understand and whose employees always seemed to treat him as if he had come to rob the place or to defile it in some way. At length he realized the entire city of Albuquerque was in this category, and this thought invited his mind to think in broader terms: if Houston were no better than Albuquerque, it was a safe bet that Hong Kong and Des Moines and London town were no better than Houston. Following this logic, the map of the entire world was quickly filled in with the color of his fury.
But in this sweeping view he felt something had been glossed over or left out; some first-class sonofabitch was playing hide-and-seek in his memory. But who? Or what?
And all at once he thought of Sally Buck.
Sally Buck on the telephone: “Joe, how you doin’, honey, that’s nice, listen, I got me a late appointment, and I’ll be s’tired when I get outa here, I might just step around the corner to the Horse and Saddle for a beer or two.”
“Handsome? How you feelin’? Listen, y’gramaw’s goin’ t’Santa Fe for over the Fourth, looks like I got me a new beau, how’s that for an ole lady, huh? You be all right here in town, won’t you.”
Sally Buck standing in the doorway of her bedroom:
“Believe I’ll just hit the hay, sweetheart, get a decent night sleep for a change, did you have a nice day, better tell me all about it in the mornin’, I’m too tired to follow what y’sayin’.”
Sally Buck in her beauty shop:
“Listen, sugar, this waitin’ room is for ladies and you know how they are, you take that magazine along home if you want, and don’t play too hard now.”
“Hey, toots, they’s no point in you waitin’ around for me. I might have to stop off at Molly V Ed’s anyhow. Can’t you tuck y’self in like a big fella?”
“Report card? Didn’t I just sign one last week? You mean it’s been six weeks! Lord, how time flies, give it here, where do I do it, on the back? There! Now run along, baby, I got me a head in there waitin for a set.”
Sally Buck. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever loved her so much: silly, pinch-faced old chatterbox, never sat still, always dabbing at her nose with perfume so you couldn’t smell the liquor (but you could anyway), or pulling dollar bills out of her pocketbook to buy off old promises she’d made, forever fooling with a compact or picking lint off her dress whenever you tried to tell something to her. All he could think of in her favor was how spindly her legs were and how sad it was to look at her big bony knees when she crossed them. But even as a ghost in that Albuquerque hotel room, she couldn’t give a little real attention to him, just sat there fretting about getting her house back or riding horseback or some damn thing. Ride on, Sally, old fool, he thought, ride on to the devil. Set his head in curls while you’re at it. Shee-it.
And
who
, questioned his mind, straining after a sense of fairness that would make his case even tighter,
who
had ever looked upon him as a creature worth giving the time of day to? Who? Just say who. There came to mind two faces and a cowboy song. The faces he would not allow: The owner of one was in the loony bin, and the other had not been a flesh-and-blood person for nearly two thousand years, if then. And that left
git along little dogie git along git along
…
Woodsy Niles I
Woodsy Niles was clearly an exception. But what good was he here and now? The memory picture of him was too shiny, too brilliant to look upon with any trust, it was nothing but the tobacco-scented, guitar-strumming, grining-devil souvenir of a long-ago, long-ago summer; and so rare, much too rare to find a place for in any useful view of the world. And so the crazy, shining, blue-bearded face of Woodsy Niles and the big bony knees of Sally Buck he placed out of the range of his thinking: They were dangerous to him, they caused the anger to run out of him. And somehow he had come to
But in this sweeping view he felt something had been glossed over or left out; some first-class sonofabitch was playing hide-and-seek in his memory. But who? Or what?
And all at once he thought of Sally Buck.
Sally Buck on the telephone: “Joe, how you doin’, honey, that’s nice, listen, I got me a late appointment, and I’ll be s’tired when I get outa here, I might just step around the corner to the Horse and Saddle for a beer or two.”
“Handsome? How you feelin’? Listen, y’gramaw’s goin’ t’Santa Fe for over the Fourth, looks like I got me a new beau, how’s that for an ole lady, huh? You be all right here in town, won’t you.”
Sally Buck standing in the doorway of her bedroom:
“Believe I’ll just hit the hay, sweetheart, get a decent night sleep for a change, did you have a nice day, better tell me all about it in the mornin’, I’m too tired to follow what y’sayin’.”
Sally Buck in her beauty shop:
“Listen, sugar, this waitin’ room is for ladies and you know how they are, you take that magazine along home if you want, and don’t play too hard now.”
“Hey, toots, they’s no point in you waitin’ around for me. I might have to stop off at Molly V Ed’s anyhow. Can’t you tuck y’self in like a big fella?”
“Report card? Didn’t I just sign one last week? You mean it’s been six weeks! Lord, how time flies, give it here, where do I do it, on the back? There! Now run along, baby, I got me a head in there waitin for a set.”
Sally Buck. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever loved her so much: silly, pinch-faced old chatterbox, never sat still, always dabbing at her nose with perfume so you couldn’t smell the liquor (but you could anyway), or pulling dollar bills out of her pocketbook to buy off old promises she’d made, forever fooling with a compact or picking lint off her dress whenever you tried to tell something to her. All he could think of in her favor was how spindly her legs were and how sad it was to look at her big bony knees when she crossed them. But even as a ghost in that Albuquerque hotel room, she couldn’t give a little real attention to him, just sat there fretting about getting her house back or riding horseback or some damn thing. Ride on, Sally, old fool, he thought, ride on to the devil. Set his head in curls while you’re at it. Shee-it.
And
who
, questioned his mind, straining after a sense of fairness that would make his case even tighter,
who
had ever looked upon him as a creature worth giving the time of day to? Who? Just say who. There came to mind two faces and a cowboy song. The faces he would not allow: The owner of one was in the loony bin, and the other had not been a flesh-and-blood person for nearly two thousand years, if then. And that left
git along little dogie git along git along
…
Woodsy Niles I
Woodsy Niles was clearly an exception. But what good was he here and now? The memory picture of him was too shiny, too brilliant to look upon with any trust, it was nothing but the tobacco-scented, guitar-strumming, grining-devil souvenir of a long-ago, long-ago summer; and so rare, much too rare to find a place for in any useful view of the world. And so the crazy, shining, blue-bearded face of Woodsy Niles and the big bony knees of Sally Buck he placed out of the range of his thinking: They were dangerous to him, they caused the anger to run out of him. And somehow he had come to
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