Read Online The Alcoholics by Jim Thompson - Free Book Online

it must be, that there could be nothing more after this-that in surviving this she had survived all-was her sole anchor in sanity during her remaining years in Mr. Leemy's house.
    If it had been all, perhaps… But it wasn't. There was one final bit of evidence in the damning case against man. And this, probably, was the worst of all; because it stripped all those years of meaning. It handed out shame and ugliness, exacted unquestioning submission and exchanged futility. No time of peace. No comfort and security, all the sweeter for past sacrifice and hardship.
    Yes, Mama was Mr. Leemy's sole heir, as he had promised she would be, but his estate had never been the vast abundance that everyone supposed, and at the time of his death it was worse than worthless. He had lived it up, as the saying is. There were large, unpaid bills. Even the house and its furnishings were mortgaged to the hilt.
    She and Mama had been allowed to move into an old tenant shack at the rear of the main house, and the Doctors Warfield-Old Will and Young Will-the only people in town who had ever been nice to her and Mama-the doctors treated Mama for nothing and gave her, Lucretia, some after-school work at their office (and paid her twice what it was worth), and so she had managed to finish high school. A few weeks before Mama died.
    That was undoubtedly all for the best, as the doctors said. Mama was losing her mind. There was something incurably wrong with her insides…
    …Josephine stared at Miss Baker, troubledly, her brow puckered in anxious concern. At the moment she would have given one of her unpaid week's wages for some Long John the Conqueror Root, or, better still, a pinch of goofer dust. If a person ever needed a sprinkling of goofer dust, and needed it bad Miss Baker was undoubtedly it. Miss Baker was plenty mean, all right; she was a pure-evil eye. But, obviously, no one who looked as Miss Baker was looking-so poorly-pale, like some poor scared-sick chil'- could be responsible for her affliction. Plenty of folks had the evil eye put on 'em. Plain nice folks, they were, but someone made conjure against 'em and from then on, and until the hex was removed, well, those folks was in a bad way.
    Rather gingerly, Josephine touched Miss Baker's arm. She was mightily afraid, but it was one's bounden duty to assist innocent sufferers from the evil eye.
    She touched the nurse's arm more firmly, then gently grasped her by the elbow and lowered her to the stool.
    "You be all right," she said. "You gonna be all right, now, Miz Baker. You drink some nice, hot coffee."
    Miss Baker looked blankly down at the cup.
    She took a scalding sip of coffee, and her eyes began to clear. Very pleasant, but it must be getting quite late. She would have to get dressed and something-something would have to be done with her hair. It… well, it seemed to be pulling, there at the back of her neck, and- -it was pulling!
    Irritably, she brushed at it.
    Her hand came down on Josephine's. It almost struck the knife with which Josephine had been about to remove a lock of hair.
    The coffee cup dropped from her startled fingers and into her lap. She jumped to her feet, screaming and streaming.
    "What are you doing? What were you doing to me!"
    "Nothin'," said Josephine, seeing that the eye had reassumed its wicked reign. "Wasn't doin' nothin'," she said, backing away. "No, ma'am, not me!"
    "You were, too! Don't you suppose I-What are you holding behind you?"
    "Me? You mean me, Miz Baker?"
    "Jothephine! Let me thee your handth!"
    Josephine shrugged, her lower lip pushed out in injured innocence. She brought her hands around in front of her, and held them out.
    "Aw, right," she mumbled, "you like to see han's, there they is. Just plain ol' han's, seems like to me, but I ain't arguin'. Don't make me no mm'. I just soon-"
    "That," said Miss Baker, her cheeks crimsoning, "will be juth about enough, Jothephine! You were doing thumthing to-"
    "I don't argue about nothin'," said