A Fine Dark Line by Joe R. Lansdale Page A

conversation with Buster before, and this one seemed out of character. He was usually broody and sullen, hisbrows knit up tight. But I guessed he’d nipped enough before arriving today to feel friendly.
    Daddy knew he drank, but so far it had not affected Buster’s job, and therefore had not been a real problem.
    “You know today’s my birthday?” he said.
    “No, sir.”
    “Well it is. You know how old I am?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Guess.”
    “Forty?”
    He laughed. “You tryin’ to flatter me, little boy, that what you’re tryin’ to do? I ain’t seen forty in a long time. Try seventy-one.”
    “Try seventy-eight if you a day,” Rosy Mae said.
    She had come out of the house with a glass of lemonade for me. In spite of her size, way she walked, she moved silent as an Indian when she wanted to. I hadn’t even heard the gravel crunch.
    “You don’t know nothin’, woman.”
    “I know what you full of. You ain’t seen seventy in at least eight or nine years.”
    “Well, I don’t look seventy, now do I?”
    “Sure you do. You look about a hundred and forty-five, you axe me.”
    “You go on back in the house. Me and the young man here was talkin’. This ain’t none of your business. Why don’t you get in there and fry up some chicken or somethin’. I could use some chicken myself. I ain’t got nothin’ but a bologna sandwich in this bag.”
    “And about two quarts a whiskey in you already, ’bout half a bottle of that there is RC, rest full of cheater.”
    “Now I was just tellin’ the boy here to stay away fromalcohol, wasn’t I, boy? And he saw me open this bottle. Ain’t that right?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Why don’t you get on in the house, Mr. Stanley. I got some cookies I done made fresh for you in there. I’ll carry yo’ lemonade back for you. You don’t need to be hangin’ around out here with this old man.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Happy birthday, sir.”
    “You damn right it’s happy. Happy, happy, happy.”
    I slipped the Tarzan book into my back pocket, started crutching for the inside, Rosy Mae following, Nub dragging up the train.
    As we went inside, Buster called out to Rosy, “Your ass looks like two greased pigs squirmin’ up against one another in a sack, woman. But I want you to know I ain’t got nothin’ against pork.”
    “Least they happy pigs,” she said. “Ain’t nothin’ happy about you.”
    “They so happy, why don’t you take ’em out of the sack and let ’em smile, run around a bit.”
    “You ain’t never gonna see these here pigs, you ole fool.”
    ———
    I NSIDE AT THE TABLE , I said, “Is he really over seventy?”
    “He been around long ’fo I was born. Around when my mama a girl. But he right, he don’t look it. He look pretty good, actually. Got that white kinky hair and all.”
    “It’s black, Rosy Mae.”
    “No, it’s white, and looks better when he leaves it white, and he used to. He got to puttin’ shoe polish on it now.”
    “Shoe polish?”
    “That’s right. Get up close, you can smell it. Makes him look smart he leaves it white. And he is smart, not like me.”
    “You’re not stupid, Rosy Mae. I told you that.”
    “Well, I ain’t educated.”
    “That’s not the same thing.”
    “Thing about Buster is I don’t like him.”
    “You sound like you like him.”
    “Do I? Well, he could be liked he didn’t drink. I done had me a drinkin’ man. I ain’t gonna have me another. ’Sides, he too old for me. And he got a mean streak. Not bad as Bubba’s, I guess, but I’m all through with them mean men and moody men.”
    “He doesn’t sound like he likes you, Rosy.”
    “Oh, he likes me all right. I can tell.”
    Rosy Mae went away to attend to other matters. I sat drinking lemonade, eating cookies. I pulled the Tarzan book from my pocket and went back to reading, but I didn’t read long.
    I crutched outside, Nub beside me. I think he really wanted to stay inside in the fan-cooled room, but he followed me. He had