A red-faced man was sitting on the passenger side wearing a big white hat. He waved his arm out the open window at Daddy and pointed to the side of the road.

Daddy pulled over, said, “It’s all right, son. It’s the law over here. I know ’em. Wait on me, hear?”

As Daddy got out of the car, I slid over behind the steering wheel. Daddy went to the rear of our car, and the man on the passenger side of the dented Ford wearing the big white hat got out. He was big and solid. He was dressed in gray khakis and wore his sleeves rolled down and buttoned, as if it were the dead of winter. A badge was pinned on his shirt.

The driver, a fellow with a yellowish coloring to his features, wearing a tan hat with a near flat crown that made it look like the top to a butter churn, stayed behind the wheel chewing tobacco.

The man in the big hat shook hands with Daddy. I could hear them real good. The red-faced man said, “Good to see you, Jacob. I heard tell you was constable over there in your county.”

“I don’t expect you’re all that proud to see me, Woodrow,” Daddy said, “so don’t act like it.”

The man laughed a little. He took off his hat and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped sweat from the inside of it. His hair was even redder than his face.

“That Ralph Purdue with you?” Daddy asked.

The man Daddy called Woodrow didn’t answer that question. He said, “Jacob, I got to talk to you. This here nigger murder. We heard about it.”

“Who hasn’t.”

“Well, now, I could beat around the bush, but I ain’t gonna do that. What I got to say is simple. Over here ain’t your jurisdiction.”

“If I was solvin’ a crime, and it led me over here, you’d help me out, wouldn’t you, Woodrow?”

“Oh, you know it. But, a nigger? Listen, Jacob, let me give you some advice-”

“I’ve heard it before.”

“You heed it from me, okay?”

Daddy didn’t answer.

“There’s nigger murders, then there’s white murders, and then there’s nigger and white and white and nigger murders.”

“Murder’s murder.”

“Let me put it like this. Niggers over here don’t want nobody meddlin’ in their business. Not you. Not me.”

“We’re the law.”

“Yeah, but a nigger woman gets killed down in the bottoms, that’s one thing. It ain’t like it’s a good nigger. And it ain’t like it matters much to us. One’s gone, and that’s all there is to it. It was probably one of her boyfriends. She didn’t put out, or put out to someone else. It’s always something like that.

“Jacob, you got some Christian ideas, and that’s good. But niggers take care of their own. They like it that way, and we like it that way. They get in white business, then we take care of them. White man kills a nigger, that’s our responsibility. A nigger kills a white man, that’s sure our responsibility. But this…”

“Person’s dead, they’re dead,” Daddy said. “Isn’t that our responsibility?”

“There’s some things been a certain way for a long time, and they ought to stay that way.”

“I thought the Yankees whupped us,” Daddy said. “And Lincoln freed the slaves.”

“The Yankees didn’t whup me. Jacob, what happened here seems obvious. Somebody got off the train, a nigger hobo ridin’ the rails most likely, and he decided he needed some comfort. And he got with this nigger woman and didn’t have the money. She probably tried to cut him. He ended up doin’ her in and caught the next train out. Doc Stephenson, he sees it that way.”

“That’s funny,” Daddy said. “He told me he thought a panther did it. Or a wild boar. Or maybe a wild boar held her while the panther did it. I forget. When the two got through they tied her to a tree with some barbed wire.”

“Jacob-”

“Since when is Doc Stephenson able to look at a body and know a hobo did it? Did the hobo leave him a note?”

“Goddamn you, Jacob! It’s known far and wide all over this country you’re a nigger lover, and you ain’t careful you’re gonna bring up another generation of them nigger lovers, and some folks around here have all the nigger lovin’ they want. Over here, we take care of our niggers our way.”

“I want to tell you something, Woodrow. When we were boys you fell off a barge and damn near drowned-”

“Don’t hold that over my head.”

“Got in that sinkhole and was almost sucked down. But you wasn’t.”

“And I’ve thanked you.”

“You have. Thought you was real grateful about it. And even though you and I have our differences, I’ve always thought, when push come to shove, you was a fair man. But sometimes, I wish I’d have just gone on and let you go under. And if I could rightly figure for sure what you said about another generation of nigger lovers was some kind of threat on my family, I’d break your goddamn neck.”

Woodrow turned red and put his hat on.

“It wasn’t no threat. But you just keep in mind what I’ve said.”

“Whatever it is you said, you keep in mind what I just said. Take it to heart, Woodrow. I’m goin’ home now.”

“I ain’t finished, Jacob.”

“Yeah you are,” Daddy said.

As Daddy walked away, Woodrow said, “You tell May Lynn I said howdy.”

Daddy paused momentarily. I saw the arteries stand out in his neck, and for a moment I thought he might turn around, but he didn’t. He kept coming.

I slid away from the driver’s side and waited for Daddy to get in. When he was behind the wheel, I said, “Everything all right, Daddy?”

“Everything’s fine, son. Fine.”

I looked back and saw the banged-up black car was turned around and heading in the other direction, the man called Woodrow had his sleeve-covered arm hanging from the window.

When we got home, Daddy let me out, turned the Ford around, and headed off. He didn’t say where he was going. Just told me to tell Mother not to worry.

He didn’t come back until nightfall, and he was quiet all night. After supper, he and Mama sat and read awhile, her from the Bible and him from a seed catalogue and then the Farmer’s Almanac. But he seemed to be just going through the motions. I noticed that he had been on the same page for a long time. Once he looked over at Mother, sighed, then went back to glaring at the page, as if he wished to be absorbed by it, like a stain.

Me and Tom played checkers, and Tom, after me beating her four times in a row, got mad, turned over the checker board, and went out on the sleeping porch. There were a couple of cots out there, and when it was real hot, sometimes that’s where me and Tom slept.

Normally, I wasn’t of a mind to care a lot about how she felt, but maybe seeing that body had softened me. I went out on the porch. Tom was on one of the cots, her hands behind her head, looking up at the ceiling.

“It’s just an ole game,” I said, realizing I probably should have let her win one.

“That’s all right,” she said.

I sat on the other cot. We sat there in silence, listening to the crickets, some bugs banging up against the screen.

“That woman we found,” Tom asked, “you think the Goat Man did that to her?”

“Doc Stephenson said he thought some kind of animal did it. Doc Tinn said he thought a man did it. Constable over there thought it was a hobo.”

“How you know all that?” she said.

“I heard ’em talkin’.”

“Is a hobo a monster?”

“It’s a fella rides the trains by sneaking on.”

“Well, that’s a man, ain’t it? You said an animal, a man, or a hobo.”

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