All the King's Men - Robert Penn Warren [20]
“What’s up?” the Boss demanded again.
“Judge Irwin,” she managed to get out with what breath she had after the rush.
“Yeah?” the Boss said. He was still lounging against the wire, but he was looking at Sadie as though she might draw a gun and he was planning on beating her to the draw.
“Matlock called up–long distance from town–and he said the afternoon paper–”
“Spill it,” the Boss said, “spill it.”
“Damn it,” Sadie said, “I’ll spill it when I get good and ready. I’ll spill it when I get my breath. If I’m good and ready, and if you–”
“You’re using up a lot of breath right now,” the Boss said with a tone of voice which made you think of rubbing your hand down a cat’s back, just as soft.
“It’s my breath,” Sadie snapped at him, “and nobody’s bought it. I damned near break myself down running out here to tell you something and then you say spill it, spill it. Before I can get my breath. And I’ll just tell you when I get my breath and–”
“You don’t sound exactly wind-broke,” the Boss observed, leaning back on the hog wire and grinning.
“You think it’s so damned funny,” Sadie said, “oh, yeah, so damned funny.”
The Boss didn’t answer that. He just kept leaning on the wire as though he had all day before him, and kept on grinning. When he grinned like that it didn’t do much to soothe Sadie’s feelings, I had observed in the past. And the symptoms seemed to be running true to form.
So I decorously withdrew my gaze from the pair, and resumed my admiration of the dying day on the other side of the hog lot and the elegiac landscape. Not that they would have bothered about me if they had anything on their minds–neither one of them. Powers, Thrones, and Dominations might be gathered round and if Sadie felt like it she would cut loose, and the Boss wasn’t precisely of a shrinking disposition. They’d get started like that over nothing at all sometimes, the Boss just lying back and grinning and working Sadie up till those big black glittering eyes of hers would separate from the tangle and hang down by her face so she’d have to swipe it back with the back of the hand. She would say plenty while she got worked up, but the Boss wouldn’t say much. He’d just grin at her. He seemed to take a relish in getting her worked up that way and lying back and watching it. Even when she slapped him once, a good hard one, he kept on looking at her that way, as though she were a hula girl doing a dance for him. He relished her getting worked up, all right, unless she finally landed on a sore spot. She was the only one who knew the trick. O had the nerve. Then the show would really start. They wouldn’t care who was there. Certainly not if I was there, and there wasn’t any reason for me to avert my face out of delicacy. I had been a piece of furniture a long time, but some taint of the manners my grandma taught me still hung on and now and then got the better of my curiosity. Sure I was a piece of furniture–with two legs and a pay check coming–but I looked off at the sunset, anyway.
“Oh, it’s so damned funny,” Sadie was saying, “but you won’t think it’s so damned funny when I tell you.” She stopped, then said, “Judge Irwin has come out for Callahan.”
There wasn’t any sound for what must have been three seconds but seemed like a week while a mourning dove down in the clump of trees in the bottom where the hogs were gave a couple of tries at breaking his heart and mine.
Then I heard the Boss say, “The bastard.”
“It was in the afternoon paper–the endorsement,” Sadie elaborated. “Matlock telephoned from town. To let you know.”
“The two-timing bastard,” the Boss said.
Then he heaved up off the wire, and I turned around. I figured the conclave was about to break up. It was. “Come on,” the Boss said, and started moving up the hill toward the house, Sadie by his side popping her seersucker skirt to keep up with him, and I trailing.
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