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"
Oh
,
I
’
m
a
talker
!
"
said
Casy
.
"
No
gettin
’
away
from
that
.
But
I
ain
’
t
preachin
’
.
Preachin
’
is
tellin
’
folks
stuff
.
I
’
m
askin
’
’
em
.
That
ain
’
t
preachin
’
,
is
it
?
"
"
I
don
’
know
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
Preachin
’
s
a
kinda
tone
a
voice
,
an
’
preachin
’
s
a
way
a
lookin
’
at
things
.
Preachin
’
s
bein
’
good
to
folks
when
they
wanna
kill
ya
for
it
.
Las
’
Christmus
in
McAlester
,
Salvation
Army
come
an
’
done
us
good
.
Three
solid
hours
a
cornet
music
,
an
’
we
set
there
.
They
was
bein
’
nice
to
us
.
But
if
one
of
us
tried
to
walk
out
,
we
’
d
a
-
drawed
solitary
.
That
’
s
preachin
.
Doin
’
good
to
a
fella
that
’
s
down
an
’
can
’
t
smack
ya
in
the
puss
for
it
.
No
,
you
ain
’
t
no
preacher
.
But
don
’
t
you
blow
no
cornets
aroun
’
here
.
"
Ma
threw
some
sticks
into
the
stove
.
"
I
’
ll
get
you
a
bite
now
,
but
it
ain
’
t
much
.
"
Grampa
brought
his
box
outside
and
sat
on
it
and
leaned
against
the
wall
,
and
Tom
and
Casy
leaned
back
against
the
house
wall
.
And
the
shadow
of
the
afternoon
moved
out
from
the
house
.
In
the
late
afternoon
the
truck
came
back
,
bumping
and
rattling
through
the
dust
,
and
there
was
a
layer
of
dust
in
the
bed
,
and
the
hood
was
covered
with
dust
,
and
the
headlights
were
obscured
with
a
red
flour
.
The
sun
was
setting
when
the
truck
came
back
,
and
the
earth
was
bloody
in
its
setting
light
.
Al
sat
bent
over
the
wheel
,
proud
and
serious
and
efficient
,
and
Pa
and
Uncle
John
,
as
befitted
the
heads
of
the
clan
,
had
the
honor
seats
beside
the
driver
.
Standing
in
the
truck
bed
,
holding
onto
the
bars
of
the
sides
,
rode
the
others
,
twelve
-
year
-
old
Ruthie
and
ten
-
year
-
old
Winfield
,
grime
-
faced
and
wild
,
their
eyes
tired
but
excited
,
their
fingers
and
the
edges
of
their
mouths
black
and
sticky
from
licorice
whips
,
whined
out
of
their
father
in
town
.
Ruthie
,
dressed
in
a
real
dress
of
pink
muslin
that
came
below
her
knees
,
was
a
little
serious
in
her
young
-
ladiness
.
But
Winfield
was
still
a
trifle
of
a
snot
-
nose
,
a
little
of
a
brooder
back
of
the
barn
,
and
an
inveterate
collector
and
smoker
of
snipes
.
And
whereas
Ruthie
felt
the
might
,
the
responsibility
,
and
the
dignity
of
her
developing
breasts
,
Winfield
was
kid
-
wild
and
calfish
.
Beside
them
,
clinging
lightly
to
the
bars
,
stood
Rose
of
Sharon
,
and
she
balanced
,
swaying
on
the
balls
of
her
feet
,
and
took
up
the
road
shock
in
her
knees
and
hams
.
For
Rose
of
Sharon
was
pregnant
and
careful
.
Her
hair
,
braided
and
wrapped
around
her
head
,
made
an
ash
-
blond
crown
.
Her
round
soft
face
,
which
had
been
voluptuous
and
inviting
a
few
months
ago
,
had
already
put
on
the
barrier
of
pregnancy
,
the
self
-
sufficient
smile
,
the
knowing
perfection
-
look
;
and
her
plump
body
—
full
soft
breasts
and
stomach
,
hard
hips
and
buttocks
that
had
swung
so
freely
and
provocatively
as
to
invite
slapping
and
stroking
—
her
whole
body
had
become
demure
and
serious
.
Her
whole
thought
and
action
were
directed
inward
on
the
baby
.
She
balanced
on
her
toes
now
,
for
the
baby
’
s
sake
.
And
the
world
was
pregnant
to
her
;
she
thought
only
in
terms
of
reproduction
and
of
motherhood
.
Connie
,
her
nineteen
-
year
-
old
husband
,
who
had
married
a
plump
,
passionate
hoyden
,
was
still
frightened
and
bewildered
at
the
change
in
her
;
for
there
were
no
more
cat
fights
in
bed
,
biting
and
scratching
with
muffled
giggles
and
final
tears
.
There
was
a
balanced
,
careful
,
wise
creature
who
smiled
shyly
but
very
firmly
at
him
.
Connie
was
proud
and
fearful
of
Rose
of
Sharon
.
Whenever
he
could
,
he
put
a
hand
on
her
or
stood
close
,
so
that
his
body
touched
her
at
hip
and
shoulder
,
and
he
felt
that
this
kept
a
relation
that
might
be
departing
.
He
was
a
sharp
-
faced
,
lean
young
man
of
a
Texas
strain
,
and
his
pale
blue
eyes
were
sometimes
dangerous
and
sometimes
kindly
,
and
sometimes
frightened
.
He
was
a
good
hard
worker
and
would
make
a
good
husband
.
He
drank
enough
,
but
not
too
much
;
fought
when
it
was
required
of
him
;
and
never
boasted
.
He
sat
quietly
in
a
gathering
and
yet
managed
to
be
there
and
to
be
recognized
.
Had
he
not
been
fifty
years
old
,
and
so
one
of
the
natural
rulers
of
the
family
,
Uncle
John
would
have
preferred
not
to
sit
in
the
honor
place
beside
the
driver
.
He
would
have
liked
Rose
of
Sharon
to
sit
there
.
This
was
impossible
,
because
she
was
young
and
a
woman
.
But
Uncle
John
sat
uneasily
,
his
lonely
haunted
eyes
were
not
at
ease
,
and
his
thin
strong
body
was
not
relaxed
.
Nearly
all
the
time
the
barrier
of
loneliness
cut
Uncle
John
off
from
people
and
from
appetites
.
He
ate
little
,
drank
nothing
,
and
was
celibate
.
But
underneath
,
his
appetites
swelled
into
pressures
until
they
broke
through
.
Then
he
would
eat
of
some
craved
food
until
he
was
sick
;
or
he
would
drink
jake
or
whisky
until
he
was
a
shaken
paralytic
with
red
wet
eyes
;
or
he
would
raven
with
lust
for
some
whore
in
Sallisaw
.
It
was
told
of
him
that
once
he
went
clear
to
Shawnee
and
hired
three
whores
in
one
bed
,
and
snorted
and
rutted
on
their
unresponsive
bodies
for
an
hour
.
But
when
one
of
his
appetites
was
sated
,
he
was
sad
and
ashamed
and
lonely
again
.
He
hid
from
people
,
and
by
gifts
tried
to
make
up
to
all
people
for
himself
.
Then
he
crept
into
houses
and
left
gum
under
pillows
for
children
;
then
he
cut
wood
and
took
no
pay
.
Then
he
gave
away
any
possession
he
might
have
:
a
saddle
,
a
horse
,
a
new
pair
of
shoes
.
One
could
not
talk
to
him
then
,
for
he
ran
away
,
or
if
confronted
hid
within
himself
and
peeked
out
of
frightened
eyes
.
The
death
of
his
wife
,
followed
by
months
of
being
alone
,
had
marked
him
with
guilt
and
shame
and
had
left
an
unbreaking
loneliness
on
him
.
But
there
were
things
he
could
not
escape
.
Being
one
of
the
heads
of
the
family
,
he
had
to
govern
;
and
now
he
had
to
sit
on
the
honor
seat
beside
the
driver
.
