Ginny Gall полностью

By time he finished the speech, for that is what it was, he was wheezing more heavily and making little tick tick tick noises. Mr. Rome had removed his hat during the last bit. He brandished it before him like an offering. Delvin almost took it, but the gesture was preceding a half bow.

“O. P. Rome, Verbatim Messenger, at your service,” he said.

“Verbatim?” Delvin didn’t know whether to laugh or clap.

“Word for word. Word by word. You express in your own personal form what you want to say and I will repeat it to your recipient, verbatim — word for word — so there is no mistake as to your intentions.”

“How about the, uh, what is it — the feeling?”

“Ah, yes — the tone, the timbre, the gusto, or lack thereof. Yes. There, my boy, is where you find the art. Any parrot can be taught a speech. But only a great actor — no, not even an actor — a great expresser, let us say, can put across a verbatim line. An actor — you never can be sure if he means what he’s saying. Every line sounds sincere. But with yours truly, it’s clear where the meaning begins and where it leaves off and we return to the ordinary business of living. I take it you were moved by your friend’s. . enthusiasm?”

“Why, yes, I was,” Delvin said, still wanting to laugh or at least chuckle. “How is the professor?”

“Dauntless, but sad, I would say, moody a little, more weary than he would like to admit, but valiant still, a great captain of the everlasting road.”

“I’d say I’ve grieved for him, but I’ve been so busy trying to catch up with him that I hadn’t had time to settle down and really pine. How much do you charge for a message?”

“Two dollars for that last.”

“Could you repeat it?”

“Yessir. You get one free repetition. Then the price is a dime.”

“Fine.”

The man repeated the message with the same worldly-wise brio.

“It’s kind of a farewell,” Delvin said.

“I would say it fits into that category.”

“Do you have set messages, or does everybody have to make up his own?”

The man pressed his cheek with the side of his thumb, leaving a faintly gleaming grease mark. “I do have a selection of messages appropriate to the occasion.”

“Could I send one back?”

“You could try. But I might not be able to find the gentleman you are looking for. That is sometimes a problem.”

“If you can’t find him do I get a refund?”

‘Yes, but only half. I have to cover my expenses.”

“Where did you meet the professor?”

“In Cullawee.”

“That in Alabama?”

“Arkansas.”

“Whoa. I’m way behind.”

“Life has swept him along like a leaf before the wind.”

“Is he all right?”

“He’s doing fine, but last I saw of him he was in a hurry to be on the road.”

“Where to?”

“I believe he is heading west.”

“I’m going to miss him,” Delvin said, and as he said this he experienced a pulpy plummeting feeling in his chest and a dampness in his eyes. He looked down the street where two men in dusty clothes were backing a mule up to a buckboard. The cuffs of the men’s pants were ragged and the shoes of one were tied around with hanks of pale cloth. Mules going contrary all over the city, he thought, the words like a sentence he wanted to write down.

“So no return,” the little man said.

“What’s that?”

“On the message?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Ah, well,” Mr. Rome said, looking around without much relish. “Maybe I will find some business in this town.”

“All your work long-distance?”

“Only about half. I get just as much local as out-of-town. I’ve begun to prefer the in-town, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

The man had taken a seat across from Delvin. He was so small that the tabletop came up to his puffy chest. “It’s hard to make a profit of these long journeys.”

“You travel by train.”

“Boxcar class, yes.”

“You been on the western roads?”

“Have I? You name the line, I’ve ridden it. I’ve been a passenger on the Espy, the GN, the Katy, the Octopus, the old Cough & Snort, the Damn Rotten Grub, the UP. . You traveled in the west?”

“No, not me. But I’m about to catch a ride out this afternoon, headed northeast.”

Mr. Rome said like as how he would be leaving town himself.

“Thought you were looking for local business.”

“These little towns don’t often care for my services. They’re packed so tight they don’t need me. Sometimes though — well, you never can tell.”

Delvin got up and they walked together down the dusty street that smelled of hardwood fires and the sweet tang of summer dusk to the camp. Later that afternoon, with Josie, they caught an eastbound L&S freight.

The sun snagged in the naked branches of a far-off grove of dead trees. Through the trees Delvin could see glints and lusters where some body of water caught the light.

In an empty wood-paneled B&O line boxcar Delvin settled in next to a skinny older negro man carrying a greasy carpetbag. The car smelled of the dried corn it had most recently transported. The man smelled of road wear and animal grease. He introduced himself as Frank Brooks.