按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
mud。
Alertly Biff picked up fragments of his monologue。 The
fellow seemed to be talking some queer kind of politics again。
Last night he had been talking about places he had been—
about Texas and Oklahoma and the Carolinas。 Once he had
got on the subject of cat…houses； and afterward his jokes got so
raw he had to be hushed up with beer。 But most of the time
nobody was sure just what he was saying。 Talk—talk—talk。
The words came out of his throat like a cataract。 And the thing
was that the accent he used was always changing； the kinds of
words he used。 Sometimes he talked like a linthead and
sometimes nice a professor。 He would use words a foot long
and then slip up on his grammar。 It was hard to tell what kind
of folks he had or what part of the country he was from。 He
was always changing。 Thoughtfully Biff fondled the tip of his
nose。 There was no connection。 Yet connection usually went
with brains。 This man had a good mind； all right； but he went
from one thing to another without any reason behind it at all。
He was like a man thrown off his track by something。14
Biff leaned his weight on the counter and began to peruse the
evening newspaper。 The headlines told of a decision by the
Board of Aldermen； after four months' deliberation； that the
local budget could not afford traffic lights at certain dangerous
intersections of the town。 The left column reported on the war
in the Orient。 Biff read them both with equal attention。 As his
eyes followed the print the rest of his senses were on the alert
to the various commotions that went on around him。 When he
had finished the articles he still stared down at the newspaper
with his eyes half…closed。 He felt nervous。 The fellow was a
problem； and before morning he would have to make some
sort of settlement with him。 Also； he felt without knowing
why that something of importance would happen tonight。 The
fellow could not keep on forever。
Biff sensed that someone was standing in the entrance and he
raised his eyes quickly。 A gangling； towheaded youngster； a
girl of about twelve； stood looking in the doorway。 She was
dressed in khaki shorts； a blue shirt； and tennis shoes—so that
at first glance she was like a very young boy。 Biff pushed
aside the paper when he saw her； and smiled when she came
up to him。
'Hello； Mick。 Been to the Girl Scouts？'
'No；' she said。 'I don't belong to them。'
From the corner of his eye he noticed that the drunk slammed
his fist down on a table and turned away from the men to
whom he had been talking。 Biffs voice roughened as he spoke
to the youngster before him。
'Your folks know you're out after midnight？'
'It's O。K。 There's a gang of kids playing out late on our block
tonight。'
He had never seen her come into the place with anyone her
own age。 Several years ago she had always tagged behind her
older brother。 The Kellys were a good…sized family in
numbers。 Later she would come in pulling a couple of snotty
babies in a wagon。 But if she wasn't nursing or trying to keep
up with the bigger ones； she was by herself。 Now the kid stood
there seeming not to be able to make up her mind what she
wanted。 She kept pushing back her damp； whitish hair with
the palm of her hand。
'I'd like a pack of cigarettes； please。 The cheapest kind'。
Biff started to speak； hesitated； and then reached his
IS
hand inside the counter。 Mick brought out a handkerchief and
began untying the knot in the corner where she kept her
money。 As she gave the knot a jerk the change clattered to the
floor and rolled toward Blount； who stood muttering to
himself。 For a moment he stared in a daze at the coins； but
before the kid could go after them he squatted down with
concentration and picked up the money。 He walked heavily to
the counter and stood jiggling the two pennies； the nickel； and
the dime in his palm。
'Seventeen cents for cigarettes now？'
Biff waited； and Mick looked from one of them to the other。
The drunk stacked the money into a little pile on the counter；
still protecting it with his big； dirty hand。 Slowly he picked up
one penny and flipped it down。
'Five mills for the crackers who grew the weed and five for the
dupes who rolled it；' he said。 'A cent for you； Biff。' Then he
tried to focus his eyes so that he could read the mottoes on the
nickel and dime。 He kept fingering the two coins and moving
them around in a circle。 At last he pushed them away。 'And
that's a humble homage to liberty。 To democracy and tyranny。
To freedom and piracy。'
Calmly Biff picked up the money and rang it into the till。
Mick looked as though she wanted to hang around awhile。 She
took in the drunk with one long gaze； and then she turned her
eyes to the middle of the room where the mute sat at his table
alone。 After a moment Blount also glanced now and then in
the same direction。 The mute sat silently over his glass of
beer； idly drawing on the table with the end of a burnt
matchstick。
Jake Blount was the first to speak。 'It's funny； but I been seeing
that fellow in my sleep for the past three or four nights。 He
won't leave me alone。 If you ever noticed； he never seems to
say anything。'
It was seldom that Biff ever discussed one customer with
another。 'No； he don't；' he answered noncommittally。
'It's funny。'
Mick shifted her weight from one foot to the other and fitted
the package of cigarettes into the pocket of her shorts。 'It's not
funny if you know anything ahout him；' she said。 'Mister
Singer lives with us。 He rooms in our house。'
'Is that so？' Biff asked。 'I declare—I didn't know that'16
Mick walked toward the door and answered him without
looking around。 〃Sure。 He's been with us three months now。'
Biff unrolled his shirt…sleeves and then folded them up
carefully again。 He did not take his eyes from Mick as she left
the restaurant。 And even after she had been gone several
minutes he still fumbled with his shirt…sleeves and stared at
the empty doorway。 Then he locked his arms across his chest
and turned back to the drunk again。
Blount leaned heavily on the counter。 His brown eyes were
wet…looking and wide open with a dazed expression。 He
needed a bath so badly that he stank like a goat。 There were
dirt beads on his sweaty neck and an oil stain on his face。 His
lips were thick and red and his brown hair was matted on his
forehead。 His overalls were too short in the body and he kept
pulling at the crotch of them。
'Man； you ought to know better；' Biff said finally。 'You can't
go around like this。 Why； I'm surprised you haven't been
picked up for vagrancy。 You ought to sober up。 You need
washing and your hair needs cutting。 Motherogod！ You're not
fit to walk around amongst people。'
Blount scowled and bit his lower lip。
'Now； don't take offense and get your dander up。 Do what I tell
you。 Go back in the kitchen and tell the colored boy to give
you a big pan of hot water。 Tell Willie to give you a towel and
plenty of soap and wash yourself good。 Then eat you some
milk toast and open up your suitcase and put you on a clean
shirt and a pair of britches that fit you。 Then tomorrow you
can start doing whatever you're going to do and working
wherever you mean to work and get straightened out。'
'You know what you can do；' Blount said drunkenly。 *You can
just'
'All right；' Biff said very quietly。 'No； I can't Now you just
behave yourself。'
Biff went to the end of the counter and returned with two
glasses of draught beer。 The drunk picked up his glass so
clumsily that beer slopped down on his hands and messed the
counter。 Biff sipped his portion with careful relish。 He
regarded Blount steadily with half…closed eyes。 Blount was not
a freak； although when you first saw him he gave you that
impression。 It was like something was
deformed about him—but when you looked at him closely
each part of him was normal and as it ought to be。 Therefore if
this difference was not in the body it was probably in the
mind。 He was like a man who had served a term in prison or
had been to Harvard College or had lived for a long time with
foreigners in South America。 He was like a person who had
been somewhere that other people are not likely to go or had
done something that others are not apt to do。
Biff cocked his head to one side and said； 'Where are you
from？'
〃Nowhere。'
*Now； you have to be born somewhere。 North Carolina —
Tennessee—Alabama—some place。'
Blount's eyes were dreamy and unfocused。 'Carolina；' he said。
'I can tell you've been around；' Biff hinted delicately。
But the drunk was not listening。 He had turned from the
counter and was staring out at the dark； empty street。 After a
moment he walked to the door with loose； uncertain steps。
'Adios；' he called back。
Biff was alone again and he gave the restaurant one of his
quick； thorough surveys。 It was past one in the morning； and
there were only four or five customers in the room。 The mute
still sat by himself at the middle table。 Biff stared at him idly
and shook the few remaining drops of beer around in the
bottom of his glass。 Then