Jesus in the Mist
Publication Year: 2012
Published by: University of South Carolina Press
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Table of Contents
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When Momma Came Home for Christmas and Talmidge Quoted Frost
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“Talmidge,” she said across the living room to her husband, who was stretched out on the couch with his camouflage clothes still on from a deer hunt earlier that Saturday morning—it wasn’t quite eleven. He was in his socked feet, muddy boots just outside the kitchen door, where she asked that he always leave them. ...
Harvey Watson and the Angel
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Harvey Watson, last week laid to his rest with much pomp after a bout of circumstance, was one of the seven in ten Americans who in a recent survey conducted in something resembling a scientific poll professed to believe in angels. ...
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Many a year Earl McManus stood and watched a ship he had had a hand in building slide down the ramp at the little shipyard he worked at in Pascagoula, splash into saltwater for the first time, rock gently, steady itself, and then move smoothly out to the Gulf for a trial run and then to wherever it was headed. ...
Jesus in the Mist
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The night I found him, I might not of, except that I had been on the road so long looking, nearly three months—like it had become some sort of quest for me, almost religious—that I sensed it was him even before I had waded through the crowd of whispering and mumbling onlookers that gathered around his truck, ...
In Search of the Tightrope Walker
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On the rutted road, with cotton plants growing right up to and leaning out over the edges so that a man walking down it with his hands outstretched, as if trying to balance, might almost touch them on either side, the car sat idling a few feet from the mailbox that marked the end of a driveway. ...
Teaching Her about Catfish
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To her, he is reasonably certain, he is a man of mystery and imponderable depths, and to him she is a lovely young wife, a former student of his, with still much to be taught, so on a sultry July morning they roll free of each other and before the sun has moved its blade of brightness another inch across the bed, ...
The Natural Man
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What awoke Dottie that morning was not the usual growling and clanging of the garbage truck emptying the dumpster down the street but the marvelous music of a man peeing in her commode. ...
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The brassy hot fields of September were at our backs as my grandfather and I stood at the well dipping cool water from a rust-stained galvanized bucket that had just come up from the silver-dollar-size circle of water at the bottom. The surface still danced. ...
Time of the Panther
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His face contorted by a euphoric grin, the grandfather got into the truck and said simply, “He’s back.” He said nothing more, did not have to, as they drove the five miles or so back to the farm. He drove and smiled, his eyes on the woods flanking the gravel road as often as he dared direct them there. ...
J.P. and the Water Tower
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“So Daddy told’m,” J.P. said, flicking a long ash from his cigarette after nursing it until it seemed to be held up by air and made us nervous to look at, “that we’d paint that water tower and do it for a helluva lot less than they could get anybody else to do it.” ...
The Day J.P. Saved the South
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On a Monday morning in 1962, the fall James Meredith brought Mississippi to the point of mania by enrolling at Ole Miss, we sprawled on the high shoulder of Highway 45 North just outside Columbus and watched the federalized National Guard units heading toward Oxford: ...
The Hands of John Merchant
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Any time I’m back over that way—which is not often, since I’ve come back to Texas, where I should have been all along—I drive along the beach road and look out over the Gulf toward the islands, which, when the sun is high enough, give off a little glare so that you can tell exactly where they are without actually seeing them. ...
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I grew up hating crows. I can’t explain it for sure, but anytime I saw those glossy black bastards, my blood picked up temperature and speed and I hurried home to get a rifle or shotgun and nail as many as I could before they got out of range. For a fact, if one settled anywhere on my father’s property, small as it was, ...
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The three Indian hunters, two barely teens, one much older, stood quietly on the slope of a hill leading down onto the plain and studied at some distance the scene before them. Far across a rolling stretch of grass a wagon sat near the mouth of a wooded draw formed over millennia by water cutting down from the plateau behind it, ...
Page Count: 208
Publication Year: 2012