Free Five Smooth Stones by Ann Fairbairn Page A

hand through his hair, tugged at his beard. "All right," he said. "All right, Li'l Joe. No more. For God's sake, no more. You tell me of these things that are a stench in the nostrils of humanity as though you spoke of the price of sugar. I hear what you are saying, but I cannot know what you are thinking. Perhaps I should thank God for it."
    "You-all don't believe in God, remember? That's what you been saying."
    " Ja . If I could believe in the God I learned as a child, with a long white beard who rewards the good and punishes the evil—"
    "He do," said Li'l Joe. "He do. But he don't do it right now. He takes His time. He sure takes His time."
    The Professor was quiet for a moment. "Ja," he said at last. " Ja . He does."
    They discussed the work to be done, and Bjarne Knudsen relaxed and felt warmed and better as his friend rambled on happily about his plans.
    "Kid Arab, he's a good plasterer," said Li'l Joe. "And Bob John—he plays trombone and piano—he's a pretty fair carpenter if you can keep him away from a bottle, and my son, Evan, when he ain't in trouble, works for a roofer. Far's that goes, I could do most of it myself in the evenings, but it would take a helluva long time, and then the short days coming on and all. These men all scratching when they ain't working. If we keeps that down payment low, I got enough put by to pay 'em, long with what I makes."
    ***
    They worked as fast as they could, with Li'l Joe breathing down their necks and outworking them all during his off-work hours. Evan Champlin got the better part of the roofing work done at the start of the job. Now that John was dead, Evan was the only living child of Joseph Champlin's first marriage; a daughter had died in childhood. "He ain't a bit of good," Li'l Joe would say morosely, speaking of his son. "He ain't a bit of good. His mother done ruint him." When word came that Evan would be unavailable because he was doing thirty days, Li'l Joe cursed roundly and wound up saying, "Damfool woman." When Bob John commented that there wasn't nothing surer than a woman to get a man in trouble, Li'l Joe said: "It ain't like you mean. Evan never was one to get hisself in trouble over no woman. He's got a good wife, a real good wife. It's his ma. If I says it myself, that boy's a helluva boxer. He won more fights than any boxer in his class round here. Didn't he whup Sammy Nelson twice— and he's champeen now? But it ain't no good sticking round New Orleans if you going to get any place fighting. Ain't no future round here where a colored boy can't fight a white boy. They too scared the colored boy's going to whip the white boy, knock him out maybe, then they won't be soopreme no more. Evan, he got a fine chance to leave from here and fight up North, and his mother raised such a sand he didn't go. Carried on and had herself heart attacks and Gawd knows what. Now he ain't going no place but the jail-house, doing his fighting in the bars and on the street."
    The night the house was finished to the point that it was judged fit to live in, Li'l Joe came home in no state to go into details. Geneva did not nag. Before he fell asleep he managed to tell her how he had slipped on the roof and hung, dangling, kicking wildly, cussing like five hundred, until Bob John and Kid rescued him. After that they had celebrated. Which was obvious.
    The next day was Sunday, and Geneva let him sleep late, shushing David, running him out into the courtyard to play. At late breakfast Li'l Joe told her how the house looked, how it was finished except for the inside doors and a window here and there still boarded up. He had not wanted her to see it until it was ready, and she had not pressed him to take her over. Now he said:
    "You get that chile ready, Neva, and fix us some sandwiches. We going over there so's you can see the place. I'll get us some beer. Ain't no stove yet to fix coffee on."
    "We got the Thermos."
    Li'l Joe winced. He had always contended that Geneva stole the