tell me when they gonna have one no more. After I took a bunch of money off him he won’t. Bastard’s gonna make me mad sometime and I’m gonna whip his ass is what I’m gonna do.”
“He might shoot your ass, too. George’ll shoot you in a goddamn minute.”
“They ain’t gonna shoot nobody. They ain’t gonna shoot me.”
Joe got himself another beer and opened it. He pulled out his cigarettes.
“Let me get one of them off you,” Curt said immediately.
“You the bumminest little fucker I ever seen,” said Joe, but he gave him one.
“I just ain’t had no way to get to the store.”
“You just too lazy to walk, Curt. Where’s Bobby?”
“Still in jail, I reckon. I heard you got into it with Willie Russell other night.”
“Naw. He kept fuckin with me and I just slapped the shit out of him was all. He was drunk. Runnin his mouth. “You know how he is.”
“I’m surprised somebody ain’t done killed him by now.”
“Somebody will.”
Curt sipped his beer and looked out across the yard.
“You know, though, I don’t think he’s been right at all since he mashed his balls off.”
“Shit. I don’t believe he mashed em off.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t. I’ve heard he’s got one ball and I’ve heard he mashed em both off, but I don’t know.”
“Satch said he believes he’s queer.”
“I don’t believe he’s queer neither. I just think he’s too fucked up for anybody to have him. That’s why you don’t never see him with a woman. Ain’t no woman’ll have him.”
“I had a cousin one time like to lost his dick,” Curt said. “Zipped it up in his zipper. You know how you’ll do that when you’re little.”
“Oh, hell yes. It’ll just about make you shit on yourself.”
“He was grown, though. Zipped it up too fast and got some of the skin caught in it. And messed around and let it get infectedbefore he went to the doctor. He like to went crazy over it. Thought they’s gonna have to amputate his dick. They had to take him down to Whitfield for a while. His dick like to rotted off.”
“Well, what’d they do?”
“His daddy told me they did a skin graft on it. Said they took some skin off his leg and sewed that on it.”
Joe leaned back and sipped his beer and crossed his legs, gave off a little shiver.
“Off his leg? Why hell, it don’t look like that would work. I don’t believe I’d want no skin off my leg on my dick.”
“You might if they’s fixin to amputate it.”
“They could amputate mine right now for all the good it does me,” he said. He got up suddenly. “Reckon when Franklin’11 be back?”
Curt was eyeing the three remaining beers mournfully.
“It ain’t no tellin about him,” he said.
“He probably don’t even remember me letting him have it. Was drunk when he got it. I hate to have to chase down somebody that owes me money.”
“I know it,” said Curt. He started drinking faster. “When you seen old Van House?” he said, stalling for time.
“I ain’t seen him,” Joe said, and stepped down into the yard. “You tell Franklin when he comes back I want my money. I have to work for it just like everybody else and I ain’t rich.”
“I’ll tell him. Let me get another one of these beers off you before you go.”
Joe barely glanced at them. “Hell, get all of em. I got some more in the truck. Only reason I’m drinking beer’s cause it’s so hot.”
He was almost to the truck when Curt came down the steps, two of the beers in one hand and another freshly opened in the other.
“You ain’t fixin to go to town, are you?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He went on around and got in the truck. “I don’t know where I’m fixin to go.” He hated now that he’d stopped.
Unshaven, his hair wild, his clothes rumpled from sleeping in them, the man in the
“He might shoot your ass, too. George’ll shoot you in a goddamn minute.”
“They ain’t gonna shoot nobody. They ain’t gonna shoot me.”
Joe got himself another beer and opened it. He pulled out his cigarettes.
“Let me get one of them off you,” Curt said immediately.
“You the bumminest little fucker I ever seen,” said Joe, but he gave him one.
“I just ain’t had no way to get to the store.”
“You just too lazy to walk, Curt. Where’s Bobby?”
“Still in jail, I reckon. I heard you got into it with Willie Russell other night.”
“Naw. He kept fuckin with me and I just slapped the shit out of him was all. He was drunk. Runnin his mouth. “You know how he is.”
“I’m surprised somebody ain’t done killed him by now.”
“Somebody will.”
Curt sipped his beer and looked out across the yard.
“You know, though, I don’t think he’s been right at all since he mashed his balls off.”
“Shit. I don’t believe he mashed em off.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t. I’ve heard he’s got one ball and I’ve heard he mashed em both off, but I don’t know.”
“Satch said he believes he’s queer.”
“I don’t believe he’s queer neither. I just think he’s too fucked up for anybody to have him. That’s why you don’t never see him with a woman. Ain’t no woman’ll have him.”
“I had a cousin one time like to lost his dick,” Curt said. “Zipped it up in his zipper. You know how you’ll do that when you’re little.”
“Oh, hell yes. It’ll just about make you shit on yourself.”
“He was grown, though. Zipped it up too fast and got some of the skin caught in it. And messed around and let it get infectedbefore he went to the doctor. He like to went crazy over it. Thought they’s gonna have to amputate his dick. They had to take him down to Whitfield for a while. His dick like to rotted off.”
“Well, what’d they do?”
“His daddy told me they did a skin graft on it. Said they took some skin off his leg and sewed that on it.”
Joe leaned back and sipped his beer and crossed his legs, gave off a little shiver.
“Off his leg? Why hell, it don’t look like that would work. I don’t believe I’d want no skin off my leg on my dick.”
“You might if they’s fixin to amputate it.”
“They could amputate mine right now for all the good it does me,” he said. He got up suddenly. “Reckon when Franklin’11 be back?”
Curt was eyeing the three remaining beers mournfully.
“It ain’t no tellin about him,” he said.
“He probably don’t even remember me letting him have it. Was drunk when he got it. I hate to have to chase down somebody that owes me money.”
“I know it,” said Curt. He started drinking faster. “When you seen old Van House?” he said, stalling for time.
“I ain’t seen him,” Joe said, and stepped down into the yard. “You tell Franklin when he comes back I want my money. I have to work for it just like everybody else and I ain’t rich.”
“I’ll tell him. Let me get another one of these beers off you before you go.”
Joe barely glanced at them. “Hell, get all of em. I got some more in the truck. Only reason I’m drinking beer’s cause it’s so hot.”
He was almost to the truck when Curt came down the steps, two of the beers in one hand and another freshly opened in the other.
“You ain’t fixin to go to town, are you?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He went on around and got in the truck. “I don’t know where I’m fixin to go.” He hated now that he’d stopped.
Unshaven, his hair wild, his clothes rumpled from sleeping in them, the man in the
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