Jesus, not again.

"Rob Roy please, turn 'round."

Yea again, and again again.

Rob Roy grunts. Whole damn life it's been turn 'round, Rob Roy turn 'round. Mama can understand, can understand how she was 'cause she was my mama. Simply the way it is with mamas, that's the way, she go turn 'round Rob Roy, your baby brother wants to milk me. But what about the cows, mama? that's what I said and daddy run into kick me in the head. This all way after the time it was turn 'round Rob Roy, me and your daddy working on making you a baby brother. I went from how's that gonna to but I don't even wanna and then smack! smack, smack! I turn 'round then, respecting my mama. Couldn't barely look at it anyway, reddish little package of skinned 'possum. Disappeared after a few months. Never came back. No mention. Never.

Rob Roy says, "You know, I recollect climbing out onto the roof with that little critter, onto the part of the roof that's tapering down flatness over the front porch, and giving that thang a good old kick like a mushy melon football way on down into the holler . . . but then, you know, I also sort of recall this as a real fruitful fantasy I had through out those months . . . kid's stuff . . . never brought up. No mention."

She's giving me that look, again again and again.

"You look at me like that one more bit and I'm going home to mama's Quit it Rob Roy, I said turn 'round. I mean it. I really do. Rob Roy turn 'round."

Grunt. That's a sound I make. It's like the force of spinning 'round makes me burp. Turn 'round Rob Roy, turn 'round, Rob Roy you turn 'round or I'll tell mama and she'll tell daddy. Can understand that. Same as mama same as my older sister. Lucille say, turn 'round Rob Roy, it's hot and I don't feel like wearing no clothes, Rob Roy, so turn 'round and don't turn 'round and don't tell mama or daddy or I'll tell them you wouldn't turn 'round and you did turn 'round. I did both or neither, that was the only time, and that was just 'cause I got confused what Lucille wanted. I was only eleven, and confused; Lucille was thirteen. All she told was her boyfriend, a motorcycle man from the city almost thirty. Well kid, so I hear it's turning kind of hot 'round here, huh? that's what he said. He poured five gallons of gasoline down the front of my britches, lit a match, lit a Marlboro, took a sip off his Budweiser and said, You hear me?

"You know," Rob Roy says. "You know I've always been a good listener."

"Turn 'round! Turn 'round Rob Roy, you know you're supposed to be turned 'round."

Grump, that's what I say when I fell down right on my face. I'd say, same'd go here, I'd expect, except why the hell we'd get married? Least I know for damn sure what I want it to say on my tombstone. Just hope they'll get it straight. Cain't turn 'round, no damn room.

"Now, hon . . . "

"Now nothing, Rob Roy, please, just please."

"Please nothing. Now now nothing yourself. I'll turn 'round dog gummit. That wasn't anything what I was going to say."

"Oh sure. I know you, Rob Roy, I sure know you and all your kind and all that that's exactly like you and your kind. All that and more."

Rob Roy turns and turns, doing that old circling dog, 'round and 'round, getting dizzy, no wonder they do it and fall asleep in the middle of the road, lord lordy, it'd serve them all right, go to the stone mason's tomorrow and get him to do it, slip him a twenty, pounds of fatback, to keep his mouth shut 'til it rots open in the ground. What'll do, that'll be right exactly what'll do. Spend all my money 'fore I can die, and then just stick them all with a tombstone saying, Looky here, I'm naked . . .

"Rob Roy? Honey? You still awake? Darn you anyway!"

I'm a dog gone sleeping.

+ + +

Now take your Ruby Beth now, now she works the lunch counter in town at the old Eat-Um-Up. Now that Ruby Beth is no gal'd tell no one turn 'round, nosireerob.

"Now I could sure go for that Ruby Beth girl, I sure could. She's something to just think about standing right there behind that counter, standing right across the counter from you. Why, I'll never forget that time I almost went in there all by myself . . . "

Ruby Beth is the kind to lean over across the counter, showing you some stuff just about to spill out on the counter, she'll give you the look then wink, pink tongue tracing her pink lips, Ruby Beth'd coo, "Honey don't turn 'round, but I think I see your wife walking right over across the street there."

Most certainly Ruby Beth, most likely Ruby Beth.

Hump. That's what comes out when I squirm 'round to rearrange my posture.

"If anyone does the turning 'round, it's Ruby Beth, and don't no one have to tell her to do that, she knows she's a fine view from every side, and she knows a view ain't worth being a view if there's no one ever to see, the more to see it the better the view."

" . . . so how 'bout it Ruby Beth, what you say?"

"I say that's pretty big talk, for such an itty bitty boy."

+ + +

Now that was damn near the funniest thing ever been seen in this old town. We's all sittin' there at the counter at the Eat-Um-Up, watching Ruby Beth and wishing to eat on up some of her, but stuck drinking RCs instead. She said the way she always said it, "Don't bother to turn 'round, boys, but I believe I see ol' Rob Roy's finally made it into town."

And there he was, we all turn 'round and start cackling. That poor Rob Roy panting and gasping like he just run the whole way here. It'd been too hot to rain for almost a month. The day's just start steaming up in the morning, and keep on getting worse 'til dusk came down. And there was Rob Roy, dripping and shaking and looking mighty sun-touched, stomping up a dust cloud while he spun 'round drooling down his chin, howling on out, "Ru-hu-hu-by Be-eth, Ruby Be-he-eth!"

All the racket must've woken him up, 'cause next thing that old coot McHenry comes charging out of the bathroom going, "What? what? what?"

Someone else said, "Why just looky him out there, looky at that old him, why he's foaming bars of soap at the mouth--worse case of rabies I ever see."

"Rabbit dog!" and that old coot had grabbed his shotgun but forgotten his glasses and was already out the door, moving faster'n anyone'd seen'm move in thirty years.

Rob Roy had a few turn 'rounds left in him, the way a dog setting down to sleep, but more like a chicken when it don't have its head no more.