Joe Lansdale - A Fine Dark Line

Fact was, he may have been near our house last night, followed us to the tracks. I thought on that awhile, decided, not likely. With us on bicycles, that wouldn’t have been easy, so maybe he picked up on us at the sawmill road. He could have been there. Hiding in the sawmill after burning down the house where he and Rosy Mae stayed.

Or he hadn’t followed us at all. It was possible when we reached the railroad tracks he was in the vicinity. The woods were thick near the tracks and he could have been hiding most anywhere.

Whatever the case, I felt certain he had known who Callie and I were, and that he came after us as a sort of revenge for housing Rosy.

Rosy said he carried a knife or a razor, and I had no reason to doubt her. If he had caught us last night . . . Well, I didn’t want to dwell on that.

As I thought about all this, I took the bread from the toaster, buttered it and applied jelly on top of that. The actual cooking of sausage, boiling the coffee, I left to Daddy.

When it was ready, he said, “Go wake ’em up, tell ’em breakfast is ready.”

As I was heading out, Daddy said, “We ought to enjoy these summer days. School starts soon, and we won’t have these lazy times together. It’s good we’re all home at the same time.”

“Yes, sir.”

I started out again. Daddy said, “Son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I love you.”

I smiled at him, said, “You too,” and I went to get the women.

———

THAT AFTERNOON Buster didn’t show. He had been coming in early, but when I expected him, no Buster. When it came time for him to actually be there, still no Buster.

Daddy said, “Where in hell is that sonofabitch?”

We were out on the veranda by the snack bar. I said, “He told me if he didn’t come in today, he was sick.”

Daddy studied me with those steely eyes, and for a moment, I thought I’d crack. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I forgot. He said he wasn’t feeling well, and he might not be here, but I thought he would, and I just forgot about it.”

“That so?”

“Yes, sir . . . But I can run the reels.”

“You can?”

“Buster taught me how.”

“Good. Real good. You go set it up, son. Tonight, you’re the projectionist.”

As I started for the booth, I felt a sense of relief. Sure, there was a certain feeling of guilt, having lied for Buster, but I felt it was a good lie. What Mom called a white lie. Buster was my friend and deserved my support.

That night I ran a Randolph Scott Western, and it went well, with only a slight delay between changing reels. This was greeted with horn honking and yells, but I made the transition quick enough, and by the end of the movie I felt like a pro. Daddy even brought me out a hamburger, Coke, and french fries.

He set the meal on the little table by the reel machine, said, “How would you like to take Buster’s job?”

I didn’t feel so smart anymore, and I sure didn’t feel good.

“Oh, no, Daddy. I had trouble with that reel. I wasn’t too smooth.”

“You did all right. It was quick enough. Practice will make you better.”

“Daddy, I don’t think so. It’s Buster’s job.”

“You and that old nigger have gotten pretty tight, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stanley, you can do this job, and if you do it, I can pay you, keep the money in the family. And, frankly, I can pay you less. Until you have experience.”

“I don’t want Buster’s job . . . I wouldn’t want to do that, Daddy.”

“All right. I respect that. But I’ll tell you this. It’s only a matter of time anyway. He’s getting old. He drinks quite a bit. He’s surly. Kind of uppity, if you ask me. And you can run the projector.”

“He taught me. I don’t think he did it so I could take his job.”

“He misses again, doesn’t plan ahead by telling me, and I don’t mean leaving some message about how he might get sick, you are the projectionist. Understand, son? We have to work together. We’re family. I know you like Buster but we have to take care of us first. Way we’re going, we’ll have every starving, sad nigger in town working here at the drive-in. We can’t afford that.”

Daddy gave me a pat on the head and went away.

14

FOLLOWING DAY, I wanted to find Buster, but Daddy had chores for me to do. I spent the morning picking up paper cups, wrappers, and condoms with the nail-pointed stick.

I hadn’t forgotten Bubba Joe, but as it is with kids, it wasn’t on my mind as much now that I was out of danger and it was daylight and the sun was bright and hot.

Noon, I was trapped by Rosy Mae’s lunch. Cheeseburgers that were so good they made you want to cry.

While we ate, Callie reminded Daddy she had been exonerated, that he had beat up on Chester, and that Chester had been innocent.

Daddy said, “Well, he took the beating anyway.”

“But Daddy,” Callie said. “He didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but I know his type. It’s just a matter of time. You stay away from him.”

“Any word on Bubba Joe?” Mom asked Daddy.

“Not yet. I’ll go by the police station later today. I have some errands to run in town. There have been a couple rumors he’s been seen.”

“How do you know?” Mom asked.

“Because I check, dear. I didn’t see any reason to disturb you about it unless there was some finality to the situation.”

Callie edged an eye in my direction. We exchanged looks.

I ate the cheeseburger, then found my chance to slip off. As I was heading out the door, Daddy said, “You pick up everything?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d try to find Richard. Maybe we could go fishing or something.”

“You be back here in time to run the projector, just in case.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It looks like rain, Stanley,” Mother said. “Don’t stay away too long. It could really storm and you’d be caught out in it.”

“I’ll go in a store or something,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I suppose so,” Mother said, but she didn’t sound all that confident. She said, “I’m just being a ninny, but I worry about Bubba Joe too. You want to stay away from anywhere he might be.”

“And where would that be, Gal?” Daddy asked.

“I guess most anywhere.”

“That’s right,” Daddy said. “Maybe you ought to stay here.”

“He hasn’t anything against me,” I said.

Callie gave me a look. She said, “Maybe you ought not go.”

“He can be a mean man,” Rosy Mae said.

“I’ll have Nub with me.”

“That’ll scare him off, all twenty-five pounds,” Mom said.

I looked at Nub sitting on the floor. He was sleepy-looking, panting. He didn’t look particularly scary.

“May I go?” I asked.

“Hell,” Daddy said. “He’s right. We’re making a booger bear out of this Bubba Joe. He’s not going to bother whites. I’ll bet you on that. Be careful, son. And come home early. And Nub, you watch after him.”

Nub beat his tail on the ground, ran over to Daddy and licked his hand. Daddy gave him a pet, then I called to Nub and we went outside.

I had certainly thought about the Bubba Joe situation, and, of course, had Daddy known about the other night, no way he would have let me go.

As it was, Daddy thought it was just a problem between coloreds, and that Bubba Joe was just trying to intimidate Mom and Callie that day as they were an opportune target. I think Daddy thought because we were white we had a kind of immunity as long as we were within our community.

I knew better. I also knew if it was true, I was about to leave our community. But I had to see Buster.