Two years of living in this garden like a toad. They didn't weed it for me, or clip the hedges, or mow, or reset the walk. I failed at that too. Didn't I touch OK's shoulder nicely, pitty-pat the back of C. Chamlay? Whose knee did I fail to squeeze? And now The Noisy One. Futile… futile. They're no longer listening. The breeze seems gentler where he walks. Where he stands the sun seems warmer. The ground grows easy for his feet. Useless for me… hopeless.
Furber had recognized, almost at once, the drunken spirit of the man, so Indian-skinned and wild. The knowledge had run through him like a fire. It had been raining again, and blowing. He'd darted into Watson's shop, shutting his umbrella. Behind it a man like a range of hills. But he'd been greeted simply with a smile. Mat had said: Mister Furber, this is Backett Omensetter, just come on to here from Windham. Backett, Mister Furber preaches in our church. Both of Omensetter's hands had reached for his, enclosing it warmly. His own had seemed terribly pale and damp, wrongly inside of the other's, like a worm in fruit. He'd withdrawn it in panic, and pleading urgent business, he had fled. He'd strode about the church in sodden coat and trousers, gesturing with his umbrella. Oh this is no ordinary magician! Then anger and chagrin had overwhelmed him. Mister Furber preaches in our church. He had beaten his fists against the wall until he felt he'd broken them. Mister Furber preaches in our church. When they ached he shouted at them: well, well, do you enjoy this? what have you both deserved?
If I played the banjo… How's the fishing Olus? oats nicely? hay? ain't it hot though, ain't it rainy, ain't it cold? The wife? thin whiny Marjorie for instance? sour Susan? Pat the fat? curdled Carol? bitch Clariss? Has Constance come into her awfuls yet? and it don't scare her? god it did mine — put the terror to her. How's your old bald ma, Willie Amsterdam? And that indian she's got living with her? Boylee, your balls has gone soft, that's all. Borers? hoppers? rust? Ever try tobacco? — way up here? shit, Ames, you're in for a surprise. Pork's a poor price again. Well screw those dirty assed pigs. A hog's as mean as hell, boy. I mean it. They don't come any meaner. A mean hog's real mean, all right. That's no lie, let me tell you. Mean. Yeeee. And hailstones as big as your fist a-slamming into the ground whop. Yar? Judas the Profiting Priest. Here's Al. That dog's got a tongue on her, don't care what she licks. Kekekekekekekeke … Oh Lord we pray you not to forget your good servants here in Gilean. They're good faithful servants, Lord. I've been here all the time, watching, watching, watching, like a toad in the high grass… God oh merciful God… and they're good faithful servants, you bet they are, and they need rain, they need rain bad. Preachers is just people, ain't that right Curtis? Catholics are cannibals — they eat their own. Babies-god, boy, do they have babies. Say, how they hanging? Like Judas Priest. Here's Luke. It's damn good manure, I'll say that. Best shit in the world. Get any geese? Connie's got a bloody bunny; she'll not lay for love or money; Patrick thinks that's awful funny; he has neither dough nor dummy. Rum a dum dum, rum a dum. Say Luther, how come you to break that wagon's wheel? ran over a stone, Turner, why? you ran over a stone, Luther? didn't you see it? naw, Turner, naw, the kid had it hid in his fist. Rum a dum dum, rum a dum. Pastor astor faster faster, has a cock he cannot master, crows so loud he always haster, pastor astor faster faster. Rum a dum dum, rum a dum. The god damn government. Listen he could hit a man harder than anybody I ever seen, even if he was a nigger. Whop. I mean really. Blam. Heemeny heemeny ho ho ho, I took my wife to the carnival show. What did she see there, heemeny hee? She saw a cunt on a male monkey. What did she think of it, heemeny ho? Well what she thought of it, I don't know, since she's left me for the carnival show. Rum a dum dum, rum a dum. What's your flavor? I love orange. Only thing keeps me sober is you can't pitch horseshoes drunk. Chamlay can. Alfalfa? barley? timothy? rye? Sing us another song soon, sing-a-ling, sing us another song soon. Flax corn clover. The god damn government. Ding dong bell, pussy's not so well. Billy Butter has a lover, whom he's taken to the clover; roll me over, Billy Butter, and I'll leave my home and mother. How they hanging? Like Absalom — by the hairs. I love cher-rie. Here's Fred. If you think grasshoppers is bad in Ohio… Say, what fun do monks have, Lloyd? Why I don't know, Boylee, what fun do monks have? Nun, Lloyd, nun. Whoo-oo-ee. The little ones, the little green ones, when they move through the grass you'd think it was raining. Wheat's wet. That's an I think about. Wheat. I sleep awful. I love lickerass. Well say now Boylee, what fun do nuns have? Gol-lee, I don't know, Lloyd, what fun do nuns have? Nun, Boylee, nun. Whoo-ooee. Off Sandy Point there's a hole in the shape of a horse's collar and they're all in there, the hundreds of them, and some days you can see them, golden, lying in quiet bunches like pieces of sun. Do you know Mable Fox? All the same I've heard them convent cemeteries is full of bastards. No lie? They use hairpins. Never wash. Cannibals. Knew a cat did that — ate her own. Naw? Billy Butter has a lover; without no hands he lies above her, fucking lightly as a plover, first his sister, then her mother. Here's Ben. There ain't no law in the Redeemer's church against a good fuck, is there Furber? Why of course not, Luther, only it's got to be your wife, and beyond five inches it's a sin to enjoy it. By christ you're a good sport, Furb. By christ you are. Pat. Hey boys, ain't Furb a good sport? Squeeze. By christ. You can play at our picnic. Rum a dum. Rum a dum. Rum a dum dum.