the Outer Dark (1968) by Cormac Mccarthy

Author:Cormac Mccarthy [Mccarthy, Cormac]
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-01-08T01:03:18.859000+00:00

No, I work for these niggers.

Holme sifted the dry corn in his pocket with one hand. I wondered if you might not need some help, he said.

I think I can handle it, the man said. He looked Holme over, the pencil poised in the air. Clark send ye down?

No. I don't know no Clark.

Is that right? I wisht I didn't. The son of a bitch has set me crazy.

Holme smiled slightly. The man turned away, looking toward the negroes. They were smoking and talking in low voices. He was jotting figures on the pad.

You ain't said, Holme said.

Said what?

If you needed help.

I said no.

I mean no kind of help.

No. Go ast Clark.

Where's he at?

The man looked at him sideways. Are you sure enough lookin for work? he said.

Yessir.

Shit. Well. Well hell, go see Clark anyway. He might can help ye.

Where's he at?

Home most likely. Dinner time. Ast in town.

All right, Holme said. Which way is it?

Which way is what?

Town.

Well which way did you come?

I don't know. I just come up the road and seen this here camp and thought I'd ast.

Well they ain't but one road so if you didn't come thew town it must be on up the road wouldn't you reckon?

Thank ye, Holme said. Much obliged.

The man gave him one last half-contemptuous look and then turned and called something to one of the negroes. Holme went on. A dozen steps on the road he turned again. Hey, he said.

The man looked at him in irascible amazement.

What's that name again? Holme said.

What?

That name. That feller I'm to see in town.

Clark, goddamn it.

Thank ye. He raised a hand slightly in farewell and the man looked at him and shook his head and yelled again at the negroes. Holme went on.

Further on he came to a board culvert through which a small branch sluiced with a cool sucking sound to cross beneath the road. He stood looking down at the water for a moment, then parted the ferns and went into the woods along the branch until he came to a pool. He knelt in the black sand and dipped and spread his hands very white in the clear water, framing his own listing image. From the bib of his overalls he fingered a small piece of soap and a razor in a homesewn leather sheath. He shucked off the straps of his overalls and took off his shirt and began to wash his arms and his chest. With the soap he made a thin and transient lather, honed the razor against the calf of his boot and shaved himself, studying his face in the water and feeling out stray patches of stubble with his fingers. When he had done he splashed water at his face and took up his shirt to dry with before donning it again. He wrapped the soap in a leaf and put it together with the razor in the bib pocket once more and combed his hair briefly with his fingers and rose.

When he did reach

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