A preacher ain’t nothin’ but a man.”
“Yeah, but—he’s—a kind of a man, else he wouldn’t be a preacher. I wanna ast you—well, you think a fella could bring bad luck to folks?”
“I dunno,” said Casy. “I dunno.”
“Well—see—I was married—fine, good girl. An’ one night she got a pain in her stomach. An’ she says, ’You better get a doctor.’ An’ I says, ’Hell, you jus’ et too much.’” Uncle John put his hand on Casy’s knee and he peered through the darkness at him. “She gave me a look. An’ she groaned all night, an’ she died the next afternoon.” The preacher mumbled something. “You see,” John went on, “I kil’t her. An’ sence then I tried to make it up—mos’ly to kids. An’ I tried to be good, an’ I can’t. I get drunk, an’ I go wild.”
“Ever’body goes wild,” said Casy. “I do too.”
“Yeah, but you ain’t got a sin on your soul like me.”
Casy said gently, “Sure I got sins. Ever’body got sins. A sin is somepin you ain’t sure about. Them people that’s sure about ever’thing an’ ain’t got no sin—well, with that kind of a son-of-a-bitch, if I was God I’d kick their ass right outa heaven! I couldn’ stand ’em!”
Uncle John said, “I got a feelin’ I’m bringin’ bad luck to my own folks. I got a feelin’ I oughta go away an’ let ’em be. I ain’t comf’table bein’ like this.”
Casy said quickly, “I know this—a man got to do what he got to do. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you. I don’t think they’s luck or bad luck. On’y one thing in this worl’ I’m sure of, an’ that’s I’m sure nobody got a right to mess with a fella’s life. He got to do it all hisself. Help him, maybe, but not tell him what to do.”
Uncle John said disappointedly, “Then you don’ know’?”