“Maybe I can’t get no meat,” Ma said. “But they want meat.
They said they wanted meat.”
“Ever’body wants meat—needs meat.
That hamburg is purty nice stuff.
Use the grease that comes out a her for gravy.
Purty nice. No waste.
Don’t throw no bone away.”
“How—how much is side-meat?”
“Well, now you’re gettin’ into fancy stuff.
Christmas stuff.
Thanksgivin’ stuff.
Thirty-five cents a poun’.
I could sell you turkey cheaper, if I had some turkey.”
Ma sighed.
“Give me two pounds hamburg.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He scooped the pale meat on a piece of waxed paper. “An’ what else?”
“Well, some bread.”
“Right here.
Fine big loaf, fifteen cents.”
“That there’s a twelve-cent loaf.”
“Sure, it is.
Go right in town an’ get her for twelve cents.
Gallon a gas.
What else can I sell you, potatoes?”
“Yes, potatoes.”
“Five pounds for a quarter.”
Ma moved menacingly toward him.
“I heard enough from you.
I know what they cost in town.”
The little man clamped his mouth tight.
“Then go git ’em in town.”
Ma looked at her knuckles.
“What is this?” she asked softly. “You own this here store?”
“No.
I jus’ work here.”
“Any reason you got to make fun?
That help you any?”
She regarded her shiny wrinkled hands.
The little man was silent.
“Who owns this here store?”
“Hooper Ranches, Incorporated, ma’am.”
“An’ they set the prices?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked up, smiling a little.
“Ever’body comes in talks like me, is mad?”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“An’ that’s why you make fun?”
“What cha mean?”
“Doin’ a dirty thing like this.