No Country for Old Men(64)

Chigurh looked at them. What will you take for that shirt? he said.





They looked at each other. What shirt?





Any damn shirt. How much?





He straightened out his leg and reached in his pocket and got out his moneyclip. I need something to wrap around my head and I need a sling for this arm.





One of the boys began to unbutton his shirt. Hell, mister. Why didnt you say so? I'll give you my shirt.





Chigurh took the shirt and bit into it and ripped it in two down the back. He wrapped his head in a bandanna and he twisted the other half of the shirt into a sling and put his arm in it.





Tie this for me, he said.





They looked at each other.





Just tie it.





The boy in the T-shirt stepped forward and knelt and knotted the sling. That arm dont look good, he said.





Chigurh thumbed a bill out of the clip and put the clip back in his pocket and took the bill from between his teeth and got to his feet and held it out.





Hell, mister. I dont mind helpin somebody out. That's a lot of money.





Take it. Take it and you dont know what I looked like. You hear?





The boy took the bill. Yessir, he said.





They watched him set off up the sidewalk, holding the twist of the bandanna against his head, limping slightly. Part of that's mine, the other boy said.





You still got your damn shirt.





That aint what it was for.





That may be, but I'm still out a shirt.





They walked out into the street where the vehicles sat steaming. The streetlamps had come on. A pool of green antifreeze was collecting in the gutter. When they passed the open door of Chigurh's truck the one in the T-shirt stopped the other with his hand. You see what I see? he said.





Shit, the other one said.





What they saw was Chigurh's pistol lying in the floorboard of the truck. They could already hear the sirens in the distance. Get it, the first one said. Go on.





Why me?





I aint got a shirt to cover it with. Go on. Hurry.





He climbed the three wooden steps to the porch and tapped loosely at the door with the back of his hand. He took off his hat and pressed his shirtsleeve against his forehead and put his hat back on again.





Come in, a voice called.





He opened the door and stepped into the cool darkness. Ellis?





I'm back here. Come on back.





He walked through to the kitchen. The old man was sitting beside the table in his chair. The room smelled of old bacon-grease and stale woodsmoke from the stove and over it all lay a faint tang of urine. Like the smell of cats but it wasnt just cats. Bell stood in the doorway and took his hat off. The old man looked up at him. One clouded eye from a cholla spine where a horse had thrown him years ago. Hey, Ed Tom, he said. I didnt know who that was.





How are you makin it?





You're lookin at it. You by yourself?





Yessir.





Set down. You want some coffee?





Bell looked at the clutter on the checked oilcloth. Bottles of medicine. Breadcrumbs. Quarterhorse magazines. Thank you no, he said. I appreciate it.





I had a letter from your wife.





You can call her Loretta.





I know I can. Did you know she writes me?





I guess I knew she'd wrote you a time or two.





It's more than a time or two. She writes pretty regular. Tells me the family news.





I didnt know there was any.





You might be surprised.





So what was special about this letter then.





She just told me you was quittin, that's all. Set down.





The old man didnt watch to see if he would or he wouldnt. He fell to rolling himself a cigarette from a sack of tobacco at his elbow. He twisted the end in his mouth and turned it around and lit it with an old Zippo lighter worn through to the brass. He sat smoking, holding the cigarette pencilwise in his fingers.





Are you all right? Bell said.





I'm all right.





He wheeled the chair slightly sideways and watched Bell through the smoke. I got to say you look older, he said.





I am older.





The old man nodded. Bell had pulled out a chair and sat and he put his hat on the table.





Let me ask you somethin, he said.





All right.





What's your biggest regret in life.





The old man looked at him, gauging the question. I dont know, he said. I aint got all that many regrets. I could imagine lots of things that you might think would make a man happier. I reckon bein able to walk around might be one. You can make up your own list. You might even have one. I think by the time you're grown you're as happy as you're goin to be. You'll have good times and bad times, but in the end you'll be about as happy as you was before. Or as unhappy. I've knowed people that just never did get the hang of it.