Billy told that to one down here one time. She said that was all right she had it too.
He lit the cigarette with a Third Infantry Zippo lighter and laid the lighter on top of his cigarettes and blew smoke down along the polished wood and looked at John Grady. The whore had gone back to the sofa and John Grady was studying something in the backbar glass. Troy turned and followed his gaze. A young girl of no more than seventeen and perhaps younger was sitting on the arm of the sofa with her hands cupped in her lap and her eyes cast down. She fussed with the hem of her gaudy dress like a schoolgirl. She looked up and looked toward them. Her long black hair fell across her shoulder and she swept it slowly away with the back of her hand.
She’s a goodlookin thing, aint she? Troy said.
John Grady nodded.
Go on and get her.
That’s all right.
Hell, go on.
Here he comes.
Billy stepped up to the bar and adjusted his hat.
You want me to go get her? said Troy.
I can get her if I want her.
Otra vez, said Billy. He turned and looked across the room.
Go on, said Troy. Hell, we’ll wait on you.
That little girl the one you’re lookin at? I bet she aint fifteen.
I bet she aint either, said Troy.
Get that one I had. She’s five gaited or I never rode.
The barman poured their whiskies.
She’ll be back over there directly.
That’s all right.
Billy looked at Troy. He turned and picked up his glass and contemplated the reddish liquor welling at the brim and raised and drank it and took his money from his shirtpocket and jerked his chin at the watching barkeep.
You all ready? he said.
Yeah.
Let’s go get somethin to eat. I think it’s fixin to quit rainin. I dont hear it no more.
They walked up Ignacio Mejía to Juárez Avenue. The gutters ran with a grayish water and the lights of the bars and cafes and curioshops bled slowly in the wet black street. Shopowners called to them and streetvendors with jewelry and serapes sallied forth to attend them at either side. They crossed Juárez Avenue and went up Mejía to the Napoleón and sat at a table by the front window. A liveried waiter came and swept the stained white tablecloth with a handbroom.
Caballeros, he said.
They ate steaks and drank coffee and listened to Troy’s war stories and smoked and watched the ancient yellow taxicabs ford the water in the streets. They walked up Juárez Avenue to the bridge.
The trolleys had quit running and the streets were all but empty of trade and traffic. The tracks shining in the wet lamplight ran on toward the gateshack and beyond to where they lay embedded in the bridge like great surgical clamps binding those disparate and fragile worlds and the cloudcover had moved off down from the Franklins and south toward the dark shapes of the mountains of Mexico standing against the starlit sky. They crossed the bridge and pushed through the turnstile each in turn, their hats cocked slightly, slightly drunk, and walked up south El Paso Street.
IT WAS STILL DARK when John Grady woke him. He was up and dressed and had already been to the kitchen and back and had spoken to the horses and he stood in the doorway of Billy’s bunkroom with the canvas curtain pushed back against the jamb and a cup of coffee in one hand. Hey cowboy, he said.
Billy groaned.
Let’s go. You can sleep in the winter.
Damn.
Let’s go. You been layin there damn near four hours.
Billy sat up and swung his feet onto the floor and sat with his head in his hands.
I dont see how you can lay there like that.
Damn if you aint a cheerful son of a bitch in the mornin. Where’s my by god coffee at?
I aint carryin you no coffee. Get your ass up from there. Grub’s on the table.
Billy reached up and took his hat from a wallpeg over the bed and put the hat on and squared it. Okay, he said. I’m up.
John Grady walked back out up the barn bay toward the house. The horses nickered at him from their stalls as he passed. I know what time it is, he told them. At the end of the barn a length of hayrope hung from the loft overhead and he drained the last of his coffee and slung the dregs from the cup and leaped up and batted the rope and set it swinging and went out.
They were all at the table eating when Billy pushed open the door and came in. Socorro came and took the plate of biscuits and carried them to the oven and dumped them into a pan and put the pan in the warmer and took hot biscuits from the warmer and put them on the plate and carried the plate back to the table. On the table was a bowl of scrambled eggs and one of grits and there was a plate of sausage and a boat of gravy and bowls of preserves and pico de gallo and butter and honey. Billy washed his face at the sink and Socorro handed him the towel and he dried his face and laid the towel on the counter and came to the table and stepped over the back of the empty chair and sat and reached for the eggs. Oren glanced at him over the top of his paper and continued reading.