just appeared on him one day, I don't know from where.
Sammy handed the things in his basket out onto the counter and then started to fumble around in his trousers pocket like he'd lost his money. Finally he pulled out this little change purse, the kind old grandmothers carry, but then he couldn't get it open because his hands shook so much.
Because I didn't know what was up that first time, I was incredibly embarrassed standing there with Sammy while he took forever. I tried to catch the eye of the cashier, this Asian girl, to say I really didn't have anything to do with this old man. But she was bored with him and me and everything else too—all she did the whole time was inspect one of her fingernails.
Finally, after about five minutes, Sammy managed to pull out a folded-up ten-dollar bill, which he took forever to unfold. The whole time there was this line of other people formed behind us, but he didn't seem to notice.
Then while the cashier was getting him change, he managed to drop the change purse on the floor right where she was standing, so in the middle of giving him change she had to bend over and help him pick up the pennies and quarters that were rolling off in all direct i After about ten more foul-ups like that, Sammy managed to get the right change, and in a minute we were out on the street with Carlos and Verbena.
"You carry the bag," Sammy told me. "It's a great honor."
"This isn't very much," I told them, hefting the bag and thinking how it was maybe one meal and that was it.
"Not to worry, shy girl," Verbena said. And right there in the middle of the street she opened her maroon coat—inside, the pockets she'd sewn in were stuffed with tomatoes and packages of Oreo cookies and cheeses and a Danish ham, all from the grocery.
"Miss tricky fingers," Carlos said. And at the same time Sammy was brandishing his folded-up ten-dollar bill, which I could see in an
□ PAUL RUSSELL
instant was the exact same one there'd been all the to-do about back in the store.
I practically fell down laughing right there. It was the first of at least a thousand trips I must've made with them over the next tew years—food zaps, Carlos called them. Finally I think that ten-dollar bill just came apart, it'd been used so many times.
D 78
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sneaked a can of it one day, just to see what it was like—but I couldn't stand it. It was like eating little pieces of tire. But it's about all Netta ever ate.
When she came into the kitchen that day I was washing, she just stood there watching me, in between bites. Like seeing me standing there at the sink with my shirt off made her remember something.
"Carlos has no business," she said.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Just look at all this," she said. "What does Carlos tell you?"
"What do you mean, what does he tell me?"
"About anything. About any of this."
"He doesn't tell me much of anything," I had to admit, "but then, nobody does."
"Of course he doesn't," she said, like she was suddenly putting her finger on something. "He doesn't tell anybody. Nobody knows what's going on. Ever." She said it like she was furious. "He doesn't even know what's going on. It's just like him—hoping it he doesn't talk about it nobody'll notice. But everybody notices anyway. All the time, everybody notices everything. Even you probably notice things."
I wanted to ask, What things? But I didn't want to sound more in the dark than I was.
"He thinks you can go back and salvage, and you can—but mv God, nor the way all this stuff has to be salvaged. There're just too many pieces.' 1
I couldn't tell exactly what she was talking about. Bui it scared me a little—the way when von nicer somebody and you think they're just great, bur then von hear somebody else saying these terrible things about them, and von gel worried thai maybe you're wrong. Von get this little knot m the pir ot youi stomach.
"Wh.it do von expect.'" she went on. "The man doesn't know
hot* to
Sammy handed the things in his basket out onto the counter and then started to fumble around in his trousers pocket like he'd lost his money. Finally he pulled out this little change purse, the kind old grandmothers carry, but then he couldn't get it open because his hands shook so much.
Because I didn't know what was up that first time, I was incredibly embarrassed standing there with Sammy while he took forever. I tried to catch the eye of the cashier, this Asian girl, to say I really didn't have anything to do with this old man. But she was bored with him and me and everything else too—all she did the whole time was inspect one of her fingernails.
Finally, after about five minutes, Sammy managed to pull out a folded-up ten-dollar bill, which he took forever to unfold. The whole time there was this line of other people formed behind us, but he didn't seem to notice.
Then while the cashier was getting him change, he managed to drop the change purse on the floor right where she was standing, so in the middle of giving him change she had to bend over and help him pick up the pennies and quarters that were rolling off in all direct i After about ten more foul-ups like that, Sammy managed to get the right change, and in a minute we were out on the street with Carlos and Verbena.
"You carry the bag," Sammy told me. "It's a great honor."
"This isn't very much," I told them, hefting the bag and thinking how it was maybe one meal and that was it.
"Not to worry, shy girl," Verbena said. And right there in the middle of the street she opened her maroon coat—inside, the pockets she'd sewn in were stuffed with tomatoes and packages of Oreo cookies and cheeses and a Danish ham, all from the grocery.
"Miss tricky fingers," Carlos said. And at the same time Sammy was brandishing his folded-up ten-dollar bill, which I could see in an
□ PAUL RUSSELL
instant was the exact same one there'd been all the to-do about back in the store.
I practically fell down laughing right there. It was the first of at least a thousand trips I must've made with them over the next tew years—food zaps, Carlos called them. Finally I think that ten-dollar bill just came apart, it'd been used so many times.
D 78
□ PAULRUSSELL
sneaked a can of it one day, just to see what it was like—but I couldn't stand it. It was like eating little pieces of tire. But it's about all Netta ever ate.
When she came into the kitchen that day I was washing, she just stood there watching me, in between bites. Like seeing me standing there at the sink with my shirt off made her remember something.
"Carlos has no business," she said.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Just look at all this," she said. "What does Carlos tell you?"
"What do you mean, what does he tell me?"
"About anything. About any of this."
"He doesn't tell me much of anything," I had to admit, "but then, nobody does."
"Of course he doesn't," she said, like she was suddenly putting her finger on something. "He doesn't tell anybody. Nobody knows what's going on. Ever." She said it like she was furious. "He doesn't even know what's going on. It's just like him—hoping it he doesn't talk about it nobody'll notice. But everybody notices anyway. All the time, everybody notices everything. Even you probably notice things."
I wanted to ask, What things? But I didn't want to sound more in the dark than I was.
"He thinks you can go back and salvage, and you can—but mv God, nor the way all this stuff has to be salvaged. There're just too many pieces.' 1
I couldn't tell exactly what she was talking about. Bui it scared me a little—the way when von nicer somebody and you think they're just great, bur then von hear somebody else saying these terrible things about them, and von gel worried thai maybe you're wrong. Von get this little knot m the pir ot youi stomach.
"Wh.it do von expect.'" she went on. "The man doesn't know
hot* to
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