Walkin The Dog

Burke had once said to his friend.

You know she ain't afraid of nuthin' but Jesus and I do believe that even he would say ?yes ma'am? to her.

Socrates remembered the suicide of his friend with no guilt or even remorse. He was dying to begin with. All those pills he took did what they were supposed to do?they stopped the pain.

Three young girls walked past the big man, looking frightened and beautiful in calf length pastel dresses that set off their dark skins like three flames. The smallest child, who must have been about ten, smiled at Socrates and waved as they walked past.

They got to walk through hell, he thought, just to get to Sunday school.

When the girls got past Socrates they began to run, giggling and laughing as they went. They looked back over their shoulders at Socrates and screamed as if he were a monster.

A car door slammed. The fat man had finished his business. He turned over the engine on his old Buick and cruised past Luvia's home looking straight ahead.

?Socrates Fortlow, what you doin' at my door?? She was at least five eight but weighed no more than a hundred pounds fully dressed. Luvia Prine had the stare of a heavyweight though.

?Miss Prine,? Socrates said as a greeting.

?Well?? She held a bunch of freshly picked dahlias.

?I heard that somebody picks you up here at six forty-five an' takes you to Right's grave on the first Sunday of every month. Topper Saint-Paul told me he heard that.?

The flesh around Luvia's watery eyes hardened into two tight squares. ?What I do and where I go and who I go with ain't got nuthin' to do with you.?

?An' Right told me that you were a Christian woman.? Socrates fought to keep the humor he felt out of his voice. He enjoyed the vehemence of Luvia's hatred. He

was

a bad man. He had done awful things. And even if Luvia didn't know exactly what crimes he had committed, she could feel that he had done something. That intimacy, even though it was shown in distaste, made Socrates feel kinship toward the hard, churchgoing woman.

?And what do you mean by that??

?I mean that a Christian woman, on a Sunday too, would not keep a man from paying his respects to his dead friend,? Socrates said.

?I ain't keepin' you from nuthin',? Luvia said angrily.

?You didn't let me come to my friend's funeral. You didn't even let me know where I could send no flowers or even a card to say I was sorry and sad.?

?You don't deserve to be invited with decent folk, Socrates. It's your fault he's dead. He was alive when he left wit' you and then the police called to say that they found him cold on a bus stop bench. And where were you? You don't deserve to stand at his grave. You ain't earned a place to pray.?

Socrates could tell by the waver in Luvia's voice that she felt deeply about his crime. He almost lost heart then and turned away, allowing her her victory over Satan.

Almost.

?You see?? he said instead of leaving. ?What kind of real Christian woman would put herself in the place to make a judgment on a man's soul? It's a blasphemy for somebody to say that another man is unworthy in God's eyes. But here you go sayin' that I cain't pay my respects to my friend. Here you go actin' like the Lord give you the power to judge.?

The squares screwed themselves down to pinpoints. Luvia actually shook in her loose Sunday dress suit. Her fist grasped so tightly on the bunch of hand-picked flowers that he heard the stems cracking.

?You tell me that I killed Right but the truth is I saved him,? Socrates added.

?Saved him!?

?That's right. You had him up in that room moanin' from all the pain that that cancer could make. Your doctor couldn't get him the kinda medicine he needed to kill the pain. All you could do was leave him upstairs to wither and