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

as they can say the wrong. It’ll be a question of speed. Understand,” he went on, “this is no mission of conversion; I’m defending myself.”
    â€œI understand that,” Jacobs said. “I hope you’re able to do it.”
    â€œI’ve already done it! You read the paper. There it is.” Rayber wondered if Jacobs were dense or preoccupied.
    â€œOkay, then leave it there. Don’t spoil your complexion arguing with barbers.”
    â€œIt’s got to be done,” Rayber said.
    Jacobs shrugged.
    Rayber had counted on discussing it with him at length. “Well, I’ll see you,” he said.
    â€œOkay,” Jacobs said.
    Rayber wondered why he had ever read the paper to him in the first place.
    Before he left for the barber’s Tuesday afternoon, Rayber was nervous and he thought that by way of practice he’d try the paper out on his wife. He didn’t know but what she was for Hawkson herself. Whenever he mentioned the election, she made it a point to say, “Just because you teach doesn’t mean you know everything.” Did he ever say he knew anything at all? Maybe he wouldn’t call her. But he wanted to hear how the thing was actually going to sound said casually. It wasn’t long; wouldn’t take up much of her time. She would probably dislike being called. Still, she might possibly be affected by what he said. Possibly. He called her.
    She said all right, but he’d just have to wait until she got through what she was doing; it looked like every time she got her hands in something, she had to leave and go do something else.
    He said he didn’t have all day to wait—it was only forty-five minutes until the shop closed—and would she please hurry up?
    She came in wiping her hands and said all right; all right, she was there, wasn’t she? Go ahead.
    He began saying it very easily and casually, looking over her head. The sound of his voice playing over the words was not bad. He wondered if it were the words themselves or his tones that made them sound the way they did. He paused in the middle of a sentence and glanced at his wife to see if her face would give him any clue. Her head was turned slightly toward the table by her chair where an open magazine was lying. As he paused, she got up. “That was very nice,” she said and went back to the kitchen. Rayber left for the barber’s.
    He walked slowly, thinking what he was going to say in the shop and now and then stopping to look absently at a store window. Block’s Feed Company had a display of automatic chicken-killers—“So Timid Persons Can Kill Their Own Fowl” the sign over them read. Rayber wondered if many timid persons used them. As he neared the barber’s, he could see obliquely through the door the man with the executive assurance was sitting in the corner reading a newspaper. Rayber went in and hung up his hat.
    â€œHowdy,” the barber said. “Ain’t this the hottest day in the year, though!”
    â€œIt’s hot enough,” Rayber said.
    â€œHunting season soon be over,” the barber commented.
    All right, Rayber wanted to say, let’s get this thing going. He thought he would work into his argument from their remarks. The fat man hadn’t noticed him.
    â€œYou should have seen the covey this dog of mine flushed the other day,” the barber went on as Rayber got in the chair. “The birds spread once and we got four and they spread again and we got two. That ain’t bad.”
    â€œNever hunted quail,” Rayber said hoarsely.
    â€œThere ain’t nothing like taking a nigger and a hound dog and a gun and going after quail,” the barber said. “You missed a lot out of life if you ain’t had that.”
    Rayber cleared his throat and the barber went on working. The fat man in the corner turned a page. What do they think I came in here for? Rayber thought. They couldn’t