whenever I heard them hit the porch it sounded in my bones.”
“Paul Jimson’s wife: worrying yourself over trash like that!” said Catherine, rinsing her mouth with the last of the wine. “I’ve got a bowl of goldfish, just ’cause I like them don’t make me love the world. Love a lot of mess, my foot. You can talk what you want, not going to do anything but harm, bringing up what’s best forgot. People ought to keep more things to themselves. The deepdown ownself part of you, that’s the good part: what’s left of a human being that goes around speaking his privates? The Judge, he say we all up here ’cause of trouble some kind. Shoot! We here for very plain reasons. One is, this our tree-house, and two, That One and the Jew’s trying to steal what belongs to us. Three: you here, every one of you, ’cause you want to be: the deepdown part of you tells you so. This last don’t apply to me. I like a roof over my own head. Dollyheart, give the Judge a portion of that quilt: man’s shivering like was Halloween.”
Shyly Dolly lifted a wing of the quilt and nodded to him; the Judge, not at all shy, slipped under it. The branches of the China tree swayed like immense oars dipping into a sea rolling and chilled by the far far stars. Left alone, Riley sat hunched up in himself like a pitiful orphan. “Snuggle up, hard head: you cold like anybody else,” said Catherine, offering him the position on her right that I occupied on her left. He didn’t seem to want to; maybe he noticed that she smelled like bitterweed, or maybe he thought it was sissy; but I said come on, Riley, Catherine’s good and warm, better than a quilt. After a while Riley moved over to us. It was quiet for so long I thought everyone had gone to sleep. Then I felt Catherine stiffen. “It’s just come to me who itwas sent my letter: Bill Nobody. That One, that’s who. Sure as my name’s Catherine Creek she got some nigger in Miami to mail me a letter, thinking I’d scoot off there never to be heard from again.” Dolly sleepily said hush now hush, shut your eyes: “Nothing to be afraid of; we’ve men here to watch out for us.” A branch swung back, moonlight ignited the tree: I saw the Judge take Dolly’s hand. It was the last thing I saw.
IV
RILEY WAS THE FIRST TO wake, and he wakened me. On the skyline three morning stars swooned in the flush of an arriving sun; dew tinseled the leaves, a jet chain of blackbirds swung out to meet the mounting light. Riley beckoned for me to come with him; we slid silently down through the tree. Catherine, snoring with abandon, did not hear us go; nor did Dolly and the Judge who, like two children lost in a witch-ruled forest, were asleep with their cheeks together.
We headed toward the river, Riley leading the way. The legs of his canvas trousers whispered against each other. Every little bit he stopped and stretched himself, as though he’d been riding on a train. Somewhere we came to a hill of already about and busy red ants. Riley unbuttoned his fly and began to flood them; I don’t know that it was funny, but I laughed to keep him company. Naturally I was insulted when he switched around and peed on my shoe. I thought it meant he had no respect for me. I said to him why would he want to do a thing like that? Don’t you know a joke? he said, and threw a hugging arm around my shoulder.
If such events can be dated, this I would say was the moment Riley Henderson and I became friends, the moment, at least, when there began in him an affectionate feeling for me that supported my own for him. Through brown briars under brown trees we walked deep in the woods down to the river.
Leaves like scarlet hands floated on the green slow water. A poking end of a drowned log seemed the peering head of some river-beast. We moved on to the old houseboat, where the water was clearer. The houseboat was slightly tipped over; drifts of waterbay sheddings were like a rich rust on its roof and declining deck. The
“Paul Jimson’s wife: worrying yourself over trash like that!” said Catherine, rinsing her mouth with the last of the wine. “I’ve got a bowl of goldfish, just ’cause I like them don’t make me love the world. Love a lot of mess, my foot. You can talk what you want, not going to do anything but harm, bringing up what’s best forgot. People ought to keep more things to themselves. The deepdown ownself part of you, that’s the good part: what’s left of a human being that goes around speaking his privates? The Judge, he say we all up here ’cause of trouble some kind. Shoot! We here for very plain reasons. One is, this our tree-house, and two, That One and the Jew’s trying to steal what belongs to us. Three: you here, every one of you, ’cause you want to be: the deepdown part of you tells you so. This last don’t apply to me. I like a roof over my own head. Dollyheart, give the Judge a portion of that quilt: man’s shivering like was Halloween.”
Shyly Dolly lifted a wing of the quilt and nodded to him; the Judge, not at all shy, slipped under it. The branches of the China tree swayed like immense oars dipping into a sea rolling and chilled by the far far stars. Left alone, Riley sat hunched up in himself like a pitiful orphan. “Snuggle up, hard head: you cold like anybody else,” said Catherine, offering him the position on her right that I occupied on her left. He didn’t seem to want to; maybe he noticed that she smelled like bitterweed, or maybe he thought it was sissy; but I said come on, Riley, Catherine’s good and warm, better than a quilt. After a while Riley moved over to us. It was quiet for so long I thought everyone had gone to sleep. Then I felt Catherine stiffen. “It’s just come to me who itwas sent my letter: Bill Nobody. That One, that’s who. Sure as my name’s Catherine Creek she got some nigger in Miami to mail me a letter, thinking I’d scoot off there never to be heard from again.” Dolly sleepily said hush now hush, shut your eyes: “Nothing to be afraid of; we’ve men here to watch out for us.” A branch swung back, moonlight ignited the tree: I saw the Judge take Dolly’s hand. It was the last thing I saw.
IV
RILEY WAS THE FIRST TO wake, and he wakened me. On the skyline three morning stars swooned in the flush of an arriving sun; dew tinseled the leaves, a jet chain of blackbirds swung out to meet the mounting light. Riley beckoned for me to come with him; we slid silently down through the tree. Catherine, snoring with abandon, did not hear us go; nor did Dolly and the Judge who, like two children lost in a witch-ruled forest, were asleep with their cheeks together.
We headed toward the river, Riley leading the way. The legs of his canvas trousers whispered against each other. Every little bit he stopped and stretched himself, as though he’d been riding on a train. Somewhere we came to a hill of already about and busy red ants. Riley unbuttoned his fly and began to flood them; I don’t know that it was funny, but I laughed to keep him company. Naturally I was insulted when he switched around and peed on my shoe. I thought it meant he had no respect for me. I said to him why would he want to do a thing like that? Don’t you know a joke? he said, and threw a hugging arm around my shoulder.
If such events can be dated, this I would say was the moment Riley Henderson and I became friends, the moment, at least, when there began in him an affectionate feeling for me that supported my own for him. Through brown briars under brown trees we walked deep in the woods down to the river.
Leaves like scarlet hands floated on the green slow water. A poking end of a drowned log seemed the peering head of some river-beast. We moved on to the old houseboat, where the water was clearer. The houseboat was slightly tipped over; drifts of waterbay sheddings were like a rich rust on its roof and declining deck. The
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