The World Made Straight. Ron Rash
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Название: The World Made Straight
Автор: Ron Rash
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9781782112761
isbn:
He looked past the shed and didn’t see anything moving, not even a cow or chicken. Nothing but some open ground and then a stand of tulip poplar. He rubbed a pot leaf between his finger and thumb, and it felt like money, a lot more money than he’d ever make at a grocery store. He looked around one more time before taking out his pocketknife and cutting down five plants. The stalks had a twiney toughness like rope.
That was the easy part. Dragging them a mile down the creek was a chore, especially while trying to keep the leaves and buds from being stripped off. When he got to the river he hid the marijuana in the underbrush and walked the trail to make sure no one was fishing. Then he carried the plants to the road edge, stashed them in the gully, and got the truck.
When the last plants lay in the truck bed, he wiped his face with his hand. Blood and sweat wet his palm. Travis looked in the side mirror and saw a thin red line where mountain laurel had slapped his cheek. The cut made him look tougher, more dangerous, and he wished it had slashed him deeper, enough to leave a scar. He dumped his catch into the ditch, the trout stiff and glaze-eyed. He wouldn’t be delivering Old Man Jenkins any speckleds this evening.
Travis drove home with the plants hidden under willow branches and feed sacks. He planned to stay only long enough to get a shower and put on clean clothes, but as he was about to leave his father stopped him.
“We haven’t ate yet.”
“I’ll get something in town,” Travis replied.
“No. Your momma’s fixing supper right now, and she’s got the table set for three.”
“I ain’t got time. Shank’s expecting me.”
“You’ll make time, boy,” his father said. “Else you and that truck can stay in for the evening.”
IT WAS SIX-THIRTY BEFORE TRAVIS TURNED INTO THE ABANdoned Gulf station and parked window to window beside Shank’s Plymouth Wildebeast.
“You won’t believe what I got in the back of this truck.”
Shank grinned.
“It’s not the old prune-faced bitch that fired you, is it?”
“No, this here is worth something. Get out and I’ll show you.”
They walked around to the truck bed and Shank peered in.
“I didn’t know there to be a big market for willow branches and feed sacks.”
Travis looked around to see if anyone was watching, then pulled back enough of a sack so Travis could see some leaves.
“I got five of them,” Travis said.
“Holy shit. Where’d that come from?”
“Found it when I was fishing.”
Travis pulled the sack back over the plant.
“Reckon I better start doing my fishing with you,” Shank said. “It’s for sure I been going to the wrong places.” Shank leaned against the tailgate. “What are you going to do with it? I know you ain’t about to smoke it yourself.”
“Sell it, if I can figure out who’ll buy it.”
“I bet Leonard Shuler would,” Shank said. “Probably give you good money for it too.”
“He don’t know me though. I’m not one of his potheads like you.”
“Well, we’ll just have to go and get you all introduced,” Shank said. “Let me lock my car and me and you will go pay him a visit.”
“How about we go over to Dink Shackleford’s first and get some beer.”
“Leonard’s got beer,” Shank said, “and his ain’t piss-warm like what we got last time at Dink’s.”
They drove out of Marshall, following 25 North. A pink, dreamy glow tinged the air. Rose-light evenings, Travis’s mother had called them. The carburetor coughed and gasped as the pickup struggled up High Rock Ridge. Travis figured soon enough he’d have money for a carburetor kit, maybe even get the whole damn engine rebuilt.
“You’re in for a treat, meeting Leonard,” Shank said. “There’s not another like him, leastways in this county.”
“Wasn’t he a teacher somewhere up north?”
“Yeah, but they kicked his ass out.”
“What for,” Travis asked, “taking money during homeroom for dope instead of lunch?”
Shank laughed.
“I wouldn’t put it past him, but the way I heard it he shot some fellow.”
“Kill him?”
“No, but he wasn’t trying to. If he had that man would have been dead before he hit the ground.”
“I heard tell he’s a good shot.”
“He’s way beyond good,” Shank said. “He can hit a chigger’s ass with that pistol of his.”
After a mile they turned off the blacktop and onto a dirt road. On both sides what had once been pasture sprouted with scrub pine and broom sedge. They passed a deserted farmhouse, and the road withered to no better than a logger’s skid trail. Trees thickened, a few silver-trunked river birch like slats of caught light among the darker hardwoods. The land made a deep seesaw and the woods opened into a small meadow, at the center a battered green and white trailer, its back windows painted black. Parked beside the trailer was a Buick LeSabre, front fender crumpled, rusty tailpipe held in place with a clothes hanger. Two large big-shouldered dogs scrambled out from under the trailer, barking furiously, brindle hair hackled behind their necks.
“Those damn dogs are Plott hounds,” Travis said, rolling his window up higher.
Shank laughed.
“They’re all bark and bristle,” Shank said. “Them two wouldn’t fight a tomcat, much less a bear.”
The trailer door opened and a man wearing nothing but a frayed pair of khaki shorts stepped out, his brown eyes blinking like some creature unused to light. He yelled at the dogs and they slunk back under the trailer.
The man was no taller than Travis. Blond, stringy hair touched his shoulders, something not quite a beard and not quite stubble on his face. Older than Travis had figured, at least in his mid-thirties. But it was more than the creases in the brow that told Travis this. It was the way the man’s shoulders drooped and arms hung—like taut, invisible ropes were attached to both his wrists and pulling toward the ground.
“That’s Leonard?”
“Yeah,” Shank said. “The one and only.”
“He don’t look like much.”
“Well, СКАЧАТЬ