Child of God

by Cormac McCarthy

Where you from. You a fugitive ain’t ye? I’m from Pine Bluff Arkansas and I’m a fugitive from the ways of this world. I’d be a fugitive from my mind if I had me some snow. What you in for? I cut a motherfucker’s head off with a pocketknife. Ballard waited to be asked his own crime but he wasn’t asked. After a while he said: I was supposed to of raped this old girl. She wasn’t nothin but a whore to start with. White pussy is nothin but trouble. Ballard agreed that it was. He guessed he’d thought so but he’d never heard it put that way. The black sat on his cot and rocked back and forth. He crooned: Flyin home Fly like a motherfucker Flyin home All the trouble I ever was in, said Ballard, was caused by whiskey or women or both. He’d often heard men say as much. All the trouble I ever was in was caused by gettin caught, said the black.