The Highway Kind(56)

That’s when a ragged-looking fellow come up the road to the store and stopped when he seen us. He beat the dust off the shoulders and sides of his blue suit coat. His gray hat looked as if a goat had bitten a hunk out of the front of it. The suit he was wearing had been nice at one time, but it was worn shiny in spots and hung on him like a circus tent. His shoe toes flapped when he walked like they were trying to talk. He said, “I hate to bother you children, but I ain’t ate in a couple days, nothing solid anyway, and was wondering you got something to spare?”

“We got some egg sandwiches,” Terri said. “You can have both of them.”

“That would be right nice,” said the ragged man.

He came over smiling. Up close, he looked as if he had been boiled in dirt, his skin was so dusty from walking along the road. One of his nose holes was smaller than the other. I hadn’t never seen nobody like that before. It wouldn’t have been all that noticeable, but he had a way of tilting his head back when he talked.

Terri gave him the sandwiches. He opened up the paper they was in, laid them on the hood of our car, took hold of one, and started to wolf it down. When he had it about ate, he said, “That egg tastes a mite rubbery. You ain’t got nothing to wash it down?”

“We could run you a bath if you want, and maybe we could polish your shoes for you,” Terri said. “But we ain’t got nothing to wash down that free sandwich.”

The dusty man narrowed his eyes at Terri, then gathered himself.

“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he said.

“I don’t think you give a damn one way or the other,” Terri said.

“Look here,” I said. “I got the last of this Coca-Cola; you don’t mind drinking after me, you can have that. It’s got a few peanuts in it.”

He took the Coca-Cola and swigged some. “Listen here, could you spare a few other things, some clothes, some more food? I could give you a check.”

“A check?” Terri said. “What would it be good for?”

The man gave her a look that was considerably less pleasant than a moment ago.

“We don’t want no check,” Terri said. “If we had something to sell, and we don’t, we’d want cash money.”

“Well, I ain’t got no cash money.”

“There you are, then,” Terri said. “A check ain’t nothing but a piece of paper with your name on it.”

“It represents money in the bank,” said the man.

“It don’t represent money we can see, though,” Terri said.

“That’s all right,” I said. “Here, you take this dollar and go in there and buy you something with it. That’s my last dollar.”

It wasn’t my last dollar, but when I pulled it out of my pocket, way he stared at it made me nervous.

“I’ll take it,” he said. He started walking toward the store. After a few steps, he paused and looked back at us. “You was right not to take no check from me, baby girl. It wouldn’t have been worth the paper it was written on. And let me tell you something. You ought to save up and buy yourself a dress and some hair bows, a dab of makeup, maybe take a year or two of charm lessons.”

He went on in the store, and I hustled us up, bringing what was left of our sandwiches with us and getting into the car.

“Why you in such a hurry?” Terri said as I drove away.

“Something about that fella bothers me,” I said. “I think he’s trouble.”

“I don’t know how much trouble he is,” Terri said, “but I darn sure had him figured on that check. As for a dress and hair bows, he can kiss my ass. I wish him and all fools like him would die.”

“You can’t wish for all fools to die, Terri. That ain’t right.”

Terri pursed her lips. “I guess you’re right. All them fools died, I’d be pretty lonely.”


We went about twenty miles before the motor steamed up and I had to pull the Ford over. I picked a spot where there was a wide place in the road and stopped there and got out and put the hood up and looked under it like I knew what was going on. And I did, a little. I had developed an interest in cars, same as Daddy. He liked to work on them and said if he wasn’t a farmer he’d like to fix engines. I used to go with him when he went outside to put water in the radiator and mess with the motor. Still, I wasn’t what you’d call a mechanic.

“You done run it too long without checking the water,” Terri said.

I gave her a hard look. “If you weren’t here, I don’t know what I’d think was wrong with it.”

I got a rag out of the turtle hull, got some of our canteen water, and, using the rag, unscrewed the radiator lid. I had Terri stand back, on account of when I poured the water in, some hot, wet spray boiled up. Radiator was bone dry.

We got enough water in the car to keep going, but now we were out of water to drink. We poked along until I saw a creek running alongside the road and off into the woods. We pulled down a tight trail with trees on both sides, got out, and refilled the canteens from a clear and fast-running part of the creek. The water tasted cold and clean. I used the canteens to finish filling the radiator, and then we filled them for us to drink. I decided to take notice of this spot in case we needed it on the way back. While I was contemplating, Terri picked up a rock and zinged it sidearm into a tree and a red bird fell out of it and hit the ground.