He enjoyed a laugh at that, his cheeks flushing. He polished off the beer and thumbed his mustache.

"How bout another beer, babe?"

Maria retrieved it and opened it for him. Again, he swallowed roughly the first half in a single gulp.

"You wanna beer, boy?"

"No thank you."

"Prob'ly just think I'm a big drunk, huh?"

"Not at all."

"You know, when Maria first saw ya with that thing on yer head, she thought you was one of them ragheads."

"Oh, the shirt."

"Is that what that was? You know what else we call ragheads? Sand n.i.g.g.e.rs. That's pretty funny, ain't it? Of course, you was just wearin that to hide the..." And he waved the beer bottle around the top of his head.

"Horns, sir."

"Yeah, horns. Why you wearin them crazy a.s.s things?"

"I was born with them."

"Kinda like in Ripley's Believe It or Not, huh?"

"A little, I guess."

"You ever been in one uh them books?"

"No, sir."

"Might be able to pick up a little money that way."

"Maybe."

"You got a job?"

"No, sir."

"See, then ya ain't got no money. You a runaway?"

"I guess I am. But I'm going back later."

"Cause ya ain't got no money. Ya gonna do a stupid thing like run away, you need some money. Why, if we was some motel, you'da had to pay forty or fifty bucks just for last night."

"I know, sir. I'm very thankful."

"I bet you are. It was nasty last night. Real pretty today, though. You been outside yet?"

"A little bit."

"Oh, right. When you's helpin Maria pick up em sticks. Warm."

"It certainly is."

"How bout another beer?"

Maria grabbed another one out of the refrigerator, opened it, and sat it down in front of him. Behind Boo, the evening darkened. I wanted so desperately to be out there. I was hating every second of the conversation. Periodically, I noticed my foot was b.u.mping up and down and I knew if I had to sit through much more of this I'd be going crazy.

"I'm glad you weren't one uh them sand n.i.g.g.e.rs cause if you was, I'd uh made Maria throw ya back out. We don't need them people here, ya know what I'm sayin? They just here to make our money."

"Of course." I hated myself for saying it. It's amazing what I'd say for survival.

"So, you still in high school?"

"Middle school," I said, without even thinking.

"Middle school? Ain't you sixteen?"

"Yes, sir. I've been held back." This time my head flicked to my right and I could feel my lips draw back from my teeth.

"Mustuh been held back a coupla times. You a dummy?"

"I guess so. I'm not very good at school."

"I went to school with a halfwit nameuh Roger Willem. He was a real candya.s.s, too. Now, he never got outta the seventh grade, so far as I know. You know him?"

"No, sir."

"I thought maybe he's your dad or somethin but, that's right, yer name's Black, ain't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"That kinda makes you a n.i.g.g.e.r, don't it?"

"I guess so."

"You like n.i.g.g.e.rs?"

"I've never known any, sir."

"That's good. I ain't never known me none, neither. Course, if I did, I guess he'd be a dead n.i.g.g.e.r."

He chugged down another beer and fished around in his jeans pockets, coming up with a flattened pack of Marlboro Lights. He pulled one out and lit up, casting a glance at Maria.

"She don't like for me to smoke in the house. Says it smells. But we know whose house it is, don't we, babe?"

"Sure do," she said without much conviction.

She put the roast beef in the oven and stormed out of the kitchen. Sir Boo turned around to me, thumbed his mustache and said, "We don't need no b.i.t.c.hes in here anyway. She's just a dried up old c.u.n.t. I need summa that fresh p.u.s.s.y."

His voice became gruffer and noticeably slurred. His cigarette ash was incredibly long. He knocked it off in one of the empty beer bottles in front of him, half of it scattering around the bottle.

"If you ain't got much brains, what do ya plan on doin for the rest of yer life."

"I don't know."

"Dontcha think ya better get somethin figgered out?"

"I guess."

He gulped down the rest of his beer and barked, "Beer!"

Maria stormed back into the kitchen, opened the bottle and sat it roughly down in front of him, rushing back out. Sir Boo balled his right hand up into a fist and slammed it into the palm of his left.

"Now me," he said. "I ain't exactly a whiz or nothin. But I'm smart when it comes to money. I started workin down at the Korl mill when I turned eighteen. You ever thought about doin steel work?"

"Not really."

"Now, my job was pretty tough at first, loadin them sheets of metal onto the lifts but now, s.h.i.t, I ain't gotta do s.h.i.t. Them supervisors up air, they saw that I had a real knack for takin control. At's all they want, someone at can do their job so they can take some time off. At's why I work a lot, cause it ain't really work at all. Someone wants to pay me for doin more sittin around, who'm I to say no. That extra time done bought me this here house and here I am only thirty-two. My folks's still rentin. Yer folks rent?"

"I think so."

"Them some good ol boys they got up at Korl. Lot've em come right from the hollers of Kentucky. Them boys know what a dollar means. Most of em raised up dirt poor. Yer folks from Kentucky?"

"West Virginia."

Boo Thiklet lit up another cigarette. He put a considerable amount of pause in between his questions. Now he paused a little bit longer, taking slow drags off the cigarette, his head kind of leaned back, studying me through partially slit eyes. I looked nervously at the table, conscious of his eyes burning into me.

He finished his beer, ashed his cigarette on the floor, thumbed his mustache and said, "Them horns make me mad."

"I'm sorry."

"Bring me a beer, b.i.t.c.h!"

"Get it yourself!" she called back. That kind of surprised me. Up to that point, however, I found it impossible how she could see Sir Boo with anything but contempt.

He teeteringly got up and stumbled the two steps to the refrigerator door. He swung it open much harder than necessary, all the condiment bottles tinkling in the door. He belched and reached in for another beer.

The smell of roast beef filled the kitchen. Night had come outside the kitchen door window, turning it into six black squares. He twisted the cap off and tossed it into the kitchen sink. He stumbled back over and plopped down in his chair, almost turning it over.

"I don't know why I keep her around. It's the p.u.s.s.y I guess. She had a real sweet p.u.s.s.y. She was a virgin when I met her." He leered at me. "That didn't last long, though." He poked a finger on the inside of his cheek and hooked it out so it made a popping noise. "She's all used up now, though. Barren as a rock. I'm gonna have to find me someone else gonna make em sheets all b.l.o.o.d.y."

I couldn't help it anymore. I'd been sitting there all rigid, managing to keep my feet tapping and not much else. I let out a hoot before restraining myself, before launching into the whole routine.

"You act like a boy who ain't never had any p.u.s.s.y. You ever had any p.u.s.s.y?"

That did it. I snapped. I beat my fingers on the edge of the table, letting out a whole slew of "Do, do, do"s, snapping my head back and forth.

"What is this s.h.i.t?" Boo said. It sounded like he was filled with anger but I couldn't be sure without looking at him. Whenever I had an outburst, I had a tendency to either close my eyes or stare straight ahead. I managed to bring it under control. Sir Boo was the only thing standing between me and the outside.

Sitting there and listening to him talk made me think maybe I'd been had. Had Maria lead me into her bedroom simply because she was mad or had Boo really not touched her in the last two years?

"You know what I think?" Sir Boo thumbed his mustache. I ticked and thrashed. "I think you know exactly what Maria's p.u.s.s.y's like. Joo f.u.c.k Maria?"

I never really thought he'd ask that. My lips drew back, tenuous against my gumline. I tried to say no but my tongue wouldn't get out of the way and I could only make a kind of gurgling sound.

"Hey, you stupid b.i.t.c.h!" Sir Boo called. "Come in here and get the roast outta the oven!"

Maria came back in the kitchen and turned off the oven. "This is nowhere near finished," she hissed.

"Hey, you f.u.c.kin wh.o.r.e, you f.u.c.k ol freak boy over there? You let him slip his horns in you?"

I almost laughed. I was sure Sir Boo thought he was being ridiculously absurd when he said that but it was the exact truth.

"You're an a.s.s," Maria said. She pulled the roast out of the oven and threw it into the sink, cracking the thick gla.s.s dish. "I'm leaving."

"Like h.e.l.l you are." Boo grabbed one of the mult.i.tude of beer bottles in front of him and threw it at Maria. It shattered on the cabinets behind her, the acrid smell of beer filling the kitchen.

"f.u.c.k you," she said, practically running out of the kitchen. This time Boo followed her.

That's it, I thought. Now's the chance. I could have easily run for the door, out into the night. I could have left the Thiklet house behind me as only a grim memento of why I should probably not get married. I could be home by tomorrow. I could. I could. I could. But I didn't.

It wouldn't let me. Whatever had guided me here. That rope. That force. It wouldn't let me leave. Not before getting the lighter that Drifter Ken had given me. The lighter had become like a talisman. It was presented to me at the beginning of my journey, my stumbling, whatever the great white f.u.c.kness it was, and it now seemed vital that it remain with me all the way through to the bitter end. I stood up to go get the lighter.

Hearing their yelling, I wondered where they were. A thumping or shattering immediately followed a shout. I wondered how many times this happened. They seemed to strive for a perfect house, keeping everything in order. I imagined Sir Boo coming home every night, slowly undoing what Maria did through the day. I pictured him walking down the halls, crooking straight pictures, tilting lampshades, wiping his feet on the floor, his a.s.s on the shower curtain.

I stood on the landing, knowing all I had to do was dart into the guest bedroom, pocket the lighter and dart out of the house. Slowly, I took the few steps to the bedroom, trying to glean some sense out of what they were saying. They were in their bedroom, the door shut, probably locked. I went into the guest bedroom, crossing over to the dresser where the lighter lay on its side. I reached down, took it into my hand and stood there, numbly frozen, staring out the window at the illuminated side of the church. Somewhere unseen, a tree wavered in the soft breeze, producing a dancing shadow on the side of the church. An exceptionally loud crashing, like the ceiling falling down or some f.u.c.kness like that, raised me from my stupor.

The f.u.c.kness. Yeah, the f.u.c.kness was going to pour.

My body's rigidity turned into near palsy, my nerves jumping around inside me, that jittery motion carrying me to the Thiklets' bedroom door. In a way, I thought, as inevitable as their conflict may have been, I contributed to this. I got to the door.

"Please, please, please," I heard Maria say.

"Joo f.u.c.kem!" Boo savagely grunted.

"Just let me leave. I swear I'll never come back. I don't want anything."

I opened the bedroom door and almost vomited. It was like all that shaking, all that jittering, zoomed straight into the pit of my stomach. The whumming started up good and strong.

A burning smell singed my nostrils. I quickly scanned the room for the source of it and took in the devastation. All the pictures were gone from the wall. They lay in a shattered heap in the far right corner. One half of the curtains and blinds had been ripped down so they hung there with a psychotic cant. The bed was disheveled and, in the center of it, lay a rifle, the barrel pointed sinisterly at me. The room seemed brighter and harsher than it had earlier and in this was the source of the smell. A lamp lay on its side in the corner to my left, the bulb melting into the plastic lining of the shade that directed all of its light upwards. Then I saw the sickening thing.

Their room also had a dresser, pushed up against the wall to my left. Boo had Maria bent over the far side of the dresser, his right hand tangled in the hair on the back of her head, his left hand clasped around her left arm, cinching it up tight to the middle of her shoulder blades. Her skirt was gone, her underwear tangled and stained. She saw me first but her eyes seemed unable to really focus. b.l.o.o.d.y strands of hair clung to her cheek. Her nose was fat and swollen, blood running out, combining with the blood and spit from her mouth and waterfalling lugubriously down the front of the dresser. Sir Boo lifted up the back of her head and slammed it back down into the dresser's unforgiving wood with each word as he said, "Did. You. f.u.c.k. Him."

Then I said, "Yes," mainly to get his attention. The word sounded m.u.f.fled among the whumming in my head.