The Complete Stories - Flannery O'Connor [20]
“Cow,” he breathed finally. “Cow.”
Gradually he felt his muscles loosen. It got to her befo’ him. It would go on off now, but it would be back tomorrer night. He rose shaking from the chair and stumbled to his bed. The cat had been a half mile away. He won’t sharp like he used to be. They shouldn’t leave old people by theyselves. He done tole ‘em they won’t gonna ketch nothin’ off in no woods. Tomorrer night it would come back. Tomorrer night they would stay here an’ kill it. Now he want to sleep. He done tole ‘em they couldn’t get no wildcat in no woods. He the one tole ‘em where it gonna be. They’d a listened to him, they’d done had it by now. When he die he want to be sleepin’ in a bed; didn’t want to be on no floor with a wildcat stuck in his face. Lord waitin’.
When he woke up, the darkness was full of morning things. He heard Mose and Luke at the stove and smelled the side meat in the skillet. He reached for his snuff and filled his lip. “What yawl ketch?” he asked trenchantly.
“Ain’t caught nothin’ las’ night.” Luke put the plate in his hands. “Here yo’ side meat. How you bust that shelf?”
“Ain’t busted no shelf,” old Gabriel muttered. “Wind to’ it down and waked me up in the middle of the night. It been due to fall. You ain’t never built nothin’ yet stayed together.”
“We sot a trap,” Mose said. “We git that cat tonight.”
“Yawl sho will, boys,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be right here tonight. Ain’t it done kill a cow a half a mile from here las’ night?”
“That don’t mean it comin’ this way,” Luke said.
“It comin’ this way,” Gabriel said.
“How many wildcats you killed, Granpaw?”
Gabriel stopped; the plate of side meat tremored in his hand.
“I knows what I knows, boy.”
“We git it soon. We sot a trap over in Ford’s Woods. It been around there. We gain’ up in a tree over the trap every night an’ wait ‘til we gits it.”
Their forks were scraping back and forth over their tin plates like knife teeth against stone.
“You wants somemo’ side meat, Granpaw?”
Gabriel put his fork down on the quilt. “No, boy,” he said, “no mo’ side meat.” The darkness was hollow around him and through its depth, animal cries wailed and mingled with the beats pounding in his throat.
The Crop (1946)
MISS WILLERTON always crumbed the table. It was her particular household accomplishment and she did it with great thoroughness. Lucia and Bertha did the dishes and Garner went into the parlor and did the Morning Press crossword puzzle. That left Miss Willerton in the dining room by herself and that was all right with Miss Willerton. Whew! Breakfast in that house was always an ordeal. Lucia insisted that they have a regular hour for breakfast just like they did for other meals. Lucia said a regular breakfast made for other regular habits, and with Garner’s tendency to upsets, it was imperative that they establish some system in their eating. This way she could also see that he put the Agar-Agar on his Cream of Wheat. As if, Miss Willerton thought, after having done it for fifty years, he’d be capable of doing anything else. The breakfast dispute always started with Garner’s Cream of Wheat and ended with her three spoonfuls of pineapple crush. “You know your acid, Willie,” Miss Lucia would always say, “you know your acid”; and then Garner would roll his eyes and make some sickening remark and Bertha would jump and Lucia would look distressed and Miss Willerton would taste the pineapple crush she had already swallowed.
It was a relief to crumb the table. Crumbing the table gave one time to think, and if Miss Willerton were going to write a story, she had to think about it first. She could usually think best sitting in front of her typewriter, but this would do for the time being. First, she had to think of a subject to write