21
It was Sunday morning. Early-early Sunday morning. Way off somewhere in the country, I could hear a rooster crowing, but I figured he was probably just dumb-or doing it for exercise, because it was at least an hour before dawn.
Yes, sir, it was plumb quiet, and not a creature was stirring, you might say. Except for me, shifting my buttocks a little on the bed now and then so's I would stay comfortable. And except for Rose.
She was out in the kitchen, it sounded like, fixing herself a cup of coffee. Then there was a clattery clash, and I reckoned she must have thrown the cup against the wall, and then I heard a mumbled string of words that had to be curses.
I yawned and stretched. I sure was needing some sleep, but I guess I'm always in need of sheep like I'm always in need of food. Because my labors were mighty ones-oh' Hercules didn't know what hard work was-and what is there to do but eat and sleep? And when you're eatin' and sleepin' you don't have to fret about things that you can't do nothing about. And what else is there to do but laugh an' joke… how else can you bear up under the unbearable?
It was a cinch that cryin' didn't do no good. I'd tried that before in my agony-I'd cried out as loud as a fella could cry-an' it hadn't done no good at all.
I yawned and stretched again.
Sunday in Pottsville, I thought. Sunday in Pottsvilhe, an' my sweetheart is going to leave me, and I hope it don't grieve me. My eyes plumb deceive me, an' no one'll believe me.
And I thought, god-dang it, Nick, if you didn't already have your work cut out for you, you could be a poet. The poet laureate of Potts County, by dang, and you could make up poems about piss tinkling in pots and jaybirds with the bots and assholes tying knots and…
Rose came in, and stood beside my bed.
She looked down at me, biting her lip, her face twisted like a handful of clay that a baby has played with.
"I just want to tell you one thing, Nick Corey," she said. "And don't think you're not getting off lucky, because I'd be doing a hot more than talk to you if I could. I'd see you swinging by your neck, you dirty bastard. I'd tell about you killing Tom, and goddam you, I'd laugh my head off when they strung you up, an'-an'-"
"I thought you were just going to tell me one thing," I said. "Seems to me like that's about a dozen."
"Screw you! I'm not going to tell you what I was going to say because I'm a decent woman. But if I wasn't, you know what I'd say? You know what I'd do to you, you rotten son-of-a-bitch? I'd heist a leg and pee in your ear until it washed out that stinking pile of crap you call brains!"
"Now, you just watch out now, Rose," I said. "You just better watch out or you'll be saying something dirty."
She started bawling, and stumbled back out of the room.
I heard her as she dropped down on the lounge, bawling and sniffling. And after a while she began to mumble to herself. Wondering out loud how anyone- meaning me-could do such a terrible thing.
And what could I have said except that it wasn't easy; it sure wasn't easy. And how could I explain what I didn't really understand myself?
Well?
But this is what had happened.
22
After I'd taken George Barnes to the station last Sunday, I stopped by Amy Mason's house. I knew I'd better explain that I'd just been kidding in front of Barnes-that I didn't have no intention of letting Ken Lacey get blamed for killing those pimps. But the way she hopped on me the minute I showed up, I hardly had a chance to say anything.
"I warned you, Nick!" she blazed at me. "I warned you not to do it! Now, you'll have to bear the consequences!"
"Now, wait a minute, honey," I said. "What-"
"I'm going to send a telegram to the governor, that's what! Right tonight! I'm going to tell him who actually did kill those two, uh, men!"
"But Amy, I didn't-"
"I'm sorry, Nick. You'll never know how sorry I am. But I'm going to do it. I can't allow you to commit a murder-and framing Sheriff Lacey would be murder- that! know about in advance."
I finally managed to make her listen to me, to tell her that I wasn't even halfway planning to frame Ken. "It was just a joke, see? I was just leadin' Barnes on for a good hard letdown."
"Yes?" She looked at me sharply. "You're sure about that?"
"Sure I'm sure. You should have seen his face when I told him I'd seen them pimps alive the day after Ken was down there."
"Well…"
She was still sort of suspicious, still not quite convinced that I didn't have some scheme for framing Ken without getting myself in trouble. Finally, I got kind of impatient, and I said I wasn't really flattered to have her doubtin' my word when she didn't have no reason to.
"I'm sorry." She smiled and pecked me on the cheek. "I believe you, dear, and I'll tell you something else. If I hated Sheriff Lacey like you do, I'd probably want to kill him, too!"
"Hate?" I said. "What makes you think I hate him?"
"Now, darling, it sticks out all over you. What did he ever do to you to make you feel that way about him?"
"But I don't," I said. "I mean, I don't hate him. I mean, it ain't what I feel about him that matters. It's what he is, you know; the things he's done to others. I-well, it's kind of hard to explain but-but-"
"Never mind, dear." She laughed and kissed me again. "You're not going to do anything to him, and that's all that matters."
But it wasn't all, you know? Not by a long shot. I'd've sworn that I never held no malice toward no one, never a speck of hatred. Or if lever had felt sort of a teensy twinge of dislike, it hadn't been the motivatin' factor in whatever I'd done.
That's the way I felt about myself, anyways, until Amy'd said what she'd said. And now I was kind of worried. I could put Ken Lacey out of my mind, since! wasn't going to take any action against him. But the others, well, they were all part of the same pattern, weren't they? And if I'd been showing spite toward Ken, then maybe I'd been doing the same thing with them.
And maybe, in the case of what I was about to do, the people I was about to take care of
But it had to be done, I reckoned. It had to be, and I didn't have no choice in the matter.
I was willing to let things ride; I'm long sufferin', you might say. But they wouldn't have it that way.
Rose was callin' Myra every day, hinting that she needed me to do this or that for her. And Myra kept naggin' at me to go out and do what Rose wanted done (which wasn't what Myra thought it was). And Amy was insistin' that I couldn't see Rose but one more time-no more, or else. And Lennie had taken one of his spells of tagging after me, and spying on me. And-
And finally it was Saturday night, last night, and I couldn't hold out no longer. They were all asking for it! And like the Good Book says, Ask and ye shall receive.
It was about eight in the evening, about an hour after sunset.
I came running down the cotton rows, half-stooped, which didn't conceal me much because it was a low stand of cotton. In the dusk, just about anyone nearby could see me, and they didn't even have to be too nearby. And that was the way I wanted it.