The Righteous Cut by Robert Skinner Page A

“What in the world you doin’, boy? Come on in here quick, now.” She stood aside and held the door for him. When she saw his face she knew there was trouble.
    â€œWhat in God’s name you done now, Skeeter? You look like death warmed over.”
    Skeeter’s limbs suddenly felt all loose and rubbery. He slumped into a kitchen chair and began to tremble uncontrollably. Recognizing emotional exhaustion when she saw it, Mabel reached quickly into the cupboard for a bottle of Early Times and filled a tumbler to the rim. She gave it to him, her eyes widening as he drank it down in a single draught.
    â€œSkeeter? Skeeter, you listenin’ to me? Answer me, boy.” She grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly.
    â€œI’m listenin’, I’m listenin’. Please, quit, Mabel.”
    â€œThen tell me what’s wrong. The truth.”
    â€œThe truth ain’t gonna make neither of us feel no better, Mabel. Two white men forced me to help them kidnap this rich white girl who goes to school where I work, and they killed Butterbean doin’ it. I managed to run off.”
    Mabel’s mouth hardened into a stern line. “So now you got cops and kidnappers both lookin’ for you. Jesus wept.” She put the bottle on the table and sat down across from him.
    â€œListen,” Skeeter said in a hoarse voice. “If I can get to my Unca Howard, he’ll know what to do, but I can’t find him. I need someplace to stay so I can try again in the mornin’. Can I stay here?”
    â€œI reckon, but I’ll have to tell Ma Rankin that the cops are looking for you. Now how about somethin’ to eat? You look like a half-starved dog.”
    Relief flooded through Skeeter but he felt weaker than ever. “That—that’d be swell, Mabel. I ain’t had nothin’ but a cup of coffee since early this mornin’.”
    â€œYou smell like you had plenty beer, though.” She shook her head as she turned to the stove. In a moment she’d dished up a platter of fried ham, succotash, stewed tomatoes and cornbread. She put it in front of him along with a pitcher of sweet tea. Skeeter grabbed a fork and knife and went through the platter in about seven minutes. Mabel refilled the platter and he quickly worked his way though that one. After he’d mopped his plate with a piece of cornbread, she gave him a bowl full of blackberry cobbler with cream and a cup of chicory coffee before sitting down again.
    She regarded him for a moment as she sipped her own coffee. “Boy, you need to do somethin’ about your life, know that?”
    He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Huh?”
    â€œFor over a year you’ve showed up here about twice a week. You eat everything in sight and then we go up to my room and fuck. The next mornin’ you leave and I don’t see you until the next time you got an itch to scratch. I ain’t sayin’ it’s all your fault. If it wasn’t convenient for me, I’d of kicked your ass out into the street long before now.”
    He looked at her, dumbfounded.
    â€œNow you’re in some kinda shit,” she continued, staring into her cup, “and I’m guessin’ the white gal these men done kidnapped is somebody else you go sponge off’n and fuck while you ain’t here with me.”
    â€œNo, that—”
    â€œShut up, Skeeter. You got to act like a man is what I’m sayin’. I’d of married you three times by now if you’d of had sense enough to ask, but you don’t never think about doin’ nothin’ responsible. Why do you suppose that is?”
    Skeeter shrugged, finding it hard to meet Mabel’s eyes.
    â€œI—I dunno, Mabel. I’m sure sorry if—”
    â€œShut up, Skeeter. Don’t be tellin’ me how sorry you are, ’cause you don’t know what it is to be sorry. If these men catch you, you’ll be six