“He worked for a company.
Drove truck last year.
He knows quite a little.
Smart aleck like he is. He knows.
He can tinker an engine, Al can.”
Tom asked,
“Where’s he now?”
“Well,” said Pa, “he’s a-billygoatin’ aroun’ the country.
Tom-cattin’ hisself to death.
Smart-aleck sixteen-year-older, an’ his nuts is just a-eggin’ him on.
He don’t think of nothin’ but girls and engines. A plain smart aleck.
Ain’t been in nights for a week.”
Grampa, fumbling with his chest, had succeeded in buttoning the buttons of his blue shirt into the buttonholes of his underwear.
His fingers felt that something was wrong, but did not care enough to find out.
His fingers went down to try to figure out the intricacies of the buttoning of his fly.
“I was worse,” he said happily. “I was much worse.
I was a heller, you might say.
Why, they was a camp meetin’ right in Sallisaw when I was a young fella a little bit older’n Al.
He’s just a squirt, an’ punkin-soft. But I was older.
An’ we was to this here camp meetin’.
Five hunderd folks there, an’ a proper sprinklin’ of young heifers.”
“You look like a heller yet, Grampa,” said Tom.
“Well, I am, kinda.
But I ain’t nowheres near the fella I was.
Jus’ let me get out to California where I can pick me an orange when I want it.
Or grapes.
There’s a thing I ain’t never had enough of.
Gonna get me a whole big bunch a grapes off a bush, or whatever, an’ I’m gonna squash ’em on my face an’ let ’em run offen my chin.”
Tom asked,
“Where’s Uncle John?
Where’s Rosasharn?
Where’s Ruthie an’ Winfield?
Nobody said nothin’ about them yet.”
Pa said,
“Nobody asked.
John gone to Sallisaw with a load a stuff to sell: pump, tools, chickens, an’ all the stuff we brung over.
Took Ruthie an’ Winfield with ’im.
Went ’fore daylight.”
“Funny I never saw him,” said Tom.
“Well, you come down from the highway, didn’ you? He took the back way, by Cowlington.
An’ Rosasharn, she’s nestin’ with Connie’s folks.
By God!
You don’t even know Rosasharn’s married to Connie Rivers.
You ’member Connie.
Nice young fella.
An’ Rosasharn’s due ’bout three-four-five months now.
Swellin’ up right now.
Looks fine.”
“Jesus!” said Tom. “Rosasharn was just a little kid.
An’ now she’s gonna have a baby.