The Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks - Donald Harington [192]
“What’s that?”
“I caint tell ye, Bill, but it’s part of the superstition too.”
Bill hung around a while longer, dejected, and then complained, “What if you was a doctor, and my old woman was a-dying? You’d come down then, I bet.”
“Yeah, Bill, I sure would, but I aint a doctor and your old woman aint a-dying, and I’ve done put my mind to this here superstition, and you’d have to burn my house down to get me off of here.” Bill went away.
Hank’s jar of water was empty; he hollered down the chimney for more, and Sonora climbed the ladder and got his jar and refilled it, and brought it back up with a ham sandwich. He ate his sandwich and drank his ice water, then he realized that he needed to urinate. He went down the back slope of the roof and stood at the edge of the roof and urinated. Inside the house one of his daughters observed, “Mommy, it’s raining, although the sun is out. I bet there’ll be a rainbow.” All of the girls ran out of the house looking for a rainbow. Then they went back in. Late in the afternoon, a carload of Stay Morons drove into the driveway and stared at him and then drove away. “Damn that Bill Chism,” Hank said aloud. Another carload of Stay Morons arrived. Then another. The population of Stay More at that time had shrunk to only about sixty, but before the afternoon was over every last one of them had had a chance to see Hank Ingledew sitting on his roof. Most of them shouted, “Good luck, Hank” as they were driving away, but many of them made joking remarks. The last visitor was a reporter from the Jasper Disaster, carrying a Graphlex camera. “You point that thing at me,” Hank warned, “and I’ll smash it to flinders.”
“Could I ask a few questions?” the reporter asked.
“I jist as soon ye didn’t,” Hank said.
“It isn’t every day that I get a chance like this,” the reporter persisted. “Imagine the headline: ‘stay more man sits on roof seven hours.’”
Hank grimaced, and said, “There better not be a word in your paper. A man has got the right to do whatever he wants so long as he aint harmin anyone. I’m on my own property, and you’re trespassing. I’ll take ye to court if you print this.” The reporter retreated, and nobody else came. He had just a couple of hours to go. He was tired. His bones ached. He felt silly. But he believed it would work. Faith fortifies.
When his seven hours were up, Sonora climbed to the top of the ladder and smiled at him and asked, “Shall I climb on up there, and we’ll do it on the roof?” Hank didn’t know if she was serious or not, but he observed, “It’s still light. I’ll come down.” He went down off the roof. She pointed out that the girls wouldn’t be going to bed for another hour. “Are we supposed to do it right away?” Hank wondered. “I guess,” she said. “Well, let’s go for a little walk,” he suggested. Sonora went inside to tell the oldest girl that they were going for a walk and would be back soon. Then Sonora and Hank went into the woods behind their house; within a few hats they were lost from sight. On a thick blanket of old leaves Sonora sat and removed her slacks and panties; Hank removed his pants and shorts. They embraced and kissed for a while, but Hank discovered that his part was not only not standing but also it wasn’t even rising. Hank could not explain it. He tried: “I guess maybe I’m just all wore out from sitting on the roof so long.”
“But what about all of those other men that it worked for, who sat on their roofs and then had sons?” Sonora said. “Were they worn out too? How did they get it in?”
“I don’t know,” Hank said, and he climbed on top of