The Complete Stories by Flannery O’Connor Read Free Book Online

barbershop window and making a hole in the view. Why the hell can’t they park somewhere else? Rayber thought fiercely. “Hurry up,” he said to the barber, “I have an appointment.”
    â€œWhat’s your hurry?” the fat man said. “You better stay and stick up for Boy Blue.”
    â€œYou know you never told us why you’re gonna vote for him,” the barber chuckled, taking the cloth from around Rayber’s neck.
    â€œYeah,” the fat man said, “see can you tell us without sayin’, goodgovermint.”
    â€œI have an appointment,” Rayber said. “I can’t stay.”
    â€œYou just know Darmon is so sorry you won’t be able to say a good word for him,” the fat man howled.
    â€œListen,” Rayber said, “I’ll be back in here next week and I’ll give you as many reasons for voting for Darmon as you want—better reasons than you’ve given me for voting for Hawkson.”
    â€œI’d like to see you do that,” the barber said. “Because I’m telling you, it can’t be done.”
    â€œAll right, we’ll see,” Rayber said.
    â€œRemember,” the fat man carped, “you ain’t gonna say, goodgovermint.”
    â€œI won’t say anything you can’t understand,” Rayber muttered and then felt foolish for showing his irritation. The fat man and the barber were grinning. “I’ll see you Tuesday,” Rayber said and left. He was disgusted with himself for saying he would give them reasons. Reasons would have to be worked out—systematically. He couldn’t open his head in a second like they did. He wished to hell he could. He wished to hell “Mother Hubbard” weren’t so accurate. He wished to hell Darmon spit tobacco juice. The reasons would have to be worked out—time and trouble. What was the matter with him? Why not work them out? He could make everything in that shop squirm if he put his mind to it.
    By the time he got home, he had the beginnings of an outline for an argument. It would be filled in with no waste words, no big words—no easy job, he could see.
    He got right to work on it. He worked on it until suppertime and had four sentences—all crossed out. He got up once in the middle of the meal to go to his desk and change one. After supper he crossed the correction out.
    â€œWhat is the matter with you?” his wife wanted to know.
    â€œNot a thing,” Rayber said, “not a thing. I just have to work.”
    â€œI’m not stopping you,” she said.
    When she went out, he kicked the board loose on the bottom of the desk. By eleven o’clock he had one page. The next morning it came easier, and he finished it by noon. He thought it was blunt enough. It began, “For two reasons, men elect other men to power,” and it ended, “Men who use ideas without measuring them are walking on wind.” He thought the last sentence was pretty effective. He thought the whole thing was effective enough.
    In the afternoon he took it around to Jacob’s office. Blakeley was there but he left. Rayber read the paper to Jacobs.
    â€œWell,” Jacobs said, “so what? What do you call yourself doing?” He had been jotting figures down on a record sheet all the time Rayber was reading.
    Rayber wondered if he were busy. “Defending myself against barbers,” he said. “You ever tried to argue with a barber?”
    â€œI never argue,” Jacobs said.
    â€œThat’s because you don’t know this kind of ignorance,” Rayber explained. “You’ve never experienced it.”
    Jacobs snorted. “Oh yes I have,” he said.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI never argue.”
    â€œBut you know you’re right,” Rayber persisted.
    â€œI never argue.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to argue,” Rayber said. “I’m going to say the right thing as fast