Of Love and Dust Read Online Free PDF

heat; but there they were in their khakis and big straw hats and brogans, just giggling. You would have thought they were two little perfumed gals going to the dance.
    Marcus slid off the gallery and came out of the yard. I had climbed up on the tractor and John and Freddie had got in that end-trailer, and we watched Marcus coming toward us. He wore the same short-sleeve green shirt and brown pants; the same low-top shoes, and not a thing on his head.
    “Where’s that hat?” he asked me.
    “You going to need more than a hat, boy,” I said.
    “Where’s the hat?” he asked again.
    “Under that load of corn at the front,” I said.
    “You got another one?”
    “I got an old felt hat hanging on the chair in there, you want that?”
    “No,” he said.
    “I got this red handkerchief in my pocket.”
    “I don’t want no fucking red handkerchief,” he said.
    “Hop in,” I said. “We’re wasting time.”
    He got into the front trailer and we started for the field. I drove slowly through the quarter—I didn’t want dust flying all over the place; but after I crossed the railroad tracks, I threw Red Hannah into high gear and let her take us to the back.
    Lord, it was hot out there; Lord, it was hot. But I had something going for me. I had the big umbrella and I had something to dream about and forget the heat. I knew Red Hannah would stay in the road for me even if I slept a whole minute, so every now and then, to forget the sun and the dust, I thought back to the good times with Billie Jean. I thought about the tub, and I thought about us dancing, then I thought about us hurrying back to that bed. Sometimes we didn’t make it back to the house; sometimes it happened right there in the car, sometimes in the open field. Once when it was over, we just kept on laying out there. Must have been a billion stars in the sky, and that big moon, like a tub of clean water, hung over our heads like it was there just for me and her. We laid there and laid there, and the next thing we knew it was morning and the people were coming in the field. Everybody bust out laughing when they saw us, and all we could do was laugh with them.
    Then it was New Orleans, then it was over.
    Freddie opened the first gate; John opened the second gate; Freddie opened the third one. Marcus didn’t get down once until we reached the patch of corn.
    “Here,” I said, giving him my straw hat. “You better put that on.”
    He took the hat; no thanks, no nothing; he just took it. I got out my red handkerchief and tied it round my head. After all, I had the big umbrella, too.
    So we started on down, Marcus in the middle and John and Freddie on the sides. They still weren’t working too fast—fast enough to keep a step or two ahead of him—but still not fast as they could if they wanted to. But that was part of the plan. They were going to work him down gradually on the first load, and the last load, when Bonbon was there, they were going to really pour it on. I moved the tractor down the field slowly as I could—for his sake—but at the same time I had to go fast enough to get the work done. Three men were supposed to pull two loads of corn in the morning and two loads in the evening, and if they didn’t get it done, Bonbon knew it was the driver who was stalling. So I had to keep up a pretty good speed, and at the same time not too fast so he would never fall too far back.
    Somewhere between four and quarter after, we had the first trailer done. When I took it to the headland to unhook it and hook up the empty one, I looked across the patch of corn and saw Bonbon on the stallion.

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    By the time I had set the tractor down the field, Bonbon was there. His khaki shirt was wringing wet with sweat. His white straw hat was turned up at the sides like a cowboy hat; he even wore cowboy boots. His Winchester hung on the left side of the saddle; a crocker sack was tied on the right side of the saddle. A piece of grass rope was tied on the end of the