Other Voices, Other Rooms Read Online Free PDF Page A

his height, and wore a pair of brown shorts and a yellow polo shirt. She was prancing back and forth in front of the tall, curious old house, thumbing her nose at the barber and twisting her face into evil shapes. “Listen,” said the barber, “you go collar that nasty youngun for me and this nickel’s yours for keeps. Ohoh! Watch out, here she comes again. . . .”
    Whooping like a wild-west Indian, the redhead whipped down the road, a yelling throng of young admirers racing in her wake. She chunked a great fistful of rocks when she came opposite the spot where Joel was standing. The rocks landed with a maddening clatter on the barbershop’s tin roof, and the one-armed man, his face an apoplectic color, hollered: “I’ll getcha, Idabel! I’ll getcha sure as shooting; you just wait!” A flourish of female laughter floated through the screen door behind him, and a waspish-voiced woman shrilled: “Sugar, you quit actin the fool, and hie yourself in here outa that heat.” Then, apparently addressing a third party: “I declare but what he ain’t no better’n that Idabel; ain’t neither one got the sense God gave ’em. Oh shoot, I says to Miz Potter (she was in for a shampoo a week ago today and I’d give a pretty penny to know how she gets that mop so filthy dirty), well, I says: ‘Miz Potter, you teach that Idabel at the school,’ I says, ‘now how come she’s so confounded mean?’ I says: ‘It do seem to me a mystery, and her with that sweet ol sister—speakin of Florabel— and them two twins, and noways alike. Wellsir, Miz Potter answers me: ‘Oh, Miz Caulfield, that Idabel sure do give me a peck of trouble and it’s my opinion she oughta be in the penitentiary.’ Uh huh, that’s just what she said. Well, it wasn’t no revelation to me cause I always knew she was a freak, no ma’am, never saw that Idabel Thompkins in a dress yet.
Sugar, you come on in here outa that heat. . . .
”
    The man made a yoke with his fingers and spit fatly through it. He gave Joel a nasty look, and snapped, “Are you standing there wanting my money for doing nothing whatsoever, is that it, eh?”
    “Sugar, you hear me?”
    “Hush your mouth, woman,” and the screen door whined shut.
    Joel shook his head and went on his way. The redheaded girl and her loud gang were gone from sight, and the white afternoon was ripening towards the quiet time of day when the summer sky spills soft color over the drawn land. He smiled with chilly insolence at the interested stares of passers-by, and when he reached the establishment known as R. V. Lacey’s Princely Place, he stopped to read a list that was chalked on a tiny, battered blackboard which stood outside the entrance: Miss Roberta V. Lacey Invites You to Come in and Try Our Tasty Fried Catfish and Chicken—Yummy Dixie Ice Cream—Good Delicious Barbecue—Sweet Drinks & Cold Beer.
    “Sweet drinks,” he said half-aloud, and it seemed as if frosty Coca-Cola was washing down his dry throat. “Cold beer.” Yes, a cold beer. He felt the lumpy outline of the change purse in his pocket, then pushed the swinging screen door open and stepped inside.
    In the box-shaped room that was R. V. Lacey’s Princely Place there were about a dozen people standing around, mostly overalled boys with rawboned, sun-browned faces, and a few young girls. A hubbub of talk faded to nothing when Joel entered and self-consciously sat himself down at a wooden counter which ran the length of the room.
    “Why, hello, little one,” boomed a muscular woman who immediately strode forward and propped her elbows on the counter before him. She had long ape-like arms that were covered with dark fuzz, and there was a wart on her chin, and decorating this wart was a single antenna-like hair. A peach silk blouse sagged under the weight of her enormous breasts; a zany light sparkled in the red-rimmed eyes she focused on him. “Welcome to Miss Roberta’s.” Two of her dirty-nailed fingers reached out to give