SSC (2004) The Complete Stories of Truman Capote by Truman Capote Page B
Authors: Truman Capote
Tags: Short story collection
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put, I’ll yank out all dem weeds in de yard and de field and git back to farmin’ an’ whup dat Anna-Jo ’til she come home an’ care fo’ her Pappy lak she ought.”
Curly Head pulled at his beard and snapped his suspenders. His eyes, very blank and blue, imprisoned Preacher’s face exactly. At length he said, “Can’t seem to figure it out.”
“That’s mighty easy,” said Yellow Hair. “He’s got the devil rattling around inside him.”
“I’se an upstandin’ Baptist,” Preacher reminded, “membuh of de Cypress City Mornin’ Star. An’ I ain’t but seventy yars old.”
“Now, Gran’pa,” said Yellow Hair. “You’re a hundred if you’re aday. Oughtn’t to tell whoppers like that. It all goes down in that big black book upstairs, remember.”
“Miserable sinnuh,” said Preacher; “ain’t I de most miserablest sinnuh?”
“Well,” said Curly Head, “I don’t know.” Then he smiled and stood up and yawned. “Tell you what,” he said, “I speculates I’m hungry enough to eat toadstools. Come on, Jesse, we better get home before the women throw our supper to the hogs.”
Yellow Hair said, “Christamighty, I don’t know whether I can take a step or not; that blister’s on fire,” and to Preacher, “Guess we’ll have to leave you in your misery too, Gran’pa.”
And Preacher grinned so that his four upper teeth and three lower (including the gold cap from Evelina, Christmas 1922) showed. His eyes blinked furiously. Like a wizened and rather peculiar child he fairly danced to the door and insisted upon kissing the men’s hands as they trudged past.
Curly Head bounced down the steps and back and handed Preacher his Bible and cane while Yellow Hair waited in the yard where evening had drawn pale curtains.
“Hang onto these now, Gran’pa,” said Curly Head, “and don’t let us catch you over in the piney woods anymore. An old fellow like you can get into all kinds of trouble. You be good now.”
“Hee hee hee,” giggled Preacher, “I sure ’nuf will an’ thank ya, Mistuh Jesus, an’ you too, Mistuh Saint … thank ya. Even if ain’t nobody gonna believes me iffen I tells ’em.”
They shouldered their rifles and lifted the cateymount. “Best of luck,” said Curly Head; “we’ll be back some other time, for a drink of water, maybe.”
“Long life and a merry one, you old goat,” said Yellow Hair as they moved across the yard towards the road.
Preacher, watching from the porch, suddenly remembered and he called, “Mistuh Jesus … Mistuh Jesus! If you kin see yo’ way clear to do me one mo’ favuh, I’d ’preciate it if you evah gits de time iffenyou’d find my ol’ woman … name’s Evelina … an’ say hello from Preacher an’ tells her what a good happy man I is.”
“First thing in the morning, Gran’pa,” said Curly Head, and Yellow Hair burst out laughing.
And their shadows turned up the road and the black-and-tan crept from a gully and trotted after them. Preacher called and waved good-bye. But they were laughing too hard to hear and their laughter drifted back on the wind long after they passed over the ridge where fireflies embroidered small moons on the blue air.
A T REE OF N IGHT
(1945)
It was winter. A string of naked light bulbs, from which it seemed all warmth had been drained, illuminated the little depot’s cold, windy platform. Earlier in the evening it had rained, and now icicles hung along the station-house eaves like some crystal monster’s vicious teeth. Except for a girl, young and rather tall, the platform was deserted. The girl wore a gray flannel suit, a raincoat, and a plaid scarf. Her hair, parted in the middle and rolled up neatly on the sides, was rich blondish-brown; and, while her face tended to be too thin and narrow, she was, though not extraordinarily so, attractive. In addition to an assortment of magazines and a gray suede purse on which elaborate brass letters spelled Kay, she carried
Curly Head pulled at his beard and snapped his suspenders. His eyes, very blank and blue, imprisoned Preacher’s face exactly. At length he said, “Can’t seem to figure it out.”
“That’s mighty easy,” said Yellow Hair. “He’s got the devil rattling around inside him.”
“I’se an upstandin’ Baptist,” Preacher reminded, “membuh of de Cypress City Mornin’ Star. An’ I ain’t but seventy yars old.”
“Now, Gran’pa,” said Yellow Hair. “You’re a hundred if you’re aday. Oughtn’t to tell whoppers like that. It all goes down in that big black book upstairs, remember.”
“Miserable sinnuh,” said Preacher; “ain’t I de most miserablest sinnuh?”
“Well,” said Curly Head, “I don’t know.” Then he smiled and stood up and yawned. “Tell you what,” he said, “I speculates I’m hungry enough to eat toadstools. Come on, Jesse, we better get home before the women throw our supper to the hogs.”
Yellow Hair said, “Christamighty, I don’t know whether I can take a step or not; that blister’s on fire,” and to Preacher, “Guess we’ll have to leave you in your misery too, Gran’pa.”
And Preacher grinned so that his four upper teeth and three lower (including the gold cap from Evelina, Christmas 1922) showed. His eyes blinked furiously. Like a wizened and rather peculiar child he fairly danced to the door and insisted upon kissing the men’s hands as they trudged past.
Curly Head bounced down the steps and back and handed Preacher his Bible and cane while Yellow Hair waited in the yard where evening had drawn pale curtains.
“Hang onto these now, Gran’pa,” said Curly Head, “and don’t let us catch you over in the piney woods anymore. An old fellow like you can get into all kinds of trouble. You be good now.”
“Hee hee hee,” giggled Preacher, “I sure ’nuf will an’ thank ya, Mistuh Jesus, an’ you too, Mistuh Saint … thank ya. Even if ain’t nobody gonna believes me iffen I tells ’em.”
They shouldered their rifles and lifted the cateymount. “Best of luck,” said Curly Head; “we’ll be back some other time, for a drink of water, maybe.”
“Long life and a merry one, you old goat,” said Yellow Hair as they moved across the yard towards the road.
Preacher, watching from the porch, suddenly remembered and he called, “Mistuh Jesus … Mistuh Jesus! If you kin see yo’ way clear to do me one mo’ favuh, I’d ’preciate it if you evah gits de time iffenyou’d find my ol’ woman … name’s Evelina … an’ say hello from Preacher an’ tells her what a good happy man I is.”
“First thing in the morning, Gran’pa,” said Curly Head, and Yellow Hair burst out laughing.
And their shadows turned up the road and the black-and-tan crept from a gully and trotted after them. Preacher called and waved good-bye. But they were laughing too hard to hear and their laughter drifted back on the wind long after they passed over the ridge where fireflies embroidered small moons on the blue air.
A T REE OF N IGHT
(1945)
It was winter. A string of naked light bulbs, from which it seemed all warmth had been drained, illuminated the little depot’s cold, windy platform. Earlier in the evening it had rained, and now icicles hung along the station-house eaves like some crystal monster’s vicious teeth. Except for a girl, young and rather tall, the platform was deserted. The girl wore a gray flannel suit, a raincoat, and a plaid scarf. Her hair, parted in the middle and rolled up neatly on the sides, was rich blondish-brown; and, while her face tended to be too thin and narrow, she was, though not extraordinarily so, attractive. In addition to an assortment of magazines and a gray suede purse on which elaborate brass letters spelled Kay, she carried
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