enough to make this hungry man blubber like a baby.
“Hold on, fella, where do you think you’re going?” A powerful hand gripped my collar and jerked me out of line.
It was Cisco Wayman. He was tall and broad in the shoulders. As big as me but gray-haired and slower on his feet, I reckoned, if it came to blows.
“My name’s Rowdy. Rowdy Slater. I ate here yesterday along with the sheriff. Augusta served us.”
“That’s Mrs. Wayman to you.” He glared into my face. “I ain’t never seen you around these parts. You a drifter? We don’t feed drifters here. If you want to eat like all these other fellas, you need a job.”
“I got a job.”
“Where?” He looked me up and down. “Don’t see your plant uniform. I know every man in town. Who you work for, and why didn’t he tell me he hired you on before sending you over?”
I swallowed. “The sheriff hired me, sir. He needed to go out of town today, on account of last night’s traffic accident.”
Cisco’s eyebrows lowered. He was an angry man in general, I gathered, and with the heap of good cooking he’d done before dawn, he was making sure nobody ate for free. “You a deputy then?” he asked. “I didn’t hear nothing about Roy needing help.”
“No sir.”
“What then?”
“Well …” It was time for the first public declaration of my new profession. I wasn’t sure how the words would come out of my mouth. I decided to blurt. The blurting wasn’t about courage. It was about needing to eat, and I said it all in a jumble—“Sir, I’m the new preacher at the Cut Eye Community Church.”
The whole café hushed. A lone fork clattered on the tile floor. The silence was flagrant. Other men gawked my direction, their hungry mouths hanging open. Far in the back of the room, a snicker broke. Another followed, and the whole room erupted in laughter. Men clapped and whistled, hollered out catcalls, and blew raspberries with their tongues. “Give us a sermon!” someone yelled. None of the rattle was charitable, I gathered.
Cisco held up his right hand and the room shut up. With his left he grabbed the front of my collar and twisted the fabric. “You listen to me, and you listen good. The town of Cut Eye don’t need a new preacher. And even if we did, you don’t look like a man of the cloth. Any fella who comes into my joint lying to my face is a fella who needs a fist smashed into his. So you got five seconds to clear out. One … two …”
“Look mister,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to fight you, but I will if need be. You can telephone over to the sheriff’s office if you’d like. They told me all my meals came with the job, and I’m ready to eat.”
“Three … four …” Cisco kept counting.
I sighed. The big man wasn’t backing down. I knew I could take him if I fought him alone, but as he arrived at the count of five, at least ten other men stepped in a circle behind him. Theyfolded their arms across their chests, burly fellas all, and I reckoned that might be too many to handle at one wallop.
“All right! All right!” I said with a sneer. “I’m leaving. But I’ll be back for lunch. Augusta knows me. We’ll settle up then—”
“That’s Mrs. Wayman to you!” Cisco roared, and shoved me out the door onto the street. A chorus of guffaws swelled behind me.
Well now, I took stock of my situation. My pockets were empty, as empty as my stomach. It’d been days since I’d eaten much of anything. I wandered back over to the sheriff’s office, stuck my head inside the front door, then meandered out onto the front patch of grass to wait for Deputy Roy to come by and take me over to the church building. I thought about having somebody from the sheriff’s office telephone over to the café and vouch for me, but Sheriff Barker wasn’t in, of course, and his secretary wasn’t there this morning neither. In her chair sat an older gal with thick reading glasses, and I doubted if reports of my new job had been
“Hold on, fella, where do you think you’re going?” A powerful hand gripped my collar and jerked me out of line.
It was Cisco Wayman. He was tall and broad in the shoulders. As big as me but gray-haired and slower on his feet, I reckoned, if it came to blows.
“My name’s Rowdy. Rowdy Slater. I ate here yesterday along with the sheriff. Augusta served us.”
“That’s Mrs. Wayman to you.” He glared into my face. “I ain’t never seen you around these parts. You a drifter? We don’t feed drifters here. If you want to eat like all these other fellas, you need a job.”
“I got a job.”
“Where?” He looked me up and down. “Don’t see your plant uniform. I know every man in town. Who you work for, and why didn’t he tell me he hired you on before sending you over?”
I swallowed. “The sheriff hired me, sir. He needed to go out of town today, on account of last night’s traffic accident.”
Cisco’s eyebrows lowered. He was an angry man in general, I gathered, and with the heap of good cooking he’d done before dawn, he was making sure nobody ate for free. “You a deputy then?” he asked. “I didn’t hear nothing about Roy needing help.”
“No sir.”
“What then?”
“Well …” It was time for the first public declaration of my new profession. I wasn’t sure how the words would come out of my mouth. I decided to blurt. The blurting wasn’t about courage. It was about needing to eat, and I said it all in a jumble—“Sir, I’m the new preacher at the Cut Eye Community Church.”
The whole café hushed. A lone fork clattered on the tile floor. The silence was flagrant. Other men gawked my direction, their hungry mouths hanging open. Far in the back of the room, a snicker broke. Another followed, and the whole room erupted in laughter. Men clapped and whistled, hollered out catcalls, and blew raspberries with their tongues. “Give us a sermon!” someone yelled. None of the rattle was charitable, I gathered.
Cisco held up his right hand and the room shut up. With his left he grabbed the front of my collar and twisted the fabric. “You listen to me, and you listen good. The town of Cut Eye don’t need a new preacher. And even if we did, you don’t look like a man of the cloth. Any fella who comes into my joint lying to my face is a fella who needs a fist smashed into his. So you got five seconds to clear out. One … two …”
“Look mister,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to fight you, but I will if need be. You can telephone over to the sheriff’s office if you’d like. They told me all my meals came with the job, and I’m ready to eat.”
“Three … four …” Cisco kept counting.
I sighed. The big man wasn’t backing down. I knew I could take him if I fought him alone, but as he arrived at the count of five, at least ten other men stepped in a circle behind him. Theyfolded their arms across their chests, burly fellas all, and I reckoned that might be too many to handle at one wallop.
“All right! All right!” I said with a sneer. “I’m leaving. But I’ll be back for lunch. Augusta knows me. We’ll settle up then—”
“That’s Mrs. Wayman to you!” Cisco roared, and shoved me out the door onto the street. A chorus of guffaws swelled behind me.
Well now, I took stock of my situation. My pockets were empty, as empty as my stomach. It’d been days since I’d eaten much of anything. I wandered back over to the sheriff’s office, stuck my head inside the front door, then meandered out onto the front patch of grass to wait for Deputy Roy to come by and take me over to the church building. I thought about having somebody from the sheriff’s office telephone over to the café and vouch for me, but Sheriff Barker wasn’t in, of course, and his secretary wasn’t there this morning neither. In her chair sat an older gal with thick reading glasses, and I doubted if reports of my new job had been
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