Lost Man's River(252)
He eyed Whidden, still picking his teeth. “What you think about you ’n’ me runnin some of them drugs? Want to try it? I’m studyin up a little bit about this dope business, cause ten years from now, there ain’t goin to be a fishin family on this coast that don’t have men in it. Young fellers has to support their families, ain’t that right?” When Whidden said nothing, Speck sucked the last fish bits from his teeth and spat into the fire. He drank from his flask while his eyes searched anew, and this time his gaze came to rest, with shining hard malevolence, on Lucius Watson.
“I reckon you knowed Colonel from the old days,” Harden said warily, trying to head him off.
“Knowed him all my life,” Speck said in a voice as hard as gravel. “He is the feller I am here to see.” He nodded. “Still diggin up your poor dead daddy, Lucius? What you want with him?” Speck gnawed off a chaw of bread and masticated with his mouth open, awaiting him.
“I want the truth, I guess.”
“You want the truth. Where you aim to find it at?” He pointed his fork at Andy, then Whidden, and finally at his own chest. “He’ll tell you his truth, he’ll tell his, I’ll give you another. Which one you aim to settle for and make your peace with?”
Daniels switched the fork toward Lucius’s eyes. “Maybe nobody don’t want this truth, ever think of that? Maybe your daddy weren’t so bad the way he was.” Putting his hands behind his head, he lay back on the sand, one leg cocked across the other knee, old sneaker swinging. “What I’m saying, Lucius, you’d be very smart to let sleepin dogs lie—well, now!” Speck sat up again as his daughter approached the fire. He adjusted the small hat with the painted feather as if sartorial precision might tend to sober him a little. “Evenin, Sally! You remember me?”
Sally said shortly, “Yes, sir, I sure do.”
Her father had actually heaved himself onto his knees, but seeing her hostile expression, he gave up the struggle to be courtly and sank back down beside the fire. In doing so, he tipped over his flask. Cursing, he brushed sand off its mouth, nodding in Sally’s direction as if his daughter could be depended on to bring him this bad luck. “Baby daughter,” he said. “Ain’t she sweet? Got herself hitched to this young Harden that was borned right here on Lost Man’s Key. At that time, I was settin net around Shark River, so I been acquainted with my son-in-law all his whole life.”
He contemplated Whidden with a curious mix of indulgence and malevolence. “Us fishermen was always friendly with you Hardens. Went huntin with you, ate at your table, never thought a thing about it. Only time there was hard feelins was one night when you made Nigger Short set down at your table, eat his food with us. Give that boy the wrong idea”—and here he shifted, leaning on one hand to observe Lucius—“cause next thing we knew, he killed this feller’s daddy.”
Harden said flatly, “It weren’t Short who killed his daddy. Anyway, you wasn’t never at our table. You just heard about it.”
“And anyway,” Sally Brown added, “Mr. Henry Short was not a ‘nigger.’ ”
“Mr. Henry Short?” Speck glanced incredulously at Andy House, who was not quite smiling. “Mr. Henry? Weren’t a nigger?” He grinned at each of them, hunting the joke, and finding none, he cackled anyway. “All right by me.” He scratched his ear. “Never too late to learn, I guess! One time Mr. Robert Harden was lettin’ on to Mr. Henry Short how Hardens was Choctaw Injuns at heart—”
“Speck?”
“—and Henry says …” Daniels thought better of this. “To hell with it,” he said, setting his painted hat upon his head. “One thing I do know, ol’ Desperader Watson took some killin. Old Man Gene Roberts, now, he was close with Watson, and pretty friendly with the House boys in that crowd that lynched him—”
“One of those House boys was my daddy,” Andy said. “And they didn’t lynch nobody, and you know that, too, because you was right there with ’em.”
“Well, now, let’s see.” Speck squinched his nose like a cat straightening its whiskers. “I never had no bones to pick with Nigger Henry—Mr. Henry. I recollect we used to speak about Black Henry, so’s not to confuse him with Henry Smith and Henry Thompson. Used to chuckle because both of them White Henrys had hides that was somewhat darker than Black Henry!” Speck Daniels cackled. “I do know Mr. Henry moved south for a good while after Colonel come skulkin back here to the Islands. He was scared to death of Colonel for some nigger reason. Lived on False Cape Sable and up Northwest Cape, some little lakes way back in there that us old-timers call Henry Short Lakes yet today.