As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner [7]
"You clean that fish," Anse says. Vardaman stops. "Why cant Dewey Dell clean it?" he says.
"You clean that fish," Anse says.
"Aw, pa," Vardaman says.
"You clean it," Anse says. He dont look around. Vardaman comes back and picks up the fish. It slides out of his hands, smearing wet dirt onto him, and flops down, dirtying itself again, gapmouthed, goggle-eyed, hiding into the dust like it was ashamed of being dead, like it was in a hurry to get back hid again.' Vardaman cusses it. He cusses it like a grown man, standing a-straddle of it. Anse dont look around. Vardaman picks it up again. He goes on around the house, toting it in both arms like a armful of wood, it overlapping him on both ends, head and tail. Durn nigh big as he is.
Anse's wrists dangle out of his sleeves: I never see him with a shirt on that looked like it was his in all my life. They all looked like Jewel might have give him his old ones. Not Jewel, though. He's long-armed, even if he is spindling. Except for the lack of sweat. You could tell they aint been nobody else's but Anse's that way without no mistake. His eyes look like pieces of burnt-out cinder fixed in his face, looking out over the land.
When the shadow touches the steps he says "It’s five oclock."
Just as I get up Cora comes to the door and says it's time to get on. Anse reaches for his shoes. "Now, Mr Bundren," Cora says, "dont you get up now." He puts his shoes on, stomping into them, like he does everything, like he is hoping all the time he really cant do it and can quit trying to. When we go up the hall we can hear them clumping on the floor like they was iron shoes. He comes toward the door where she is, blinking his eyes, kind of looking ahead of hisself before he sees, like he is hoping to find her setting up, in a chair maybe or maybe sweeping, and looks into the door in that surprised way like he looks in and finds her still in bed every time and Dewey Dell still a-fanning her with the fan. He stands there, like he dont aim to move again nor nothing else.
"Well, I reckon we better get on," Cora says. "I got to feed the chickens." It's fixing to rain, too. Clouds like that dont lie, and the cotton making every day the Lord sends. That'll be something else for him. Cash is still trimming at the boards. "If there's ere a thing we can do," Cora says.
"Anse’ll let us know," I say.
Anse dont look at us. He looks around, blinking, in that surprised way, like he had wore hisself down being surprised and was even surprised at that. If Cash just works that careful on my barn.
"I told Anse it likely wont be no need," I say. "I so hope it."
"Her mind is set on it," he says. "I reckon she's bound to go."
"It comes to all of us," Cora says. "Let the Lord comfort you."
"About that corn," I say. I tell him again I will help him out if he gets into a tight, with her sick and all. Like most folks around here, I done holp him so much already I cant quit now.
"I aimed to get to it today," he says. "Seems like I cant get my mind on nothing."
"Maybe she'll hold out till you are laid-by," I say.
"If God wills it," he says.
"Let Him comfort you," Cora says.
If Cash just works that careful on my barn. He looks up when we pass. "Dont reckon I'll get to you this week," he says.
"’Taint no rush," I say. "Whenever you get around to it."
We get into the wagon. Cora sets the cake box on her lap. It's fixing to rain, sho.
"I dont know what he'll do," Cora says. "I just dont know."
"Poor Anse," I say. "She kept him at work for thirty-odd years. I reckon she is tired."
"And I reckon she'll be behind him for thirty years more," Kate says. "Or if it aint her, he’ll get another one before cotton-picking."
"I reckon Cash and Darl can get married now," Eula says.
"That poor boy," Cora says. "The poor little tyke."
"What about Jewel?" Kate says.
"He can, too," Eula says.
"Hmph," Kate says. "I reckon he will. I reckon so. I reckon there's more gals than one around here that dont want to see Jewel tied down. Well, they needn't to worry."
"Why, Kate!" Cora says. The wagon begins to rattle. "The poor little tyke," Cora says.