Pop. 1280

be gettin' in bed with her pretty soon now, and she's gonna be givin' me what you were too god-danged low-down mean to ever get from her. Reason I know she's gonna give it to me is because she's been doin' it for a long time. Just about every time you were out here hog-drunk, too stupid to appreciate what a good thing you had.'

He was cussing before I had the last words out; pushing himself up against the tree-trunk, and at last wobbling to his feet. He took a staggering step toward me, and I brought the gun up against my shoulder.

'The second thing I'm gonna do,' I said, 'is somethin' I should have done long ago. I'm gonna give you both barrels of this shotgun right in your stupid, stinking guts.'

And I did it.

It didn't quite kill him, although he was dying fast.! wanted him to stay alive for a few seconds, so that he could appreciate the three or four good swift kicks I gave him. You might think it wasn't real nice to kick a dying man, and maybe it wasn't. But I'd been wanting to kick him for a long time, and it just never had seemed safe until now.

I left him after a while, getting weaker and weaker. Squirming around in a pool of his own blood and guts. And then ceasing to squirm.

Then, I drove on out to the Hauck farm.

The house was pretty much like most farm houses you see in this part of the country, except it was a little bigger. A pitched-roofed shack, with one long room across the front and a three-room lean-to on the back. It was made of pine, naturally, and it wasn't painted. Because with the hot sun and high humidity, you can't hardly keep paint on a house down here. At least, that's what folks say and even if it ain't so, it's a danged good excuse for being shiftless. The farm land, a whole quarter section of it, was as good as you'd find.

It was that rich, black silt you see in the river lowlands; so fine and sweet you could almost eat it, and so deep that you couldn't wear it out, like so much of the shallow soil in the south is worn out. You might say that land was a lot like Rose, naturally good, deep down good, but Tom had done his best to ruin it like he had her. He hadn't done it, because they'd had too much good stuff to begin with. But both the land and her were a long sight from being what they'd been before he got ahold of 'em.

She was hoeing sweet potatoes when I arrived, and she came running up from the field, panting for breath and pushing the sweat-soaked hair from her eyes. One heck of a pretty woman, she was; Tom hadn't been able to change that. And she had one heck of a figure. Tom hadn't been able to ruin her body either, although he'd sure tried hard. What he had changed was the way she thought-mean and tough- and the way she talked. When she didn't have to be on guard, she talked practically as bad as he did.

'Goddam, honey,' she said, giving me a quick little hug and stepping back again. 'Dammit, sweetheart, I won't be able to stop today. That son-of-a-bitch of a Tom gave me too much work to do.'

I said, 'Aw, come on. You can spare a few minutes. I'll help you afterwards.'

She said, goddamit, it wouldn't do any good if she had six men to help her. She still couldn't get through. 'You know I want you, honey,' she said. 'I'm crazy about you, baby, and you know I am. If it wasn't for all this goddam work-'

'Well, I don't know,' I said, deciding to tease her along a while. 'I guess I ain't real sure that you do want me. Seems like as if you did, you could give me a minute or two.'

'But it wouldn't be a minute or two, darling! You know it wouldn't!'

'Why not?' I said. 'It don't take no longer than that to kiss you a little, and give you a few squeezes and pats, an'-'

'D-Don't!' She moaned shakily. 'Don't say those things! I-'

'Why, I'd probably even have time to hold you on my lap,' I said. 'With your dress sort of pulled up, so's I could feel how warm and soft you are where you sit down. And I could maybe sort of pull your dress down from the top, kind of slide it down from your shoulders, so that! could see those nice things underneath, and'

'Stop it, Nick! I-you know how I get, a-and-I can't! I just can't honey! '

'Why, I wouldn't even expect you to take your dress all the way off,' I said. 'I mean, it ain't really necessary, when you get right down to cases. With a tight-packed little gal like you, a fella don't have to do hardly nothing at all except-'

She cut me off, groaning like a spurred horse. She said, 'Goddam! I don't give a damn if the son- of-a-bitch beats my tail off!'

Then, she grabbed me by the hand and began to run, dragging me toward the house.

We got inside, and she slammed the door and locked it. She stood leaning into me for a moment, twisting and writhing against me. Then, she flung herself down on the bed, rolled over on her back and hitched her dress up.

'What the hell you waiting for, honey?' she said. 'Come on, darling, goddam it!'

'What you layin' down for?' I said. 'I thought I was just goin' to hold you on my lap.'

'P-Please, Nick!' She moaned again. 'We've g-got no time to waste, so- please, honey!'

'Well, all right,' I said. 'But I got some news for you. Sort of a little secret. I think maybe I ought to tell it to you before-'

'Crap on the secret.' She made a wild grab for me. 'I don't want any goddam secrets! What I want is-'

'But it's about poor old Tom. Somethin' done went and happened to him…'

'Who gives a damn? It's just too goddam bad that the son-of-a-bitch isn't dead! Now-'

I told her that that was the secret: Tom was dead. 'Looks like he got his guts blowed clear through his backbone,' I said. 'Looks like he stumbled over his gun when he was drunk, and blowed himself to glory.'

She looked at me, her eyes widening, mouth working as she tried to speak. Finally, the words came out in a shaky whisper:

'You're sure, Nick? You really killed him?'

'Let's just say he had himself an accident,' I said. 'Let's just say that fate dealt him a cool blow.'

'But he is dead? You're sure about that?'

I told her I was sure, all right. Plenty sure. 'If he ain't, he's the first live man I've ever seen who could hold still while he was getting kicked in the balls.'

Rose's eyes lit up like I'd given her a Christmas purty. Then she threw herself back on the pillows, rocking with laughter.

'Holy Jesus, so the stinking son-of-a-bitch is really dead! I'm through with the dirty bastard at last!'

'Well, sir, it sure looks that way,' I said.

'Goddam him! I just wish I'd have been there to kick him myself, the bastardly son~of-a-bitchin' whoremonger!' she said, adding on a few more choice names. 'You know what I'd have liked to do to that dirty bastard, Nick? I'd have liked to take me a red hot poker and jabbed it right up the filthy son-of-a-bitch's-uh, what's the matter, honey?'

'Nothin',' I said. 'I mean, maybe we ought to show a little more respect for ol' Tom, him bein' dead and all. It just don't seem quite fittin' to low-rate the dead with a lot of dirty names.'

'You mean I shouldn't call the son-of-a-bitch a son-of-a-bitch?'

'Well, now, it don't sound real good, does it?' I said. 'It don't sound nice a-tall.'