Read Online Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote - Free Book Online
Authors: Truman Capote
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stood straight on end, as if she’d seen a ghost, and her lips were thick and purple. The length of her neck was something to ponder upon, for she was almost a freak, a human giraffe, and Joel recalled photos, which he’d scissored once from the pages of a
National Geographic,
of curious African ladies with countless silver chokers stretching their necks to improbable heights. Though she wore no silver bands, naturally, there was a sweat-stained blue polka-dot bandanna wrapped round the middle of her soaring neck. “Papadaddy and me’s countin on you for our Service,” she said, after filling two coffee cups and mannishly straddling a chair at the table. “We got our own little place backa the garden, so you scoot over later on, and we’ll have us a real good ol time.”
“I’ll come if I can, but this being my first day and all, Dad will most likely expect me to visit with him,” said Joel hopefully.
Missouri emptied her coffee into a saucer, blew on it, dumped it back into the cup, sucked up a swallow, and smacked her lips. “This here’s the Lord’s day,’’ she announced. “You believe in Him? You got faith in His healin power?”
Joel said: “I go to church.”
“Now that ain’t what I’m speakin of. Take for instance, when you thinks bout the Lord, what is it passes in your mind?”
“Oh, stuff,” he said, though actually, whenever he had occasion to remember that a God in heaven supposedly kept his record, one thing he thought of was money: quarters his mother had given him for each Bible stanza memorized, dimes diverted from the Sunday School collection plate to Gabaldoni’s Soda Fountain, the tinkling rain of coins as the cashiers of the church solicited among the congregation. But Joel didn’t much like God, for He had betrayed him too many times. “Just stuff like saying my prayers.”
“When I thinks bout Him, I thinks bout what I’m gonna do when Papadaddy goes to his rest,” said Missouri, and rinsed her mouth with a big swallow of coffee. “Well, I’m gonna spread my wings and fly way to some swell city up north like Washington, D.C.”
“Aren’t you happy here?”
“Honey, there’s things you too young to unnerstand.”
“I’m thirteen,” he declared. “And you’d be surprised how much I know.”
“Shoot, boy, the country’s just fulla folks what knows everythin, and don’t unnerstand nothin, just fullofem,” she said, and began to prod her upper teeth: she had a flashy gold tooth, and it occurred to Joel that the prodding was designed for attracting his attention to it. “Now one reason is, I get lonesome: what I all the time say is, you ain’t got no notion what lonesome is till you stayed a spell at the Landin. And there ain’t no mens round here I’m innersted in, leastwise not at the present: one time there was this mean buzzard name of Keg, but he did a crime to me and landed hisself on the chain gang, which is sweet justice considerin the lowdown kinda trash he was. I’m only a girl of fourteen when he did this bad thing to me.” A fist-like knot of flies, hovering over a sugar jar, dispersed every whichaway as she swung an irritated hand. “Yessir, Keg Brown, that’s the name he go by.” With a fingertip she shined her gold tooth to a brighter luster while her slanted eyes scrutinized Joel; these eyes were like wild foxgrapes, or two discs of black porcelain, and they looked out intelligently from their almond slits. “I gotta longin for city life poisonin my blood cause I was brung up in St. Louis till Papadaddy fetched me here for to nurse him in his dyin days. Papadaddy was past ninety then, and they say he ain’t long for this world, so I come. That be thirteen year ago, and now it look to me like Papadaddy gonna outlive Methusaleh. Make no mistake, I love Papadaddy, but when he gone I sure aimin to light out for Washington, D.C., or Boston, Coneckikut. And that’s what I thinks bout when I thinks bout God.”
“Why not New
National Geographic,
of curious African ladies with countless silver chokers stretching their necks to improbable heights. Though she wore no silver bands, naturally, there was a sweat-stained blue polka-dot bandanna wrapped round the middle of her soaring neck. “Papadaddy and me’s countin on you for our Service,” she said, after filling two coffee cups and mannishly straddling a chair at the table. “We got our own little place backa the garden, so you scoot over later on, and we’ll have us a real good ol time.”
“I’ll come if I can, but this being my first day and all, Dad will most likely expect me to visit with him,” said Joel hopefully.
Missouri emptied her coffee into a saucer, blew on it, dumped it back into the cup, sucked up a swallow, and smacked her lips. “This here’s the Lord’s day,’’ she announced. “You believe in Him? You got faith in His healin power?”
Joel said: “I go to church.”
“Now that ain’t what I’m speakin of. Take for instance, when you thinks bout the Lord, what is it passes in your mind?”
“Oh, stuff,” he said, though actually, whenever he had occasion to remember that a God in heaven supposedly kept his record, one thing he thought of was money: quarters his mother had given him for each Bible stanza memorized, dimes diverted from the Sunday School collection plate to Gabaldoni’s Soda Fountain, the tinkling rain of coins as the cashiers of the church solicited among the congregation. But Joel didn’t much like God, for He had betrayed him too many times. “Just stuff like saying my prayers.”
“When I thinks bout Him, I thinks bout what I’m gonna do when Papadaddy goes to his rest,” said Missouri, and rinsed her mouth with a big swallow of coffee. “Well, I’m gonna spread my wings and fly way to some swell city up north like Washington, D.C.”
“Aren’t you happy here?”
“Honey, there’s things you too young to unnerstand.”
“I’m thirteen,” he declared. “And you’d be surprised how much I know.”
“Shoot, boy, the country’s just fulla folks what knows everythin, and don’t unnerstand nothin, just fullofem,” she said, and began to prod her upper teeth: she had a flashy gold tooth, and it occurred to Joel that the prodding was designed for attracting his attention to it. “Now one reason is, I get lonesome: what I all the time say is, you ain’t got no notion what lonesome is till you stayed a spell at the Landin. And there ain’t no mens round here I’m innersted in, leastwise not at the present: one time there was this mean buzzard name of Keg, but he did a crime to me and landed hisself on the chain gang, which is sweet justice considerin the lowdown kinda trash he was. I’m only a girl of fourteen when he did this bad thing to me.” A fist-like knot of flies, hovering over a sugar jar, dispersed every whichaway as she swung an irritated hand. “Yessir, Keg Brown, that’s the name he go by.” With a fingertip she shined her gold tooth to a brighter luster while her slanted eyes scrutinized Joel; these eyes were like wild foxgrapes, or two discs of black porcelain, and they looked out intelligently from their almond slits. “I gotta longin for city life poisonin my blood cause I was brung up in St. Louis till Papadaddy fetched me here for to nurse him in his dyin days. Papadaddy was past ninety then, and they say he ain’t long for this world, so I come. That be thirteen year ago, and now it look to me like Papadaddy gonna outlive Methusaleh. Make no mistake, I love Papadaddy, but when he gone I sure aimin to light out for Washington, D.C., or Boston, Coneckikut. And that’s what I thinks bout when I thinks bout God.”
“Why not New
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