First Hubby by Roy Blount

Author:Roy Blount [Blount, Roy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-5773-7
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-11-04T16:44:00+00:00

Aug. 19, 1993

THAT ESSENTIALLY IS WHAT I know about the Crowe County Movement, except that Dr. Dingler got a hospital contract out of it. And black people got better hospital care—it embarrassed the town that Clementine refused to spend the night in the old Dingler Memorial because there were no black patients registered. Dr. Stockley continued to have a place in the economy, however. Blacks also got more jobs and more respectful treatment in commercial establishments, as a result of the boycott. The Reverend Micah was elected to the board of commissioners. And E.B. not only stayed out of jail but got into the beer business. Clementine started to get famous, thanks in no small portion to her being shot—by someone never identified.

Turtle’s name never came up publicly. I understand, however, that Gip the game warden took him out hunting and told him a thing or two about the new racism and its constraints. Lonelle (hell hath no fury) insisted on fingering Dr. Bomar Salmon as the gunman, but when he turned out to be a twitchy hairless man who had spent the evening in question reveling in the Dingler College Library’s unique collection of bizarre right-wing tracts, and who looked nothing at all like Darrin on Bewitched, he was in the clear. My scar is officially from a childhood hunting accident (I never went hunting in my childhood), and Clementine and I met after the shooting, when I walked into movement headquarters and relieved a tense moment by saying something that the scriptwriter conceived of as winningly comic.

That’s more than I know about what goes on in the White House. And a lot more than I would be able to tell if I did know it.

I like to slide my right hand up the inside of her leg, though, till we both know our wounds are touching.

She was in the Reverend Micah’s upstairs bedroom, which his elderly aunt had let her have for the duration. Nice old double bed with a sampler framed over it: A BACHELOR IS LIKE DETERGENT: WORKS FAST AND LEAVES NO RING. Lying there with the covers to her chin. Sleepy-looking but smiling.

It had been six weeks since we’d parted. For me six weeks of wandering, for her six weeks of getting on with things.

“Guy,” she said, to my—well, relief is hardly the word—“you protected me.”

“Pure instinct,” I said. (Whether it was Clementine that Turtle was trying to shoot, and whether I changed the course of the bullet—who knows, who knows?) “Are you okay?”

“Mmm. Just woozy from a pain pill. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

“You look skinny.”

“You look so good.”

“I’m enjoying my work, Guy.”

“Did you hear, what happened exactly?”

“Doc Stockley called.”

Outside a man was playing a blues song on a guitar and singing:

“Baby you prutty…

But you gonna die someday.

Baby you prutty…”

“C, you know, everybody acts like things are under control here, but you could’ve…”

“I want some of yo’ lovin’

Befo’ you pass away.”

“Guy, I’m meeting such interesting people. And I’m good with them.

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