Minnow. James E. McTeer II

band of water was calm, barely rippled, cobalt blue under a bright sky, bordered on both sides by fields of powder-green marsh grass. Boats and dinghies and a few bigger barges cruised up and down the living water. The main ferry from Bay Street to the Island was midway on its course, with old Calico urging his rowers at their work. A negro on a flat-bottom raft cast a spinning net at the edge of the marsh on the opposite side.

      A few children played down on the slimy rocks that acted as a barrier between the river and Bay Street buildings. It wasn't a bad place to spend the day, but Minnow did not have time for an adventure. He returned to Bay Street and didn't stop to watch the crowd. His father was in bed, back home, waiting.

      Ander's was one of the stores with a big glass front that showed what was going on inside. A few people were up at the soda bar, and a few people shopped at the shelves of general goods. Minnow eyed the man behind the counter, straightened his shirt, and went inside.

      He pushed through the door, and the young couple at the soda bar looked back. A little bell jingled, and the shoppers exited behind him. The man behind the counter kept his head down, checking something on a piece of paper. Minnow looked left, at the groceries, then right at the bar. All the candy and soda and novelties were behind the bar, at the man's back. The medicine was farther down. Usually Minnow was there with his mother, picking up her foot ointment, but he'd never been alone. The place smelled like the ointment.

      He walked the length of the bar, past the couple, and the man turned his eyes up and watched him go. He had greased-back black hair, and his forehead was tall and smooth. He looked back down at the paper. Minnow stopped and stepped up to the counter, his head barely rising over the burnished wooden edge.

      The shelves were nine-high from floor to ceiling, stacked with bottles, cans, and jars. Most were labeled, some were not. A few items he didn't recognize: a wooden device, a metal thing with a flat round head, a bundle of leather strips. Many things appeared as if they'd been there for a long time, dust-covered and piled up, almost spilling off the edge.

      Another customer came in. The man behind the counter looked up and then glanced over to see Minnow standing there.

      "You looking for something in particular?"

      The man set his pencil down and walked over. He stopped to check something that Minnow couldn't see on the back shelf, and then continued down slowly, as if he knew the need was urgent but still would take his time.

      Minnow reached down and took out the wallet and spread it wide to retrieve the dollar and the prescription. He fumbled the bill and it fluttered down to his feet to the floor. He bent down and scooped it up, and as he straightened he noticed the two teenagers at the bar looking at him.

      "You need something?" the man asked.

      Minnow looked up and his face was hot. He wiped his hand across his brow and then set his palm on the bar surface, wrist bent and forearm hanging vertically.

      "Don't take that out in here if you don't need something. Lots of people like a dollar to spend."

      "Yessir."

      Minnow set the prescription down on the bar with his free hand and slid it toward the pharmacist. The man took it, unfolded it, read it, wrinkled his brow, and looked up at Minnow.

      "Somebody's sick in their lungs."

      "Yessir."

      "Who's sick? Your momma?"

      "My father, sir."

      "What's he got?"

      "He's been sick a long time."

      "With what?"

      Minnow shook his head.

      The man put a hand to his chin, clicked his teeth together.

      "Fever?"

      "Some."

      "I don't have this," the man said, and pushed the paper back.

      "What do you mean?"

      The man leaned in closer to Minnow's head.

      "We don't have it. I don't carry it. Never have. Who prescribed this?"

      "I don't know, sir."

      "Doctor?"

      "Yessir."

      "What doctor?"

      "I don't know," Minnow said, and licked his lips. His forehead felt hot again. He just wanted to help his parents. Help them, and get a soda. "A man with dark hair, like yours. He's tall. He comes sometimes to see my father."

      "Tall?" the man asked, and smiled. "Well, that clears it up. Doesn't it?"

      Minnow studied the wood grain of the bar. A black circle was there, like from a cigarette ash.

      "Do you know who might have it?" Minnow asked.

      The pharmacist frowned and shook his head. One of the teenagers finished a soda, and the straw made a sucking sound that filled the whole place.

      Minnow wiped his forehead again. His mother back home. Father in bed. Waiting on him. He couldn't even get a soda. How could he get a soda if he couldn't bring back the medicine?

      "What about the one on the Island? What about the one who works out there?"

      "He works out there, boy, but he gets all his medicine from me. No one around here has got it."

      Minnow swallowed.

      "You need anything else?" the man asked.

      Minnow looked into the back of the store, then up toward the glowing window at the front. The teenagers got up and left. The bell jingled as the door clapped shut. The bright sound faded fast, along with all of his plans to return triumphant. They were alone in the store.

      "No sir."

      He put the dollar in the billfold, folded the prescription, put it back too, and then folded the whole thing into his pocket.

      "You need anything else?"

      "No sir."

      "Go see your mama and tell her she can't get that outside of Savannah. Don't know what fool wrote it."

      He nodded and walked down the length of the bar past the dirty soda glasses. He squinted at the light outside and could see people passing like ghosts, warbled and dizzy in the wide field of glass. The heat on his forehead passed, now, and he stopped at the door.

      He set his hands on the door and pushed it open, looking up at the bells as they rang.

      "Boy."

      He stopped with the door still open. The musty air of the shop blew past him into the hot street. Minnow didn't turn around when he answered. His father would have whipped him for that, probably.

      "Yessir?"

      "Boy, come here."

      He closed the door and walked over. He approached the edge of the counter, and the man sighed and put his elbow down. He leaned in.

      "I know one man who might have it."

      Minnow jerked his head up and stared the man in the eyes.

      "Who is it?"

      "He's a type of doctor."

      "Where?"

      "Near here."

      "Please tell me who it is. My father's very sick."

      "He can sell you that paste for half that dollar."

      "Where is he?"

      "Give me the other half."

      "Sir?"

      "You don't need it all. Give me half and I'll tell you where to go to make your daddy all better."

      Minnow looked down at his shoes. He had a dollar. For medicine and a soda. But if the medicine was less,