ticket stub, cleaners receipts. He looked up and down the road. He had to get food, and started walking south, where he believed Danville lay, hoping to hitch as soon as a car came by. He was not only ravenous; his feet hurt. The third car to pass stopped—a 1954 Chevrolet—and the driver, a black man, showed the same interest in Milkman’s clothes that Nephew had shown. He seemed not to notice or care about the rip at the knee or under the arm, the tie-tied shoe, the leaves in Milkman’s hair, or the dirt all over the suit.
“Where you headed, partner?”
“Danville. As close as I can get.”
“Hop on in, then. Little out my way. I cut over to Buford, but I’ll get you closer than you was.”
“’Preciate it,” answered Milkman. He loved the car seat, loved it. And sank his weary back into its nylon and sighed.
“Good cut of suit,” the man said. “I guess you ain’t from here’ bouts.”
“No. Michigan.”
“Sure ‘nough? Had a aunt move out there. Flint. You know Flint?”
“Yeah. I know Flint.” Milkman’s feet were singing, the tender skin of the ball louder than the heels. He dared not spread his toes, lest the singing never stop.
“What kinda place is it, Flint?”
“Jive. No place you’d want to go to.”
“Thought so. Name sounds good, but I thought it’d be like that.”
Milkman had noticed a six-bottle carton of Coca-Cola on the back seat when he got in the car. It was on his mind.
“Could I buy one of those Coca-Colas from you? I’m kinda thirsty.”
“It’s warm,” said the man.
“Long as it’s wet.”
“Help yourself.”
Milkman reached around and pulled a bottle out of its case.
“Got a bottle opener?”
The man took the bottle from him and put its head in his mouth and slowly pried the top off. Foam shot all over his chin and his lap before Milkman could take it from him.
“Hot.” The man laughed and wiped himself with a navy-and-white handkerchief.
Milkman gulped the Coke, foam and all, in three or four seconds.
“Like another?”
He did but he said no. Just a cigarette.
“Don’t smoke,” said the man.
“Oh,” said Milkman, and struggled against and lost to a long belch.
“Bus station’s right around the bend there.” They were just outside Danville. “You can make it easy.”
“I really do thank you.” Milkman opened the door. “What do I owe you? For the Coke and all?”
The man was smiling, but his face changed now. “My name’s Garnett, Fred Garnett. I ain’t got much, but I can afford a Coke and a lift now and then.”
“I didn’t mean…I…”
But Mr. Garnett had reached over and closed the door. Milkman could see him shaking his head as he drove off.
Milkman’s feet hurt him so, he could have cried, but he made it to the diner/bus station and looked for the man behind the counter. He wasn’t there, but a woman offered to help. There followed a long discussion in which he discovered that the bag was not there, the man was not there, she didn’t know if a colored boy had picked it up or not, they didn’t have a checkroom and she was mighty sorry but he could look at the station-master’s if the boy didn’t have it, and was there anything else she could do?
“Hamburgers,” he said. “Give me some hamburgers and a cup of coffee.”
“Yes, sir. How many?”
“Six,” he said, but his stomach cramped on the fourth and bent him double with a pain that lasted off and on all the way to Roanoke. But before he left, he telephoned Reverend Cooper. His wife answered and told him that her husband was still at the freightyard and he could catch him there if he hurried. Milkman thanked her and hung up. Walking like a pimp in delicate shoes, he managed to get to the yard, which was fairly close to the bus station. He entered the gate and asked the first man he saw if Reverend Cooper was still there.
“Coop?” the man said. “I think he went on over to the station house. See it? Right over there.”
Milkman followed his finger, and hobbled over the gravel and ties to the station house.
It was empty save for an old man dragging a crate.
“Excuse me,” Milkman said. “Is Rev—is Coop still here?”
“Just left. If you run you can catch him,” the man said. He wiped the sweat of exertion from his forehead.
Milkman thought about running anywhere on his tender feet and said, “Oh, well. I’ll try to catch him another
