In Cold Blood - Truman Capote [102]
"It's the change," the boy said. "And the walking. We been walking since before Christmas. Seems to me we covered the better part of Texas." In the most matter-of-fact voice, and while continuing to massage the old man's hands, the boy told them that up to the start of the present journey he and his grandfather and an aunt had lived alone on a farm near Shreveport, Louisiana. Not long ago the aunt had died. "Johnny's been poorly about a year, and Auntie had all the work to do. With only me to help. We were chopping firewood. Chopping up a stump. Right in the middle of it, Auntie said she was wore out. Ever seen a horse just lay down and never get up? I have. And that's like what Auntie did." A few days before Christmas the man from whom his grandfather rented the farm "turned us off the place," the boy continued. "That's how come we started out for Texas. Looking to find Mrs. Jackson. I never seen her, but she's Johnny's own blood sister. And somebody's got to take us in. Least ways, him. He can't go a lot more. Last night it rained on us." The car stopped. Perry asked Dick why he had stopped it
"That man's very sick," Dick said.
"Well? What do you want to do? Put him out?"
"Use your head. Just for once."
"You really are a mean bastard."
"Suppose he dies?" The boy said, "He won't die. We've got this far, he'll wait now." Dick persisted. "Suppose he dies? Think of what could happen. The questions."
"Frankly, I don't give a damn. You want to put them out? Then by all means." Perry looked at the invalid, still somnolent, dazed, deaf, and he looked at the boy, who returned his gaze calmly, not begging, not "asking for anything," and Perry remembered himself at that age, his own wanderings with an old man. "Go ahead. Put them out. But I'll be getting out, too."
"O.K. O.K. O.K. Only don't forget," said Dick. "It's your damn fault." Dick shifted gears. Suddenly, as the car began to move again, the boy hollered, "Hold it!" Hopping out, he hurried along the edge of the road, stopped, stooped, picked up one, two, three, four empty Coca-Cola bottles, ran back, and hopped in, happy and grinning. "There's plenty of money in bottles," he said to Dick. "Why, mister, if you was to drive kind of slow, I guarantee you we can pick us up a big piece of change. That's what me and Johnny been eating off. Refund money." Dick was amused, but he was also interested, and when next the boy commanded him to halt, he at once obeyed. The commands came so frequently that it took them an hour to travel five miles, but it was worth it. The kid had an "honest-to-God genius" for spotting, amid the roadside rocks and grassy rubble, and the brown glow of thrown-away beer bottles, the emerald daubs that had once held 7-Up and Canada Dry. Perry soon developed his own personal gift for spying out bottles. At first he merely indicated to the boy the whereabouts of his finds; he thought it too undignified to scurry about collecting them himself. It was all "pretty silly," just "kid stuff." Nevertheless, the game generated a treasure-hunt excitement, and presently he, too, succumbed to the fun, the fervor of this quest for refundable empties. Dick, too, but Dick was in dead earnest. Screwy as it seemed, maybe this was a way to make some money - or, at any rate, a few bucks. Lord knows, he and Perry could use them; their combined finances amounted at the moment to less than five dollars. Now all three - Dick and the boy and Perry - were piling out of the car and shamelessly, though amiably, competing with one another. Once Dick located a cache of wine and whiskey bottles at the bottom of a ditch, and was chagrined to learn that his discovery was valueless. "They don't give no refund on liquor empties," the boy informed him. "Even some of the beers ain't no good. I don't mess with them usually. Just stick with the sure fire things. Dr. Pepper. Pepsi. Coke. White Rock. Nehi." Dick said, "What's your name?"
"Bill," the boy said.