'Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer,' I said. 'Listen. I'm accepting contributions for an ark, materials or their monetary equivalent. Planks are a dollar each, Mr. Kossmeyer.'
'They ain't the only thing,' said Mr. Kossmeyer. 'So is a quart of wine.'
He seemed a lot smarter than he used to be. Summer a year ago, I sold him a reservation to the Last Supper.
'Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer, listen,' I said. 'All the world's a stage, and all the actors, audience; and the wise man casteth no stink bombs. Doesn't that stir you, Mr. Kossmeyer?' I said.
'Only to a limited degree,' said Mr. Kossmeyer. 'Only to a limited degree, Noah. I feel nothing at all in the area of my hip pocket.'
'Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer, listen,' I said. 'They've got a new resident out in The City of Wonderful People. They've got a man that's TRULY HUMBLE. He's TRULY HUMBLE, but he always acted like the snootiest, most stuck-up man in town. You know why he acted that way? You know why, Mr. Kossmeyer? Because he was so lonesome for company. The planks are really only ninety-eight cents, Mr. Kossmeyer, and I can bring back the change from a dollar.'
'A little more finesse,' said Mr. Kossmeyer. 'A little more english on the cue ball.'
'Listen,' I said. 'Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer. I'm thinking about digging him up, and putting him on television. There ought to be millions in it, don't you think so? A TRULY HUMBLE man, just think of it, Mr. Kossmeyer!'
'I think I'll drive you down to the library,' said Mr. Kossmeyer, 'and lead you to the history section.'
'I could put falsies on him, Mr. Kossmeyer,' I said. 'I could teach him to sing and dance. I could- listen, Mr. Kossmeyer, listen, listen. There's a couple of other new residents out in The City of Wonderful People. They're MOTHER AND FATHER, and they're the most wonderful of all. Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer, listen. They're DUTIFUL AND LOVING PARENTS, they're GODFEARING AND LOYAL, they're HONEST and KINDLY and STEADFAST and GENEROUS and MERCIFUL and TOLERANT and WISE and-'
'What the hell they got, for God's sake?' said Mr. Kossmeyer. 'A tombstone or a billboard?'
'Listen, Mr. Kossmeyer,' I said. 'Listen. It's the teensiest stone you ever saw. Not much bigger than a cigarette package. I figure that fellow who writes on the heads of pins must have done the inscription. It's practically impossible to read it, Mr. Kossmeyer. Virtually impossible. They've got all those virtues, yet no one can see them. You know why it's that way? You know why, Mr. Kossmeyer? Listen, listen, listen. It's supposed to be symbolic. It's symbolic, Mr. Kossmeyer, and I just remembered you can get a pretty good grade of plank for- '
'Listen, Noah, listen, listen,' said Mr. Kossmeyer. 'Which is the shortest way to that building-supply store?'
7:
HATTIE
I guess I just don't think no more. Not no real thinking, only little old keyhole kind.
Reckon you know what I mean. Reckon you know what it does to a body. May be a mighty big room, but you sure ain't going to see much of it. And you keep looking through that keyhole long enough, nothing ain't never going to look big to you.
Get to where that eye of yours just won't spread out.
Used to think pretty tolerable, way back when, long long time ago. Back when Mr. Doctor was talking to me and teaching me, and telling me stuff. Seemed like I was just thinking all the time, and thinking more all the time. Big thinking. Almost could fee! my brain getting bigger. Then, we comes here and that was the end of that and the beginning of the other.
Mr. Doctor stopped; stopped himself from pushing me on, and stopped me from pushing. Just wouldn't do, he said. Got to be in a certain place, so I got to fit in that place. Don't do nothing that would maybe look like I don't belong in that place. Just sink down in it, and don't never raise my head above it.
Too bad and he sure hates it, Mr. Doctor said. But that's the way it's got to be. And what good's it going to do me, he said, filling my head full of a lot of stuff I wasn't never going to use?
Guess he right, all right. Anyways, he stop with me. Me, I didn't put up no fuss about it. Catch me arguing with Mr. Doctor. Never did it but the once, long long time ago, and maybe that used all my arguing up. Took all my fighting for the one battle, maybe. And maybe I just didn't see no call to fight.
Don't work up no sweat going down hill. Awful easy thing to do, and that little old keyhole at the bottom, it don't bother you at all.
Can't think no more. Ain't got the words for it. Mr. Doctor, he tell me one time back when he was telling me things, he tell me the mind can't go no farther than a person's 'cabulary. You got to have the words or you can't talk, and you got to have 'em or you can't think. No words, no thinking. Just kind of feeling.
Me, I get hungry. I get cold and hot. I get scared, and sick. Mostly, I get scared and sick. Scared- sick, kind of together. And not doing no real thinking about it. Just feeling it and wishing it wasn't, and knowing it's going to go right on being. A lot worse maybe.
Because he, that boy, he acting nice now. He trying to pretend being friendly. And that boy, he act that way, you sure better watch out for him. He sure about to get you then.
He come out in the kitchen other night after supper. Right there with me before I know it. And he smile and sweet-talk, and say he going to help me with the dishes.
'Go 'way,' I said. 'You lea' me alone, hear?'
'Well, we'll let the dishes go,' he said. 'Let's go in your bedroom, mother. I have something I want to talk to you about.'
'Huh-uh. No, suh,' I said. 'You ain't gettin' me in no bedroom.'
'I'm sure you don't mean that,' he said. 'You're my mother. Every mother is interested in her son's problems.'
I go in the bedroom with him. Scared not to. He got his mind made up, and that boy make up his mind, you sure better not get in his way.
Meanest boy in the world, that boy. Just plain lowdown rattlesnake mean.
I get on bed. Get way back against the wall with my legs drawn up under me. He sit down on chair at side of bed. He takes out a cigarette, and then he looks at me, and asks if it's all right he could smoke.
I don't say nothing. Just keep my eyes on him, just watching and waiting.
'Oh, excuse me, mother,' he said. 'Allow me.'
He stick a cigarette at me. He strike a match and hold it out, and me I put that cigarette in my mouth and puff it lit. Had to. Scared to death if I don't, and scared if I do.
I take a puff or two, so's he won't go for me. Then, he start talking, ain't watching me close, I squeeze it down in my fingers and let it go out.
'Now, it's a money problem I wanted to discuss with you, mother,' he said. 'Largely one of money. I don't suppose you have a considerable sum you might lend me?'
'Huh,' I said. 'Where I get any money?'
'I'd probably need several thousand dollars,' he said. 'There'd be some traveling to do. I'd need enough to get reestablished, for two people to live on, for an extended period.'
'Why'n't you go away?' I said. 'How I get any money, I don't draw no wages? You want money you knows who to go to.'
He look at me a little while. He look right on through my head it seem like, and I figure he's really about to come after me. Figure I really make one big mistake in kind of talking back to him. But what else I do, anyhow? Can't be nothing much but back-talk when you talk to him.
Can't think no more.
Can't do nothing, and can't do something.
Scared if I do and scared if I don't.
