me to get killed, do you? What's the fun of that? You'd be a witness, and have to answer questions in court. Some smart lawyer would say 'Miss Cloyd, the body of the deceased showed forty-three stab wounds in the chest and abdomen and a chewed condition of both ear lobes. Would you tell the court, please, whether. . . .
"You just run on, Arnold, and my daddy'll jump up and down on you when we get back to the house, if I tell him to. I'm not ever goin' out with you again."
We made the long trip back to the Cloyds' cienega in silence, and it began to snow before we got there. "This is going to be the first big one," Parker said. "That one back at Fiesta time was just a starter. Be eight, ten inches on the ground by tomorrow morning."
"It sure gets cold in that old swamp in winter," Venery Ann said. "I wish Daddy'd move into the city, but he likes it out there. He says he can always hear people coming through the water, and no one can sneak up on him and steal his pigs."
We all put on our boots for the long hike through the cienega, and went single file. I tripped once and fell on my knees and hands, and Velva Mae giggled. I was freezing and wet when we got to the darkened Cloyd house, and said good night to the girls. Venery Ann and Parker kissed each other.
"I'm not gonna kiss you," Velva Mae said. "You're all wet."
The front door snapped open and Mr. Cloyd put his head out. "You're goddamn rootin' tootin' you ain't gonna kiss him good night, you little two-bit tart. You get your little tail inside right now or I'll put a boot up it."
"That's Daddy," she told me, as though the fact weren't already clear. "I think I better go in. Come on, Venery."
"Good night," I said.
"Good night."
"See you at school."
"You two little whoiehoppers better move out smart or I'll start kickin' asses," Mr. Cloyd bellowed. When Parker and I were halfway back to the car, we could still hear him, yelling at us through the night: "Them two girls better be pure!"
10
A letter came from Dad:
Dear Josh,
Well, I was a little afraid of that, but Jimbob's harmless, at best, and at worst he's irritating. You probably don't know this, but he hasn't got a nickel of his own; his family was a power before Reconstruction, but the Buels sold their land in the 1880s at something like two dollars an acre. Jimbob's four years at the University of Virginia took care of the last of it, and he's been a semi-professional house guest ever since. He has many talents and no skills, and the sort of short-lasting charm which comes from having learned good manners as an exercise. He's a useless man, intelligent enough to know it and decent enough to hate himself for it. It's difficult to say what your role should be in this. Just be yourself, and I hope I'm not unleashing a monster by saying that.
You may use the FPO address from now on. I'm executive officer on a DE (that's a destroyer escort, as if you didn't know) and never mind where. I'm also the ship's censor, and read everyone's mail. I'll be happy to tell you about some of the hair-raising things sailors write to their wives and girlfriends when you're old enough, say in about forty years.
If you haven't already met him, look up an old friend of mine named Romeo Bonino. He's a sculptor and Uves, or used to live, on Camino Chiquito with a girl named Georgine. It was Georgine two years ago, at any rate. The civil arrangement is always rather loose-jointed at his place, if you know what I mean. Your mother can't stand him, for various reasons. You'll like him, I think. In a strange way, he may be a good influence on you.
The Armed Forces Radio Service says there was a big storm over the Rockies a few days ago. How do you like snow, you swamp rat?
Enclosed check is for Amadeo. Don't make deals with him; just give it to him.
Love,
Captain Bligh
And a letter from Courtney Ann Conway:
Dear Josh,
How are you? I am fine. I've been sailing a lot because it's still warm, and Bubba says to
"You just run on, Arnold, and my daddy'll jump up and down on you when we get back to the house, if I tell him to. I'm not ever goin' out with you again."
We made the long trip back to the Cloyds' cienega in silence, and it began to snow before we got there. "This is going to be the first big one," Parker said. "That one back at Fiesta time was just a starter. Be eight, ten inches on the ground by tomorrow morning."
"It sure gets cold in that old swamp in winter," Venery Ann said. "I wish Daddy'd move into the city, but he likes it out there. He says he can always hear people coming through the water, and no one can sneak up on him and steal his pigs."
We all put on our boots for the long hike through the cienega, and went single file. I tripped once and fell on my knees and hands, and Velva Mae giggled. I was freezing and wet when we got to the darkened Cloyd house, and said good night to the girls. Venery Ann and Parker kissed each other.
"I'm not gonna kiss you," Velva Mae said. "You're all wet."
The front door snapped open and Mr. Cloyd put his head out. "You're goddamn rootin' tootin' you ain't gonna kiss him good night, you little two-bit tart. You get your little tail inside right now or I'll put a boot up it."
"That's Daddy," she told me, as though the fact weren't already clear. "I think I better go in. Come on, Venery."
"Good night," I said.
"Good night."
"See you at school."
"You two little whoiehoppers better move out smart or I'll start kickin' asses," Mr. Cloyd bellowed. When Parker and I were halfway back to the car, we could still hear him, yelling at us through the night: "Them two girls better be pure!"
10
A letter came from Dad:
Dear Josh,
Well, I was a little afraid of that, but Jimbob's harmless, at best, and at worst he's irritating. You probably don't know this, but he hasn't got a nickel of his own; his family was a power before Reconstruction, but the Buels sold their land in the 1880s at something like two dollars an acre. Jimbob's four years at the University of Virginia took care of the last of it, and he's been a semi-professional house guest ever since. He has many talents and no skills, and the sort of short-lasting charm which comes from having learned good manners as an exercise. He's a useless man, intelligent enough to know it and decent enough to hate himself for it. It's difficult to say what your role should be in this. Just be yourself, and I hope I'm not unleashing a monster by saying that.
You may use the FPO address from now on. I'm executive officer on a DE (that's a destroyer escort, as if you didn't know) and never mind where. I'm also the ship's censor, and read everyone's mail. I'll be happy to tell you about some of the hair-raising things sailors write to their wives and girlfriends when you're old enough, say in about forty years.
If you haven't already met him, look up an old friend of mine named Romeo Bonino. He's a sculptor and Uves, or used to live, on Camino Chiquito with a girl named Georgine. It was Georgine two years ago, at any rate. The civil arrangement is always rather loose-jointed at his place, if you know what I mean. Your mother can't stand him, for various reasons. You'll like him, I think. In a strange way, he may be a good influence on you.
The Armed Forces Radio Service says there was a big storm over the Rockies a few days ago. How do you like snow, you swamp rat?
Enclosed check is for Amadeo. Don't make deals with him; just give it to him.
Love,
Captain Bligh
And a letter from Courtney Ann Conway:
Dear Josh,
How are you? I am fine. I've been sailing a lot because it's still warm, and Bubba says to
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