Of Love and Dust Read Online Free

heading for town. And dancing and dancing until late, and then hurrying back to that bed and loving, loving, loving until morning. Then hitting that fieldagain, half dead, and then back, and the tub of hot water, and the dancing, and the loving. For how many years—two? three?—then it was over. Daddy wasn’t able to keep up the pace, and baby had to find somebody who could. Is daddy bitter? No, daddy’s not bitter at all. All that’s part of this big old thing called life. Daddy is not bitter, baby. Come back now and he’ll say yes to you. Maybe that’s why he hangs around here. It reminds him a little of the old place, and he figures that one day you might pass by and decide to stop, and then … Stop dreaming, Frank James Kelly. It’s getting close to five o’clock and another day is breaking.
    I made the Sign of the Cross, not the whole prayer, and got into my khakis. After cooking up some grits and eggs and making a big pot of coffee, I sat in the back door and ate breakfast. The sun hadn’t come up yet, but there was still enough light out there to see. I could see how the dew made the grass bend over. I could see my little gray pecan tree, my old leaning picket fence, and the old toilet that looked like it was ready to tumble over with the first light breeze. “One of these Saturdays I’m going to fix it,” I told myself. But I had been saying that a couple of years now and I still hadn’t done a thing.
    I could hear the rest of the “quarter getting up, too. I could hear Aunt Emma feeding her chickens and hollering at Saint Mark Brown’s dog, saying, “You trifling thing, get away from here; get away from here, you trifling thing. You worser than that old paw-owner yours.”
    A second later I heard the dog hollering; then I heard Saint Mark Brown saying, “Leave that dog ’lone, you goddamn hag.” And I could hear Aunt Emma saying: “Then keep him out this yard. Keep him ’way from my chickens, the old egg-eater.” And farther up the quarter and fartherdown the quarter I could hear the rest of the place getting up, too.
    The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was getting lighter and lighter, and I knew it was about time I got up the quarter and cranked up Red Hannah. But first I had to get Playboy on his feet. So I got myself a cold drink of water, then I poured up another cupful to take round the other side. I had to go back through my front room and across the gallery to come into his room. And, oh, he had everything hanging so pretty-like. He had his suits, his shirts, his ties all on a little line. Then he had six or seven pairs of dress shoes up against the wall in a nice little row. Then he had his suitcases stacked neatly in the corner. And him? Sleeping. Laying there snoring like a six-month-old baby. I looked down at him a few seconds, then I kicked against the bed.
    “All right, hit it.”
    He didn’t move; didn’t budge; didn’t even grunt.
    I shook him. “All right, let’s go.”
    He grunted this time, but he didn’t move. I shook him again. He grunted, but he didn’t move. So I grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him off that bed down on the floor. He laid there looking up at me and rubbing his eyes. Since I had brought the cup of cold water in there, I thought I might as well use it; so I calmly poured it over his still-sleepy face. That woke him up, all right; he jumped up with his fist ready. I had put the cup on the mantelpiece and I was ready for him.
    “Well?” I said.
    “I’m go’n get you for that,” he said.
    “What’s stopping you now?” I said.
    “I’m go’n get you,” he said. “You just wait and see.”
    “Sure,” I said. “You can use my washpan in the kitchento finish washing your face. I’ve got some food on the stove if you want to eat. You better if you know what’s good for you.”
    “I don’t need nobody to feed me.”
    “Uh-huh,” I said. “I have some khakis round there, too; pants and shirt. They might be a little big, but there