The Complete Stories - Flannery O'Connor [33]
“That’s right,” the porter said.
“How long does it take you to make one up?” Haze asked.
“Seven minutes,” the porter said.
‘I’m from Eastrod,” Haze said. “I’m from Eastrod, Tennessee.”
“That isn’t on this line,” the porter said. “You on the wrong train if you counting on going to any such place as that.”
‘I’m going to Taulkinharn,” Haze saidl. “I was raised in Eastrod.”
“You want your berth made up now;” the porter asked.
“Huh?” Haze said. “Eastrod, Tennessee; ain’t you ever heard Eastrod?”
The porter wrenched one side of the scat flat. “I’m from Chicago,” he said. He jerked the shades down on either window and wrenched the other seat down. Even the back of his neck was like. When bent over, it came out in three bulges. He was from Chicago. “You standing in the middle of the aisle. Somebody gonna want to get past you,” he said, suddenly turning on Hazw.
“I reckon I’ll go sit down some,” Haze said, blushing.
He knew people were staring at him as he went back to his section. Mrs. Hosen was looking out the window. She turned and eyed him suspiciously; then she said it hadn’t snowed yet, had it? and relaxed into a stream of talk. She guessed her husband was getting his own supper tonight. She was paying a girl to come cook his dinner but he was having to get his own supper. She didn’t think that hurt a man once in a while. She thought it did him good. Wallace wasn’t lazy but he didn’t think what it took keep going with housework all day. She didn’t know how it would feel to be in Florida with somebody waiting on her.
He was from Chicago.
This was her first vacation in five years. Five years ago she had gone to visit her sister in Grand Rapids. Time flies. Her sister had left Grand Rapids and moved to Waterloo. She didn’t suppose she’d recognize her sister’s children if she saw them now. Her sister wrote they were as big as their father. Things changed fast, she said. Her sister’s husband had worked with the city water supply in Grand Rapids—he had a good place—but in Waterloo, he….
“I went back there last time,” Haze said. “I wouldn’t be getting off at Taulkinham if it was there; it went, apart like, you know. it…”
Mrs. Hosen frowned. “You must be thinking of another Grand Rapids,” she said. “The Grand Rapids I’m talking about is a large city and it’s always where it’s always been.” She stared at him for a moment and then went on: when they were in Grand Rapids they got along fine, but in Waterloo he suddenly took to liquor. Her sister had to support the house and educate the children. It beat Mrs. Hosen how he could sit there year after year.
Haze’s mother had never talked much on the train; she mostly listened. She was a Jackson.
After a while Mrs. Hosen said she was hungry and asked him if he wanted to go into the diner. He did.
The dining car was full and people were waiting to get in it. Haze and Mrs. Hosen stood in line for a half hour, rocking in the narrow passageway and every few minutes flattening themselves against the side to let a trickle of people through. Mrs. Hosen began talking to the lady on the side of her. Haze stared stupidly at the wall. He would never have had the courage to come to the diner by himself; it was fine he had met Mrs. Hosen. If she hadn’t been talking, he would have told her intelligently that he had gone there the last time and that the porter was not from there but that he looked near enough like a gulch nigger to be one, near enough like old Cash to be his child. He’d tell her while they were eating. He couldn’t see inside the diner from