My joints never used to complain like that, I thought. I watched the horse’s foot settle back to the ground and gave her aging haunch a firm scratch. “You getting a little arthritic, old girl?” I asked her. Then, to the man, “Okay, what’s the problem, Wallace?”
“Ain’t no problem.”
“Then, Wallace, why aren’t you mowing the pasture?” I looked out the barn doors at the trees alongside the field.
“Takin’ a break.” Wallace shuffled his long feet, then stopped, his dusty boots together, pointing his toes straight ahead, awkwardly. “Thought I’d stop for a while.”
“That’s reasonable, Wallace. It’s really hot out there. I was thinking about taking a break myself.” I pushed my sleeves back up my arms, pulled out my kerchief and wiped my neck.
“Why don’t you like me?” Wallace asked.
I looked up and down the barn alley. “Wallace, I’m afraid I’m having trouble following you, son.”
“Why don’t you like me?”
“Wallace, I like you fine. I hired you, didn’t I?”
“That don’t mean nothing.”
I called my dog over and rubbed at her ears. Zoe groaned and leaned into the attention. “Wallace, I like you just dandy, okay? I don’t want to go to town with you and dance and get drunk, but I like you.”
“Very funny,” Wallace said. “You’re always making fun of me. How come you say my name every time you say something to me?”
“Wallace, it’s your name. I didn’t think you’d respond to Cisco or Fred.”
“No, I mean every time you say something, you say my name. Every single time.”
“Do I, Wallace?” I caught myself as I said it.
“See.”
“I’m sorry, Wallace.”
“What’s that all about?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.” I blew out a breath and watched the man. He was tall, wiry, and what my father would have called a finger sandwich shy of a picnic.
Wallace shuffled in his tracks for a second time. “The mower blade broke,” he said.
“Didn’t I ask you if the tractor was okay, Wallace?”
“Yes, sir. The tractor’s fine. Blade’s broke. I guess I hit a big rock.”
I reached down, picked up a bit of hoof trimming, and tossed it to Zoe. “Guess so. Didn’t I tell you to walk that field first? Damn.”
I collected myself. “Well, Wallace,” I emphasized saying his name, “things happen. At least you didn’t whack off your leg or some other part. I’ll take a look at it later. In the meantime, go on in the house and have Gus make you a sandwich.”
“If you want I can try to weld the blade back on.”
“No, no, no, that’s okay, Wallace. You need lunch.” The words felt too quick in my mouth and for a second I worried that I’d insulted the thin-skinned man again. “I’ll take care of it. Go grab yourself some lunch.”
I watched the man cross the corral, then walk through the yard to the back door of the house. He knocked on the screen door, perfunctorily, before entering. I thought Wallace was okay, a little dumb, but okay. I didn’t know much about the man; I didn’t care to know much. I’d hired him in spite of his obvious surprise at discovering I was black. He’d come to the house and stood on the porch for near five minutes without knocking. Gus looked out the window and shook his head, laughing. “That white boy is gonna stand out there till winter.”