Read Online Texas Summer by Terry Southern - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Southern
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order to reach it from the other side. Harold was in front now, and as they came over the rise, he saw the rabbit first. Standing between two oak stumps ten feet in front of them, standing up like a miniature kangaroo, ears winced back, looking away, toward the railroad track. Then Lawrence saw it too, and tried to motion Harold off with one hand, bringing his rifle up quick with the other.
The sound came as one, but within one spurting circle of explosion, the two explosions were distinct.
“Goddam,” said Lawrence, frowning. He walked slowly toward the stumps, then looked at Harold before he picked up the rabbit. “ Goddam it! ” he said through clenched teeth.
One side of the rabbit, from the stomach down, looked as though it had been pushed through a meat grinder.
“You must be crazy,” Lawrence said. “Why didn’t you let me git ’im, goddam it? I could’ve got him in the head! ”
He dropped the rabbit across one of the stumps and stood scowling down at it.
Harold picked up the rabbit, studied it. “Sure tore hell out of it, didn’t it?” he said.
Lawrence spat and turned away. Harold watched him for a minute walking down toward the water hole; then he draped the rabbit across the stump and followed.
They leaned the guns against the dry chalk rock that rose at their backs, and sat down. Harold brought out the cigarettes and offered them, so that Lawrence took one first, and then Harold. And Harold struck the match.
“Got the car tonight?” he asked, holding the light.
Big Lawrence didn’t answer at once for drawing on the cigarette. “Sure,” he said then, admitting, “but I’ve got a date.” In this incredible sunlight, the flame of the match seemed colorless, only chemical, without heat.
“Where you gonna go?” Harold asked. “To the picture show?”
“I dunno,” said Lawrence, watching the smoke. “Maybe I will.”
The water hole was small, about ten feet across, overhung only by a dwarfed sand willow on the other bank, so that all around the dead burning ground was flushed with sun, while one half of the hole itself cast back the scene in shimmering distortion.
Over and on the water now, in and through the shadow that fell half across them, played wasps and water spiders, dragonflies, snake doctors, and a thousand gray gnats. Then the hornet came — deep-ribbed and golden, whirring bright as a spinning coin; it hung in a hummingbird twist just on the water surface in the deepest shadow of the tree, and Lawrence threw a rock at it.
And an extraordinary thing happened. The hornet, rising frantically up through the willow branches, twisted once, and came down out of the tree in a wild whining loop, and lit exactly on the back of Harold’s shirt collar, and then very deliberately, as Lawrence saw, crawled inside.
“Set still,” said Lawrence, taking a handful of the shirt at the back and the hornet with it, holding it.
Harold had his throat arched out, the back of his neck scrunched away from the shirt collar. “Did you git it?” he kept asking.
“Set still, god dang it,” said Lawrence, laughing, watching Harold’s face from the side, before finally closing his hand on the shirt, making the hornet crackle as hard and dry as an old wooden penny-matchbox when he clenched his fist.
And then Lawrence had it out, in his hand, and they were both bent over it looking. It was dead now, wadded and broken. And in the shade of Lawrence’s hand, the gold of the hornet had become as shoddy drab as the phosphorus dial at noon — it was the stinger, sticking out like a wire hair, taut in an electric quaver, that still lived.
“Look at that goddam thing,” said Lawrence of the stinger, and made as if to touch it with his hand.
“Look out, you’ll get stung,” said Harold.
“Look at it,” said Lawrence, intent.
“They all do that,” Harold said.
“Sure, but not like that.”
Lawrence flicked it with his finger, but nothing happened.
“Maybe we can get it to sting
The sound came as one, but within one spurting circle of explosion, the two explosions were distinct.
“Goddam,” said Lawrence, frowning. He walked slowly toward the stumps, then looked at Harold before he picked up the rabbit. “ Goddam it! ” he said through clenched teeth.
One side of the rabbit, from the stomach down, looked as though it had been pushed through a meat grinder.
“You must be crazy,” Lawrence said. “Why didn’t you let me git ’im, goddam it? I could’ve got him in the head! ”
He dropped the rabbit across one of the stumps and stood scowling down at it.
Harold picked up the rabbit, studied it. “Sure tore hell out of it, didn’t it?” he said.
Lawrence spat and turned away. Harold watched him for a minute walking down toward the water hole; then he draped the rabbit across the stump and followed.
They leaned the guns against the dry chalk rock that rose at their backs, and sat down. Harold brought out the cigarettes and offered them, so that Lawrence took one first, and then Harold. And Harold struck the match.
“Got the car tonight?” he asked, holding the light.
Big Lawrence didn’t answer at once for drawing on the cigarette. “Sure,” he said then, admitting, “but I’ve got a date.” In this incredible sunlight, the flame of the match seemed colorless, only chemical, without heat.
“Where you gonna go?” Harold asked. “To the picture show?”
“I dunno,” said Lawrence, watching the smoke. “Maybe I will.”
The water hole was small, about ten feet across, overhung only by a dwarfed sand willow on the other bank, so that all around the dead burning ground was flushed with sun, while one half of the hole itself cast back the scene in shimmering distortion.
Over and on the water now, in and through the shadow that fell half across them, played wasps and water spiders, dragonflies, snake doctors, and a thousand gray gnats. Then the hornet came — deep-ribbed and golden, whirring bright as a spinning coin; it hung in a hummingbird twist just on the water surface in the deepest shadow of the tree, and Lawrence threw a rock at it.
And an extraordinary thing happened. The hornet, rising frantically up through the willow branches, twisted once, and came down out of the tree in a wild whining loop, and lit exactly on the back of Harold’s shirt collar, and then very deliberately, as Lawrence saw, crawled inside.
“Set still,” said Lawrence, taking a handful of the shirt at the back and the hornet with it, holding it.
Harold had his throat arched out, the back of his neck scrunched away from the shirt collar. “Did you git it?” he kept asking.
“Set still, god dang it,” said Lawrence, laughing, watching Harold’s face from the side, before finally closing his hand on the shirt, making the hornet crackle as hard and dry as an old wooden penny-matchbox when he clenched his fist.
And then Lawrence had it out, in his hand, and they were both bent over it looking. It was dead now, wadded and broken. And in the shade of Lawrence’s hand, the gold of the hornet had become as shoddy drab as the phosphorus dial at noon — it was the stinger, sticking out like a wire hair, taut in an electric quaver, that still lived.
“Look at that goddam thing,” said Lawrence of the stinger, and made as if to touch it with his hand.
“Look out, you’ll get stung,” said Harold.
“Look at it,” said Lawrence, intent.
“They all do that,” Harold said.
“Sure, but not like that.”
Lawrence flicked it with his finger, but nothing happened.
“Maybe we can get it to sting
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