Then I pass the stall. I have almost passed it. I listen to it saying for a long time before it can say the word and the listening part is afraid that there may not be time to say it. I feel my body, my bones and flesh beginning to part and open upon the alone, and the process of coming unalone is terrible. Lafe. Lafe. “Lafe” Lafe. Lafe. I lean a little forward, one foot advanced with dead walking. I feel the darkness rushing past my breast, past the cow; I begin to rush upon the darkness but the cow stops me and the darkness rushes on upon the sweet blast of her moaning breath, filled with wood and with silence.
“Vardaman. You, Vardaman.”
He comes out of the stall. “You durn little sneak! You durn little sneak!”
He does not resist; the last of rushing darkness flees whistling away. “What? I ain’t done nothing.”
“You durn little sneak!” My hands shake him, hard. Maybe I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t know they could shake so hard. They shake both of us, shaking.
“I never done it,” he says. “I never touched them.”
My hands stop shaking him, but I still hold him. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”
“I ain’t doing nothing.”
“You go on to the house and get your supper.”
He draws back. I hold him. “You quit now. You leave me be.”
“What were you doing down here? You didn’t come down here to sneak after me?”