What do you mean that one?
She looks down and the other nine she lined up before are gone.
You said for every five tubs I picked I got to keep one. I picked ten tubs. What you tryin to pull? And where’s the eggs you promised for Maury choppin that wood?
Freckled Albert squints at her.
I don’t care for the way that feeb chops. I wanted em chopped bigger.
She brushes the hair back from her forehead and licks her lips.
Open up your ears now, Albert, she says. You wanna listen to what I’m tellin you—and what I’m tellin you is this: You’re makin a mistake.
Again Albert laughs until the cough overtakes him and he hunches over, his body cramped and twisted. When he looks up again his eyes are circles of red.
What you gonna do, girl? You gonna get your feeb to stomp me?
Without standing, he reaches one arm into the doorway of the shack and pulls out a shotgun that must have been standing just inside and points it at her.
Now shoo, he says. I ain’t a bad man is why you get one tub of berries at all.
You ain’t a bad man is why I’m not gonna kill you.
What?
He drops his guard momentarily, trying to puzzle through why she isn’t scared of him—and that’s when she grabs the barrel of the shotgun and jerks it forward to pop his finger free of the trigger, then with all her strength she shoves it back, stock-first into his belly. He clenches his stomach and falls out of the chair. Then she turns him over and plants one knee on his chest, jamming the shotgun lengthwise across his throat.
Now here’s what I’m gonna do, she says. First I’m gonna go inside and get my two tubs of bingberries, like we agreed before. Second I’m gonna go out back to the coop and pluck me a dozen eggs for the work Maury did for you. Third I’m gonna take along a jug of that lemonade you got—to even things out so I don’t have to resent you for the offense you given us. You got that?
He nods, still choking and gasping. She stands and backs down the steps of the porch.
Now why don’t you lay there awhile, she says. You’ll get your breath back in a bit.
Around the side of the shack, the big man continues to chop with thick precision.
Maury, she calls. Maury! You can stop that chopping. We’re gettin back on the road.
LATER, IN the car, she puts a tub of the berries on Maury’s lap.
Eat up. You’ll like em. You can eat that whole tub if you want—it’s for you. I got us each one. Go on.
She takes one and puts it in her mouth to show him.
Mmm. I ain’t had bingberries in I don’t know how long. That Albert, he may have been a scoundrel all told, but he knew how to raise himself some crops, didn’t he? Go on, eat one.
Maury puts one of the berries in his mouth and a sour expression comes into his face. He opens his mouth wide as though hoping the thing will fly away on its own.
What’s the matter, you don’t like it? I swear, you got no feeling for the finer things in life, you big dummy. That’s a project for you to work on. All right, spit it out. Here, here’s a rag. Try not to make such a awful mess everything you do.
He spits the berry out and scrubs the rag across his tongue, but he’s still cringing afterward and he begins a low moan like crying except without the tears.
All right, she says. Hush up now.
No touching, Maury.
She pulls his thick arm down.
This is art, Maury. You just can’t touch it like that. These things have gotta last a million years so people in the future know about us. So they can look and see what we knew about beauty.
He looks at her with those flat distant eyes of his—then he looks back at the painting.
Now you and me, we ain’t connoisseurs of nothin. Most of these we may not understand because they weren’t painted for the likes of us. But sooner or later someone’s gonna come along who knows how to read these things, and it’ll be like a message from another civilization. That’s how it works, you see? That’s how people talk to each other across time. It puts you on a wonder, doesn’t it?