, an’ also swearin’ to it.”
“Buck,” I said. “Listen to me, Buck…”
“Uh-huh.” Buck shook his head. “I et a peck of dirt a day, every day I worked for Ken Lacey. Et so much dirt that I could feel it seepin’ out of me, and I couldn’t hardly bear to hug my kids no more nor t’sleep with my wife for fear it would rub off on them, and they couldn’t never get clean like I figured I couldn’t never get clean. Well, now, I got a chance to stop eatin’ it and put Ken Lacey under six feet of it. And don’t you try to stop me, Nick. You try to stop me, and t’me you’re just Ken Lacey; you’re his twin brother, spoonin’ the dirt into me every time I open my mouth, and I just can’t eat no more. I just can’t, by God, I CAN’T EAT NO MORE DIRT! I C-CAN’T—”
His jaw snapped shut. He brushed his nose with his sleeve, his eyes burnin’ into mine. “That’s it, Nick. I’d rather it was Ken, but it’s goin’ to be you or him.”
I took a drink from my glass, giving him time to get calmed down a little.
Then I told him why he couldn’t do it, revealin’ who I was for the first time. He didn’t seem a speck surprised, beyond raising his eyebrows for a second. The fact was, I guess, that he probably thought I was jokin’ or crazy—he didn’t care much which. An’ I suppose I should have expected that—because
what would you have thought?—but I was still a mite disappointed.
I told him again, just to make sure he’d heard me right. He shook his head, sayin’ he reckoned I was wrong.
“Prob’ly got yourself mixed up with that other fella,” he said. “The one with the same front initial.”
“That’s right, Buck!” I said. “That’s right! I’m both, don’t you see? The fella that gets betrayed and the one that does the betrayin’ all in one man!”
He didn’t seem even nowheres near convinced. I jumped up and went over to the window, thinkin’ that maybe I would see a sign. But all I could see was a couple of dogs, frolickin’ around and sniffing each other.
I stood watching them, and I guess I laughed out loud without knowin’ it.
“That grave-dirt ticklin’ you?” Buck drawled. “You already got one foot in it, you know.”
“I was just watching a couple of dogs out here,” I said, “and it reminded me of a story I heard one time. You ever hear it, Buck?—I mean why dogs always go around sniffing each other’s asses?”
Buck said he hadn’t heard it. “Can’t say that I’m real interested in hearin’ it, neither, just in case you was figurin’ on telling it.”
I said, that, well, sir, accordin’ to this story, all the dogs in the world held a convention back in the beginning of time, their purpose being to set up a code of conduct, like maybe it shouldn’t be fair to bite each other in the balls and so on. And there was this one dog that had a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order that he’d got somewhere, prob’ly at the same place Cain got his wife. So he automatically became chairman, and the first thing he done was to declare the entire convention a committee of the hole. “Fellas,” he says, “canines of the convention. I don’t want to tread on no honorable dogs’ paws, so I’ll just put it this way. When we go back in them smoke-filled rooms to caucus, I’m sure we don’t want to smell nothing but smoke, and the best thing to do it seems to me is to pile our assholes outside, and if someone will make a motion to that effect, I’ll certainly be glad to put a second on it.” Well, sir, it seemed like such a danged good idea that every dog in the convention jumped up to make the motion, so the chairman declared it passed by acclamation, and there was a brief recess while all the dogs went outside to stack up their assholes. Then, they went back inside t’carry out their business. And god-danged if a heck of a storm didn’t blow up out of nowhere, and it scattered them assholes every which way, mixin’ ’em up so bad that not a one of them dogs was ever able to find his own. So that’s why they still go around sniffing butts, and they’ll probably keep on until the end of time. Because a dog that’s lost his ass just can’t be happy, even if one of ’em is pretty much like another, and the one he has is in good working order.