countryside, unable to tell if they were in Ohio or
Indiana. Maybe they'd already crossed the state line into Illinois. He
staggered back to his belongings and sat on the floor again.
George
leaned against the wall of the car, head lowered, fingers gently stroking the
long neck of his five-string instrument. He plucked a string or two, then
stopped.
"You
didn't have to stick along with me."
"Who
says? " Daniel massaged his aching legs. It would feel good to stretch
again, to feel the earth beneath them as he walked.
"Where
you been since I saw you last?" George cleared his throat.
Daniel
removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them with his shirttail, thinking
how useless they were. He'd bought them from a peddler for fifteen cents and
suspected they were plain old glass. Hardly a day passed without eyestrain or
headaches.
"I
already told you."
George
coughed deeply several times, wheezing and gasping for breath.
Daniel
touched his arm. "You okay, buddy?"
"Yeah,
I—I'm all right." He coughed again. "Hell, I don't know—"
"Don't
sound all right. You been breathing too much coal dust."
George
lapsed into silence, occasionally strumming the banjo.
"I
been out to Santa Fe," Daniel said.
"Why?"
"Why
not? I always hankered to see the mountains out by Denver and Montana."
George
snorted. "Santa Fe Trail don't go by Montana."
Daniel
pulled his cap off and polished the top of his head with his shirt sleeve. The
boys from his platoon had nicknamed him "Shine" and cautioned him not
to remove his helmet at night, lest his head give away their position.
Neither
man spoke for several minutes. Then George stated matter-of-factly, "You
got a family somewhere."
"Huh?
What makes you think that?"
"How
long you been gone?"
"Long
enough."
"Chrissakes!"
"TELL
HIM!" somebody yelled. "Tell him, so I can get some more damn
sleep!"
Scraping
sounds came from the other end of the car, but it was too dim yet to see more
than shadows from a few packing crates.
George
cleared his throat with a gargling sound.
"You
mumble in your sleep. Who's LaDaisy, your wife?"
"Maybe,
or I might have me a cow named LaDaisy."
"Naw.
You ain't even got a pot to piss in. If you had a cow you'd be home right now
a-milking her. Of course it ain't none of my business."
"Come
on, George, I feel bad enough without you picking on me."
"You
don't gotta be sore about it."
Daniel
turned away and stared out the open door, watching the scenery roll by as the
mist lifted and the sky lightened. And when he spoke again he was all choked
up.
"I
gotta tell somebody about this before I bust. I'm so ashamed of myself I can't
stand it. I—I left my family when they needed me most."
"I
guessed. Go on, get it out of your system."
"I
didn't know what else to do." Daniel pulled off his cap and squeezed it
between his hands. "I lost my job and couldn't find work."
"Aw,
damn."
"I
love my family more than anything, George, but I couldn't take it
anymore."
He
doesn't have to know about Clay and the rest of that crap. Clayton Huff—owner of the four-room house on Hereford
Avenue that Daniel rented with his wife and kids. He had no use for that
sucker, but he was family after marrying LaDaisy's sister, Ida.
The
day before he left, Clay had approached him on the sidewalk outside the barbershop
across from the courthouse on the Square.
Daniel
touched the bill of his cap and nodded.
"Afternoon,
Clay."
Clay
squared his shoulders and stuck out his rotund belly, pulled a Corona from his
vest pocket, stripped off the band, sliced off the end of the cigar with his
thumbnail, and stuck the weed between his teeth.
Daniel
stepped backward into the barber pole as Clay lit the cigar with his fancy
Zippo lighter and blew smoke in his face.
"Now,
Daniel, about the rent."
"Save
your breath, I ain't got it."
"You're
four months behind."
"I
know it." Daniel wanted to leave but was pinned to the barber pole by the
man's biscuit and gravy belly. "I'm gonna get it." I don't
Indiana. Maybe they'd already crossed the state line into Illinois. He
staggered back to his belongings and sat on the floor again.
George
leaned against the wall of the car, head lowered, fingers gently stroking the
long neck of his five-string instrument. He plucked a string or two, then
stopped.
"You
didn't have to stick along with me."
"Who
says? " Daniel massaged his aching legs. It would feel good to stretch
again, to feel the earth beneath them as he walked.
"Where
you been since I saw you last?" George cleared his throat.
Daniel
removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them with his shirttail, thinking
how useless they were. He'd bought them from a peddler for fifteen cents and
suspected they were plain old glass. Hardly a day passed without eyestrain or
headaches.
"I
already told you."
George
coughed deeply several times, wheezing and gasping for breath.
Daniel
touched his arm. "You okay, buddy?"
"Yeah,
I—I'm all right." He coughed again. "Hell, I don't know—"
"Don't
sound all right. You been breathing too much coal dust."
George
lapsed into silence, occasionally strumming the banjo.
"I
been out to Santa Fe," Daniel said.
"Why?"
"Why
not? I always hankered to see the mountains out by Denver and Montana."
George
snorted. "Santa Fe Trail don't go by Montana."
Daniel
pulled his cap off and polished the top of his head with his shirt sleeve. The
boys from his platoon had nicknamed him "Shine" and cautioned him not
to remove his helmet at night, lest his head give away their position.
Neither
man spoke for several minutes. Then George stated matter-of-factly, "You
got a family somewhere."
"Huh?
What makes you think that?"
"How
long you been gone?"
"Long
enough."
"Chrissakes!"
"TELL
HIM!" somebody yelled. "Tell him, so I can get some more damn
sleep!"
Scraping
sounds came from the other end of the car, but it was too dim yet to see more
than shadows from a few packing crates.
George
cleared his throat with a gargling sound.
"You
mumble in your sleep. Who's LaDaisy, your wife?"
"Maybe,
or I might have me a cow named LaDaisy."
"Naw.
You ain't even got a pot to piss in. If you had a cow you'd be home right now
a-milking her. Of course it ain't none of my business."
"Come
on, George, I feel bad enough without you picking on me."
"You
don't gotta be sore about it."
Daniel
turned away and stared out the open door, watching the scenery roll by as the
mist lifted and the sky lightened. And when he spoke again he was all choked
up.
"I
gotta tell somebody about this before I bust. I'm so ashamed of myself I can't
stand it. I—I left my family when they needed me most."
"I
guessed. Go on, get it out of your system."
"I
didn't know what else to do." Daniel pulled off his cap and squeezed it
between his hands. "I lost my job and couldn't find work."
"Aw,
damn."
"I
love my family more than anything, George, but I couldn't take it
anymore."
He
doesn't have to know about Clay and the rest of that crap. Clayton Huff—owner of the four-room house on Hereford
Avenue that Daniel rented with his wife and kids. He had no use for that
sucker, but he was family after marrying LaDaisy's sister, Ida.
The
day before he left, Clay had approached him on the sidewalk outside the barbershop
across from the courthouse on the Square.
Daniel
touched the bill of his cap and nodded.
"Afternoon,
Clay."
Clay
squared his shoulders and stuck out his rotund belly, pulled a Corona from his
vest pocket, stripped off the band, sliced off the end of the cigar with his
thumbnail, and stuck the weed between his teeth.
Daniel
stepped backward into the barber pole as Clay lit the cigar with his fancy
Zippo lighter and blew smoke in his face.
"Now,
Daniel, about the rent."
"Save
your breath, I ain't got it."
"You're
four months behind."
"I
know it." Daniel wanted to leave but was pinned to the barber pole by the
man's biscuit and gravy belly. "I'm gonna get it." I don't
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