Cormac McCarthy - Outer Dark

I’ll bet he does.

I got to get it back.

And what is it?

I cain’t tell ye. He knows he ain’t supposed to have it. If I can just see him.

That sounds more than just commonly curious to me, the man said. Where’s your family at?

I ain’t got nary’n. Ceptin just a brother and he run off. So I got to find this here tinker.

The man shook his head. You ain’t goin to get no satisfaction out of no tinker. Specially if you ain’t got no kin to back ye up. I’m surprised myself you ain’t got no more shame than to tell that it was one.

They Lord, she said, it ain’t nothin like that. I ain’t never even seen him.

You ort to of knowed one’d do ye dirt … You what?

I ain’t never seen him.

You ain’t.

No sir.

The man stood watching her for a moment. Honey, he said, I think you better get in out of the sun.

I wouldn’t care to myself, she said.

Go on to the house and tell my old woman I said you was to take dinner with us. Go on now. I’ll be in directly I get unhitched and watered.

Well, she said, you sure it’s all right. I don’t want to put nobody out.

Go on, he said. I’ll be in directly, tell her.

He watched her go, shaking his head slowly. She crossed the scored and grassless yard warding away chickens with a little shooing gesture until she arrived at the door and tapped.

The woman who appeared had a buttermold in one hand and in the other a gathering of apron with which she wiped her face. The sight of this frail creature upon her stoop seemed to weary her. What is it? she said.

Your man said was it all right I was to come for … He said to ast you if you’d not care to let me take dinner with ye’ns if …

She didn’t appear to be listening. She was looking at this petitioner with a kind of aberrant austerity. I’ve churned till I’m plumb give out, she said.

It is a chore, ain’t it.

Plumb give out. She held the buttermold before her now in her two hands, sacrificially.

Yes mam. Your man yander sent me. He said to tell you he’d be along in just a minute.

She looked the young woman up and down. It’s half a hour till dinner, she said. You would expect somebody to know what time dinner was after nineteen year now wouldn’t ye?

Yes mam, she said, looking down.

It’s when I ring it, that’s when it is.

I didn’t know, she said.

Him, not you. Where’s he at?

He went to water.

Did he? She clapped the mold absently. Funny the way a man’s day gets shorter and a woman’s longer. And you’re here for dinner are ye?

If it ain’t no trouble.

Trouble? No trouble. Since I got a maid and a cook now it ain’t. Come in.

She went past and into the kitchen.

Get ye a chair. I’m just cleanin up this mess.

I’d be proud to help.

Just set. I’ll be done directly.

All right.

Not there. It’s broke.

All right.

She watched while the older woman ladled the last of the butter from the bottom of the churn into the mold and pressed it out.

That’s a sight of butter.

The woman was clearing away the things. She glanced at the hives of butter aligned on a board down the table. It ain’t near what I do in the winter, she said. They’s two different stores carries my butter.

The other folded her hands over the stained bundle of rags in her lap. I reckon that would keep a body busy with churnin.

It’d keep one busy just milkin. She ran the wooden blade of her ladle down the dasher.

Is it just you and your man here?

It is. We raised five. All dead.

She had been going to nod interest or approval but now her jaw fell and her hands knotted in her lap. In the silence of the kitchen only the dull sound of wood on buttered wood.

You’d think a man’s hand would fit a cow’s tit wouldn’t ye? the woman said.

She looked down at her feet and placed them very carefully together. I don’t know, she said.

You ain’t married?

No mam.

Well. You ever get married I expect you’ll find out they don’t.

Yes mam. Can I not help ye with nothin sure enough?

Near done now. Don’t need no help. You just set.

All right.

Four girls.

She sat, hands folded. The woman dampened cheesecloth to lay over the butter.

Oldest’n been near your age I reckon.

I’m nineteen, she said.

Yes. Oldest’n be just about your age. He ain’t comin is he?

She raised her head slightly and looked out the one small window. No mam. Not that I can see.

All right.

It’s faired off to be a right nice day ain’t it?

Yes. I don’t even know whether you’d say raised or not when they wasn’t but just young. The boy was near a growed man when he died.

Yes mam. I’m sorry you’ve had such troubles.

Mm-hmm. Sorry. Don’t need sorry. Not in this house. Sorry laid the hearth here. Sorry ways and sorry people and heavensent grief and heartache to make you pine for your death.

She was watching her toes.

For nineteen year.

Yes mam.

I believe that’s him now, she said. Called or not. You can look and see if that ain’t him now if you will.

It’s him, she said.

All right. We’ll eat directly he gets washed. If he’s washin.

When the man entered the house he nodded to her and went on through the door to the next room without speaking to the woman. She could hear him puttering about at some task. The woman raised aloft a stove-eye in black and steaming consecration and poked the fire. A gout of pale smoke ascended and flattened itself against the ceiling. It was very quiet in the kitchen. Flies droned back and forth. When the man came in again he skirted the table and sat at the far end and folded his hands before him on the oilcloth.

Hidy, she said.

Howdy. I expect you could use a bite to eat by now.

I ast could I help but she said she’d ruther to do it her own self.

She does everthing by herself.

The woman opened the oven door and slid forth a tray of cornbread.

That’s finelookin butter ain’t it? That she’s made.

I cain’t eat it, the man said.

Her joined hands went to her lips for a moment and returned to her lap again.

Cain’t eat it. Makes me sicker’n a dog.

I guess they’s some things everbody cain’t … I guess everbody has got somethin he cain’t eat.

What’s yourn?

What?

I said what’s yourn? That you cain’t eat. It ain’t turnips I don’t reckon.

She was watching her hands, yellow skin tautening over the knuckles. I don’t know, she said.

No.

A body gets hungry I reckon will eat pret-near anything.

I’ve heard that. I’m proud I ain’t never gone hungry.

It’s best not to have to. I reckon.

It’s best not to have to do lots of things. Like hunt somebody you never heard of … Was that not it?

Never seen, she said.

Never seen then. And I reckon sleep wherever dark fell on ye. Or worse.

The woman lifted her head to toss back the hair from her face. Leave her alone, she said. She ain’t botherin you.

Just get it on the table, woman. You don’t need to be concerned about nothin else.

Don’t you pay him no mind. He’s meanhearted and sorry and they ain’t nothin to be done for him.

That’s all right, she said. We was just talkin.

The man’s speckled hands had drawn up clenched like two great dying spiders on either side of the empty white plate that sat before him. You flaptongued old bat, don’t call me sorry. I’ll show you what sorry is if you want.

The woman flung her head above the stove again. O yes, she said. That’s nice for company now ain’t it?

Goddamn you and some company both, the man said, rising. Don’t come on with that fancy shit to me about some company. If you looked to your own a little better and companied less …