shoes.
“Sweet?”
And now that Sweet looked up, Train was already sorry he bothered him at all. “Wait your turn, man,” he said.
“I had to ast you a question,” he heard himself say.
Sweet squinted up at him now like he couldn’t place the face.
“About Florida.”
“I took care of that.”
Train could feel the stir go through the room. “You took care of it?”
“What did I just say, cat? I said I took care of it.”
Train stood there, not knowing what else to do. If he walked away, it was like he given him permission. So he stayed where he was, and then Sweet looked at him again and Train saw the clouds rolling in. “Man, what do you want ?” he said.
Train caught the glint off Sweet’s diamond tooth. “It was the widow,” he said, “I was supposed to get a receipt from the widow.”
“Receipt? What re-cept you talkin’ about?”
“The man that give me the money, he said he want a receipt from Florida’s wife.”
Sweet stood up and stepped a little closer to the cage and cocked his head, as if he couldn’t decide if it was his eyes seeing this shit or his ears hearing it. “What for?” he said.
“Him and another man had a bet,” Train said. “Would I give her the money or not.”
“And what kind of receipt this man want?”
“I don’t know,” Train said. “Something from the widow is all I know.”
Sweet studied him, and Train could feel all the eyes in the room on the back of his head; everybody there known he was lying. Sweet said, “What’s this cat’s name?” And as he said that, he unlocked the cage door.
“Mr. Packard, I think,” Train said. “From Hillsdale . . .”
Sweet nodded, like this was all reasonable after all, and come through the door. A little sideways, Train noticed. “An old man with that lizard look?” Sweet said. “Mr. Packard?”
Train looked around at the other caddies, and there was something exciting going on, but he couldn’t quite tell what it was. “No,” he said, “he wasn’t old.”
Sweet was moving closer, still trying to place the name.
“He was a guest,” Train said, “played with that fat man named Pinky.”
“Pinky . . .” Sweet said, and took another step closer, still walking a little sideways, and now Train felt it coming. “Don’t believe I am familiar with that name.”
“That’s the only name he called him,” Train said.
Sweet nodded, as if that was the point, as if everything was reasonable. As if Train was blind and stupid both.
And for some reason, being treated like he was blind and stupid, Train acted like it. “Whoever that fat man is you sent out with me and Florida,” he said. And he was sorry that he brung up Florida’s name into it again.
He saw the glint off Sweet’s front tooth, and then the glint off the pool cue. He knew it was a pool cue; in the instant before Sweet laid it across his ear Train saw the polished wood and the design markings in perfect detail. And then he heard a clicking noise, about like somebody turn off a light switch, and the lights in fact went out. When he woke up, he was on the cool earth floor; his leg was up under him and felt like it had went to sleep. Someone was yelling.
Train looked up and the sky was full of Sweet. He was standing over him, hollering things Train was just beginning to pick up . . . “Nigger call me a thief better come down here with something on his person” . . . blowing little specks of white foam off his lips, and every now and then he brought the pool cue down across Train’s leg or his arm, or slammed it on the floor next to his head.
Train lay as still as he could, waiting for Sweet to let him up. He felt blood running down his neck, but he couldn’t tell where it was from. The words come and went, and every now
“Sweet?”
And now that Sweet looked up, Train was already sorry he bothered him at all. “Wait your turn, man,” he said.
“I had to ast you a question,” he heard himself say.
Sweet squinted up at him now like he couldn’t place the face.
“About Florida.”
“I took care of that.”
Train could feel the stir go through the room. “You took care of it?”
“What did I just say, cat? I said I took care of it.”
Train stood there, not knowing what else to do. If he walked away, it was like he given him permission. So he stayed where he was, and then Sweet looked at him again and Train saw the clouds rolling in. “Man, what do you want ?” he said.
Train caught the glint off Sweet’s diamond tooth. “It was the widow,” he said, “I was supposed to get a receipt from the widow.”
“Receipt? What re-cept you talkin’ about?”
“The man that give me the money, he said he want a receipt from Florida’s wife.”
Sweet stood up and stepped a little closer to the cage and cocked his head, as if he couldn’t decide if it was his eyes seeing this shit or his ears hearing it. “What for?” he said.
“Him and another man had a bet,” Train said. “Would I give her the money or not.”
“And what kind of receipt this man want?”
“I don’t know,” Train said. “Something from the widow is all I know.”
Sweet studied him, and Train could feel all the eyes in the room on the back of his head; everybody there known he was lying. Sweet said, “What’s this cat’s name?” And as he said that, he unlocked the cage door.
“Mr. Packard, I think,” Train said. “From Hillsdale . . .”
Sweet nodded, like this was all reasonable after all, and come through the door. A little sideways, Train noticed. “An old man with that lizard look?” Sweet said. “Mr. Packard?”
Train looked around at the other caddies, and there was something exciting going on, but he couldn’t quite tell what it was. “No,” he said, “he wasn’t old.”
Sweet was moving closer, still trying to place the name.
“He was a guest,” Train said, “played with that fat man named Pinky.”
“Pinky . . .” Sweet said, and took another step closer, still walking a little sideways, and now Train felt it coming. “Don’t believe I am familiar with that name.”
“That’s the only name he called him,” Train said.
Sweet nodded, as if that was the point, as if everything was reasonable. As if Train was blind and stupid both.
And for some reason, being treated like he was blind and stupid, Train acted like it. “Whoever that fat man is you sent out with me and Florida,” he said. And he was sorry that he brung up Florida’s name into it again.
He saw the glint off Sweet’s front tooth, and then the glint off the pool cue. He knew it was a pool cue; in the instant before Sweet laid it across his ear Train saw the polished wood and the design markings in perfect detail. And then he heard a clicking noise, about like somebody turn off a light switch, and the lights in fact went out. When he woke up, he was on the cool earth floor; his leg was up under him and felt like it had went to sleep. Someone was yelling.
Train looked up and the sky was full of Sweet. He was standing over him, hollering things Train was just beginning to pick up . . . “Nigger call me a thief better come down here with something on his person” . . . blowing little specks of white foam off his lips, and every now and then he brought the pool cue down across Train’s leg or his arm, or slammed it on the floor next to his head.
Train lay as still as he could, waiting for Sweet to let him up. He felt blood running down his neck, but he couldn’t tell where it was from. The words come and went, and every now
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