The diamond bikini - By Charles Williams Page 0,47
of the steel cabinets and spilled it open. The stuff had really spattered, like it had pressure behind it. It was on the typewriters and the desk and the walls. There was even a little dripping off the ceiling. A few drops fell on the sheriff’s bald head, going, spat, spat, spat. I held my nose and watched him. It was sort of odd, the way he acted.
He didn’t seem to notice the smell. He just looked around real slow, and then he put his hands up over his face, and bowed his head like he was praying. In a minute he took his hands away and looked at Uncle Sagamore. His face was purple, like a cooked beet. He walked over, real slow, and stopped in front of Uncle Sagamore. His hands came up and made gestures like he was talking, and his mouth worked, but nothing came out.
Uncle Sagamore reached in his pocket and took out his plug of tobacco. He rubbed it on the leg of his overalls to clean it, and bit off a chew. He worked it around from one position to the other one, then he says, “Shurf, ain’t you got no spittoons in here?”
The sheriff’s face was purple all the way down his neck now. His mouth went on working, but still there wasn’t a sound coming out. His hands made little gestures, and with his mouth opening and closing like that it was just like watching a movie when something has happened to the sound part and the picture is still going on without it.
“Yes sir, Sam,” Uncle Sagamore says, “it’s just downright unthoughtful, that’s what it is. They drag a man in here an’ arrest him without no cause at all, an’ they ain’t even got a spittoon in the place so’s he can spit. It kind of takes the heart out of a man, workin’ from daylight to dark tryin’ to scratch out a livin’ an’ pay his taxes so he can support all these goddam politicians.” He shook his head and stopped, like he’d just give up.
“It is sort of unconsiderate of ‘em,” Pop says, and nods his head. He lit a cigar.
Him and Uncle Sagamore started towards the door. I followed them. The sheriff turned and watched us, and then he walked real slow back to the desk. He still hadn’t been able to say a word. It was like he was all clogged up inside.
Uncle Sagamore stopped in the door and looked at him. “Shucks,” he says, “ain’t no use holdin’ hard feelin’s.”
A little sound was coming out of the sheriff now. It was something like, “—ffift—ssssshhhh—ffffft—”
“Hell, Shurf,” Uncle Sagamore says, “the whole thing was just a little misunderstanding an’ I reckon I can overlook it. Matter of fact, if you want me to I won’t let on to nobody it even happened. We’ll just keep it a secret.”
The sheriff reached in the box and took out the last jar of the tannery juice. He held it in his hand for a minute, looking at it. Then he just drew back his arm real slow and deliberate and slammed it against the wall.
We all went out. It sure was a relief to get out in the fresh air. We got in the car, but we didn’t go home right away. Pop stopped at the grocery store and bought six pounds of baloney and some cigars. Everybody on the street was talking about the tannery juice, and they kept staring at Uncle Sagamore. He didn’t seem to notice.
When we left the store we drove out in the edge of town where there was a sawmill and some railroad tracks. Uncle Sagamore showed Pop where to turn, and he drove into an alley and along it until we was in somebody’s back yard.
“What are we going to do now?” I asked Pop when he stopped under a big chinaberry tree.
“Visit a friend of your Uncle Sagamore’s,” he says.
Uncle Sagamore rapped four times on the door and in a minute a big woman with red hair opened it. She was wearing a kimono. She has cold blue eyes and looked like she could be plenty mean if she wanted to, but she smiled when she saw us and let us in. We followed her in through the kitchen and into another room and off to the right of it. It was kind of like a parlor, even if it was in the back of the house.