We’d been walking for miles. He was moody again, the way he’d been when he and Etta first got engaged.
‘Just sumpin’, man. Nuthin’.’
‘You went th’ough all that fo’nuthin’?’
‘It’s sumpin’, I tole ya!’
It was a quiet country path, far enough away from water to be light on insects but dose enough to have trees and wildlife. I was coming down with something. My hands were cold and the inside of my head felt like cotton wadding.
‘How come Domaque make them dolls?’ I asked.
At first I thought he was going to ignore me, but after a few steps he said, ‘Dom started makin’ ‘em when we was small. Ya see, Dom got a crazy mad temper. He ain’t slow or nuthin,’ ‘cause you know he can read as good as that white woman teach’im. But he got nerves. Somebody make fun’a him an’ he start to shake an’ the next thing you know he’s actin’ crazy. When we was little the other kids would mess wit’ us, ‘specially when we all get together after Sunday school. One time this little boy, Bunny Drinkwater, started to rag po’ ole Dom till Dom was a tremblin’ leaf. An’ that just made all the other kids join in laughin’. But they didn’t know that Dom had carried a butcherin’ knife wit’im that day. He never said why but I guess he was tired’a bein’ the fool. Anyway he took out after Bunny but Bunny was quick an’ Dom couldn’t move fast t’save his life so we all was expectin’ Dom t’throw that knife down an’ cry... But that’s not what happened.’
A red fox ran out into the road ahead of us. It looked up at Mouse and pulled its head back like it recognised Raymond. Then it turned tail and slipped off into the brush. Mouse laughed and seemed to get in a better mood.
‘Anyway... Dom went out after Bunny swinging his knife so wild that I half expected he was gonna cut his own self; but then Bunny tripped. All the little boys screamed like girls. Dom swung down t’gut little Bunny but he missed and just kinda cut him on the arm. Bunny was so scared by that little cut that he was frozen on the ground an’ Dom raised his hand fo’ the kill...’ Mouse stared off into the woods remembering something. I was afraid to hear the rest. ‘Shit. One’a the big boys runned out and grabbed Dom fo’ he could finish it. You know I always feel bad when I think’a that; like I’m missin’ sumpin’.’
‘But what ‘bout the dolls?’
‘Yeah.’ Mouse picked up a thick branch from the path and started snicking off the switches to smooth it into a pole. ‘I tole Dom that he had t’git hold’a hisself ‘cause the folks ‘round there didn’t like humpbacks killin’ they babies. That’s when he got his first doll. He dressed it up like Bunny. He tore at it and pissed on it; threw it in a sty an’ let the pigs stamp it.’ Mouse laughed to himself. ‘Yeah, Easy, he had a fine ole time wit’ his dolls. An’ only me an’ Jo knew it.’
After a while the path grew crooked and rutty. The branches hung so low that I had to walk stooped over half of the time. Mouse said that the road had once been the way to town from his stepfather’s farm but that Reese let it go to seed years before, after Mouse’s natural mother died.
‘The ole man fell apart after Momma died,’ Mouse said.
When we got close enough to see the place Mouse stopped, wiped his mouth, and stared.
I was feeling tired so I said, ‘Well, let’s git on wit’ it. That’s it, right?’
Mouse didn’t say a word.
‘Raymond.’ I hoped his real name would shock him into moving.
‘Yeah?’
‘Let’s go.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said, but he didn’t move.
‘What we waitin’ fo’?’
His eyes were colder than all winter long.
‘I’m scared, Easy.’
‘We cain’t turn back.’
‘Why not?’ he asked like a child might.
‘What kinda fool you gonna feel like if you come all the way out here an’ then you don’t even ask? You cain’t tell, you know, he might reach in his pocket an’ come out wit’ the bread.’
That seemed to tickle Mouse. The winter passed and he smiled.
‘All right, Easy. We see what he got t’give.’
The yard, if you could call it that, was a mess. There was an old wagon that had both of its axles broken, the rusted-out metal hulk of a steam boiler, and pointy-spouted oil cans scattered around. There was a jumbled pile of old bales of hay that must’ve laid there for five years and more. Old furniture tossed anywhere and many things I couldn’t even put a name to. I got the feeling that the old farmer went into a rage, taking everything he had and throwing it from the house and barn.
Little animals scurried in amongst the junk; there were mounds of ants; an opossum had made its nest in a hollow tree full of old clothes, rags.
There was a large stack of rotting timber that must’ve been intended for building at one time, laying in front of the house like a giant pile of dropped kindling.
A few wild roosters hopped around and four mongrel dogs sat in the shade of a sweet olive tree. The ground around them was scattered with dried turds and dead blades of grass.
The house was even worse.
It looked as if the main beams had been broken. The roof was caved in; all four walls leaned inward. The old two-story farm house had been folded into a squat hut. There was a pipe sticking out near the top of one of the slanted walls, a weak rag of smoke coming from it. If it wasn’t for that I’d’ve thought we had come on a deserted wreck.
One of the dogs got up, snarling and slavering at Mouse. It snapped and growled but just when it got near, Mouse slammed it on the side of the neck with his pole. It was a very simple thing; he did it almost like breathing, he was so blasé.
The dog’s yelp was so sharp that you could feel his pain. He rolled in the filth under the tree, making a terrible racket. The other dogs jumped up and started pacing, back and forth.
That’s when some boards that were once the front door of the house moved outward. A strong-looking black man stood in the wreck of that doorway. He wore overalls with no shirt and you could see the strength in his arms and chest like flats of dark steel. He looked like he belonged in the fields all day long, tearing up the sod and yanking trees out by the root.
Mouse dropped his stick. ‘Hey there, Reese,’ he said.
The big man came out of the doorway but he seemed to bring the shadows along with him.
‘This here’s my friend - Easy Rawlins.’
I said hello but the farmer didn’t even look at me. He was watching his dog, who by then had stopped wallowing and was simply laying in the dirt, shivering like one of the fish Mouse had stunned earlier that morning.
‘Wha’ happen my dog, Raymond?’
‘Search me. He run up like he knew me an’ then he fell into a fit.’ Mouse stared Reese straight in the face. He wasn’t letting anything show, except a slight squint from the sun.
‘Ain’t no room in the house fo’no guests, Ray. What you want?’
Mouse hunkered down against a rotted bale of hay and said, ‘Just wanted to shout at ya, Reese, you know it’s been some years an’ I thought I’d see ya while we down here.’
‘I ain’t got no food and no drinks fo’ guests neither. So if you got sumpin’ t’say then let’s have it.’
I was sorry I talked Mouse into coming.
‘Looks like you could use a hand out here, Reese. Farm’s goin’ to shit if you ask me.’
Reese took a deep breath, you could see the rage. Watching Mouse bait him was like watching a man striking matches over a vat of gasoline.
‘I mean you might need some help out here an’, well you know I’m kinda settlin’ down nowadays... gettin’ married to a girl down in Houston.’
Reese was through with small talk.
‘So I thought maybe we talk some business. You know after my weddin’ I might wanna come on out here an’ do some honest work.’
That got a smile from Reese. He said, ‘No, uh-uh. You go on an’ do whatever it is you doin’. I stay out to here.’