on vet?narians,? he was saying.
?Herriot, or something on that order.
Dr. Mewman shrugged. ?I received three copies of the damn thing last Christmas. But hell John, I
enough horseshit without
about it.?
Terrell, who in addition to having an immediate use for the silver-maned animal doctor, liked him well enough, laughed heartily. Reuven Mewman, he considered, had the good timing and sense of folkiness that either made or broke orators in the South.
?Esther donated the books to a rummage sale at our church.? Mewman was not one to surrender a captive audience. ?They had me autograph the damn things, and charged near full price for them.?
Mewman took bourbon and swished it around his gums, ?uh woman?whose thor-uh-bred springer spaniel I saved from a overdose of Alpo last spring?presented me with a copy of one of the books I had signed, sealed, and given away to my church ? And I
haven?t read page one.?
?Well, you ought to.? Johnboy chewed and grinned. ?Herriot?s prob?ly the finest livin? vet?narian writin? today.?
Both men laughed again and Dr. Mewman called for more drinks.
A black man who looked like Asbestos came and went, taking their reorders for double bourbons. As Mewman ordered, Johnboy watched two saddle-shoed teenagers teeing up their golf balls in front of the porch. He thought the game of golf a terrible waste of their precious youth.
?I understand,? he spoke while looking out over the golf course, ?that you?ve expressed interest in spendin a few years in Washington, District of Columbia.?
?I did speak around about my availability,? the veterinarian admitted. ?But that was earlier this year.?
?I advise against it.? Terrell made a face by misshaping his lips. ?Northern winters rust you ? But I do believe,? he went on, ?that there?s an opportunity coming up in this Senate race.?
?That?s because? ??
?That?s because the one candidate, John Fair the second, is a horse?s ass. Ridin high on his daddy?s money plus a set of brass testicles ? And that?s because Horn ? I understand Jimmie Horn has been seein? a white woman.?
Reuven Mewman?s head shook in a short arc.
?That nigger is far too smart for that, John. Too smart. Too hungry. I?m sure it?ll happen one day, but not just yet ? Where did you hear that bullshit from, John??
Terrell watched as one of the teenagers lofted an iron shot high over two pine trees. The little white pellet dropped fifteen feet off the pin on hole number 2.
He turned in his chair to face Mewman. ?I thought you were smart, also,? he said. ?A little smart and hungry yourself.?
The veterinarian understood and he blushed a ripe, tomato red.
?You see, I?m just checking on your availability, Reuven. Because as I said, John Fair, Jr., is the original horse?s ass?and Horn is vulnerable at this time.?
Reuven answered the original question then. His answer came as a kind of oath. ?My interest is high,? he spoke. ?I?d be interested and honored, John. Even to be considered, I?m honored.?
Terrell stood up on the porch and shook Mewman?s hand.
He left his choice for senator numb and speechless, but with two double bourbons on the way. He made his way across the front lawn, tipping his Palm Beach hat to people who still called him Mr. Governor.
PART V
Zebulon, November 17
One nippy, leaf-splattered Saturday in November?a week or so after a Chattanooga dentist upset a Memphis quick-food genius for Tennessee?s available Senate seat?three bulging station wagons set out like Conestoga wagons in the general direction of Zebulon, Kentucky.
The people driving the individual cars were myself, my father, and Moses Reed. I was embarking on a three month L.O.A. to shore up my domestic life, and to finish the Berryman book.
The place Nan and I rented was a big, crumbling, Victorian-style farmhouse. It had its own private catfish pond, a possum hollow, and three kinds of cornfields. The owners were wintering in St. Petersburg, and the furnished, seven-bedroom house was costing us the princely sum of $105 a month to rent.
It was located exactly six miles from where I was born, and where my parents still live.
The family moved into three of the bedrooms (three of the four rooms facing down over an apple orchard and the catfish pond), and I set up two of the other rooms for my book work.
At this point I?d collected one hundred and twenty interview tapes. I had hundreds of photographs showing the story?s important people as well as its key locations. There were also over a thousand pages of mimeographed notes and transcriptions from the
That winter we all took up serious ice skating and ice fishing.
I mounted a 1952 Chevy on blocks and we learned about V-8 car engines inside the barn.
