the gills. Some of the cats get damn big, and noodling them is something I wouldn’t have any part of myself, but Pete did it all the time, and he told Harvey and me that he’d once got on the back of a cat six feet long, but I personally put this down as a tall tale, or a damn lie, whichever you prefer to call it. He was pretty interesting and unusual, however, and that’s the only reason I’m making so much of him, because he doesn’t have a hell of a lot to do with what I’m telling about, and actually nothing at all.
Harvey stopped in front of him and said in a nasty voice, “Have some coffee, Pete.”
I could tell that he was sore at Pete for helping himself, and it was certain that Pete could tell it too, but he didn’t give a damn. He was absolutely impervious to insult. He opened his mouth and made a gusty sort of sound that was the closest he ever came to the sound of laughter.
“I got some,” he said.
“Well, so you have,” Harvey said. “I guess you knew you’d be perfectly welcome to it, so you just went ahead and helped yourself.”
“That’s what I did. I helped myself.”
“Sure. God helps him who helps himself. You and God must get along pretty good, Pete.”
“We get along all right.”
“That’s fine. That’s just mighty damn wonderful. How do you and God like the coffee?”
“We think it’s too weak. We like our coffee stronger.”
Harvey turned to me and lifted his arms and let them fall and slap against his sides.
“Did you hear that? Pete and God don’t like the coffee. Isn’t that a crying shame?”
“I think I’ll go clean the bullheads,” I said.
“All right, old boy. You clean the bullheads, and I’ll get everything ready here. It’s too bad we only have enough for two. If we had enough for three, for instance, we could invite Pete to stay for chow, but I guess it doesn’t really matter, after all, because he probably wouldn’t like our bullheads, anyhow. He doesn’t like our coffee, and I consider it very probable that he wouldn’t like our bullheads, either. Pete, of course, is a man with very particular tastes. He’s a regular God-damn gourmet, as a matter of fact.”
I got some pliers and a hammer and a large nail and took them with the bullheads down to the river bank. After setting the flashlight to shine on a cotton wood tree, I took the bigger of the two bullheads and nailed him to the trunk of the tree, driving the nail through his flat head. With my pocket knife, I cut through the skin all the way around the base of his head and on a perpendicular line down his back. Using the pliers, I peeled the skin off and then took the bullhead down and gutted him and afterward did the same things with the smaller one. When I was finished, I carried the pair of them down across the bar and washed them in the river. The sounds of the river were a kind of music, and it was nice there on the bar in the darkness.
6
I WAS thinking about her, about Jolly.
Harvey had the skillet and the cornmeal ready and was waiting for the fish. He took them from me and rolled them in the cornmeal and put them in the skillet, and they began to sizzle immediately and shortly began to smell about as good as anything can smell.
“They’re fine fat fish,” Harvey said. “Very good bullheads.”
“Where’s Pete?” I said.
“He got sore and left.”
“No wonder. You were a little rough on him, Harvey.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Maybe you wanted him to hang around and hog some of the bullheads and tank up on our beer.”
“Say, that reminds me that the beer ought to be good and cold now. Shall I plug a couple of cans to go with the bullheads?”
“Maybe you wanted him to stay on and on and simply spoil everything for us.”
“Not at all, Harvey. I’m glad he’s gone.”
“Then why did you criticize me for being rough on him?”
“God-damn it, Harvey, I
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