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CURTIS
- The University Press of Kentucky
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CURTIS: Gait called me first thing Monday morning to say he had Garland in jail. He sounded all wound up but wouldn't say over what, so I took my lunchtime to go find out. Now I look at people sort of like I look at cloth. It may come to you stained and twisted, snagged or singed, and your first job is to see it for what it is. Then ask questions to find out how it got that way. This is before you do anything. You may think you can tell cherry pie filling from blood, but that's not always the case. Of course, the person carrying in the clothes won't always tell you either. A dress, a suit—it's personal. After all, it's your second skin. Lie about one to save your neck and you'll lie about the other. Human nature. But Garland doesn't lie, not in my book. More likely, he'll tell you truths you wish you hadn't heard. I thought about this walking up Fox Street that gray first day of December . I've thought about it since. Seems like we make some folks bear our stories we don't want to think about. The war, for instance. I wasn't there; I can have a clean, clear version, if the soldiers will just keep quiet. Then men like Garland, the ones who paid the price, can go on paying it. Anyhow, I picked up some hot dogs from the drugstore. I'd hate to be dependent on Gait to fill my plate. 69 WITH A HAMMER FOR MY HEART The jail was cold and dingy. Urine and Pine Sol scoured my nose. "I hope you got some powerful solvent," Garland said as Gait fumbled for the key. "You need cleaning?" "Boiled in oil and baptized in blood," he said. "How's your digestion?" "Fair," he answered, spitting at the drain in the middle of the floor. "They don't give me nothing worth metabolizing ." "No liquor, either?" "Not a living drop. I'm hoping Father Connor will bring the Communion cup." I let that pass and handed him the hot dogs. He unwrapped one, broke it in two, and gave me half. "So you were pissing and boozing behind the Valvoline sign?" I said. "What goes in must come out." "That's not pretty," I told him, "but it doesn't sound very criminal to me." "It's practically holy next to what they're charging me with." "What's that?" "Endangering a minor." "What?" "Threatening corruption." I began to wonder if he was paranoid from the d.t.'s. "Garland, I don't know what you're talking about." "It's who," he said, a shiver running over him. "It's Lawanda Ingle." "Not Howard's girl?" "The same." My heart sank. "What's she got to do with you?" "She came to see me." "So?" 70 [54.175.70.29] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 10:26 GMT) CURTIS "She's fifteen years old." "When?" "When what?" "When did she come to see you?" "All fall. First she showed up in my garden, selling magazines ." "What did you do to her?" "I bought some." "That's not endangerment." "That's not all." "Go on." I waited for him to explain. He sat hunched forward on the bunk, his big belly shrunken in his shirt like a cantaloupe after frost. "Think Father Connor would bring me some prayers?" "Do you want one?" "No." "Then go on." "I didn't do anything to her. Well, I got mad at her a couple of weeks ago, talking about going away to school." "Why?" "She has no cause to go off and leave me." "Garland . . . " I felt around for words. "You're not her daddy." "No. But she's fixing to leave him too." "That's what kids do when they grow up." "Lawanda's not grown!" "Well, it's part of growing—" "Anyway, I got mad. And she left and I haven't seen her since." "So?" "But I wrote about her." This statement stood and stretched itself before it kicked me in the gut. "Wrote what?" 71 WITH A HAMMER FOR MY HEART "Stuff." "Do you have it?" "They have it." "Did you give it to them?" "No, goddamn it! They broke into my bus! They laid waste my property! They read in my book!" "I don't know if that's legal." "That don't...