Black Water by Bobby Norman Read Free Book Online Page B

th’cure fer the tissick. But…,” she jabbed a lethal-lookin’ finger in his direction, “you betta b’lieve I know th’dif’ence ‘tween good whiskey ‘n bad.”
    Roach shuffled his feet like a kid that had to take a pee. “I ain’t got ten dollahs ‘n I ain’t got one bottle o’ whiskey, good ‘r bad, let alone three, ‘n I don’t know nobody that’d go ’em for me.”
    “What ‘bout a book? Got any books?”
    “Books?”
    “You do know what a book is, doncha?”
    “Yes,” he said, haughty, “I know what books is. We got a McGuffey Reader ‘n a Bible.”
    “Awready got th’one ‘n don’t want tother. No Mock Twain or Shakespeah?” The look of mass confusion on his face told her everthing she needed to know. “Aw, f’get it.” A low growl gurgled up the dog’s throat and the old woman kicked it in the rump. “I tolju t’wait!” The cur whuffed and lowered its massive head to rest on the knobbly end o’ the bone. She gave a couple more thoughtful pulls on the pipe. “‘At’s awright…’at’s awright, although I p’fer th’money ‘n th’likkah, maybe we c’d work somethin’ else out. Watcha got we c’d bahtah ovah?”
    “I ain’t got nothin’. All they is’s me, th’wife, ‘n a youngun, a girl. Times’s been hard…real hard. I’s thinkin’ maybe this one time you c’d give it to me out o’ th’goodness o’ yer heart or maybe I c’d work it off somehow.”
    The witch nearly fell off the stump, laughing. “I traded off m’hawt f’a sack o’ p’tatas long’go. They cooked up real good with some onions ‘n a lib’ral pinch o’ peppah.” She finally stopped laughing, wiped her teared-up eyes, and, sucking on the pipe, looked him over, severely. In fact, she looked at him for so long, he didn’t know if the interview was over or what, but, finally, “Tell me ‘bout th’girl. She ain’tchur daughtah?”
    “No,” he said, wringin’ his hands, “she’s m’niece, m’brother’s child. We had ‘er so long now, though, she thinks we’re ‘er Ma ‘n Pa. Me ‘n th’wife’s takin’ care of ‘er ‘til they get back on thr’feet. They’s had hard times.”
    “Seems t’run in th’family, don’it…hawd times.” She took a pull on the pipe and asked, “Wat’s yr’brotha’s name?”
    Roach’s eyes rolled through the back of his head lookin’ for somethin’ and then spat out, “Frank.”
    She looked him over, then, quietly, threateningly, “No it ain’t! You ain’t got no brothah. You a lyin’ sack o’ shit, ’n I don’t take kindly t’ bein’ lied to, ‘specially comin’ ‘round with yer hand out, beggin’.” Roach started to say somethin’ but she cut him off. “’At child ain’t no blood o’ yourn or yr’wife’s. Noooo…’n futhamoah, ‘at woman’s notcho wife. Now...,” then, looking like she was soooo proud of herself, “watchu think o’ that?”
    Poochie growled again. From the way Cob was talkin’, it hoped she’d finally had enough of the blowhard, and pretty quick he’d get a crack at him. It had no doubt its three legs could outrun his two.
    “You don’t know nothin’ o’ th’sort,” Roach told her, puffin’ up and puttin’ on a show. “Yer just guessin’, ‘n I reckon I’ll go now,” and while shivers crawled up his spine, he turned to leave. Putting the hound to his back was probably the bravest thing he’d ever done, but his ragged nerves were payin’ for it. Had the beast barked right then he woulda packed his drawers with the hot and steamy and turned into a pillar of salt.
    Before he took his fourth step, she called after him. “Somethin’s wrong...with’at child. Wat is it?”
    With fresh shivers up his spine…— Lord, I hate witches!—‘ n he turned.
    She’d dropped her face to hide behind the hat brim.
    “What’d make you think anything’s wrong with ‘er?” he demanded, trying his best to sound indignant. He wished he could see her face. As much as those