some old bones or meat scraps for dogs. You got scraps to throw out, don’t you?”
The butcher shook his head and he didn’t look happy. “I don’t know how much we got. Have to go back in the back and see. Ain’t cut much today.”
“I want some if you got some,” Wade said. “I got some dogs at home.”
“Well, we kinda busy,” the butcher said. “I can go look when I get through with what I’m doin.” Then while he shuffled the meat he mumbled about his own dogs and his daddy and his daddy’s dogs, the full meaning of which Wade couldn’t understand.
“Well, where’s the manager?” Wade said. “I’ll go ask him.” He started looking around wildly.
The black man stood erect quickly. “Naw,” he said. “Naw, don’t go ask him. Hell, I’ll go get it.” He turned away and started toward the back.
“Y’all got a bathroom around here?”
The butcher pushed open one of the doors and jerked his thumb to the right. “Round back.”
“Y’all care for me usin it?”
“Help yourself.” He banged the doors when he went through.
The old man left his cart in the detergent aisle and stepped quietly through the swinging doors. He didn’t see anybody back there among the cardboard boxes of ruined lettuce and black bananas, wet mops, sacks of potatoes, spilled cat litter. There were two massive white doors on the left. He walked all the way to the back of the room and looked to the right. He saw the door marked
Men.
The door was open and the light was off. He jerked his head left as the butcher came through with a box on his shoulder and went into the rear of the meat market, saying soft motherfuckers to himself. Wade went to the double doors and looked back out, toward the front. There was nobody out there. He knelt by the second freezer door and felt of the Miller tallboys stacked next to the white frost that oozed from the bad gasket at the lower corner of the door and crept across the floor, up the sides of the cans like a fungus. They were cold as ice, sweating thin beads of condensation. He took two from the plastic template that bound them and put in each pocket the champagne of bottled beer, then rose and made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the light and locked the door.
When he emerged, belching, ten minutes later, he’d smoked two cigarettes in utter comfort and buried the empty cans in the trash bucket beneath wads of toilet paper he’d taken off the roll and stuffed in there. He retrieved his cart from the aisle and went down to the meat case. The same butcher looked up and saw him before he could press the button again. He came out of the meat market with a large cardboard box, marked on the side in heavy pencil NO CHARGE.
“Here,” he said, and handed it across. It was a heavy box, thesides bulging. Wade just barely got it in his cart. He opened the flaps and looked inside. Bonemeal and bad briskets and the pink tails of pigs. He nodded.
“All right,” he said, but the butcher had gone back inside. He glared as Wade pushed his cart away, then swung his meat cleaver down to the block with a vengeance.
Pork and beans were on sale, four cans for a dollar. A dozen went into his cart, along with two loaves of the cheapest bread. When he turned into the beer aisle he’d spent all he was going to on food.
He stopped and mentally added up his purchases. He considered the weight of his goods. Displays of beer were lined up on both sides of the aisle, the shelves stacked with many different brands. He ignored the imported and went straight for the domestic. Budweiser was $3.19 a six-pack for twelve ounce. Shit, he thought. He looked at a twelver to see if he could cut the cost. It was $5.99.
“Thirty-nine cents,” he said, and a woman standing next to him jerked and looked at him and moved away. Busch was a little better at $2.98 but still he shook his head. The Old Milwaukee in cans was the best
The butcher shook his head and he didn’t look happy. “I don’t know how much we got. Have to go back in the back and see. Ain’t cut much today.”
“I want some if you got some,” Wade said. “I got some dogs at home.”
“Well, we kinda busy,” the butcher said. “I can go look when I get through with what I’m doin.” Then while he shuffled the meat he mumbled about his own dogs and his daddy and his daddy’s dogs, the full meaning of which Wade couldn’t understand.
“Well, where’s the manager?” Wade said. “I’ll go ask him.” He started looking around wildly.
The black man stood erect quickly. “Naw,” he said. “Naw, don’t go ask him. Hell, I’ll go get it.” He turned away and started toward the back.
“Y’all got a bathroom around here?”
The butcher pushed open one of the doors and jerked his thumb to the right. “Round back.”
“Y’all care for me usin it?”
“Help yourself.” He banged the doors when he went through.
The old man left his cart in the detergent aisle and stepped quietly through the swinging doors. He didn’t see anybody back there among the cardboard boxes of ruined lettuce and black bananas, wet mops, sacks of potatoes, spilled cat litter. There were two massive white doors on the left. He walked all the way to the back of the room and looked to the right. He saw the door marked
Men.
The door was open and the light was off. He jerked his head left as the butcher came through with a box on his shoulder and went into the rear of the meat market, saying soft motherfuckers to himself. Wade went to the double doors and looked back out, toward the front. There was nobody out there. He knelt by the second freezer door and felt of the Miller tallboys stacked next to the white frost that oozed from the bad gasket at the lower corner of the door and crept across the floor, up the sides of the cans like a fungus. They were cold as ice, sweating thin beads of condensation. He took two from the plastic template that bound them and put in each pocket the champagne of bottled beer, then rose and made his way to the bathroom, where he turned on the light and locked the door.
When he emerged, belching, ten minutes later, he’d smoked two cigarettes in utter comfort and buried the empty cans in the trash bucket beneath wads of toilet paper he’d taken off the roll and stuffed in there. He retrieved his cart from the aisle and went down to the meat case. The same butcher looked up and saw him before he could press the button again. He came out of the meat market with a large cardboard box, marked on the side in heavy pencil NO CHARGE.
“Here,” he said, and handed it across. It was a heavy box, thesides bulging. Wade just barely got it in his cart. He opened the flaps and looked inside. Bonemeal and bad briskets and the pink tails of pigs. He nodded.
“All right,” he said, but the butcher had gone back inside. He glared as Wade pushed his cart away, then swung his meat cleaver down to the block with a vengeance.
Pork and beans were on sale, four cans for a dollar. A dozen went into his cart, along with two loaves of the cheapest bread. When he turned into the beer aisle he’d spent all he was going to on food.
He stopped and mentally added up his purchases. He considered the weight of his goods. Displays of beer were lined up on both sides of the aisle, the shelves stacked with many different brands. He ignored the imported and went straight for the domestic. Budweiser was $3.19 a six-pack for twelve ounce. Shit, he thought. He looked at a twelver to see if he could cut the cost. It was $5.99.
“Thirty-nine cents,” he said, and a woman standing next to him jerked and looked at him and moved away. Busch was a little better at $2.98 but still he shook his head. The Old Milwaukee in cans was the best
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