Look, he said, I dont want to be a bother to anybody but when the hell do we eat around here?
I’m glad you ast me that, said Reese. Somebody has got to go to the store and I was wonderin if you could maybe take the boy and run on over there.
You all just came from over there.
Yes we did. But I’ll be danged if I didnt get over there and come to find out I didnt have no money on me. I thought of it quick as we got up to the church there. I’d meant to …
All right, said Suttree. He was holding out his hand. Let me have some money.
Reese eased himself up a little bit and leaned forward from the tree. He spoke in a low voice. I wanted to talk to you about that, he said.
Suttree stared at him a minute and then rose and stood looking off toward some brighter landscape beyond them all. Listen, Reese was saying. He tugged at Suttree’s trouserleg. Suttree took a step away.
Listen. What it is, we’ve had so much expense settin up camp and gettin everthing ready, you know. We been up here two weeks now and aint had nothin but outgoes, bound to be a little short, and you a partner, regular partner you know, I thought we could share expense a little until we sold us a load and I could settle with ye. You know.
What the hell would you of done if I hadnt come up here when I did?
Why, somethin would of turned up. Always does. Listen …
Suttree had turned out his pockets and was putting together what money he had. A couple of dollars and some change. He dropped it on the ground in front of Reese. How long do you reckon we can eat on that? he said.
We can get something. He looked at the crumpled money lying there. He poked at it, as if it were something dead. It aint a whole lot, is it? he said.
No, said Suttree. It sure as hell aint.
That all you got? Reese squinting up at Suttree.
That’s it.
He scratched his head. Well, he said. Listen …
I’m listening.
Why dont you and the boy go on over there and get us some bread and some lunchmeat. They’s cornmeal and some beans here. Ast the old lady what all she needs real bad. Get a quart of milk if you can. You know.
Suttree stalked off to find the boy.
I just come from there, the boy said.
Well get your ass up cause you’re going again.
They aint no need to cuss about it, the boy said. It Sunday and all.
They went off up the path through the woods. She’d written him a list, a pinched scrawl on a piece of paper sack. He balled it in his fist and pitched it into the weeds.
They went through the woods for a half mile and came out onto an old macadam road half grown back in patches of grass, small saplings. They followed it with its tilted slabs of paving through a countryside warped and bleared in the steamy heat. They passed the ruins of an old motel, a broken paintworn sign, a clutch of tiny cabins quietly corroding in an arbor of pines. When they came out onto the highway Suttree could see the little crossroads community at the top of the rise. A handful of houses and a stuccoed roadside grocery store with a gaspump.
He crossed the graveled forebay and entered the store. Old familiar smells. He got a pint of chocolate milk from the cooler and drank it.
You goin to set us up to a dope? the boy said.
Get one.
Let’s get us a couple of cakes too and we wont say nothin about it.
Suttree looked at him. He was rummaging among the bottles in the drink case. These here R C’s cold? he called out. Suttree went on to the meatcounter.
What for ye? said the storekeeper, appearing behind the case and taking down an apron from a nail.
Slice me a couple of pounds of that baloney, said Suttree.
He hung the apron back.
Slice it thin, said Suttree.
He got some cheese and some bread and a drum of oatmeal and two quarts of milk and some onions. When the merchant had totted up these purchases there was forty cents left. Suttree looked at the rows of coffee in their bags above the merchant’s head. The merchant turned to look with him.
What’s the cheapest coffee you’ve got?
Well, let’s see. The cheapest I got is the Slim Jim.
Slim Jim?
Slim Jim.
How much is it?
Thirty-nine cents.
Let me have it.
The merchant lifted down a bag of it from the shelf and set it on the counter. It was dusty and he blew on it and gave it a little swat before he lifted it into the grocery bag.
Right, said Suttree. He scooped the bag off the counter and handed it to the boy and they left.
It was evening when they got back. Suttree went down and sat in the dark by the river until supper was ready, the light of the cookfire composing behind him on the high bluff a shadowshow of primitive life. He pitched small round pebbles at the river as if he were feeding it.
They ate sandwiches of fried baloney and bowls of whitebeans. Suttree came to the fire with his cup and held it out. The old woman lifted the potlid and sniffed. Suttree watched her. The plaited hawsers of hair that bound her thin gray skull. She took up her apron in one hand to grip the pot and tilt the hot black coffee out. Suttree went back to the box where he’d been sitting and stirred the coffee and put the spoon in his cuff for safekeeping and lifted the cup and sipped.