Dewey turned and watched the car. There was a fat Negro driving. His wife sat peacefully beside him, her eyes awake and bright. In her arms was a small child, a girl with many tiny parts in her hair; she was sleeping. The back seat was piled high with luggage.

“Yes, I feel sorry for my men. They ain’t got what those colored folks have.”

Dewey was still watching the car. It had reached the outskirts of town and then was gone. He approached the old man.

“If it’ll make you feel any better, Mister Willson, that’s the last time. And I’ll tell you something else.” The old man looked up at him and smiled. “The General wouldn’t have approved.” He turned to his daughter. “We still got some coffee in the pot, honey?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Mister Willson, how’d you like some coffee? You better not go home just yet. You better clean up first.”

Dewey nodded and they started up the street together.

—

MISTER LELAND did not know what woke him. At first he thought it was Walter shifting, recoiling from a many-headed monster in his dreams, but when he looked over at his brother, he found him in the same position into which he had wriggled just after their mother had kissed them good night. And then he heard it again: a scream.

It came from the direction of the Highway, maybe up near Tucker’s, came through the muffling trees separating their two farms. Maybe Tucker was back and having a party. But where? Tucker did not have a house. But he could be having it outside, it was warm enough, and besides, no one else would be at Tucker’s farm.

He started to shake Walter to tell him Tucker was back and having a party. Now he could hear other voices, other men laughing, and he knew they must all be Tucker’s friends, slapping him on the back, happy to see him again, especially since they thought he had left for good. He stopped shaking Walter because the shaking and nudging had done no good, and even if Walter were to wake up, he would be too groggy to understand anything.