“What’s he want?” Lethe asked. “He don’ want e’er thing,” Americy said, speaking gently. “Leave him be.” “There was a rat, ol’ rat,” Stig began afresh. “Got shut in water-tank. Tin water-tank, not got no water in it. You ought to ’a’ seen ol’ rat! Skeeter Shoots he says to me, ‘Look at that-there rat, God knows, shut inside that-there tank. Been shut up three weeks since that-there rat got shut up since tank was open last. Skeeter Shoots says.” Lethe turned back to the table, her elbows on the board, her knees crossed. Her body was bent slightly forward as if she were deeply fatigued. “What’d you bring him here for?” she asked. “What’s he here for now?” “What is it you know about him?” Theodosia asked sharply, turning suddenly on Lethe, unafraid in her sudden surprise. “I know enough. I ain’t been borned so long ago for nothing.” “A ham bone,” Stig began to whimper. “Ham-meat is right good now. Ham.” “You can take him on away when you’ve done whatever you come for.” “We all say, ‘Whoopee! come see ol’ rat.’ So weak in his legs he can’t walk on his feet. Crawl on his belly. Slow, go like a snail-bug. See ol’ rat go up stable. Ol’ rat. ‘Take ker, ol’ rat!’ We all watch ol’ rat go towarge corn room. Slow, slow, towarge corn room.” He made slow creeping gestures with his fingers on the floor. “I know enough. Was I borned last week? For God’s sake!” “You hate me, Lethe,” Theodosia said after a little, speaking through Stig’s garbled recitative that continued. “You hate me. What makes you hate me? What did I ever do to you?” “Was I borned last week? Don’t you reckon I know your tricks? Is he anybody to me?” Americy began to play one of her tunes, laboring with the chords and humming softly, half whispering, and Theodosia watched the fingers on the strings or she plucked her own strings to make harmonious chords with the tune. The music set Stig’s eyes in a dance and renewed his memory of the scene in the corn room. His voice was lifted to a higher pitch. “We all says ‘Whoopee! Come see ol’ rat.’ Crawl on his belly. Go a leetle piece, stop, go a leetle piece. Three weeks in that-there tank and ne’er a bite inside him.” “For God’s sake!” Lethe said. She turned wearily toward the table again. “Oh, for God’s sake!” “Ol’ rat,” Stig said. “Rat go crawl, crawl down towarge corn room. We all walk behind ol’ rat and see ol’ rat go crawl down towarge corn room. Skeeter Shoots says ‘Come see ol’ rat.’ Says, ‘Naw, don’t kill yet. Watch ’im crawl down towarge corn room.’ Take ol’ rat, I reckon, hour. I go water Rose and hitch up Beckie. Come back. ‘Ain’t ol’ rat got there yet?’” “To let Minnie Harter take your man away. For God’s sake! You’re easy. To let Min Harter get ahead on you. The lame slut.” Lethe spoke with great passion, turning half about and staring at Theodosia, eyeing her form up and down. “What you know about that?” Theodosia asked. She turned back to Americy’s playing again. “What do you know about that?”