Suder by Percival Everett Page A

slapping a mosquito. “That would get her away from that McCoy.” Daddy looked over at Bud. “How you doing?”
    â€œOh, I’m fine.” Bud paused. “Doc, you sure I’m not in the way?”
    â€œPositive.” Daddy rubbed his glasses across his forehead. “I’m sorry about my wife.”
    Bud waved his hand. “Nothing to be sorry about. I mean, she is pretty interesting.”
    â€œShe’s that, all right,” Daddy said.
    â€œWhat is it with this McCoy character?” Bud asked.
    Daddy answered, “McCoy’s got this religious group that Kathy, for some reason, is interested in. McCoy makes me nervous. He’s crazy and I wonder how my colored wife fits in with a peckerwood like that.”
    â€œYou don’t think he’s dangerous or anything like that, do you?” Bud asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Daddy replied. “I guess not.”
    I began to think of McCoy.
    Bud broke the silence. “Seriously, Doc, you think your wife is okay?”
    Daddy didn’t say anything. He just looked at the night sky. I didn’t like the pain I saw in his face. He was wearing the same concerned look he wore when I was really sick with the flu. I was seven and they thought I might die and Daddy sat by my bed all night with that look on his face. If I couldn’t hate Ma before, I was closer now.
    â€œYou know, I’ve been thinking about France,” Bud said.
    â€œFrance, huh?” Daddy said.
    â€œYeah, I’d like to go there. You know, get away from this country. I hear things are different there, real different. People are free.”
    I listened carefully to Bud’s words.
    â€œFree. Can you imagine that?” Bud added.
    Daddy chuckled and shook his head.
    â€œYeah, France.” Bud finished his tea and looked at his empty glass. “Think I could make a long boat trip like that, Doc?”
    â€œAfter a little rest, yeah,” Daddy said.
    â€œAfter a little rest,” Bud repeated. He got up and he walked into the house and he soon was playing the piano.
    I looked at Daddy. “What’s wrong with Mr. Powell?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œSure is hot, huh, Daddy?”
    â€œYep.” Daddy paused. “Shit.”
    Martin came home and went straight up to our room. When I finally went upstairs, I found him clipping things out of the backs of magazines.
    â€œSending off for stuff?” I asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat? Soldiers? A kite?”
    â€œNone of your business.”
    I was trying to make things okay, even though I was upset with him about Naomi and all. I wasn’t really mad as much as upset. He just kept going with the scissors.
    Finally, we were in bed. Martin had his flashlight out, the beam moving from nude to nude. He just kept sighing and then he turned the flashlight off and pushed the magazines onto the floor. He tossed the light into the corner and sighed loudly. I closed my eyes.
    My eyes open and there’s a little early-morning light floating around the cabin and I see Sid sitting by the bed, looking at me.
    â€œWhere are we?” I ask.
    â€œDrifting.”
    I notice there’s no engine noise. “Drifting? Where?”
    â€œJust drifting.” He’s got a funny look in his eyes.
    I sit up and stretch and look out the window and I can’t see the coast.
    â€œYou ever think about dying?” Sid asks.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDying.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou oughta.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind. Now, what’s the story? The motor act up?”
    â€œThis slump of yours really has you down, doesn’t it.”
    I don’t say anything.
    â€œSuicide might be a thought.”
    I’m up and walking across the cabin to look through the other window. “Where the hell are we?”
    â€œI told you. We’re drifting. We’re contemplating suicide.”
    â€œThe hell. Why are we just floating out