“Why did you say you were?”
“You didn’t tell me about why you didn’t go to the hospital last night.”
“I can see things that other folks can’t see,” Whitie announced.
“You’re like Licorice Stick,” said Pee-wee.
“He’s black,” Whitie said.
“I know he is.”
“Then how am I like him? I’m white. My name is Whitie.”
Pee-wee felt like a prisoner at the bar of justice with this little personage swathed in blankets, staring down at him. His wrappings covered his neck and all that could be seen of him was his face, perfectly motionless. Finally he said as if he were pronouncing sentence.
“Doctor Killem took me in his auto. We had to turn around and come back when we came to the bridge burning down. He’s going to take me another way. I saw a man getting dead.”
“Where?” Pee-wee asked, his interest somewhat aroused.