Got a stripe’ shirt on, an’ eye glasses.
We don’ say nothin’.
Jus’ look.
An’ purty soon he says,
‘How’d you like to drive her?”’
Floyd said,
“The hell!”
“Sure—‘How’d you like to drive her?’
Well, hell, I got on jeans—all dirty.
I says,
‘I’d get her dirty.’
‘Come on!’ he says.
‘Jus’ take her roun’ the block.’
Well, sir, I set in that seat an’ I took her roun’ the block eight times, an’, oh, my God Almighty!”
“Nice?” Floyd asked.
“Oh, Jesus!” said Al.
“If I could of tore her down why—I’d a give—anythin’.”
Floyd slowed his jerking arm.
He lifted the last valve from its seat and looked at it.
“You better git use’ ta a jalopy,” he said, “’cause you ain’t goin’ a drive no 16.” He put his brace down on the running board and took up a chisel to scrape the crust from the block.
Two stocky women, bare-headed and bare-footed, went by carrying a bucket of milky water between them.
They limped against the weight of the bucket, and neither one looked up from the ground.
The sun was half down in afternoon.
Al said,
“You don’t like nothin’ much.”
Floyd scraped harder with the chisel.
“I been here six months,” he said. “I been scrabblin’ over this here State tryin’ to work hard enough and move fast enough to get meat an’ potatoes for me an’ my wife an’ my kids.
I’ve run myself like a jackrabbit an’—I can’t quite make her.
There just ain’t quite enough to eat no matter what I do.
I’m gettin’ tired, that’s all.
I’m gettin’ tired way past where sleep rests me.
An’ I jus’ don’ know what to do.”
“Ain’t there no steady work for a fella?” Al asked.
“No, they ain’t no steady work.” With his chisel he pushed the crust off the block, and he wiped the dull metal with a greasy rag.
A rusty touring car drove down into the camp and there were four men in it, men with brown hard faces.
The car drove slowly through the camp.
Floyd called to them,
“Any luck?”
The car stopped.
The driver said,
“We covered a hell of a lot a ground.
They ain’t a hand’s work in this here country.
We gotta move.”
“Where to?” Al called.
“God knows.
We worked this here place over.” He let in his clutch and moved slowly down the camp.
Al looked after them.
“Wouldn’ it be better if one fella went alone?
Then if they was one piece a work, a fella’d get it.”
Floyd put down the chisel and smiled sourly.