poundage into the witty clerk, who slammed backward into a cascade of about four hundred cans of aerosol paint spray, and then Daniel let himself fall, just so, slapping the hard floor just as he timed the fall, and screaming, “
There were apologies all around. Daniel wished he could help the clerk pick up all the paint cans. If he only had more time. Outside, Sissy had heard the screaming and racket and was peering intently trying to see what was going on inside the store. Chaingang said he wanted to leave a tip for the accident, and he left a ten-dollar bill on the counter. The weed slinger was $8.49. SPECIAL! He couldn't wait for the man to ring it up.
He tossed the tool into the back seat and drove out of the shopping center. He drove a couple of blocks and pulled over to a garbage can behind a cafe, where he took the money from the clerk's wallet. It was only twenty-six dollars but it pleased Chaingang greatly. He found nothing else of interest and threw the wallet and cards away. It would be hours before the clerk realized he'd lost his billfold, and he would never connect the two events.
“Ask that man where a welder is,” he told Sissy, interrupting her accounting of how she'd thought he'd “got into a big fight with that guy inside the store.'
“Where's a welder?” she shouted out the window in a high, birdlike voice.
“Heh?” a moron said, walking over and looking in the window to hear better.
“Where can we find a welder?'
“A welder?” he repeated, looking at Bunkowski. Daniel had noticed that everyone around these parts had the habit of treating ordinary English words as if they were astonishing surprises. He was pleased by his choice of locations for a “fat farm,” as surely this part of the country could lay claim to some of the most obtuse, moronic, and vapid imbeciles he'd ever encountered. And the stupider the human, the less the possible threat to him.
“Somebody who can weld? A welder? Do you know of a welder around here? Somebody who does welding?” To weld. Transitive verb. To allow metallic parts to flow together; to unite by heating, or by hammering, or by compression without heating, or compression with heating; to anneal, strengthen, toughen; TO WELD, yes. Do you speak English? Even as a third language?
“Oh, yeah. You want a BLACKSMITH. Oh, well—yeah.” The moron ruminated, his face lighting up like a neon sign as he chewed over this dramatic, earth-shaking turn of events. “Uh. Hemphill's done retired. He was the blacksmith hereabouts.'
“Do you know of anyone else around here who can w—can do blacksmith work?” Chaingang smiled his most dangerous killer-gargantuan grin.
“Um. Herb Cannell might can. He's over acrost from the bank catty-corner.'
“Thanks.'
“Go ta the second stop sign an’ hang ya a left and go—'
“Thanks,” he muttered in a foul-tempered rumble. He didn't hear the last of the directions, as he was halfway there by the time the man finished.
He pulled up in front of Cannell's Repair and went in. A man was talking to someone on the phone and he hung up in what appeared to be a rage and snarled at Chaingang, “Yeah?'
“People say you're the best welder in four states. They say you charge the fairest prices and that you're the most expert welder in this part of the country.” He looked at the man with his most trustworthy and genuine smile.
“Um. Well, I reckon that there is true. Leastways about the fair prices. ‘Course NOT EVERY GOD-DAMMNED BODY THINKS SO.'
“Well, personally, I'd be PROUD to have ya do a piece of welding for me—if ya was of a mind to.” Chain beamed.
“Yeah. Well.” He, took his glasses out of his pocket, calming visibly, and walked over to the huge man. “Whatcha need welded?'
“I want this reinforced.” He held the cheap whipsickle up in front of the man's face. “Here,” he said, touching it, “and all along in here. Could that be done?'
“I suppose it could, but why in the hell would ya WANT to?” The very idea offended him.
“Good point. Because they don't make things worth a damn anymore. Sloppy workmanship. Lack of care. Inattention to detail. A craftsman—somebody like YOU—is a genuine rarity today.” He pronounced it gin-u-wine, which he thought gave it a nice touch.
“That's for goddamn sure.'
“I'm TIRED of goin’ out in the fields and workin’ and the least li'l bit of heavy-duty usage and the daggone whipsickle blade busts, or the shaft snaps ... I'm tired of it.'
“You can't BUY a damn tool anymore.'
“It's the damnedest thing,” Chaingang agreed, speaking the words in the man's exact speech cadence as he shook his head. The two of them stood there, shaking their heads at the sorry state of affairs.
“Feller could run a brass strip along here. Not just an ordinary piece of shim.” He took the whipsickle out of Daniel's hands and walked away, talking to himself. “I gotta brass strap here someplace that might work...” Ten minutes later Chaingang was standing outside the shop watching the white-hot blade cooling blue and then red as the new brass-reinforced weed slinger cooled in the water.
“How much?'
“Two dollars be about right?'
“Right as rain.” He smiled, handing over some sweaty ones.
The man pulled it out of the cooling trough and gingerly touched the blade to see if it could be handled. He gave it to Chaingang.
“NOW bust ‘er.'
“I like that. I do.” He wasn't doing anything. Just holding her very close with his face pressed into the hollow of her throat. “I like it a lot. Don't stop for a thousand years.'
“Ain't doin’ nothin',” he said into her neck.
“Don't care. I like it,” she told him. “I know what I like and I like it.'
“Mmmmrfk it too.'
“Yeah?'
“Mmmrf mmm.'
“I know just what you mean. I feel the same way. Roof-moot.'
“What I said was we fit good.'
“I know that. I heard you loud and clear.” They kissed. Again. Again.
“You know something?'
“Eh?'
“I love you so much.'
“I'm glad,” he said. “You know something? Aw, never mind.'
“Tell me.'
“I will—but not now.” And his tongue touched hers. They made love and he tried for the longest time to be as gentle as he could. That was the idea. To show her how much she meant to him. That she was porcelain dolls fine china breakable heirloom vases treasured satsuma capo di monte royal doulton steuben all the stuff that goes crunch the fine stemmed goblets and the fluted this and the delicate that and the nouveau lamps with shades like wafer-thin eisenglass and the thing is though she wouldn't break and she'd told him a couple dozen times she wasn't fragile and as gentle as he started out to be the heat of her warmed him inflamed him made the old volcano rumble and molten stuff in there start to flow and then it got a little wild and then he made up for it by kissing all the places where he'd made her body hot, kissing those sweet spots maybe ten thousand times just to show her ... just to let her know. Gentle kisses from head to toe, covering her in as much love as he could bestow, but she didn't
