Light in August - William Faulkner [58]
“I know it,” Joe said. “I reckon she is down at the creek. I’ll look after her, being as she belongs to me.”
“Ah,” McEachern said. His voice was not raised. “The creek at night is no place for a fifty dollar cow.”
“It’ll be my loss, then,” Joe said. “It was my cow.”
“Was?” McEachern said. “Did you say was my cow?”
Joe did not look up. Between his fingers the milk hissed steadily into the pail. Behind him he heard McEachern move. But Joe did not look around until the milk no longer responded. Then he turned. McEachern was sitting on a wooden block in the door. “You had better take the milk on to the house first,” he said.
Joe stood, the pail swinging from his hand. His voice was dogged though quiet. “I’ll find her in the morning.”
“Take the milk on to the house,” McEachern said. “I will wait for you here.”
For a moment longer Joe stood there. Then he moved. He emerged and went on to the kitchen. Mrs. McEachern came in as he was setting the pail onto the table. “Supper is ready,” she said. “Has Mr. McEachern come to the house yet?”
Joe was turning away, back toward the door. “He’ll be in soon,” he said. He could feel the woman watching him. She said, in a tone tentative, anxious:
“You’ll have just time to wash.”
“We’ll be in soon.” He returned to the barn. Mrs. McEachern came to the door and looked after him. It was not yet full dark and she could see her husband standing in the barn door. She did not call. She just stood there and watched the two men meet. She could not hear what they said.
“She will be down at the creek, you say?” McEachern said.
“I said she may be. This is a goodsized pasture.”
“Ah,” McEachern said. Both their voices were quiet. “Where do you think she will be?”
“I don’t know. I ain’t no cow. I don’t know where she might be.”
McEachern moved. “We’ll go see,” he said. They entered the pasture in single file. The creek was a quarter of a mile distant. Against the dark band of trees where it flowed fireflies winked and faded. They reached these trees. The trunks of them were choked with marshy undergrowth, hard to penetrate even by day. “Call her,” McEachern said. Joe did not answer. He did not move. They faced one another.
“She’s my cow,” Joe said. “You gave her to me. I raised her from a calf because you gave her to me to be my own.”
“Yes,” McEachern said. “I gave her to you. To teach you the responsibility of possessing, owning, ownership. The responsibility of the owner to that which he owns under God’s sufferance. To teach you foresight and aggrandisement. Call her.”
For a while longer they faced one another. Perhaps they were looking at one another. Then Joe turned and went on along the marsh, McEachern following. “Why don’t you call her?” he said. Joe did not answer. He did not seem to be watching the marsh, the creek, at all. On the contrary he was watching the single light which marked the house, looking back now and then as if he were gauging his distance from it. They did not go fast, yet in time they came to the boundary fence which marked the end of the pasture. It was now full dark. When he reached the fence Joe turned and stopped. Now he looked at the other. Again they stood face to face. Then McEachern said: “What have you done with that heifer?”
“I sold her,” Joe said.
“Ah. You sold her. And what did you get for her, might I ask?”
They could not distinguish one another’s face now. They were just shapes, almost of a height, though McEachern was the thicker. Above the white blur of his shirt McEachern’s head resembled one of the marble cannonballs on Civil War monuments. “It was my cow,” Joe said. “If she wasn’t mine, why did you tell me she was? Why did you give her to me?”
“You are quite right. She was your own. I have not yet chidden you for selling her, provided you got a good price. And even if you were beat in the trade, which with a boy of eighteen is more than like to be so, I will not chide you for that. Though you would better have asked the advice of some one older in the ways of the world. But you must learn, as I did. What I ask is, Where have you put the money for safekeeping?