As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner [47]
"What's he say?" Vernon said.
"What is it, Cash?" Dewey Dell said. She leaned down. "His tools," she said. Vernon got them and put them into the wagon. Dewey Dell lifted Cash's head so he could see. We drove on, Dewey Dell and I sitting beside Cash to steady him and he riding on ahead on the horse. Vernon stood watching us for a while. Then he turned and went back toward the bridge. He walked gingerly, beginning to flap, the wet sleeves of his shirt as though he had just got wet.
He was sitting the horse before the gate. Armstid was waiting at the gate. We stopped and he got down and we lifted Cash down and carried him into the house, where Mrs Armstid had the bed ready. We left her and Dewey Dell undressing him.
We followed pa out to the wagon. He went back and got into the wagon and drove on, we following on foot, into the lot. The wetting had helped, because Armstid said, "You're welcome to the house. You can put it there." He followed, leading the horse, and stood beside the wagon, the reins in his hand.
"I thank you," pa said. "We'll use in the shed yonder. I know it's a imposition on you."
"You're welcome to the house," Armstid said. He had that wooden look on his face again; that bold, surly, high-colored rigid look like his face and eyes were two colors of wood, the wrong one pale and the wrong one dark. His shirt was beginning to dry, but it still clung close upon him when he moved.
"She would appreciate it," pa said.
We took the team out and rolled the wagon bade under the shed. One side of the shed was open.
“It wont rain under," Armstid said. "But if you'd rather . . ."
Back of the barn was some rusted sheets of tin roofing. We took two of them and propped them against the open side.
"You're welcome to the house," Armstid said.
"I thank you," pa said. "I'd take it right kind if you'd give them a little snack."
"Sho," Armstid said. "We'll have supper ready soon as she gets Cash comfortable." He had gone back to the horse and he took taking the saddle off, his damp shirt lapping flat to him when he moved.
Pa wouldn't come in the house. "Come in and eat," Armstid said. “It's nigh ready."
"I wouldn't crave nothing," pa said. “I thank you."
"You come in and dry and eat," Armstid said. "It'll be all right here."
“It's for her," pa said. "It's for her sake I am taking the food. I got no team, no nothing. But she will be grateful to ere a one of you."
"Sho," Armstid said. "You folks come in and dry."
But after Armstid gave pa a drink, he felt better, and when we went in to see about Cash he hadn't come in with us. When I looked back he was leading the horse into the barn he was already talking about getting another team, and by supper time he had good as bought it. He is down there in the barn, sliding fluidly past the gaudy lunging swirl, into the stall with it. He climbs onto the manger and drags the hay down and leaves the stall and seeks and finds the currycomb. Then he returns and slips quickly past the single crashing thump and up against the horse, where it cannot overreach. He applies the curry-comb, holding himself within the horse's striking radius with the agility of an acrobat, cursing the horse in a whisper of obscene caress. Its head flashes back, tooth-cropped; its eyes roll in the dusk like marbles on a gaudy velvet cloth as he strikes it upon the face with the back of the curry-comb.
Armstid
But time I give him another sup of whisky and supper was about ready, he had done already bought a team from somebody, on a credit. Picking and choosing he were by then, saying how he didn't nice this span and wouldn't put his money in nothing so-and-so owned, not even a hen coop.
"You might try Snopes," I said. "He's got three-four span. Maybe one of them would suit you."
Then he begun to mumble his mouth, looking at me nice it was me that owned the only span of mules in the county and wouldn't sell them to him, when I knew that like as not it would be my team that would ever get them out of the lot at all. Only I dont know what they would do with them, if they had a team.
Littlejohn had told me that the levee through Haley bottom had done gone for two miles and that the only way to get to Jefferson would be to go around by Mottson. But that was Anse's business.