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"
You
have
to
have
it
,
don
’
t
you
!
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
All
right
.
I
’
ll
tell
you
.
"
She
grasped
his
hand
in
both
of
hers
and
told
him
.
He
came
in
the
late
afternoon
of
the
day
Nort
died
,
and
the
wind
was
whooping
up
,
pulling
away
the
loose
topsoil
,
sending
sheets
of
grit
and
uprooted
stalks
of
corn
wind
milling
past
.
Kennerly
had
padlocked
the
livery
,
and
the
other
few
merchants
had
shuttered
their
windows
and
laid
boards
across
the
shutters
.
The
sky
was
the
yellow
color
of
old
cheese
and
the
clouds
moved
flyingly
across
it
,
as
if
they
had
seen
something
horrifying
in
the
desert
wastes
where
they
had
so
lately
been
.
He
came
in
a
rickety
rig
with
a
rippling
tarp
tied
across
its
bed
.
They
watched
him
come
,
and
old
man
Kennerly
,
lying
by
the
window
with
a
bottle
in
one
hand
and
the
loose
,
hot
flesh
of
his
second
-
eldest
daughter
’
s
left
breast
in
the
other
,
resolved
not
to
be
there
if
he
should
knock
.
But
the
man
in
black
went
by
without
hawing
the
bay
that
pulled
his
rig
,
and
the
spinning
wheels
spumed
up
dust
that
the
wind
clutched
eagerly
.
He
might
have
been
a
priest
or
a
monk
;
he
wore
a
black
cassock
that
had
been
floured
with
dust
,
and
a
loose
hood
covered
his
head
and
obscured
his
features
.
It
rippled
and
flapped
.
Beneath
the
garment
’
s
hem
,
heavy
buckled
boots
with
square
toes
.
He
pulled
up
in
front
of
Sheb
’
s
and
tethered
the
horse
,
which
lowered
its
head
and
grunted
at
the
ground
.
Around
the
back
of
the
rig
he
untied
one
flap
,
found
a
weathered
saddlebag
,
threw
it
over
his
shoulder
,
and
went
in
through
the
batwings
.
Alice
watched
him
curiously
,
but
no
one
else
noticed
his
arrival
.
The
rest
were
drunk
as
lords
.
Sheb
was
playing
Methodist
hymns
ragtime
,
and
the
grizzled
layabouts
who
had
come
in
early
to
avoid
the
storm
and
to
attend
Nort
’
s
wake
had
sung
themselves
hoarse
.
Sheb
,
drunk
nearly
to
the
point
of
senselessness
,
intoxicated
and
horny
with
his
own
continued
existence
,
played
with
hectic
,
shut
tlecock
speed
,
fingers
flying
like
looms
.
Voices
screeched
and
hollered
,
never
overcoming
the
wind
but
sometimes
seeming
to
challenge
it
.
In
the
corner
Zachary
had
thrown
Amy
Feldon
’
s
skirts
over
her
head
and
was
painting
zodiac
signs
on
her
knees
.
A
few
other
women
circulated
.
A
fervid
glow
seemed
to
be
on
all
of
them
.
The
dull
stormglow
that
filtered
through
the
batwings
seemed
to
mock
them
,
however
.
