Free Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor Page A

jumped up so fast down yonder by the pool?” Enoch asked. The woman turned
     around to him with the malted milk in her hand. “Of course,” he said evilly, “I wouldn’t
     have had no truck with a ugly dish like that neither.”
    The woman thumped the malted milk on the counter in front of him. “Fifteen cents,”
     she roared.
    “You’re worth more than that, baby girl,” Enoch said. He snickered and began gassing
     his malted milk through the straw.
    The woman strode over to where Haze was. “What you come in here with a son of a bitch
     like that for?” she shouted. “A nice quiet boy like you to come in here with a son
     of a bitch. You ought to mind the company you keep.” Her name was Maude and she drank
     whisky all day from a fruit jar under the counter. “Jesus,” she said, wiping her hand
     under her nose. She sat down in a straight chair in front of Haze but facing Enoch,
     and folded her arms across her chest. “Ever’ day,” she said to Haze, looking at Enoch,
     “ever’ day that son of a bitch comes in here.”
    Enoch was thinking about the animals. They had to go next to see the animals. He hated
     them; just thinking about them made his face turn a chocolate purple color as if the
     malted milk were rising in his head.
    “You’re a nice boy,” she said. “I can see, you got a clean nose, well keep it clean,
     don’t go messin’ with a son a bitch like that yonder. I always know a clean boy when
     I see one.” She was shouting at Enoch, but Enoch watched Hazel Motes. It was as if
     something inside Hazel Motes was winding up, although he didn’t move on the outside.
     He only looked pressed down in that blue suit, as if inside it, the thing winding
     was getting tighter and tighter. Enoch’s blood told him to hurry. He raced the milkshake
     up the straw.
    “Yes sir,” she said, “there ain’t anything sweeter than a clean boy. God for my witness.
     And I know a clean one when I see him and I know a son a bitch when I see him and
     there’s a heap of difference and that pus-marked bastard zlurping through that straw
     is a goddamned son a bitch and you a clean boy had better mind how you keep him company.
     I know a clean boy when I see one.”
    Enoch screeched in the bottom of his glass. He fished fifteen cents from his pocket
     and laid it on the counter and got up. But Hazel Motes was already up; he was leaning
     over the counter toward the woman. She didn’t see him right away because she was looking
     at Enoch. He leaned on his hands over the counter until his face was just a foot from
     hers. She turned around and stared at him.
    “Come on,” Enoch started, “we don’t have no time to be sassing around with her. I
     got to show you this right away, I got…”
    “I AM clean,” Haze said.
    It was not until he said it again that Enoch caught the words.
    “I AM clean,” he said again, without any expression on his face or in his voice, just
     looking at the woman as if he were looking at a wall. “If Jesus existed, I wouldn’t
     be clean,” he said.
    She stared at him, startled and then outraged. “What do you think I care!” she yelled.
     “Why should I give a goddam what you are!”
    “Come on,” Enoch whined, “come on or I won’t tell you where them people live.” He
     caught Haze’s arm and pulled him back from the counter and toward the door.
    “You bastard!” the woman screamed, “what do you think I care about any of you filthy
     boys?”
    Hazel Motes pushed the door open quickly and went out. He got back in his car and
     Enoch climbed in behind him. “Okay,” Enoch said, “drive straight on ahead down this
     road.”
    “What you want for telling me?” Haze said. “I’m not staying here. I have to go. I
     can’t stay here any longer.”
    Enoch shuddered. He began wetting his lips. “I got to show it to you,” he said hoarsely.
     “I can’t show it to nobody but you. I had a sign it was you when I seen you drive
     up at the pool. I