“Goddamn,” he said as they finished.

“Come on, Drew,” Lewis said. “Put that thing away. We got to get water under us.”

“I could play with this guy all day,” Drew said. “Can you wait just a minute? I’d like to got his name and address.”

He turned to Lonnie, then quickly to the old man; he was, I guess, afraid that Lonnie didn’t know his name and address. They walked together a few steps, almost out of the area of the filling station, and stood talking. Then Drew passed the Martin to the old man and took a pencil and his wallet out of his pocket and wrote carefully what the old man told him.

Once the man touched Drew’s shoulder. Drew came back, and the old man and Lonnie went inside.

“You know,” Drew said to all of us, “I’d like to come back up here, just to hear some more music. I thought all the real country pickers had long since gone to Nashville.”

“How about the river?” Lewis asked.

“He tells me you can’t get down to the river anywhere in town here. It’s too steep. But eight or ten miles north of here the land’s flat. We might be able to find us a road through the woods. There was a logging operation up there a few years back, and he thinks there are still some roads that go down to the river, or somewhere around it.”

“How about drivers?”

“He doesn’t have anybody here, but there are a couple of brothers who run a garage out the way we’re going to have to go, and they might be able to do it.”

We drove out of town. We were higher up than I thought. We went over a bridge, and through the whirling girders of the supports the river was flickering. It was green, peaceful, slow, and I thought, very narrow. It didn’t look deep or dangerous, just picturesque. It was hard to imagine that it flowed through woods anywhere, or that animals drank from it, or that it was going to be dammed up and become a lake.

North of town about half a mile we stopped. Lewis thought it would be a good idea for Drew and Bobby to buy supplies while Lewis and I made the deal about the cars. We could see the Griner Brothers’ Garage from where we were, and Lewis told Drew to meet us there in half an hour. We drove up to the garage and parked.

There was a frame house connected to the garage, and we went to it and knocked on the door. No one answered. A doghead came around a jamb inside. We could hear hammering from the galvanized tin garage, but when we went over there we saw that the front of it was locked with a big chain and padlock. We walked around to the back. Half of the double door was sagging open. We went in, Lewis first.

It was dark and iron-smelling, hot with the closed-in heat that brings the sweat out as though it had been waiting all over your body for the right signal. Anvils stood around or lay on their sides, and chains hung down, covered with coarse, deep grease. The air was full of hooks; there were sharp points everywhere—tools and nails and ripped-open rusty tin cans. Batteries stood on benches and on the floor, luminous and green, and through everything, out of the high roof, mostly, came this clanging hammering, meant to deafen and even blind. It was odd to be there, not yet seen, paining with the metal harshness in the half-PAJOKAda.A.

We went toward the hammering, which seemed to be done also on the outside of the shed, on the roof and tin sides and us at the same time, who got it all. We were close enough to the source of the sound to flinch each time it came, when it stopped. The air around our heads closed in. By this time we could see a few more things, though it was actually darker there than where the batteries and anvils were. The hub of what looked like a truck wheel was on a table, and a big figure was bending over it. We were still invisible. I was about to say something when the figure straightened and turned.

Not saying anything and holding one hand in the other, the man stepped forward between us and went toward the slant light that stood for the door. I instinctively let him go by, though for a second I thought I saw Lewis move toward his path, and my heart-blood jumped in place, not able to understand what was happening or about to happen. Lewis’ move toward blocking the man, if it was a move, appeared as instinctive on his part as my own move away, but I can’t to this day remember if it really happened; it might have been just a trick of perspective or darkness. We followed the man out.

When we broke into the sun in the half-grass and gray dirt of the yard, he was standing spread-legged looking at his hand, which was cut in the thin webbing between the left thumb and forefinger. He was a huge creature, twenty pounds heavier than Lewis, dressed in overall pants and an old-fashioned sleeveless undershirt, with a train engineer’s cap on and cut-down army boots. He held his hand low in the sun, right at his waist, turning it one way and then another. He held it like he was having to keep it down by all the strength in his other hand and the rest of his body.

There is no very good way to start a conversation under conditions like that; all I wanted to do was disappear, so as not to have to explain what I was doing there, but Lewis walked up to the man and asked, very civilly for him, if he could help.

“No,” the big man said, looking squarely at me instead of Lewis. “It ain’t as bad as I thought.”

He pulled a gray handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it around his hand, jerking the knot tight with his teeth.

Lewis waited until the second half of the knot was tied and said, “I was wondering if you and somebody else, maybe your brother, would drive two cars down to Aintry for us for twenty dollars. Or if you wanted to get a third fellow to drive another car so you’d have a way to get back to Oree, we’d give all three of you ten dollars apiece.”

“Drive them down there for what?”

~We want to take a canoe trip down the Cahulawassee, and we’d like for our cars to be in Aintry when we get there day after tomorrow.”

“A canoe trip?” he said, looking back and forth between us.

“That’s right,” Lewis said, narrowing his eyes a little. “A canoe trip.”

“You ever been down in there?”

“No,” Lewis said. “Have you?”

Griner set his heavy-hanging face on Lewis; they battled in midair; the sound of crickets in the grass around the garage clashed like shields and armor plate. I could see the man was insulted; Lewis himself had told me that the worst thing you can do is to throw something back at these mountain people.

“No,” Griner answered slowly. “I ain’t never been down in there much. There ain’t nothing to go down there for. Fishing’s no good.”

“How about hunting?”

“Never been. But I don’t believe I’d go there if I was you. What’s the use of it?”

“Because it’s there,” Lewis said, for my benefit.

“It’s there, all right,” Griner said. “If you git in there and can’t get out, you’re goin’ to wish it wudn’t.”

My chest felt hollow, and my heart was ringing like iron. I wanted to back out; just go back to town and forget it. I hated what we were doing.

“Listen, Lewis,” I said, “to hell with it. Let’s go back and play golf.”

He didn’t pay any attention. “Well, can you do it?” he asked Griner.

“How much did you say?”

“Twenty dollars for two men, thirty for three.”

“Fifty,” Griner said.

“Fifty, my ass,” Lewis said.

Good God, I thought, why is he like this? I was scared to death, and I resented insanely Lewis’ getting me into such a situation. Well, you didn’t have to come, I told myself. But never again. Never.

“How about forty?” Griner said.

Lewis kicked the ground and turned to me. “Are you good for ten?”

I took out the money and gave it to him.

“Twenty now,” Lewis said to Griner. “Well send the rest to you. If we’re good for this, we’re good for the rest. Take it or leave it.”

“Good enough,” Griner said, but it was hard not to believe he was saying something mean. He took the bills and looked at them and put them in his pocket. He went across the yard toward the house, and we went around front, back to the car.