LESLIE EPSTEIN
53
"What is it, Arthur?" I thought another Indian had struck us with a
beer can; on looking back, however, I saw what looked like a piece of
rope stretched across the road.
"You did it! You killed it! On purpose too!" Tears were streaming
down Bartie's face.
Arthur kept his eyes on the road. "Ain't nothing to rile yourself with.
That's but a common snake."
"Snakes have feelings!" Bartie wailed. "But you don't! You don't
care! I hate this trip. Turn around. Take me home. It's an order."
"You hush up, Mister Barton," said Mary. "You got no reason to be
carrying on."
"There is a reason! I know about snakes. They are cold-blooded, but
Arthur is colder! They play fair. They give a warning. With rattles! He
didn't even honk the horn! They shed their skin. It all comes off and
they grow a new one. Ha! Ha! Ha! You! Arthur! I bet you wish you
could shed yours!"
"Shut up, Barrie! ['11 tell Norman you said that!"
My brother began to rock ominously against the back of his seat.
"Take me home! Barrie gave an order! Take me home, slave!"
Then he put his thumb in his mouth, which at least stopped the flow
of his terrible words. We drove on in silence. After a time Arthur said,
"All right, Mister Barron, you put your foot here. You see? On the gas.
Not too fast now. That's the ticket."
The car slowed as Barton, with a smile I could see from behind his
head, moved next to the black man and thrust out his straight stick of
a leg. We lurched forward, but soon settled back at the same speed we'd
been making before.
"You doing real good," said Mary.
"It's true. Look, look, look: Bartie's a driver!"
"Now you take hold here, slow and easy. No need to tell Mister Nor–
man this and no need to tell him anything else."
I think both Mary and I gasped; but Barton, twisting gymnastically,
reached over with his right hand and seized the wheel. We went on
straight as an arrow. All of us, Bartie included, pretended that we did
not see the chauffeur's hand clutching the wheel at its nadir. A sound, a
bit like a eat's purring, a bit like our engine's hum, came from the throat
of my brother.
At the sign for Holbrook, Arthur took over and at the town itself we
detoured north to the Painted Desert.
"Ain't got but ten minutes to see these sights," said the servant, as
Bartie and I raced for the visitor center. There was an overlook that
