Read Online Norwood by Charles Portis - Free Book Online Page B

bear.
    â€œLook out! Look out!” the Cardinal was saying. He had jumped back well clear of the action. “Turn him loose, Eugene! He’s another Hitler!”
    Norwood was dancing around jabbing at the man with his elbows trying to shake him off. He backed him up and bumped him against the crossties. The man’s ankles were locked together in front and Norwood broke them loose but the man had a hold on his neck that wouldn’t quit. “You better get him off before I bust his head open,” said Norwood, stopping to rest a minute. He was breathing hard. His upper lip was bloody.
    The Cardinal moved in a little closer. Maybe something could be worked out now. “Eugene don’t weigh very much, does he?” he said.
    â€œI still don’t want him on my back.”
    â€œHe’s light enough to be a jockey. Of course he’s way too old.”
    â€œHow long does he generally hang on?”
    â€œI don’t know. I never seen him do that before. . . . They say a snapping turtle won’t let go till it thunders. That’s what I’ve heard. I never was bit by a turtle. My oldest sister was bit by a mad fox. They didn’t have any screens on their house and it come in a window one night and nipped her on the leg like a little dog will do. They carried that fox’s head on in to Birmingham in some ice and said it was mad and she had to take all them shots. She said she hoped she never did get bit by nair another one.”
    Norwood kicked his feet forward and fell backward on the flour man and they hit the deck in a puff of white. The flour man was squeezed between Norwood and the pack and it knocked the wind out of him. He made a lung noise like gunh! He turned loose and sat up and brushed himself off a little, still defiant but not fighting any more. Norwood opened the knapsack and poked around in it. There were rolled-up clothes and a cast-iron skillet and pie pans and a can of Granger and cotton blankets and copies of True Police Cases and a mashed store cake and crackers and cans of chili and lima beans and an insulated plastic cup and a bottle of 666 Tonic and a clock and an old five-shot top-breaking .32 revolver with a heavy fluted barrel and taped-on grips. No boots. But in one of the side pouches he did find some shoes.
    They were old-timers’ high tops with elastic strips on the sides. Norwood tried them on and walked around flexing them and looking at them in profile. They were plenty loose. Eugene didn’t have feet, he had flippers. Norwood said, “I’ll give you two dollars for these dudes.”
    â€œThose are my house shoes,” said Eugene, speaking for the first time and the last.
    â€œA man comes along and needs some shoes, you ought to want to help him. You already got some good shoes on.”
    â€œEugene doesn’t want to sell his house shoes,” said the Cardinal.
    â€œ You stay out of this,” said Norwood.
    â€œYou international thug. You’re just like Hitler and Tojo wrapped up into one.”
    Norwood tried Eugene once more. “Look, you can get another pair of these dudes easy for six bits at the Goodwill Store. I’m offering you two dollars. What about me? I don’t have any shoes. I lost some thirty-eight-dollar boots last night. They took ’em right off my feet. They didn’t give me anything.”
    â€œYou better give Tojo what he wants, Eugene. He’ll terrorize you if you don’t. That’s the way he does business.”
    â€œDon’t call me Tojo any more.”
    â€œThis is a free country, thug . You can call people anything you want to. Can’t you, Eugene?”
    Norwood rolled the two dollar bills into a cylinder and pushed it into Eugene’s shirt pocket. “I ought not to give you anything. Jumping up on people’s backs. They’ll put you in a home somewhere if you don’t watch out.”

NORWOOD paid his fare and rode a commuter special in