as it looked) ——that cot boy finds the labor required
to be in a father dither and mother muddle and life limbo to not
exceed that of being undithered, unmuddled, and walking tall.
I believe it a tenable proposition that people in
books or life do not do more work than is required of them.
Date
Give me some of your foo-foo water, lieutenant. I
have a date. Should I go acourtin when Grant is out there at large`?
No, I should not. If that sumbitch is drunk, hope to God he don’t
sober up. They’d a had his butt in charge sooner we’d be resting
now. Wrong people fought this thing, lieutenant. Saved ourself some
boys, we could have been bettern what we were. Got to go to this
address here in Holly Springs. I’ll ride over alone. It’s a note
on this purple paper, parfumy.
Find out what that new boy’s name is. Worries me.
Still think he might be a Floyd, even a Buckner. Come up to me today
with that lemon dog and a brace of rabbit he’d got, and I
congratulated him, you know, and suddenly the fool is saying,
“General, my daddy didn’t even teach me how to play cards? All I
could do not to laugh.
Lieutenant, I confess the boy had me stumped there. I
had to resort to the Leader Act. I leaned down to him and looked at
him with the electric fightin eye and said, deep—like, “Boy,
I’mone teach you how to play cards and raise God.” Boy fell back
teary and grateful from the horse like I’d done christened him.
Made me blush. This Leader thang get on your nerves. I sprung off
before it got any worser. Make sure he aint a Floyd—or related to
anyone in command.
How you tie these things? Women. I wouldn’t even go
if people wouldn’t say maybe I'm gettin like Davis and Bragg. Don’t
wait up. You in charge. Anything happens, fight. That don’t work,
run.
Frugging with Forrest
When Forrest comes in the door, Mrs. Hollingsworth is
wearing the same cologne he got from his lieutenant. She and Forrest
smell so much alike they are put at ease and think themselves more
familiar with each other than they are. Mrs. Hollingsworth has Jimi
Hendrix playing, loud. Mrs. Hollingsworth is moving about in a
strange, contortional way. “Do you frug, general?"
“ What is that shit?” Forrest says, holding his
ears. Mrs. Hollingsworth begins laughing hysterically at this.
Forrest himself begins to laugh. He has a slightly impish look unlike
any Mrs. Hollingsworth has heretofore conceived. She has only seen
the grim look and the electric look. He is putting her on!
He has picked up the Hendrix album cover. “I be
damn." Mrs. Hollingsworth decides this business will be funny
but predictable, and cuts it off.
“ Have a seat, general?
Forrest takes an order as well as he gives one. He
notices the fabric of the sofa. It is a nubbly nylon that is utterly
alien to his hand. He passes his hands absently over it for some
time.
Mrs. Hollingsworth has time to regard him: a man who
will have fought so hard that he will wither away once this conflict
is over and die, of nothing more certain than atrophy, at age
fifty-six. A man this strong who can collapse.
“ General, have you found the woman you love?"
“ That has never occurred to me."
“ Does it interest you?"’
“ No, it does not. Not the way you put it."
“ Why not?”
“ I don’t know."
“ That’s not a bad answer.”
“ That’s a relief"
“ General, you mock me.”
"Ma’am, why not?"
“ That’s not bad either."
"Well, we all do-si-do then.”
While it was true that she could do with Forrest what
she wanted, it was also not true. He was difficult. But this too, his
difficulty she had given him, she thought. She wasn’t sure. The
uncertainty was thrilling. He did not need a nurse—a peculiar man,
in this respect. She had not known a man who did not need a nurse.
The only man she could have imagined before this who did not need a
nurse was a dead man. And the dead man would have needed a nurse,
desperately, right up until he died.
The
to be in a father dither and mother muddle and life limbo to not
exceed that of being undithered, unmuddled, and walking tall.
I believe it a tenable proposition that people in
books or life do not do more work than is required of them.
Date
Give me some of your foo-foo water, lieutenant. I
have a date. Should I go acourtin when Grant is out there at large`?
No, I should not. If that sumbitch is drunk, hope to God he don’t
sober up. They’d a had his butt in charge sooner we’d be resting
now. Wrong people fought this thing, lieutenant. Saved ourself some
boys, we could have been bettern what we were. Got to go to this
address here in Holly Springs. I’ll ride over alone. It’s a note
on this purple paper, parfumy.
Find out what that new boy’s name is. Worries me.
Still think he might be a Floyd, even a Buckner. Come up to me today
with that lemon dog and a brace of rabbit he’d got, and I
congratulated him, you know, and suddenly the fool is saying,
“General, my daddy didn’t even teach me how to play cards? All I
could do not to laugh.
Lieutenant, I confess the boy had me stumped there. I
had to resort to the Leader Act. I leaned down to him and looked at
him with the electric fightin eye and said, deep—like, “Boy,
I’mone teach you how to play cards and raise God.” Boy fell back
teary and grateful from the horse like I’d done christened him.
Made me blush. This Leader thang get on your nerves. I sprung off
before it got any worser. Make sure he aint a Floyd—or related to
anyone in command.
How you tie these things? Women. I wouldn’t even go
if people wouldn’t say maybe I'm gettin like Davis and Bragg. Don’t
wait up. You in charge. Anything happens, fight. That don’t work,
run.
Frugging with Forrest
When Forrest comes in the door, Mrs. Hollingsworth is
wearing the same cologne he got from his lieutenant. She and Forrest
smell so much alike they are put at ease and think themselves more
familiar with each other than they are. Mrs. Hollingsworth has Jimi
Hendrix playing, loud. Mrs. Hollingsworth is moving about in a
strange, contortional way. “Do you frug, general?"
“ What is that shit?” Forrest says, holding his
ears. Mrs. Hollingsworth begins laughing hysterically at this.
Forrest himself begins to laugh. He has a slightly impish look unlike
any Mrs. Hollingsworth has heretofore conceived. She has only seen
the grim look and the electric look. He is putting her on!
He has picked up the Hendrix album cover. “I be
damn." Mrs. Hollingsworth decides this business will be funny
but predictable, and cuts it off.
“ Have a seat, general?
Forrest takes an order as well as he gives one. He
notices the fabric of the sofa. It is a nubbly nylon that is utterly
alien to his hand. He passes his hands absently over it for some
time.
Mrs. Hollingsworth has time to regard him: a man who
will have fought so hard that he will wither away once this conflict
is over and die, of nothing more certain than atrophy, at age
fifty-six. A man this strong who can collapse.
“ General, have you found the woman you love?"
“ That has never occurred to me."
“ Does it interest you?"’
“ No, it does not. Not the way you put it."
“ Why not?”
“ I don’t know."
“ That’s not a bad answer.”
“ That’s a relief"
“ General, you mock me.”
"Ma’am, why not?"
“ That’s not bad either."
"Well, we all do-si-do then.”
While it was true that she could do with Forrest what
she wanted, it was also not true. He was difficult. But this too, his
difficulty she had given him, she thought. She wasn’t sure. The
uncertainty was thrilling. He did not need a nurse—a peculiar man,
in this respect. She had not known a man who did not need a nurse.
The only man she could have imagined before this who did not need a
nurse was a dead man. And the dead man would have needed a nurse,
desperately, right up until he died.
The
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