The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer Page B

him.
                    "What's the matter?" asked Gary. "Don't you like me anymore."
                    "Right now? I think you are the most insensitive human being I've ever known."
                    "Brenda, I am not insensitive," said Gary, "to being called insensitive."
                    He whistled all the way up the steps.
                    At breakfast, his mood was fine. He saw Vern watching him eat and said, "I guess you think I gobble like a pig, kinda quick."
                    Vern said, "Yeah, I noticed that."
                    Gary said, "Well, in prison you learn to eat in a hurry. You've got fifteen minutes to get your food, sit down and swallow it. Sometimes you just don't get it."
                    "Did you manage to get it?" asked Vern.
                    "Yeah, I worked in the kitchen for a while. My job was to make the salad. Took five hours to make that much salad. I can't touch the stuff now."
                    "That's fine," said Vern, "you don't need to eat it."
                    "You're a pretty strong fellow, Vern, aren't you?"
                    "Just the champ."
                    "Let's arm wrestle," said Gary. Vern shook his head, but Ida said go ahead, arm wrestle him.
                    "Yeah, come on," said Gary. He squinted at Vern: "You think you can take me?"
                    Vern said, "I don't have to think. I can take you."
                    "Well, I feel pretty strong today, Vern. What makes you think you can beat me?"
                    "I'm gonna make up my mind," Vern said, "and I think I can do it."
                    "Try it."
                    "Well," Vern said, "you eat your breakfast first."
                    They got into it before the table was cleared. Vern kept eating his breakfast with his left hand, and arm wrestled with the other.
                    "Son of a bitch," Gary said, "for an old bastard you're pretty strong."
                    Vern said. "You're doing pitiful. It's a good thing you finished your breakfast. I wouldn't even give it to you now."
                    When he got Gary's arm halfway over, Vern set down his fork, picked up a few toothpicks and held them in his left hand. He said, "Okay, my friend, any time you want to say uncle, just quit. If you don't, I'm going to jam your hand right on these toothpicks."
                    Gary was straining with every muscle. He started giving karate yells. He even got half out of his seat, but it didn't make much difference. Vern got him down on the point of the toothpicks. Gary quit.
                    "One thing I want to know, Vern. Would you really have stuck me if I hadn't hollered uncle?"
                    "Yep, I told you I would, didn't I?"
                    "Son of a gun." Gary shook his hand.
                    A little later, Gary wanted to wrestle with the left arm. He lost again.
                    Then he tried finger wrestling. No one beats Vern at that.
                    "You know," Gary said, "I don't usually take a whipping very kindly."
                    When Vern didn't look away, Gary said, "Vern, you're all right." Vern wasn't so sure how he felt about the whole thing.
                    Spencer McGrath had developed a few novel techniques in his field. He was able, for instance, to take old newspapers and produce high-quality insulation for homes and commercial buildings. At present, he was working on a plan to take in all the county garbage for recycling. He had been trying to interest people in such projects for twenty years. Now, the field had begun to open up.