another. A dog ran to a mesh fence, huffing and half barking, then fled back into shadow. The moon set, stars filling up the sky. He entered the deep ruckus of the forest.
Where would he be if he continued? Back to that wild self in the mountains? Again he tried to recall what his people had understood about this place. On his way to boxing matches, he’d seen dozens of cities, but his trips had been all bustle and rush and busy streets, and there’d been no way to stop.
Above the thriving night sounds an engine chugged. At a slight rise, headlights fanned into luminous dark. He stood, conscious in stillness of humidity and the sweetness of bloom, the ranging shadows out along the road. The truck pulled close. A knocking came from within.
Need a ride? a voice called with the rounded vowels of a black man. Jude opened the door. The cab light didn’t come on. He climbed inside. The truck pulled forward and after a while his eyes adjusted to the faint glowof the dash. The driver was thickset, his face fleshy and boyish. The truck hit a bump. The whole thing rattled. Seat springs creaked.
Where you going so late? the man asked.
I don know, Jude said—Mobile. It was the first reasonable city he could name, a place where he’d once boxed. His money and ID were in the trunk of his car.
That’s a long ways away. Mobile.
Jude stared ahead. He considered saying something about his daughter. The well of headlights stretched out before them.
You okay? I seen your hand.
I … Jude hesitated … I am wid a black woman.
The man tilted his head. Sounds like a full-time job.
They drove a while longer in silence until, as the truck rounded a bend, something moved at the side of the road. The headlights kicked back, catching in the folded shadows of antlers and a dark eye. Jude braced against the dash.
Neither spoke as the man turned the truck around, one headlight dead, the other aimed into the ditch. He reached under the seat and took out a knife. They walked into the grass edging the road. The deer’s breath rasped in its muzzle.
Somebody maybe will hit de truck, Jude said.
One antler was shattered, and the man approached the other carefully. He was large but nothing compared to Jude. His eyes were golden under the headlight. He took the good antler and pulled the head back and cut the buck’s throat. Its eyes bulged. It tried to stand and died.
If you knew how often this happens. Like the Bible be saying, he told Jude, his accent exaggerated now—like the Bible be saying, this is a rich and plentiful land, always sending me sweet food. He paused. And you with a black woman. What you running from?
Whatever had been in the buck’s eyes was gone. The man crouched and lifted a leg. He worked fast, sawing. Then he rolled his sleeve and slipped his hand in. He jerked his arm upward hard. Intestines spilled out. The smell was familiar to Jude, like that of homemade soap.
The man cleaned the knife, then stood and studied the buck’s shape in the weeds. Jude touched the warm metal of the truck. He thought of lying in damp grass beneath the power lines and the way Louise lay back and lifted her hips, and his stomach ached to think another man might see her body say so much.
I am okay here, Jude said.
Now listen, the man told him. He gave Jude a long look, then nodded to himself and bent to lift the deer. He was dressed in slacks and an oxford. He glanced up at Jude and waited. Together they put the deer in the back of the truck.
He cleared his throat. I sure can’t take you to Mobile. I can take you just a ways. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.
I am okay, Jude told him.
The man walked around to the truck door. Throw a stone, he said as if singing, and you’ll hit an answer in Mobile. He looked at Jude before he got in. The single headlight cut up along the trees.
For years Jude would recall walking that night home. He’d understood that whatever Honoré had dreamed would not be found here. He returned to the house. A
Where would he be if he continued? Back to that wild self in the mountains? Again he tried to recall what his people had understood about this place. On his way to boxing matches, he’d seen dozens of cities, but his trips had been all bustle and rush and busy streets, and there’d been no way to stop.
Above the thriving night sounds an engine chugged. At a slight rise, headlights fanned into luminous dark. He stood, conscious in stillness of humidity and the sweetness of bloom, the ranging shadows out along the road. The truck pulled close. A knocking came from within.
Need a ride? a voice called with the rounded vowels of a black man. Jude opened the door. The cab light didn’t come on. He climbed inside. The truck pulled forward and after a while his eyes adjusted to the faint glowof the dash. The driver was thickset, his face fleshy and boyish. The truck hit a bump. The whole thing rattled. Seat springs creaked.
Where you going so late? the man asked.
I don know, Jude said—Mobile. It was the first reasonable city he could name, a place where he’d once boxed. His money and ID were in the trunk of his car.
That’s a long ways away. Mobile.
Jude stared ahead. He considered saying something about his daughter. The well of headlights stretched out before them.
You okay? I seen your hand.
I … Jude hesitated … I am wid a black woman.
The man tilted his head. Sounds like a full-time job.
They drove a while longer in silence until, as the truck rounded a bend, something moved at the side of the road. The headlights kicked back, catching in the folded shadows of antlers and a dark eye. Jude braced against the dash.
Neither spoke as the man turned the truck around, one headlight dead, the other aimed into the ditch. He reached under the seat and took out a knife. They walked into the grass edging the road. The deer’s breath rasped in its muzzle.
Somebody maybe will hit de truck, Jude said.
One antler was shattered, and the man approached the other carefully. He was large but nothing compared to Jude. His eyes were golden under the headlight. He took the good antler and pulled the head back and cut the buck’s throat. Its eyes bulged. It tried to stand and died.
If you knew how often this happens. Like the Bible be saying, he told Jude, his accent exaggerated now—like the Bible be saying, this is a rich and plentiful land, always sending me sweet food. He paused. And you with a black woman. What you running from?
Whatever had been in the buck’s eyes was gone. The man crouched and lifted a leg. He worked fast, sawing. Then he rolled his sleeve and slipped his hand in. He jerked his arm upward hard. Intestines spilled out. The smell was familiar to Jude, like that of homemade soap.
The man cleaned the knife, then stood and studied the buck’s shape in the weeds. Jude touched the warm metal of the truck. He thought of lying in damp grass beneath the power lines and the way Louise lay back and lifted her hips, and his stomach ached to think another man might see her body say so much.
I am okay here, Jude said.
Now listen, the man told him. He gave Jude a long look, then nodded to himself and bent to lift the deer. He was dressed in slacks and an oxford. He glanced up at Jude and waited. Together they put the deer in the back of the truck.
He cleared his throat. I sure can’t take you to Mobile. I can take you just a ways. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.
I am okay, Jude told him.
The man walked around to the truck door. Throw a stone, he said as if singing, and you’ll hit an answer in Mobile. He looked at Jude before he got in. The single headlight cut up along the trees.
For years Jude would recall walking that night home. He’d understood that whatever Honoré had dreamed would not be found here. He returned to the house. A
Similar Books
