Bag of Bones   ::   Кинг Стивен

It it isn’t her growing renown that upsetsjared Devore. It isn’t the fact that she has been to Warrington’s; it don’t cross his eyes none that she and that brother of hers have actually sat down and eaten with white j$1ks, taken bread join the same bowl as them with their blacknigger fingers. The jolks at Warrington’s are flatlanders, after all, and Devore tells the silent, attentive young men that he’s heard that in places like New Irk and Chicago white women sometimes even fuck blackniggers. Naw! Harry Auster says, looking around nervously, as if he expected a w white women to come tripping through the woods way out here on Bowie Ridge. No white woman’d fuck a nigger! Shoot a pickle! Devore only gives him a look, the kind that says When you’re my age. Besides, he doesn’t care what goes on in New York and Chicago; he saw all the flatland he wanted to during the Civil War… and, he will tell you, he never jsught that war to free the damned slaves. They can keep slaves down there in the land of cotton until the end of the eternity, as far asjared Lancelot Devore is concerned. No, he J$ught in the war to teach those cracker sons of bitches south of Mason and Dixon that you don’t pull out of the game just because you don’t like some of the rules. He went down to scratch the scab off the end of old Johnny Reb’s nose.

Tried to leave the United States of America, they had/The Lord/ No, he doesn’t care about slaves and he doesn’t care about the land of cotton and he doesn’t care about blackniggers who sing dirty songs and then get treated to champagne and ersters (]ared always says oysters in just that sarcastic way) in payment jor their smut. He doesn’t care about anything so long as they keep in their place and let him keep in his. But she won’t do it. The uppity bitch will not do it. She has been warned to stay off The Street, but she will not listen. She goes anyway, walking along in her white dress just as if there was a white person inside it, sometimes with her son, who has a blacknigger African name and no daddy—his daddy probably just spent the one night with his mommy in a haystack somewhere down Alabama and now she walks around with the get of that just as bold as a brass monkey. She walks The Street as if she has a right to be there, even though not a soul will talk to her-“But that’s not true, is it?” I asked Devore. “That’s what really stuck in old great-granddaddy’s craw, wasn’t it? They did talk to her. She had a way about her—that laugh, maybe.

Men talked to her about crops and the women showed off their babies.