and whinnied.
The carny-boss glanced up with an expression of, almost, relief. "I was tired of seeing that damn thing around, anyway. Don't thank me. Lately I been thinking things about it, funny things--but, hell, I'm a big-mouthed so-and-so. S'long, farmer!"
Charlie drove off. The naked blue light bulbs withdrew like dying stars, the open, dark country night of Louisiana swept in around wagon and horse. There was just Charlie, the horse timing his gray hoofs, and the crickets.
And the jar behind the high seat.
It sloshed back and forth, back and forth. Sloshed wet. And the cold gray thing drowsily slumped against the glass, looking out, looking out, but seeing nothing, nothing.
Charlie leaned back to pet the lid. Smelling of strange liquor his hand returned, changed and cold and trembling, excited. Yes, sir! he thought to himself, Yes, sir!
Slosh, slosh, slosh. . . .
In the Hollow, numerous grass-green and blood-red lanterns tossed dusty light over men huddled, murmuring, spitting, sitting on General Store property.
They knew the creak-bumble of Charlie's wagon and did not shift their raw, drab-haired skulls as he rocked to a halt. Their cigars were glowworms, their voices were frog mutterings on summer nights.
Charlie leaned down eagerly. "Hi, Clem! Hi, Milt!"
"Lo, Charlie. Lo, Charlie," they murmured. The political conflict continued. Charlie cut it down the seam:
"I got somethin' here. I got somethin' you might wanna see!"
Tom Carmody's eyes glinted, green in the lamplight, from the General Store porch. It seemed to Charlie that Tom Carmody was forever installed under porches in shadow, or under trees in shadow, or if in a room, then in the farthest niche shining his eyes out at you from the dark. You never knew what his face was doing, and his eyes were always funning you. And every time they looked at you they laughed a different way.
"You ain't got nothin' we wants to see, baby-doll."
Charlie made a fist and looked at it. "Somethin' in a jar," he went on. "Looks kine a like a brain, kine a like a pickled jellyfish, kine a like--well, come see yourself!"
Someone snicked a cigar into a fall of pink ash and ambled over to look. Charlie grandly elevated the jar lid, and in the uncertain lantern light the man's face changed. "Hey, now, what in hell is this--?"
It was the first thaw of the evening. Others shifted lazily upright, leaned forward; gravity pulled them into walking. They made no effort, except to put one shoe before the other to keep from collapsing upon their unusual faces. They circled the jar and contents. And Charlie, for the first time in his life, seized on some hidden strategy and crashed the glass lid shut.
"You want to see more, drop aroun' my house! It'll be there," he declared, generously.
Tom Carmody spat from out his porch eyrie. "Ha!"
"Lemme see that again!" cried Gramps Medknowe. "Is it a octopus?"
Charlie flapped the reins; the horse stumbled into action.
"Come on aroun'! You're welcome!"
"What'll your wife say?"
"She'll kick the tar off'n our heels!"
But Charlie and wagon were gone over the hill. The men stood, all of them, chewing their tongues, squinting up the road in the dark. Tom Carmody swore softly from the porch. . . .
Charlie climbed the steps of his shack and carried the jar to its throne in the living room, thinking that from now on this lean-to would be a palace, with an "emperor"--that was the word! "emperor"--all cold and white and quiet drifting in his private pool, raised, elevated upon a shelf over a ramshackle table.
The jar, as he watched, burnt off the cold mist that hung over this place on the rim of the swamp.
"What you got there?"
Thedy's thin soprano turned him from his awe. She stood in the bedroom door glaring out, her thin body clothed in faded blue gingham, her hair drawn to a drab knot behind red ears. Her eyes were faded like the gingham. "Well," she repeated. "What is it?"
"What's it look like to you, Thedy?"
She took a thin step
The carny-boss glanced up with an expression of, almost, relief. "I was tired of seeing that damn thing around, anyway. Don't thank me. Lately I been thinking things about it, funny things--but, hell, I'm a big-mouthed so-and-so. S'long, farmer!"
Charlie drove off. The naked blue light bulbs withdrew like dying stars, the open, dark country night of Louisiana swept in around wagon and horse. There was just Charlie, the horse timing his gray hoofs, and the crickets.
And the jar behind the high seat.
It sloshed back and forth, back and forth. Sloshed wet. And the cold gray thing drowsily slumped against the glass, looking out, looking out, but seeing nothing, nothing.
Charlie leaned back to pet the lid. Smelling of strange liquor his hand returned, changed and cold and trembling, excited. Yes, sir! he thought to himself, Yes, sir!
Slosh, slosh, slosh. . . .
In the Hollow, numerous grass-green and blood-red lanterns tossed dusty light over men huddled, murmuring, spitting, sitting on General Store property.
They knew the creak-bumble of Charlie's wagon and did not shift their raw, drab-haired skulls as he rocked to a halt. Their cigars were glowworms, their voices were frog mutterings on summer nights.
Charlie leaned down eagerly. "Hi, Clem! Hi, Milt!"
"Lo, Charlie. Lo, Charlie," they murmured. The political conflict continued. Charlie cut it down the seam:
"I got somethin' here. I got somethin' you might wanna see!"
Tom Carmody's eyes glinted, green in the lamplight, from the General Store porch. It seemed to Charlie that Tom Carmody was forever installed under porches in shadow, or under trees in shadow, or if in a room, then in the farthest niche shining his eyes out at you from the dark. You never knew what his face was doing, and his eyes were always funning you. And every time they looked at you they laughed a different way.
"You ain't got nothin' we wants to see, baby-doll."
Charlie made a fist and looked at it. "Somethin' in a jar," he went on. "Looks kine a like a brain, kine a like a pickled jellyfish, kine a like--well, come see yourself!"
Someone snicked a cigar into a fall of pink ash and ambled over to look. Charlie grandly elevated the jar lid, and in the uncertain lantern light the man's face changed. "Hey, now, what in hell is this--?"
It was the first thaw of the evening. Others shifted lazily upright, leaned forward; gravity pulled them into walking. They made no effort, except to put one shoe before the other to keep from collapsing upon their unusual faces. They circled the jar and contents. And Charlie, for the first time in his life, seized on some hidden strategy and crashed the glass lid shut.
"You want to see more, drop aroun' my house! It'll be there," he declared, generously.
Tom Carmody spat from out his porch eyrie. "Ha!"
"Lemme see that again!" cried Gramps Medknowe. "Is it a octopus?"
Charlie flapped the reins; the horse stumbled into action.
"Come on aroun'! You're welcome!"
"What'll your wife say?"
"She'll kick the tar off'n our heels!"
But Charlie and wagon were gone over the hill. The men stood, all of them, chewing their tongues, squinting up the road in the dark. Tom Carmody swore softly from the porch. . . .
Charlie climbed the steps of his shack and carried the jar to its throne in the living room, thinking that from now on this lean-to would be a palace, with an "emperor"--that was the word! "emperor"--all cold and white and quiet drifting in his private pool, raised, elevated upon a shelf over a ramshackle table.
The jar, as he watched, burnt off the cold mist that hung over this place on the rim of the swamp.
"What you got there?"
Thedy's thin soprano turned him from his awe. She stood in the bedroom door glaring out, her thin body clothed in faded blue gingham, her hair drawn to a drab knot behind red ears. Her eyes were faded like the gingham. "Well," she repeated. "What is it?"
"What's it look like to you, Thedy?"
She took a thin step
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