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Show page 87 herself in a cane chair opposite him. Her admonition was swift: "Drink this coffee and get your senses. I hope you not taking part in this thing tonight." "I got to walk my path," Fad said simply. "What path? You walk the path with me." "I got to walk this path - three, four thousand dollars' worth." "You talking crazy." "I got to be somebody." "I had a vision. Your big brown face going to be a l l in pain before I see you again. I see you in the street out there, calling me; dragging yourself along, calling me. I see your funeral, with everybody in the Bottom weaving up the street like a big x^iggling snake, sweating and shining in the July sun. Durango's salvation band I s leading: Spooky on the trumpet is riding a cloud, and Moldy with his trombone i s tearing down the walls of Jericho, then Pete with his sax begins t o play Joshua. Come Home. But you a i n ' t coming home, because you're dead, just like I saw Struther dead, out in the willows on the r i v e r . Why you do t h i s ? Every funeral Durango has Candy and Sugar out there prancing in short s k i r t s carrying his personal sign ahead of the casket, t e l l i n g how big he i s , head of the Committee and a ll t h a t . You don't help me being dead. You don't know who you are?" Fad s t i r r e d more sugar into his coffee. "Who am I? I'm a night watchman, a mower of lawns, a cleaner-upper of back yards." "You're Charles Stillman," Ruby said. "Charles Stillman, a fine man. a good man. I don't have to pray much for you, you |
