Cry Me A River. Ernest Hill

I or don’t I what?” Tyrone asked, puzzled.

      “Want some of this?”

      Tyrone looked at the plate again, then shook his head. “I’ll pass,” he said.

      “You sho’?” Beggar Man said. “Got plenty.”

      “I’m sho’,” Tyrone said. “I ain’t hungry.”

      “All right,” Beggar Man said, then scooped a large forkful of eggs from his plate and stuffed them in his mouth. As he ate, Tyrone studied him. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, and nearly three hundred pounds. His head was bald, and his clean-shaven face bore the marks of a man who still lived life hard. There was a scar on his left cheek, and another on his neck, just below his Adam’s apple. But other than a chipped front tooth and a few extra pounds, he looked the same. He drank from the can again, then looked at Tyrone.

      “Me and the fellows was just talking about you,” he said, lowering the can and wiping the corner of his mouth with the hem of his shirt.

      “How is everybody?” Tyrone asked, more out of politeness than concern. He was anxious to talk about his son, but he could tell that Beggar Man wanted to visit.

      “Man, Byrd in the army.”

      “What!” Tyrone said, a little louder than he had intended.

      “Nigger a sergeant somewhere over there in Europe.”

      “Is that right?”

      “As God is my witness,” Beggar Man swore.

      “What about Pepper?” Tyrone asked, his curiosity piqued. “What he doing now?”

      “Driving tractors for Mr. John.”

      “Pepper!” Tyrone said, his tone indicating disbelief.

      “Nigger married and got six children.”

      “Six!” Tyrone exclaimed. “My Lord.”

      “Ain’t but two of ‘em his,” Beggar Man said, laughing. “Married one of them ready-made families.”

      “Who he marry?”

      “Nigger, you’ll never guess in a million years.”

      “Who?” Tyrone asked again, not bothering to guess.

      “You remember Pumpsi Greene?”

      “Who?” Tyrone did not recognize the name.

      “Old tack-head from up the Quarters,” Beggar Man said.

      Tyrone frowned.

      “You know her,” Beggar Man said. “Joe L.’s oldest girl.”

      Tyrone paused, concentrating. Suddenly, he remembered her.

      “What!” he said, shocked.

      “Nigger say he was drunk when they married, but I don’t know. He sho’ act like he love that old ugly girl. Been with her going on five years now.”

      “Five years?” Tyrone said with a faraway look in his eyes. For a few seconds he was transported to a time when he and the fellows were running wild through a world that they did not respect and that did not respect them. “Married,” he mumbled softly. “Pepper married.”

      “Yep,” Beggar Man said, then reached down and lifted the can of beer from the floor next to his chair. “Nigger done tied a knot with his tongue he can’t tear loose with his teeth.”

      Tyrone chuckled but did not speak.

      Beggar Man tilted his head back and took another long swallow. He lowered the can, and the two men’s eyes met.

      “Well, what about you, Beggar Man?”

      “What about me?” he asked.

      “Yeah,” Tyrone said. “What you doing for yourself?”

      “Just running the club.”

      “What club?” Tyrone asked.

      “Luther’s place,” Beggar Man said. “Working security right now. Just a little something to pay the bills. Plan on opening my own club one of these days.” He paused. “Soon as I git my money right.”

      “Your money still funny, hunh?” Tyrone joked.

      “Don’t you hear it laughing?” Beggar Man teased.

      Tyrone chuckled; then Beggar Man looked at him and smiled.

      “Nigger, it’s sho’ good to see you,” he said. “We figured you was dead or something, seeing how ain’t nobody heard from you since God knows when.”

      “Naw, man, I’m still alive and kicking.”

      “When you get out?”

      “Yesterday, but didn’t make it home ‘til last night.”

      “You seen Pauline?”

      Tyrone shook his head. “Spent the night at Mama’s.”

      “Well, I know she was glad to see you.”

      “She was. But to be honest with you, we ain’t had much time to visit yet. I didn’t get there ‘til little after ten last night. My bus was late.”

      “You took the bus all the way from Texas?”

      “That’s right.”

      There was silence.

      “Well, don’t look like prison life done hurt you none,” Beggar Man said, smiling. “‘Cause, nigger, you sho’ look good.”

      “Well, I was feeling pretty good ‘til this morning.”

      “What happened this morning?” Beggar Man asked.

      “Marcus,” Tyrone said. “Just found out a little while ago.”

      Beggar Man lowered his eyes and began fumbling with his food.

      “Came by to see what you know about it,” Tyrone said.

      “Just what I heard,” Beggar Man said, averting his eyes.

      “What’s that?”

      “Word on the street he did it.”

      A lump of terror rose from the pit of Tyrone’s stomach and lodged in his throat. He looked at Beggar Man, and Beggar Man lowered his eyes.

      “That’s hard to believe,” he said.

      “That’s the word,” Beggar Man assured him.

      “What happened?” Tyrone asked.

      Beggar Man sighed and leaned back in his chair.

      “It happened five years ago. White girl come up missing,” he said, with a look in his eyes that a person had when he was remembering something that he had long since tried to forget. “Looked for her for three or four days straight. Finally found her in a ditch beside one of ole man Peterson’s tater fields … butt naked.”

      He paused and looked at Tyrone, but Tyrone did not respond. Beggar Man lifted the can to his mouth and took another swallow.

      “They say Marcus grabbed her from that grocery store just west of town. They say he took her down one of them back streets. They say he raped her and killed her and dumped her body out there in Peterson’s field. Ole man Willis found her Wednesday evening. Police picked Marcus up that Friday night. They say he the one. They say ain’t no doubt about it; he the one.”

      “Who is they?” Tyrone asked.

      “The law,” Beggar Man told him.

      “What make ‘em think it was Marcus?”

      “Say somebody seen him.”

      “Who?”

      “Two