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We both tried to not talk about the two 'men, but every time we heard a car engine, we looked up fearfully, expectantly, and then sighed and released our held breaths when the car went on past our shack. It was hard enough to fall asleep with the heat and humidity, but now with fear loitering at our door, too, we both tossed and turned and opened our eyes and listened hard whenever we heard any unusual sounds at night, and especially whenever we heard
automobiles.
The two ugly men didn't return, but four days later, while Mama and I were having a salad for lunch, we heard a horn and looked out to see Daddy's truck bouncing over the front yard. He nearly drove it into the house. He took a swig of a jug he had beside him on the front seat and then heaved the jug out the window. He practically fell out of the truck getting out. He stumbled and made his way to the gallery where we stood, both wide-eyed.
"What' cha both standin' there lookin' like ya seen a ghost?" he demanded, stopping short so quickly, he nearly toppled over. It's only me, Jack Landry, home. Ain'tcha glad to death?" he said, and laughed.
"What are you doing back here, Jack, and tanked up with rotgut whiskey, too?" Mama asked, her hands on her hips.
"Work ended faster than I expected," he replied, unable to stop his swaying. He closed his eyes, a silly smile on his lips.
"In other words, you got canned again, right?" Mama asked, wagging her head with anger.
"Let's just say me and the foreman had a disagreement to a point beyond compromise."
"You came to work drunk as a skunk," Mama concluded. "That," Daddy said
, waving his long finger in the air like the conductor -of an orchestra, "is a dirty, low-down lie."
"I bet you ain't got a penny in your pocket, neither,"
Mama continued.
"Well . ."
"And you never sent home a dollar, Jack."
"You didn't get nothin' in the mail?" he said, his eyes wide.
Mama shook her head. "When you get to hell, the devil's gonna learn a trick or two."
"Catherine, I swear on a stack of--"
"Don't say it. It's blasphemy," she warned. He gulped and nodded.
"Well, I did put some money in an envelope. Them postal workers stole it, for sure. They open the envelopes with a candle, Gabriel, and then they reseal them with the wax," he said.
"Oh, Daddy," I said, shaking my head.
"Don't you two look like a pair of owls." He started to laugh, but Mama stepped to the side and pointed to the screen door where she had sewn up the slash.
"See that, Jack? Your friends came a-calling and cut up our screen door when they didn't find you here." "Friends?"
"Mr. Spike and Mr. Longstreet."
"Here?" His face turned paper white and he spun around as if they were waiting for him behind a tree. "What'dja tell them?"
"That you were working in Baton Rouge. Of course, I didn't know I was telling a lie."
"When were they here?"
"A few days ago, Jack. What do you owe them?" "Just a little money. I'll straighten it out," he said. "How much is a little, Jack?" she pursued.
"I got no time to talk to you, woman," he said. "I gotta go upstairs and rest from the journey."
He climbed the stairs, pulling himself up and nearly pulling out a rafter at the same time. Then he went into the house and stumbled up the stairs, leaving a cloud of sour whiskey stench behind him.
"I bet his will be the first corpse the worms reject," Mama said, and plopped into her rocking chair. It made me sick to see her so defeated and depressed. I thought it was that and the heat and my own gloom that upset my stomach something awful that night. Mama thought I might be coming down with some sort of summer dysentery. She gave me one of her herbal drinks and told me to go to bed early.
