Cormac McCarthy - Suttree

He spent a lot of time in the library reading magazines. An assortment of wildeyed freaks used to frequent the upstairs reading room, glancing furtively about, their cocks hanging out of their trousers beneath the tables, eyeing the schoolboys. One evening coming out of May’s cafe and heading toward the B&J he passed two women sailing along in the other direction. He turned around and followed them back in. They spoke with yankee accents a jivy kind of talk he thought he’d listen to and he took the booth behind them and ordered a beer. Before he’d taken a sip of it one of them turned and fixed him with an up and down look of brazen appraisal. What’s happening in this town? she said.

Suttree hung his arm over the back of the booth and looked at them. Not much, he said. Where you all from?

Chicago.

How long you been here?

Off and on for a couple of months.

Off and on is right, sweetie, said the older one. The other one smiled at Suttree. We’re hustlers, she said. But we wont hustle you.

Suttree liked her.

Well, he said. There’s usually something going on at the Indian Rock.

You want to go out there with us?

He rubbed his jaw. The clock hanging from the ceiling turned on its gilt chain. 11:20.

I’m Joyce and this is Margie, the nice one said.

Hi Joyce. Hi Margie.

What do you think?

Okay, he said. I guess so.

They went in a cab, the three of them in the back and him in the middle. They were all a little drunk.

She pulled out a handful of money to pay the cab with but he pushed it back and paid himself. The cabdriver hissed at him to bend and hear.

Them old gals is hustlers.

Suttree patted him on the arm.

When he danced with her she pressed her thigh between his legs and breathed against his neck. Hard impress of her pubic bone. She smelled very good. The older one kept cutting in on them and Suttree would have to dance with her. He saw no one he knew except Roop the drummer who kept winking huge hobgoblin winks at him.

You never told me your name, she said.

Bud.

Bud.

Yeah.

Okay Bud.

They’d been drinking whiskey and he found the floor a bit unmanageable but she didnt seem to notice. She nibbled his jugular with crimped lips. I like you, Bud, she said.

How do you know.

I can tell.

Can you feel it in the marrow of your bones?

That’s not exactly the spot.

How long are you going to be around?

I dont know. A while. I cant go back to Chicago.

Why not.

A little indictment.

Ah.

I travel around. I’m in and out of Knoxville.

In and out and off and on.

She bit his neck.

Do you want another drink?

I’d love one. Let me get them.

I’ve got them.

He walked her back to the table and called the waitress.

That girl that was here said to tell you she had to go, the waitress said.

They looked at each other. Suttree ordered ice and drinks and the waitress moved away, writing on her pad, her lips moving.

You didnt say anything to her did you? said Suttree.

No. You know I didnt.

They watched each other over the rims of their half empty glasses. They started giggling.

When they pulled up in the mouth of the alley she put her hand on his leg, apprehensive as a young girl.

It’s all right, he said.

What’s here?

I live here.

There’s no lights.

It’s all right.

Why dont we go to my hotel?

Suttree was already out. He had one hand extended to help her out and the other lay on the cold steel top of the taxi. He looked up at the dim and midnight shadowworld of shapes above McAnally, dark nightscape of lightwires and chimneypots. He reached down and took her hand. Look, he said. I’m not Jack the Ripper. I live just down here. It’s not much but it’s clean and I’ve got something to drink, a couple of beers I know and a little in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey I think. Come on.

She emerged cautiously from the cab and Suttree held her hand while he paid the driver. He slammed the door shut and the cab pulled away and he took her down the little cinderpath alleyway, taking his key from his pocket, showing her the way.

He opened the door and turned on the light. She stood in a cellar. Fire showed in the slotted mouth of the furnace and a wild melee of piping reeled away over the ceiling, their own shadows dipping in the slight swing of the lightbulb from its cord. A deep musty smell. She turned and looked at him. I must be crazy, she said. Will someone tell me what I’m doing here?

He crossed to the door of his room.

What’s that, the coalbin?

He turned the light on in his cubicle and ushered her in. She leaned in the doorway with one hand on his shoulder. Well, she said.

Go ahead.

He closed the door. They sat on the bed and kissed. They fumbled with each other. Mmm, she said. She leaned and licked his ear and whispered in. What you dont do right, she said, you’re going to have to do over. Winter sunlight parried from an upper wall fell over them from the high window. He lay awake in the narrow cot, one hand dangling on the floor. He turned to look at her. Pull back these covers from her chin. Is she gross? Is she horrid? Is she old?

She lay slackmouthed in sleep and not unlovely. He laid his face against her full breasts and slept again.

When he woke she was sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts smiling down at him, her ashblond hair tumbled about her face. She was holding a cup of coffee for him.

Hi, he said.

Hello lover. Are you ready for liquids?

Mggh.

Yes, I know. Just sit up a bit. She fluffed the pillow with one hand and then held the cup to his lips.

What time is it?

Noon.

Do you have to go?

Yes. She brushed back his hair.

He drank the coffee.

I copped one of your shirts, she said.

You wont leave those bumps in it will you?

No, she said, taking the cup. She leaned over him. I wont leave anything messed up or marked on except you. She kissed him. She tasted of mint. She ran her hand down his belly. Oh my, she said.

What do you want? said Suttree grinning.

When he woke again she was dressed and sitting at the table combing her hair. He watched her. She put the comb in her purse and snapped it shut and turned around and came over to the bed.

I’ve got to go, baby.

Well.

Is that laundry tub what you bathe in?

Yes. Such as it is.

I was stripped off out there washing my pussy when some spade came in. An old guy. He almost fainted.

Marvelous, said Suttree. What did he say?

Well, he had on this crazy hat and he took it off and began to bow and to back out the door saying: Scuse me mam, scuse me mam.

God help him. He’ll be more peculiar than ever.

She brushed his hair back. When will I see you?

I dont know.

What are you doing tonight?

Nothing. Are you asking for a date?

Do you mind?

No.

May I see you this evening?

It’ll have to be someplace cheap.

I’ve got some money. Baby dont. I’ve really got to go. Baby.

She left in midafternoon. He lay in the bed a depleted potentate. He felt very good.

A wan midwinter sun hung low and oblong under the leeward fishshaped clouds. A sun hotjowled and squat in the seeping lavender dusk. Down this narrow street where the chinese sign glows green. She is waiting, cupboarded in one of the high booths. A congenial oriental to bid good evening. Suttree saw her smile from a far corner.

No. With the young lady there.

The waitress smiled.

Hello baby.

Hello.

He slid into the seat opposite but she took his hand. Come sit by me.

He stood up again. Come over here, he said. So we dont bump elbows.

You’re a southpaw.