“Moo,” Augustus said, and they elbowed each other and began laughing.
Ellsworth’s face turned red and his hands tightened into fists. So they’d found out about the cattle swindle. And if they knew, that meant everybody in the entire goddamn township knew. Since it had happened down in the next county, he had hoped to keep it a secret, and he wondered now if Eddie had betrayed him. The boy had sworn to keep quiet about it, but he had proven time and again that any promises he made sober were easily forgotten once he got some alcohol in him. Jesus Christ, people were probably spending entire evenings over at Parker’s store cackling about it. He recalled going over there one night right after Royal Sullivan sent away for a mail-order bride who turned out to be deaf as a stone and dumb as a post. For three hours they’d gone on about it, joke after joke. And she hadn’t cost but seventy-five dollars. That was peanuts compared to the thousand he had lost. And at least Royal still had something to show for his money, no matter how useless the woman was when it came to following commands. Ellsworth looked up at the two in the carriage, still poking each other in the ribs and hee-hawing. It seemed like every time he came across them, they tried to cut him down. And he’d been having a damn good day, too. He started to turn away from them when he suddenly remembered something else he had heard over at the store one evening after Ovid and Augustus had taken off for home, the way they always did the minute the evening sun slid behind the big evergreen that stood in front of Dave Moody’s house, no matter what the season. He waited until they stopped to catch their breath, then said, “So is it true what people say, that ye hold each other’s hand when you go to the shithouse?” He heard them both gasp, watched the blood drain out of their faces. Without another word, Ovid smacked one old nag’s hindquarters with a long willow switch, and the rickety carriage heaved forward with a lurch. Good God, Ellsworth thought, as he watched them disappear over the slight rise in the dusty road, he’d always thought the story was just another one of Parker’s wild tales, but maybe it was true after all. Even though he didn’t give one iota for either of them, he almost wished he hadn’t mentioned it. Things had to be tough, being that fucked-up, no matter who you were.
46
FOUR FEET OF water and a muddy bottom had broken Sugar’s fall from the bridge. After the initial shock, he took account of himself as best he could with his hands tied behind his back and determined that nothing was broken. He got to his feet and managed to get his razor from his pocket and cut the ropes that bound him, then struggled up the riverbank. The campfire glared above him by the tracks, and he could hear the men laughing, as if what they had done to him was no different than killing a dog or a possum. Though his legs were wobbly, he began walking, water dripping from his clothes, squishing from his shoes. He reached up to feel a knot on the back of his head. His nose throbbed, and he tasted blood in his mouth. The moon came out from behind some clouds and showed him a way through the cattails and brambles. He headed on south.
The next afternoon, he arrived in Shadesville. He walked through the little burg with its grocery and barbershop and post office, and went out the other side past the Baptist church. He continued another quarter mile until he came to the house he had been born in. It was empty. Sugar stood there for quite a while looking at it, weather-beaten and leaning a little eastward with two smallish rooms and a wood-shingled roof. It was hard to believe, he thought, that nine people had once lived there together. Shit, the apartment he had shared with Flora was twice as big. He went up the three rotten steps and through the unlocked door. Except for a rusty hairpin he found lying on one of the two windowsills, the house was completely bare inside; and judging from the dust on the floor, he figured nobody had been there in a long time. He was so tired that he didn’t feel anything, not even disappointment.
An hour later, he went back into town and saw an old man sitting on a bench in front of the post office. “You ’member me?” Sugar asked.
The man examined him for a minute with yellow eyeballs, then cleared his throat. “Can’t say I do.”