No Country for Old Men(14)

I dont have some way to put it. That's the way it is.





Well I need to close now.





Chigurh poured the last of the cashews into his palm and wadded the little bag and placed it on the counter. He stood oddly erect, chewing.





You seem to have a lot of questions, the proprietor said. For somebody that dont want to say where it is they're from.





What's the most you ever saw lost on a coin toss?





Sir?





I said what's the most you ever saw lost on a coin toss.





Coin toss?





Coin toss.





I dont know. Folks dont generally bet on a coin toss. It's usually more like just to settle somethin.





What's the biggest thing you ever saw settled?





I dont know.





Chigurh took a twenty-five cent piece from his pocket and flipped it spinning into the bluish glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. He caught it and slapped it onto the back of his forearm just above the bloody wrappings. Call it, he said.





Call it?





Yes.





For what?





Just call it.





Well I need to know what it is we're callin here.





How would that change anything?





The man looked at Chigurh's eyes for the first time. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and totally opaque. Like wet stones. You need to call it, Chigurh said. I cant call it for you. It wouldnt be fair. It wouldnt even be right. Just call it.





I didnt put nothin up.





Yes you did. You've been putting it up your whole life. You just didnt know it. You know what the date is on this coin?





No.





It's nineteen fifty-eight. It's been traveling twenty-two years to get here. And now it's here. And I'm here. And I've got my hand over it. And it's either heads or tails. And you have to say. Call it.





I dont know what it is I stand to win.





In the blue light the man's face was beaded thinly with sweat. He licked his upper lip.





You stand to win everything, Chigurh said. Everything.





You aint makin any sense, mister.





Call it.





Heads then.





Chigurh uncovered the coin. He turned his arm slightly for the man to see. Well done, he said.





He picked the coin from his wrist and handed it across.





What do I want with that?





Take it. It's your lucky coin.





I dont need it.





Yes you do. Take it.





The man took the coin. I got to close now, he said.





Dont put it in your pocket.





Sir?





Dont put it in your pocket.





Where do you want me to put it?





Dont put it in your pocket. You wont know which one it is.





All right.





Anything can be an instrument, Chigurh said. Small things. Things you wouldnt even notice. They pass from hand to hand. People dont pay attention. And then one day there's an accounting. And after that nothing is the same. Well, you say. It's just a coin. For instance. Nothing special there. What could that be an instrument of? You see the problem. To separate the act from the thing. As if the parts of some moment in history might be interchangeable with the parts of some other moment. How could that be? Well, it's just a coin. Yes. That's true. Is it?





Chigurh cupped his hand and scooped his change from the counter into his palm and put the change in his pocket and turned and walked out the door. The proprietor watched him go. Watched him get into the car. The car started and pulled off from the gravel apron onto the highway south. The lights never did come on. He laid the coin on the counter and looked at it. He put both hands on the counter and just stood leaning there with his head bowed.





When he got to Dryden it was about eight oclock. He sat at the intersection in front of Condra's Feed Store with the lights off and the motor running. Then he turned the lights on and pulled out on highway 90 headed east.





The white marks at the side of the road when he found them looked like surveyor's marks but there were no numbers, just the chevrons. He marked the mileage on the odometer and drove another mile and slowed and turned off the highway. He shut off the lights and left the motor running and got out and walked down and opened the gate and came back. He drove across the bars of the cattleguard and got out and closed the gate again and stood there listening. Then he got in the car and drove out down the rutted track.





He followed a southrunning fence, the Ford wallowing over the bad ground. The fence was just an old remnant, three wires strung on mesquite posts. In a mile or so he came out on a gravel plain where a Dodge Ramcharger was parked facing toward him. He pulled slowly alongside it and shut down the engine.





The Ramcharger's windows were tinted so dark they looked black. Chigurh opened the door and got out. A man got out on the passenger side of the Dodge and folded the seat forward and climbed into the rear. Chigurh walked around the vehicle and got in and shut the door. Let's go, he said.