Read Online The Man Who Cried I Am by John A. Williams - Free Book Online Page B

glanced back at Ames. Ames had braced on one of his thighs. Max was showing him that he needed no brace. There was a flicker of Ames’s eyes; he understood. A polite silence fell. Max took a breath, let it out part way and held it. He squeezed. The can jumped. He squeezed again. The can bounded in the opposite direction. A murmur ran through the onlookers. Not quite like shooting squirrel or rabbit in Wisconsin, just to show the old man that you could get something, Max thought, but it would do. He pumped and fired again and while the can was still in motion, drilled it twice. He pumped, sighted and the trigger snapped, flatly. Empty. Max was grinning when he turned and handed the gun back to Ames.
    â€œTold you, didn’t I?” Ames said, taking the rifle.
    â€œSquirrels and rabbits,” Max explained.
    â€œAnd pigeons,” Ames said sarcastically. He smiled. “I don’t like nobody who can do things better than me. Ask Bernard. Hey, how’s your drinking?”
    â€œTolerable,” Max said, smiling.
    â€œTolerable? Where the hell you from?”
    Max knew then that Ames hadn’t read his book and he was disappointed. The dust jacket would have told Ames where he was from.
    â€œChicago—and Cleveland.”
    â€œAh, now I see. Lots of Mississippi folks in Chicago.”
    â€œYes, over on Indiana, Calumet …”
    â€œBut you said your drinking is tolerable, that means you got a hollow leg. We’ll find out. Got all weekend, hey Bernard?”
    â€œYou won’t need the whole weekend, Harry.”
    Right then, Max noticed the edge in Zutkin’s voice, although the critic’s smile told him that he hadn’t meant to let it slip through. A sidelong glance at Ames told Max that he had made a mental note of it.
    â€œEase up, Bernard, I brought my own hooch.”
    With an excess of gesture and voice, Zutkin said, “Harry, you know you didn’t have to do that.”
    Max stared out over the water at what he supposed was Connecticut.
    Ames laughed. “Sure, I know it, Bernard. Take it easy, greasy, you got a long way to slide.”
    Zutkin laughed then and gripped Ames’s arm. Ames slapped him on the back and snapped a wink at Max.
    Oh, oh, Max thought and grinned at both of them.
    The afternoon sun began its run toward Manhattan. Record followed record: Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Earl Hines, Jimmy Lunceford, a new group called the Cats ’n the Fiddle. There was talk about the Germans, the Japanese plowing through China, the impending selective service peacetime act. Couples danced on the porch, in the house, in the yard. Some people had slid down to the shelf and were running toward the water, thermos jugs in hand. By now Max had met Charlotte, a rangy woman with long blond hair and full body. But everything she did was precise, and she had had many drinks. They seemed not to affect her at all. It finally dawned on Max that Charlotte was interested only in Ames. Ah, well, what the hell. And later he was still sitting on the ledge, looking at the changing colors of the sea. A redhead was talking to him. She wore a bathing suit. Her legs were very hairy. He could see her breasts bubbling at the top of the suit “I just love you for that book,” she said. “Jesus, it was great.”
    â€œWell, thanks,” Max said. He turned up his glass, eyes rolling down once more to her legs. The glass was empty. He started to rise to get another drink.
    â€œLet me get it for you,” the redhead said, very close to him. “You’re a celebrity.”
    With a show of embarrassed nonchalance, Max gave her the glass. What the hell was her name? Had she told him? He caught Ames’s eye. Ames was lying with his head in Charlotte’s lap. Ames winked and Max thought: This party is going to be groo-vy! His voice thick with insinuation, Ames drawled, “How are you doing, brother?”
    â€œYou tell me,”