Joe Lansdale - The Bottoms

“Abraham.”

“Yep, Abraham. And the other one is Mr. Dale’s boy. Mr. Dale is a pretty fair farmer. He wrestles at fairs for money. I hear he’s good at that too. His boy’s name is… let me see…”

“Richard.”

“Yep, Richard. They ain’t a bad couple to play with. And let me tell you something sad. Abraham, another few years, he and Richard won’t play together. They won’t even be together.”

“Why, Daddy?”

Daddy looked over at Uncle Pharaoh, as if to make sure he was out of earshot. “ ’Cause the world ain’t the way it’s supposed to be. You figure on that, and I think the answer will come to you.”

It already had. I said, “Daddy? Did you figure out who done that to that colored woman?”

“No. I don’t really know more than I did, ’cept it was horrible. I don’t know I’ll ever know any more than I know right now.”

“Why did Doc Stephenson come?”

“I don’t rightly know, but I figure he wanted to be in on something like that, and not have it hurt his business none.”

“He didn’t sound like he knew much.”

“I don’t think he cared one way or another. He just wanted to be the one making the statements, not a colored doctor. I’d come to Doc Tinn anytime before I’d go to that pill-pushin’ quack. Listen here. Whites and colored ain’t neither one better or worse than another. There’s just men and women of whatever color, and some of them are worse than others, and some are better. That’s the way to look at that matter. I’m an ignorant man, son, but I know that.”

“Daddy. Miss Maggie says it’s probably the Goat Man done it.”

“How’d she know anything was done?”

I blushed. “I guess I told her.”

“Well, I figure it’s no big secret by now, but you want to keep talk like that to yourself when you can.”

“Yes sir. She says the Goat Man might be the devil. Or one of the devil’s servants. Like Beezlebubba.”

“She means Beelzebub. But no. I done told you I don’t believe there’s no Goat Man,” Daddy said. “I’ve heard tell of such all my life, but ain’t never seen it. As for this fella done this being the devil’s servant, well, she might have somethin’ there. But I figure he’s flesh and blood all right.”

“Daddy, the one done that to that colored woman?”

“Miss Sykes, son. She had a name. We know it now.”

“Yes sir. One did that… He still around?”

Daddy had the bologna in his hand, and was cutting it with the pocketknife.

“I don’t know, son… I doubt it.”

It was then, for the first time, I thought my Daddy might have lied to me.

It was hotter on the way home than when we’d left, and a lot of the water had dried up or at least caked into mud. It was thick in the road and it caused us to go slow.

We hadn’t got more than a couple miles outside of Pearl Creek when a black Ford with dents all over it, sitting in the shade of a hickory nut tree, pulled onto the road and right up beside us, going fast enough to toss mud on us.

A red-faced man was sitting on the passenger side wearing a big white hat. He waved his arm out the open window at Daddy and pointed to the side of the road.

Daddy pulled over, said, “It’s all right, son. It’s the law over here. I know ’em. Wait on me, hear?”

As Daddy got out of the car, I slid over behind the steering wheel. Daddy went to the rear of our car, and the man on the passenger side of the dented Ford wearing the big white hat got out. He was big and solid. He was dressed in gray khakis and wore his sleeves rolled down and buttoned, as if it were the dead of winter. A badge was pinned on his shirt.

The driver, a fellow with a yellowish coloring to his features, wearing a tan hat with a near flat crown that made it look like the top to a butter churn, stayed behind the wheel chewing tobacco.

The man in the big hat shook hands with Daddy. I could hear them real good. The red-faced man said, “Good to see you, Jacob. I heard tell you was constable over there in your county.”

“I don’t expect you’re all that proud to see me, Woodrow,” Daddy said, “so don’t act like it.”

The man laughed a little. He took off his hat and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped sweat from the inside of it. His hair was even redder than his face.

“That Ralph Purdue with you?” Daddy asked.

The man Daddy called Woodrow didn’t answer that question. He said, “Jacob, I got to talk to you. This here nigger murder. We heard about it.”

“Who hasn’t.”

“Well, now, I could beat around the bush, but I ain’t gonna do that. What I got to say is simple. Over here ain’t your jurisdiction.”

“If I was solvin’ a crime, and it led me over here, you’d help me out, wouldn’t you, Woodrow?”

“Oh, you know it. But, a nigger? Listen, Jacob, let me give you some advice-”

“I’ve heard it before.”

“You heed it from me, okay?”

Daddy didn’t answer.

“There’s nigger murders, then there’s white murders, and then there’s nigger and white and white and nigger murders.”

“Murder’s murder.”

“Let me put it like this. Niggers over here don’t want nobody meddlin’ in their business. Not you. Not me.”

“We’re the law.”

“Yeah, but a nigger woman gets killed down in the bottoms, that’s one thing. It ain’t like it’s a good nigger. And it ain’t like it matters much to us. One’s gone, and that’s all there is to it. It was probably one of her boyfriends. She didn’t put out, or put out to someone else. It’s always something like that.

“Jacob, you got some Christian ideas, and that’s good. But niggers take care of their own. They like it that way, and we like it that way. They get in white business, then we take care of them. White man kills a nigger, that’s our responsibility. A nigger kills a white man, that’s sure our responsibility. But this…”

“Person’s dead, they’re dead,” Daddy said. “Isn’t that our responsibility?”

“There’s some things been a certain way for a long time, and they ought to stay that way.”

“I thought the Yankees whupped us,” Daddy said. “And Lincoln freed the slaves.”

“The Yankees didn’t whup me. Jacob, what happened here seems obvious. Somebody got off the train, a nigger hobo ridin’ the rails most likely, and he decided he needed some comfort. And he got with this nigger woman and didn’t have the money. She probably tried to cut him. He ended up doin’ her in and caught the next train out. Doc Stephenson, he sees it that way.”

“That’s funny,” Daddy said. “He told me he thought a panther did it. Or a wild boar. Or maybe a wild boar held her while the panther did it. I forget. When the two got through they tied her to a tree with some barbed wire.”

“Jacob-”

“Since when is Doc Stephenson able to look at a body and know a hobo did it? Did the hobo leave him a note?”

“Goddamn you, Jacob! It’s known far and wide all over this country you’re a nigger lover, and you ain’t careful you’re gonna bring up another generation of them nigger lovers, and some folks around here have all the nigger lovin’ they want. Over here, we take care of our niggers our way.”

“I want to tell you something, Woodrow. When we were boys you fell off a barge and damn near drowned-”

“Don’t hold that over my head.”

“Got in that sinkhole and was almost sucked down. But you wasn’t.”

“And I’ve thanked you.”

“You have. Thought you was real grateful about it. And even though you and I have our differences, I’ve always thought, when push come to shove, you was a fair man. But sometimes, I wish I’d have just gone on and let you go under. And if I could rightly figure for sure what you said about another generation of nigger lovers was some kind of threat on my family, I’d break your goddamn neck.”