His clothes reeked from being in the box, but he was too worn-out to do anything about them. Instead, he went inside and came out, tugging the mattress. He let it drop on the porch, went around to the back and over to the edge of the woods, and began to gather Spanish moss off of the lowlying limbs of one of the few hardwoods in the area. Stuffing the mattress was low on his list, but he had to do something. Back on the porch, he began packing handfuls inside the dingy covering. Not long into it, Nolan wandered by, propped himself on the fence. He kept looking over his shoulder, while Del stuffed in moss, shook it down, and added more.
Nolan said, “French hair.”
“Huh?”
Nolan pointed at the wispy gray strands hanging from Del’s hand.
Del said, “Oh.”
Nolan watched another minute or two, then said, “It makes it feel cooler.”
Del said, “It does?”
Nolan said, “Um-hmm.” He rubbed at his head and appeared troubled. “Gotta say, sure was surprised when boss man done what he done.”
Del was in no mood to talk about it, so his reply was cryptic.
“No more’n me.”
“Reckon he got it in for you, somehow.”
Del stopped packing the mattress and considered telling Nolan it had to do with the fact he was working amongst coloreds, but he didn’t have to.
Nolan said, “It’s ’cause you working with us. I know how he is. Ain’t gone do nothing but cause trouble.”
Del stopped working and said, “Yeah. Well. I can’t see why it matters so much.”
“In this camp, it do. To some. He gone come down on anyone trying to change how it is.”
“I ain’t trying to change nothing. I needed work, somewhere to stay. I hoped to make a little money, too, but I should’ve known better.”
“’S all any of us wanted, but it don’t do no good getting him stirred up.”
Del went back to stuffing the mattress, and Nolan was quiet. Music came from somewhere in the middle of the camp.
Nolan tipped his head and said, “Juke joint’s kicking in.”
Del turned his head a little and heard a bluesy wail coming from the colored part of camp.
He said, “I ain’t ever been in one.”
“You ain’t never been jukin’？ Well, after today, you could stand some music, and a little somethin’ special. Come on. I ain’t supposed to be over here as it is, but I got somethin’ needs saying, and best way to do it is with a little liquor in me.”
Del was tired and didn’t feel like going anywhere, but he got to his feet and said, “Well, all right.”
He pulled his mattress back inside and as a last thought, he pocketed Melody and the two men started off. They came to a grouping of shacks in a section backed against the woods with only one way in and out, the path they were on. This was the colored’s section. As they passed by, most went about their business, but some glanced at him and Nolan strangely. Del was cautious, glancing over his shoulder and side to side, nervous that Crow might see him and decide he needed more learning.
They went by several shanties and a few of the men called out to Nolan, “Hey, Long Gone, you jukin’ tonight?” and “Hey! Last time you went where I think you’re headed, took you two days to get over it.”
Del saw a different side of Nolan than when they’d first met. The man went along with an easy, big smile, walking loose, relaxed, and at one point, he even performed a little jig.
Someone hollered out, “Why you bringing him?”
They approached a tar-paper-covered shack decorated with hundreds of bottle caps and a couple of advertisements, one for Red Man chewing tobacco, the other for Coca-Cola. A few men sat outside in rocking chairs, easing them back and forth slowly, while others were perched on stools. All had some form of alcohol close by. He noticed jugs with the corks popped off, jars with varying amounts of clear liquid, set within arm’s reach. Here faces were friendlier, their consumption of what they called “buck,” which was corn liquor, had eased their aches and pains, and washed away the troubles of the day. A handful of them had instruments and were in the middle of a song. One strummed a banjo, one pulled a tune from a fiddle, another held spoons clacking out a rhythm, while yet another stroked his thumb rhythmically up and down an old washboard. The song wasn’t familiar to Del, but he still wished he could join in on Melody. He would have liked to have played along with them, but Nolan was inside now, so Del went in too.
Off in one corner was a small table where four men sat, the blue haze of cigarette smoke hovering over their heads, faces illuminated by the oil lamp set in the center. They were playing cards but stopped long enough to raise their jars toward Nolan.