No country for old men - By Cormac McCarthy Page 0,6
a mile he came to the truck.
He opened the door and stood the rifle in the floor. He went around and opened the driver door and pushed the lever and slid the seat forward and set the case and the machinepistol behind it. He laid the .45 and the binoculars in the seat and climbed in and pushed the seat back as far as it would go and put the key in the ignition. Then he took off his hat and leaned back and just rested his head against the cold glass behind him and closed his eyes.
When he got to the highway he slowed and rattled over the bars of the cattleguard and then pulled out onto the blacktop and turned on the headlights. He drove west toward Sanderson and he kept to the speed limit every mile of the way. He stopped at the gas station on the east end of town for cigarettes and a long drink of water and then drove on to the Desert Aire and pulled up in front of the trailer and shut off the motor. The lights were on inside. You live to be a hundred, he said, and there wont be another day like this one. As soon as he said it he was sorry.
He got his flashlight from the glovebox and climbed out and took the machinepistol and the case from behind the seat and crawled up under the trailer. He lay there in the dirt looking up at the underside of it. Cheap plastic pipe and plywood. Bits of insulation. He wedged the H&K up into a corner and pulled the insulation down over it and lay there thinking. Then he crawled back out with the case and dusted himself off and climbed the steps and went in.
She was sprawled across the sofa watching TV and drinking a Coke. She didnt even look up. Three oclock, she said.
I can come back later.
She looked at him over the back of the sofa and looked at the television again. What have you got in that satchel?
It’s full of money.
Yeah. That’ll be the day.
He went into the kitchen and got a beer out of the refrigerator.
Can I have the keys? she said.
Where you goin.
Get some cigarettes.
Cigarettes.
Yes, Llewelyn. Cigarettes. I been settin here all day.
What about cyanide? How are we fixed for that?
Just let me have the keys. I’ll set out in the damn yard and smoke.
He took a sip of the beer and went on back into the bedroom and dropped to one knee and shoved the case under the bed. Then he came back. I got you some cigarettes, he said. Let me get em.
He left the beer on the counter and went out and got the two packs of cigarettes and the binoculars and the pistol and slung the .270 over his shoulder and shut the truck door and came back in. He handed her the cigarettes and went on back to the bedroom.
Where’d you get that pistol? she called.
At the gettin place.
Did you buy that thing?
No. I found it.
She sat up on the sofa. Llewelyn?
He came back in. What? he said. Quit hollerin.
What did you give for that thing?
You dont need to know everthing.
How much.
I told you. I found it.
No you never done no such a thing.
He sat on the sofa and put his legs up on the coffeetable and sipped the beer. It dont belong to me, he said. I didnt buy no pistol.
You better not of.
She opened one of the packs of cigarettes and took one out and lit it with a lighter. Where have you been all day?
Went to get you some cigarettes.
I dont even want to know. I dont even want to know what all you been up to.
He sipped the beer and nodded. That’ll work, he said.
I think it’s better just to not even know even.
You keep runnin that mouth and I’m goin to take you back there and screw you.
Big talk.
Just keep it up.
That’s what she said.
Just let me finish this beer. We’ll see what she said and what she didnt say.
When he woke it was 1:06 by the digital clock on the bedside table. He lay there looking at the ceiling, the raw glare of the vaporlamp outside bathing the bedroom in a cold and bluish light. Like a winter moon. Or some other kind of moon. Something stellar and alien in its light that he’d come to feel comfortable with. Anything but sleep in the dark.