William Gass - Middle C

How is it? Is it good?

I don’t know how it’s supposed to look. How can I be a judge? But it looks bad, Joey, what you’re doing. It’s bad. Bad. Better to get caught without papers than to get caught with a forged set. American cops aren’t bobbies, Joey: they are beery; they beat people; they are short and fat, not like tall polite bobbies; they are bound with belts they loosen in secret to black and blue their prisoners; unlike bobbies, guns hang from their hips, they shoot to kill, and their killings are common; they lay the bodies in front of saloons on tilted boards to frighten people, cars, and horses. I’ve seen photos of it. They wire tags to dead toes.

In his own wallet, itself almost a makeshift item, and unusually fat with funds he had borrowed from his mother, Joseph nevertheless felt comforted to have slid the card. Indeed, it made him feel as if he knew how to drive; after all, he had a permit with his picture on it and the seal of the state. Having not yet been dishonest about anything, Joseph boldly wrote, Have no ss num on the employment forms he’d been given and reboarded the bus to Urichstown in order to deliver the papers in person, secure his situation, hunt for a room, and prepare to assume his duties. Could he interrupt his journey by getting out in Lowell and continue it by catching the next bus, he asked the Afro-headed driver. Sure, I’ll just punch a hole alongside “Lowell,” but remember to hang on to the ticket. The Afros have hair they feel they have to do something about, Joseph thought, taking his position on the left side of the aisle, by his count halfway back to the back of the bus. He was remembering Miss Spiky, but only with amusement. She wouldn’t be coming from Woodbine. Still, it would be prudent to doze.

He remembered then to be curious about why he thought of this immense and immensely shapeless lady as Miss Spiky, as if her hair outweighed the rest of her. Did others think of him in terms of some body part? nose or thumb? as Mr. Featureless, he hoped.

The bus stopped at an oil drum that had been painted bright yellow. This was Lowell. Joseph had remembered rows of possibly wrecked cars lined up alongside the highway, but maybe they were merely very used because they had, he thought, signs in their windshields that might have been prices. He was right both ways because a few yards back of this rank was a junkyard, crammed with looted bodies, stacks of tires, and rusty parts. Sitting in cinders were bumpers of chrome and a scattering of wheel covers. Joseph saw many soggy cardboard boxes in which wipers, window rollers, and door handles had been collected. They could still give off a smart shine in the sunlight. Up front, nose to the road, was an off-orange vehicle with an iridescent side-view mirror whose price — fifty dollars — seemed written on its window in soap. He noticed with some satisfaction that all its tires were full as hogs and went to ask anyone if the car still ran.

A battered Airstream trailer that sat now on cinder blocks served for an office, and there, literally darkening the doorway, was Miss Spiky, abloom in an amazing flower-within-flower dress — that is, a cream-colored cotton shift covered with large lavender petals into which roses had been thrown as if by a lady angrily disposing of her former beau’s bouquet. Heehee, if my name aint Ant Hellan, what do I see? she sort of sang, fortune smiles. You couldnt get ennuf of me. So it seems, Joseph said, trying not to stammer, because he was suddenly embarrassed. You work here? I own this junk, evry jink uv evry jonk. Really? My husban willed it to me, evry peece uv evry peece. Well, gee, I thought you moved about more. I was willed one uv these here in LouElla — which you see cuze you are standin in it — an one in Gale, an one in Whichstown, which is where I thought you was.

Three? gee. No wonder you have to bus about. That’s a lot.

It all comes to this. Miss Spiky waved her right arm grandly. We take what we have, we make cars outta it, and then when we run the cars hard all around till theres no more desire in the wheels to roll, then we junk em, whole mines uv ore, wells uv oil, tanks uv gas, plushes for the floors, plastics leather for the seats, glass in the windas, rubburr for the mats, it all ends up here, thats why theres so many yards of lizzie iron in this cuntry, on account uv cars.

She moved from the doorway toward him as smoothly as the shadow of a passing cloud. Joseph thought you could play ringtoss with the stiff spires she had made of her hair. Later he would learn that her hairdo was called a mullet. Nevertheless, for him, her name remained Miss Spiky.

Where is you cummin from, sonny?

Well, up to now I’ve lived in Woodbine, but I have a new job in Urichtown.

Whichstown, you know it is.

Which—?

Whiches is what it was named for, crowds and covens of them one time. They still flies through the trees in the night, but they is in dreams and does no harm.

I didn’t know Uhrichsville — sorry, town — had such a lively history.

History aint lively, my pinyun. History is dead as the nex chicken I eat. Whatshoe want?

Miss Spiky had ripe fat red lips and a smile that stretched across her face from one cheekside to the other. It was an honest smile and went with her wide white eyes and her large active hands that seemed to be conducting her emotions. Young man? He was being respectfully prodded. Ah … I was wondering if that car over there was for sale? Joseph heard her say “man,” not “mahn.” He had always been sensitive to such differences.

You see a sum writ on the winnshield?

Yes, ma’am, I did.

What was that sum that was writ on the winnshield there?

Fifty dollars.

Okay. Thats what the car will cost you. In munny. In chokin and stallin and buckin and in genneral disappointmens itll cost a lot more. That’s a Rambler there, that one for fifty.

I was thinking about it. Does it run?

It has plates, four tires, an a battry. For fifty its a good buy.

But does it run all right.

Them tires turn pretty good given enny encouragement. But I dont give out garentees.

In the window of the Airstream, looking out at him with one good eye, was Billy Bear. Hello there, Billy Bear, Joseph said with a cordiality he actually felt.

Its got a quarter gas. If you got a foot for it you kin squeeze a lotta miles outta the ole wreck. Thats a car, tho, wasnt worth much new.

Are you trying to discourage me? Fifty is about all I can afford.

I figgur you dont know doob about em, do you? She was smellably close, and Joseph recalled the cologne. Billy Bear wouldnt buy it, tell you that. He knows moren you, kid — my my — you dont know doob. Her splayed hands measured an amount of air no more than a crack’s worth. Though her skin was dark, her palms were very pale. In London, when he saw his first such person he thought they had been painted; then he thought they were diseased; finally, he figured they were smoked like some of the buildings that bombs had charred.

I’ve never owned a car, that’s true. Actually, I’ve rarely ridden in one.

If I sells you this Rambler for thirty-five you got to promise never to come back here to complain. You kin come back — welcome enny time — but not to complain. You kin come back sos the car kin die here, shur — but not to complain. Youre strange, you know, kid your age as ignorant as you about — of all the whurl’s ring-a-ding things — about cars. She then engulfed him. Cotton cloth roses were flattened on his face. You led a deeprived life, I guess, she said, her mouth just above his ear. A hug closes the deal.

Joseph groaned for air on account of the cologne, not on account of the squeeze.

You got your hug, now I want my thirty-five, then you get keys.

Much obliged. Joseph counted out thirty-five as the blood receded from his face. The bills had been wadded. They wouldn’t keep still.