Gone home to his house.” The words fell stumbling out. “He got a way—he got a way a-pickin’ a fella an’ a-tearin’ a fella. He—the son-of-a-bitch.
Got a girl nineteen, purty.
Says to me,
‘How’d ya like ta marry her?’
Says that right to me.
An’ tonight—says,
‘They’s a dance; how’d ya like to go?’
Me, he says it to me!” Tears formed in his eyes and tears dripped from the corner of the red eye socket. “Some day, by God—some day I’m gonna have a pipe wrench in my pocket.
When he says them things he looks at my eye.
An’ I’m gonna, I’m gonna jus’ take his head right down off his neck with that wrench, little piece at a time.” He panted with his fury. “Little piece at a time, right down off’n his neck.”
The sun disappeared behind the mountains.
Al looked into the lot at the wrecked cars.
“Over there, look, Tom! That there looks like a ’25 or ’26.”
Tom turned to the one-eyed man.
“Mind if we look?”
“Hell, no!
Take any goddamn thing you want.”
They walked, threading their way among the dead automobiles, to a rusting sedan, resting on flat tires.
“Sure it’s a ’25,” Al cried. “Can we yank off the pan, mister?”
Tom kneeled down and looked under the car.
“Pan’s off awready.
One rod’s been took. Looks like one gone.” He wriggled under the car. “Get a crank an’ turn her over, Al.” He worked the rod against the shaft. “Purty much froze with grease.” Al turned the crank slowly. “Easy,” Tom called.
He picked a splinter of wood from the ground and scraped the cake of grease from the bearing and the bearing bolts.
“How is she for tight?” Al asked.
“Well, she’s a little loose, but not bad.”
“Well, how is she for wore?”
“Got plenty shim. Ain’t been all took up.
Yeah, she’s O.K.
Turn her over easy now.
Get her down, easy—there!
Run over the truck an’ get some tools.”
The one-eyed man said,
“I’ll get you a box a tools.” He shuffled off among the rusty cars and in a moment he came back with a tin box of tools.
Tom dug out a socket wrench and handed it to Al.
“You take her off.
Don’ lose no shims an’ don’ let the bolts get away, an’ keep track a the cotter-pins.
Hurry up. The light’s gettin’ dim.”
Al crawled under the car.
“We oughta get us a set a socket wrenches,” he called. “Can’t get in no place with a monkey wrench.”
“Yell out if you want a hand,” Tom said.
The one-eyed man stood helplessly by.
“I’ll help ya if ya want,” he said. “Know what that son-of-a-bitch done?
He come by an’ he got on white pants. An’ he says,
‘Come on, le’s go out to my yacht.’
By God, I’ll whang him some day!” He breathed heavily.
“I ain’t been out with a woman sence I los’ my eye.
An’ he says stuff like that.” And big tears cut channels in the dirt beside his nose.
Tom said impatiently,
“Whyn’t you roll on?
Got no guards to keep ya here.”