Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison [110]
“Yeah. ”
“I got back once to see her just before Thanksgiving. Only got to stay a few days. Sorry I never got a chance to see you.” His voice was low. We watched everyone come over and take their seats. Mama, Raylene, Alma, and Carr gathered around Granny. I hadn’t seen Granny in a long time. She was gray-faced, empty-eyed, and slack-jawed.
“She looks like the doctor gave her something,” I whispered to Butch.
“Looks bad,” Butch agreed. His back stiffened, and he turned away for a moment to look out over the open field of low gravestones. When he turned back I saw his mouth was clamped shut and his eyes red-rimmed.
Nevil, Earle, and Beau remained at a distance, watching until the hearse pulled up and the men gathered to carry the casket to the grave. I saw that Dwight and D.W. were with the others, but there was no sign of Tommy Lee.
The wind was bitter. As they carried the coffin, the men struggled to keep the flowers on top of it. The preacher dropped his papers, and Little Earle ran to grab them. Patsy Ruth and Mollie were sitting with Reese, Grey and Garvey behind them. Temple was sitting with her husband, right behind Mama. Most of the other seats were filled with women from Bushy Creek Baptist. When the preacher began with “Brothers and sisters,” they all nodded together.
“Goddam,” I heard Butch mutter. “Goddam.”
“Goddam,” I agreed.
“There should have been music,” I told Butch when we were back at Aunt Ruth’s. He was sitting with me in the cane-back chairs Uncle Travis had put out in the backyard, reaching into his pocket and sipping surreptitiously from an almost empty little bottle of Ancient Age whiskey. He also had a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon under his chair, Nevil’s beer of choice, which he kept pouring into a metal coffee cup and drinking openly. I don’t know how much he’d had, but he looked relaxed and comfortable despite the cold, wearing one of Uncle Travis’s old army greatcoats and a plaid wool scarf wrapped around his neck. I had borrowed Uncle Nevil’s fleece-lined jacket and leather gloves, and wasn’t too chilled myself, but it wasn’t surprising that no one else had joined us.
“What?” Butch muttered in my direction. “A little Carter Family caterwauling? Maybe that one about building your house for the Lord?” He snorted and began to sing a brief off-key chorus of “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” His breath came out in pale little clouds.
“You can’t sing,” I told him.
“Hell, none of us can.” He passed me the whiskey. “You want a sip? Might warm you up.”
I said nothing, just drank deeply. I liked the taste. It was strong, a little bitter, but warming.
Butch laughed gently, tipped the bottle back, and refilled his cup with Pabst. “Don’t you tell your mama, now. She’d take my head off.”
“Give me some.” I took the cup before he could object and poured as much as I could of the beer down my throat. It tasted mild after the whiskey, but it hurt to swallow, whether because it was so cold or that I drank such a big gulp, I couldn’t have said. For all I knew, beer was supposed to hurt going down.
Butch peered closely at me. “You trying to get drunk?” he asked.
“You think I can?”
“Oh, pretty surely. But I might have to go get another couple of bottles if you want to do it up right.”
“Earle’s in there too. Bet we could get some more whiskey from him or Beau.”
“Whoa, Bone! Girl, you been growing up while I been gone? Drinking beer and stealing whiskey?”
I drained his cup and handed it back. “They still should have had music. Aunt Ruth loved music.”
“Yeah.” Butch knocked the cup against his knuckles, making a low hollow sound. “Yeah. She did. Used to love to play those scratchy old records. Kept them even after D.W. broke her record player. Always planned to buy her another one, but I never seemed to have any extra money. Couple of times I borrowed Earle’s record player for her just so she could listen to it.”
“Earle loaned it to her last summer while I was there. We played a bunch of her stuff.”
Butch smiled. “Don’t tell me. ‘Gospel Train,’ right? A little Hank