The Knoxville Bear, called out Harry the Horse on his way to the cashregister.
Stud was wiping the counter at Suttree's elbow. What for ye, Sut, he said.
Let me have a chocolate milk.
Buddy boy, said Jake.
Hey Jake.
Jake spat into the stainless steel spittoon and wiped his mouth. The bear can walk the balls to the pockets caint he.
Yes he can, said Suttree.
While he was drinking his milk small weird Leonard took a seat beside him and leaned to case the game at the table and leaned back. Hey Sut?
Hey Leonard.
What the fuck is a yegg?
A yegg?
Y E doubleG.
Suttree looked at Leonard. Who called you that?
What is one?
Well. I dont know. A yegg is a ... I guess a hoodlum.
Hoodlum huh?
More or less.
Yeah. Okay.
I never heard the word except in this crazy newspaper.
Yeah, well. Leonard looked about nervously and rose. I'll see ye, Sut.
Suttree watched him go out toward the front and the stairs. Stud, he said. Hand me that paper.
He found the story on page two. Yeggs last night boarded the River Queen, popular Knoxville excursion boat, in what was apparently an unsuccessful robbery attempt. He smiled and finished the milk and laid his dime on the counter and pushed back the paper.
The Jellyroll Kid was in a check game at the front table and when Suttree sat in one of the lopsided theatre seats the kid sidled to him and turned down his cupped hand for Suttree to read his pills. He had the one and the twelve. Suttree noted them with a poker face. You shoot up here with the big dogs do you? he said.
It's just a dollar. The kid was watching the table. He'd broken the rack and the twelveball was hung in the corner pocket. Flop set his cue crutch up on the felt and laid the cue in it and stroked and sighted, sawing the cue smoothly, holding the crutch under his stump. He shot the eight in the side pocket and the cueball kissed its way along the balls on the rail and tore out the oneball and nudged a ball up against the twelve. The twelve dropped into the pocket.
Check, called Jellyroll, taking the pill from his pocket and wedging it under the rail at the head of the table. Flop looked up at him and chalked his cue and laid by the crutch and set the cue on the rail and began to stroke back and forth and sight. Jellyroll looked off down the hall. Jerome Jernigan turned his eyes up in disgust. Flop stroked the oneball into the corner.
Double, said Jellyroll, throwing his pill on the table.
Shit, said Jerome.
Rack, said Jelly.
The Jellyroll Kid, said Jake, shucking the balls up out of the pockets and rounding them up with the rack.
Jelly threw a quarter on the table and collected his dollars from the other players and funneled the pills back into the leather bottle and shook it and handed it to Suttree. Suttree tipped it and let two pills fall into his palm and passed the bottle to Flop.
That's the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, Flop said.
Jellyroll broke the balls on the table. Suttree turned up the pills and looked at them. He had the one and the fifteen.
Which way can I go, Sut?
Suttree looked at the table. The eightball was sewn up.
You can go any way you want.
I dont even want to know what I've got, said Jelly. He shot the fifteen into the corner and chalked his cue.
Check, said Suttree, rising and putting the fifteen pill under the rail.
How's that fourteen look, Sut?
That's too hard a shot, Jelly.
Jelly walked around the table and sighted on the oneball and banked it across the side.
Double, said Suttree.
No shit? said Jelly, raising up and grinning.
Rack, said Jerome.
Flop shook his head. The other man stood up and threw his pills on the table and took the pillbottle and emptied the pills out onto the felt. Let him draw his own fuckin pills, he said.
Yes, said Jelly. I aint had the eightball a time.
How sweet it is on the Jellyroll Kid, said Jake, racking up the balls.
The stranger was counting the pills back into the bottle. Jellyroll grinned and winked at Suttree. Kenneth Tipton told me he got in a check game up here last week with four highschool boys. He was the last to draw pills and when he went to draw them there wasnt but one left in the jug. He held it up and asked could he borrow one from somebody.
Suttree grinned. Jimmy Long got in a bank game up here with a hustler one time, they butted heads for about an hour, finally this hustler says: Let's play one game lefthanded for ten. Old J-Bone says okay and this hustler was lefthanded.
Jelly laughed and bent and broke the balls and reached for the pillbottle. Suttree rose.
Where you goin Sut?
I've got to go.
Shit, dont leave now. We'll go drink a beer here in a minute.
I'll see you later.
Jelly was looking at his pills. Drink some mash and talk some trash, he called out.
Suttree went past the counter. Hey Fred, he said.
Buddy boy, said Fred.
He pushed open the door and nodded to the sentry at the top of the stairs and went down the stairwell to the street.
In the evening he rowed back across the river with six bottles of cold beer under the seat. The shadow of the bluff lay deep and cool along the south shore of the river. He swung in alongside the Indian's patched skiff and tethered his rope and tucked the sack of beer under his arm and started up the bluff.
The path wound up by a steep and narrow way and near the top of the rise came out upon a natural terrace in the rock and a cave. The Indian did not seem to be about. A soapkettle was lodged on a rock hob and the gray flaky ashes when he toed them broke open to an orange heart of burning wood.
Hey Michael, he called.
A lizard crossed the stone floor and slithered into the weeds.
Suttree tipped up the rim of the kettle's lid with a stick. A wafted breath of fragrant steam slid out. The stew simmered gently. He let the lid drop and went to the mouth of the cave and looked in. A red clay floor that shaped itself among the rocks. On the right was a table made from a plank propped on stones. He ducked under the low limestone ledge and entered and set the beer down. Just within the last reaches of daylight he could make out the footrail of an old iron bed. It was damp in the cave and it smelled of earth and woodsmoke. Suttree went back out. He called again but there was no answer. He walked to the edge of the bluff and looked out. The city lay quiet in the evening sun and innocent. Far downstream the river narrowed with distance where the pieced fields lay pale and hazy and the water placid much like those misty landscapes in which Audubon posed his birds. He sat in a tattered lawnchair and watched the traffic on the bridge below. There was no sound save for a bird that conjured up forbidden jungles with its medley of whoops and croaks. Suttree saw it put forth from the bluff and flutter in midair and go back. He leaned his head back. A mayfly, delicate and pale green, drifted past. Lost ephemera, wandered surely from some upland pastoral. The chat came from its bower on the bluffside and fluttered and snatched the mayfly and returned. After a while it sang again. It sang grok, wheet, erk. Suttree got up and went into the cave and got one of the beers. He returned to the chair and sat and wiped the mouth of the bottle with the web of his thumb and held it up and toasted mutely the city below and drank.
It was almost dark when the Indian returned. He came down the slope above the cave and dropped to the stone floor and crossed to where Suttree sat.
Hey, said Suttree.
How you doin?
Okay. Get yourself a beer there. I set them inside on that table.
You want one?
Yeah.
The Indian crossed the little terrace and lifted the lid from the pot and sniffed. How's it doin?
Okay.
He stirred the mixture with a peeled st
ick and clapped the lid back over it and pushed more wood into the fire. He came from the cave with the beers and handed one to Suttree and squatted on his heels at the edge of the bluff. The John Agee was coming downriver, her stern paddles trudging the brown waters. They sipped their beers. The lights of the city were beginning to come up across the river. The lamps along the bridge winked on. Cryptic shapes of neon gas bloomed on the wall of the night and the city reached light by light across the plain, the evening land, the lights in their gaudy penumbra shoring up the dark of the heavens, the stars set back in their sockets. Bats came from flues and cellars to flutter over the water like rough shapes of ash tumbled on the wind and the air was clean and fresh after the rain.
You're not from Knoxville, Suttree said.
No.
How long you been here?
Just this summer.
Suttree looked out over the lights of the city. What will you do in the winter?
I dont know.
You'll freeze your ass off up here.
How cold does it get.
Got down to zero last winter.
The Indian turned his head and laid the flat of his chin on his shoulder and spat and turned back to watch the river.
I almost froze in that shantyboat. Stove and all.
The Indian nodded.
What do those signify?
The Indian looked down. He touched the doll's eyes. Them? I dont know. Good luck.
I guess they must work. Judging by that catfish.
Dont you have nothin?
A good luck piece?
Yeah.
No. I guess not.
The Indian rose. Wait a minute, he said. I'll get you something.
When he came back from the cave he handed Suttree a small lozenge of yellowed bone. Suttree held it up and looked at it. It had a hole bored in one end and he turned it in his hand to feel if there were not some carving on it but there wasnt. A few hairline cracks. A tooth? He rubbed its polished surface.
What is it?
The Indian shrugged.
Where did you get it?
I found it.
Do I have to wear it or can I just carry it in my pocket.
You can just carry it if you want to.
Okay.
Dont forget about it.
No. He held it up.
You cant just put it away and forget about it. said the Indian, He drained his bottle and rose and crossed the terrace to the fire. He ladled the stew up into heavy white china bowls and came and handed one to Suttree. Suttree took it in both hands and balanced it and stirred. He spooned up a piece of the meat and cradled it in his mouth to cool it. He chewed it. It was succulent and rich, a flavor like no other.
The Indian came from the cave with two more beers and a lighted lamp. He set the beers down and he set the lamp on the stone and crouched like an icon and began to ladle the stew into his jaws. Suttree watched him eat, his eyes dark and trancelike in the soft orange light, his jaws moving in a slow rotary motion and the veins in his temple pulsing. Solemn, mute, decorous. In his crude clothes crudely mended, wearing not only the outlandish eyes but small lead medallions that bore the names of whiskeys. Sitting solemn and unaccountable and bizarre. He reached and took up his beer and drank. He rocked the bottle and studied the foam within the brown glass. I found them in a fish, he said.
The eyes?
Yeah.
What about my piece?
It was in the cave yonder. How you like the turtle?
It's damned good.
The Indian set the bottle down and took up his spoon. How long you been on the river? he said. This is my second year.
The Indian shook his head. You wont stay.
Maybe not,
What got you fishin?
I dont know. I sort of inherited my line from another man. Suttree reached down and got his beer and drank. Dry weeds at the edge of the rock rattled and hissed in the wind.
What happened to the other man?
I dont know, said Suttree. All he said was not to look for him back.
There was no one in the Huddle save a few whores and weird Leonard, pale and pimpled part-time catamite. They were sitting at the black table drinking beer and sharing ribald tales oft told and partly true of Johns and tricks. When he saw Suttree at the bar he rose up and came over.
Hey Leonard, said Suttree.
Listen Sut. I got somethin to ast you.
I've got something to ask you.
He looked about. Come on back in the back, he said. Get ye a beer. Mr Hatmaker, give us a fishbowl over here.
Fat city, said Suttree. Where'd you score?
I got me a little walkabout off old crazy Larry this mornin. Here. Come on back in the back.
They eased into the booth and Suttree cocked his feet up and took a sip of the beer and leaned back. Leonard did the same. After a while Suttree said: Well?
Well.
Well go on.
You ask yourn first.
You know what mine is.
No I dont. What is it.
I'd like to hear the true story. The paper said you finally jumped overboard.
What the fuck, Sut. What are you talkin about?
The River Queen.
Leonard looked around. Hell fire, he whispered hoarsely. That wasnt me.
Then what are you whispering about?
I didnt do it. May God strike me ...
Suttree seized his upraised hand. Not with me sitting this close.
Leonard grinned.
Did you really have to swim for it?
I dont know nothin about it Sut. I keep tellin ye.
Okay. What was it you wanted to ask me.
Well.
Go ahead.
Shit, I dont know where to start.
Start at the beginning.
Well you know the old man's been sick a long time.
Okay.
And you know the old lady draws that welfare.
All right.
Well she draws so much for everbody. I mean she wouldnt let Sue move out on account of it would cut it down and she gets medical for the old man and he draws unemployment on top of that so she draws good money.
All right.
Well if the old man was to die she wouldnt get but about half what all she's gettin.
Suttree sipped from his bowl again and nodded.
Well ...
Go on.
Well he's done died.
Suttree looked up. I'm sorry to hear that, he said. When was it?
Leonard passed the top of his closed fist across his forehead and looked around uneasily. That was what I wanted to talk to you about.
Okay. Go ahead.
Well. Shit.
Hell Leonard, go on.
Well. He died see?
I do see.
And Mama stands to lose about half her check.
Well, she wont have the expense of him.
He aint been no expense. She's been savin to get her some things she needs. She done got a steamiron.
Well Leonard if he's dead he's dead. You cant keep him in the back room and make out like ...
Leonard's finger traced along the top of the table through the water pooled off the frozen mug. He didnt look up.
I mean he wont keep with hot weather coming on. Suttree smiling, smile slowly fading. Leonard gave him a funny little look and went back to scribbling in the water.
Leonard.
Yeah.
When did he die?
Well. He sat erect and rolled his shoulders. Well, he died ...
Yeah, you said. When?
Last December.
They sat in silence, looking at their mugs of beer. Suttree passed his hand over his face. After a while he said: Did you ever get her refrigerator back?
Naw. She got her anothern.
What did you do, run an ad in the paper?
You mean on her old one?
On her old one.
Naw. Hell fire Sut, I never meant t
o sell it. This old guy stopped me in the street ast me did I know anybody had one for sale. I told him no but I kept thinkin about it and I got to drinkin whiskey with Hoghead and them and we run out of whiskey and I knowed where the old guy lived and went on over there and then we went to the house on account of she was at work and he offered to give me fifteen dollars for the refrigerator and I said twenty and he said okay. Fore I knowed what happened he had it dollied up and out the door and loaded and gone. I wouldnt of done it had I not been drinkin.
Leonard?
Yeah?
What the fuck are you going to do about your old man?
I wanted to talk to you about it. If we could just get him out of there without anybody bein the wiser we could still draw on him.
You're crazy.
Listen Sut. We're painted into a corner anyways. I mean what if we was to just call up and say he died? I mean hell fire, you caint fool them guys. Them guys is doctors. They take one look at him and know for a fact he's been dead six months.
How does it smell in there?
It smells fuckin awful.
Leonard took Suttree's empty bowl to the bar and refilled it. When he came back they sat in silence, Leonard watching Suttree. Suttree shrugged his shoulders up. Well, he said. He couldnt think of anything to say about it.
Leonard leaned forward. Listen, he said. I just need somebody to help me with him. I can get a car ...
Suttree leveled up a pair of cold gray eyes at him. No, he said.
If I could just get you to help me load him, Sut. Hell, it wouldnt be no risk to you.
Suttree looked across the table at that earnest little face, the blond hair, the pimples, the eyes too close together. Strange scenes of midnight stealth and mummied corpses by torchlight, old snips from horror movies, flickered through his head. Listen Leonard, he said.
I'm listening.
What does your mother think about all this? I mean, I cant see her going for this crazy hustle.
She aint got no choice. See, what it was, it got out of hand Sut. We left him in there just to finish out the week. You know. So we could draw on him for the full week? Well, the week ended and I said hell, wont hurt nothin to let it go a few more days. You know. And draw that. Well. It just went on from there.
Aint that the way though? Suttree said.
It wasnt nobody's fault Sut. It just got out of hand.
Suttree (1979) Page 27