The Weather and Women Treat Me Fair by Percival Everett

folks, she’d have been all right.”
    A flash of lightning turned both our heads south.
    “Bad-looking cloud,” I said.
    “It don’t look real friendly.”
    We walked on down the dirt drive to my car. A skyrocket split the darkening sky.
    “You’d think people would stop selling those damn things,” I said.
    “People ain’t got good sense. Fella told me, this fella works at the fireworks place, he told me that people come in there and spend thirty, forty dollars.”
    “Phew.”
    “I saw a burnt spot in the field cross the highway down that way.” He pointed. “I bet it was some fireworks which done it. Dangerous.”
    “I hear you.” I opened my car door. “See you tonight.”
    “Probably after the storm.”
    The storm was short-lived. I dropped some shortening into the skillet and watched it slide around and melt. Bubba’s truck came roaring up. He needed a muffler.
    “Come on in!” I shouted. “Back here in the kitchen. Where the big wind can get us.”
    He laughed, hung his cap on a nail. He had a bottle with him. He set it on the table, then pulled a chair around and sat in it backwards, straddling it.
    “That ain’t Scotch,” I said, pointing to his bottle.
    “Sure ain’t. This here is white liquor. The last batch I ever made.”
    “When was that?”
    “Fifteen years ago.” He rubbed his face. “Got some glasses?”
    I pulled a couple of glasses down and put them on the table.
    “You can’t even taste this stuff till it goes down,” he said.
    “Where was this still?” I asked, dropping the first pieces of turtle into the pan.
    “I used to keep ’em near runnin’ water.”
    “Like the branch near the old canal?” I asked. “Down below Old Tuck’s place?”
    “Yeah.” He gave me a baffled look.
    “I found one of your stills once. Well, the vat. I pissed in it.”
    “Good for it,” he said and laughed.
    “If you say so.”
    “I’ll tell you when I stopped drinkin’ that stuff.”
    “When was that?”
    “One time it snowed and I went to check on things. I used to keep the vat low to the ground. Course, you know that.”
    I laughed.
    “Well, I went down there and found rats digging round it. Got rid of the rats and went back two days later and found an ol’ pilot in there.”
    “One of those gray snakes?”
    “Yeah. Drunk and dead.” He frowned. “That son of a bitch. They tell me that was the best batch I ever made.” He rubbed his jaw. “Drunk and dead. I held that son of a bitch up and let it drip off of him. I wasn’t wastin’ a drop.”
    I turned the meat. “Think you might be able to drop by and feed my dogs tomorrow and the next day?”
    “No problem. Where are you goin’?”
    “Atlanta.”
    “Long drive,” he said.
    “I suppose.”
    “You ought take some workin’ medicine before you go.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You ought a take something that’ll work you.”
    “Are you talking about a laxative?”
    “A long trip like that’ll throw your system off. Best to clean yourself out before you go.”
    “I’ll pass.”
    Bubba poured the shine and handed me a glass.
    “Whoa,” I said and blew out a breath. “That’s something right there.”
    “Good, ain’t it?”
    “You didn’t tell me why you stopped making this stuff?” My eyes were tearing.
    “I was scared of getting caught.”
    “I don’t blame you.”
    “For a while I had Ol’ Tuck’s boy helpin’ me. Making it for me.”
    “Which one?” I asked.
    “The real big one, Leroy.”
    “I don’t remember him.”
    “He was jimmy-jawed. He jumped the broom with Sarah Willis. That Sarah was a pretty thing, like a speckled pup, but she let herself go.”
    “So, he gave you a hand.”
    “Yeah, but I let him go. He was trying to stretch the bucks.”
    “What?”
    “The bucks is the last of a batch, real weak. If you mix it with the first jugs you can use it, but Leroy was keeping the first and mixin’ the bucks with the middle. Weak stuff.”
    I pulled the first pieces of turtle