Read Online They Don't Dance Much: A Novel by James Ross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Ross
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there after ten o’clock when everybody else had gone. I still hadn’t heard anything about the rest of the help, and I was curious to know who it would be. Smut got out a bottle of some sort of cheap rye and poured us all a drink.
I gulped mine down and said, ‘Smut, who all’s going to work down here with us after we get started?’
Smut poured himself a cupful of whiskey and stuck his feet up on one of the tables we had back there. ‘I got things all lined up,’ he said. ‘I got Rufus Jones to be head cook. There ain’t a better cook in this part of the country.’
Rufus Jones was a big, fat nigger. I knew him well. ‘He’s pretty good,’ I said.
‘He’s had experience,’ Smut said. ‘He’s cooked for colleges and for railroads. He used to cook at the Washington Duke Hotel in Durham.’
‘When he was young that nigger sho could fix a chicken stew,’ Catfish said. He raised the key to the door to the firebox and opened it. Then he took a splinter and lit that from the fire. When the splinter was burning good he lit his cigarette from it.
‘Where’s he stay now?’ I asked Smut.
‘Who, Rufus? He’s on the chain gang in Scotland County,’ Smut said.
‘If he’s on the chain gang how in the hell’s he going to cook for us?’ I said.
Smut drank his liquor and sat the cup down on the table, between his feet. ‘His time’s up today,’ he said. ‘I’m going to meet him in Corinth in the morning and bring him out here. I was down to see him last week and give him the money to get up here.’
Catfish got up and walked over to the bottle of liquor. He picked it up and poured his glass full, just like it was his liquor. He turned up his glass and drank it off at one blow. Then he sat the glass down on the table and batted his eyes. ‘Wham!’ he said. ‘Extra good liquor! You know, that there little black Johnny Lilly told me tother day that he countin on bein first cook in this place.’
‘Johnny Lilly?’ Smut said. ‘Hell, he ain’t no first cook. He’s gonna be second cook. Why, he ain’t never cooked in no place but in the Sanitary Café in Corinth. And you know what kind of place that is. You have to sift your grub before you eat it, to get the sand and the gravels out, and the horseshoe nails.’
‘Ain’t you got any white fellows hired?’ I asked him.
‘Oh, sure,’ he said. ‘Several. I got everything lined up. I got Dick Pittman to wait out front and handle the gas. Dick’s had lots of experience in filling stations. He’s pretty dumb, but it don’t take no genius to wipe windshields.’
Smut picked up his cup and poured the rest of the liquor that was in the bottle into the cup. He held the cup in his lap and went on: ‘I got Badeye Honeycutt for a bartender. He’s had plenty experience mixing drinks. Ought to make a good man. Then I got Matt Rush and Sam Hall for waiters. I can just pay them off in what they eat, and a dollar now and then. Badeye’ll probably be glad enough to strike off even if I’ll furnish him in liquor and what little solid food he eats.’
Smut drank his liquor then and didn’t say any more. He sat there wrinkling his brows and it looked like he was busy thinking, and didn’t want to be bothered. Catfish was dozing in his chair. The liquor and the warm room were a little too much for him. I sat there by the stove and thought about the boys Smut had hired.
The nigger cooks were all right. Matt Rush and Sam Hall would do. Sam Hall’s daddy was a meat-cutter in Corinth. Matt Rush was a bastard and lived with his mother. She worked in the cotton mill. Those boys had been hanging around Corinth for about twenty years apiece and never had been caught working, but like Smut said, he wouldn’t have to pay them much. But I didn’t think much of Badeye Honeycutt.
Badeye ought to make a good drink-mixer—I could see that—for it was about all he’d ever done. He mixed drinks for himself and for other folks. I guess he was forty years old,
I gulped mine down and said, ‘Smut, who all’s going to work down here with us after we get started?’
Smut poured himself a cupful of whiskey and stuck his feet up on one of the tables we had back there. ‘I got things all lined up,’ he said. ‘I got Rufus Jones to be head cook. There ain’t a better cook in this part of the country.’
Rufus Jones was a big, fat nigger. I knew him well. ‘He’s pretty good,’ I said.
‘He’s had experience,’ Smut said. ‘He’s cooked for colleges and for railroads. He used to cook at the Washington Duke Hotel in Durham.’
‘When he was young that nigger sho could fix a chicken stew,’ Catfish said. He raised the key to the door to the firebox and opened it. Then he took a splinter and lit that from the fire. When the splinter was burning good he lit his cigarette from it.
‘Where’s he stay now?’ I asked Smut.
‘Who, Rufus? He’s on the chain gang in Scotland County,’ Smut said.
‘If he’s on the chain gang how in the hell’s he going to cook for us?’ I said.
Smut drank his liquor and sat the cup down on the table, between his feet. ‘His time’s up today,’ he said. ‘I’m going to meet him in Corinth in the morning and bring him out here. I was down to see him last week and give him the money to get up here.’
Catfish got up and walked over to the bottle of liquor. He picked it up and poured his glass full, just like it was his liquor. He turned up his glass and drank it off at one blow. Then he sat the glass down on the table and batted his eyes. ‘Wham!’ he said. ‘Extra good liquor! You know, that there little black Johnny Lilly told me tother day that he countin on bein first cook in this place.’
‘Johnny Lilly?’ Smut said. ‘Hell, he ain’t no first cook. He’s gonna be second cook. Why, he ain’t never cooked in no place but in the Sanitary Café in Corinth. And you know what kind of place that is. You have to sift your grub before you eat it, to get the sand and the gravels out, and the horseshoe nails.’
‘Ain’t you got any white fellows hired?’ I asked him.
‘Oh, sure,’ he said. ‘Several. I got everything lined up. I got Dick Pittman to wait out front and handle the gas. Dick’s had lots of experience in filling stations. He’s pretty dumb, but it don’t take no genius to wipe windshields.’
Smut picked up his cup and poured the rest of the liquor that was in the bottle into the cup. He held the cup in his lap and went on: ‘I got Badeye Honeycutt for a bartender. He’s had plenty experience mixing drinks. Ought to make a good man. Then I got Matt Rush and Sam Hall for waiters. I can just pay them off in what they eat, and a dollar now and then. Badeye’ll probably be glad enough to strike off even if I’ll furnish him in liquor and what little solid food he eats.’
Smut drank his liquor then and didn’t say any more. He sat there wrinkling his brows and it looked like he was busy thinking, and didn’t want to be bothered. Catfish was dozing in his chair. The liquor and the warm room were a little too much for him. I sat there by the stove and thought about the boys Smut had hired.
The nigger cooks were all right. Matt Rush and Sam Hall would do. Sam Hall’s daddy was a meat-cutter in Corinth. Matt Rush was a bastard and lived with his mother. She worked in the cotton mill. Those boys had been hanging around Corinth for about twenty years apiece and never had been caught working, but like Smut said, he wouldn’t have to pay them much. But I didn’t think much of Badeye Honeycutt.
Badeye ought to make a good drink-mixer—I could see that—for it was about all he’d ever done. He mixed drinks for himself and for other folks. I guess he was forty years old,
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