Redundant (Merry-Go-Round)
He knows that look.
I got somethin' you don't got, Camptown racers sing this song, neener, neener, doo dah day.
"Brains?" he says, lackadaisically, arm outstretched, wrist-down. "Brrraaains."
She lifts an eyebrow. Her mouth ripples.
Moon-eyes never, never, never smiles for him. 'Course not. He's uninteresting. Got nothin' but simple, stupid thoughts o' basic type things. But she'll come an' stare at 'im when he's cleanin' his guns.
"You want this," he says, and his hand is so tight on Vera that his knuckles don't got no color in 'em at all, they're not even white anymore, 'cause he's seen Crazy with a pistol an' he'll never let her. Not no way on a frigid day in hell. "Too fuckin' bad. Git gone, looneybird."
Sometimes he dreams he's gone home, killed himself a four-point buck, an' it's steak for everbody.
He gets to carve. An' it's all rotten inside.
"Idiot," she says. It's not her word in her voice. She'd never say that word, because she doesn't do nothin' wrong. Ever. He knows it's his. Sure, he resents that, but it ain't like it's her fault, it's all sorts o' natural and right for her to be perfect.
Whatall's Simon call her? Exceptional an' gifted an' aww fuck, what's that word that means real plumb smart at speakin' good? That Core Planet fancy word that's hard to spell?
Erudite? Yeah. When she ever bothers to say a word.
There's days, moments like right now, he wants to put one right between her eyes, smack in the forefront of that special, special brain.
Other loons, they spit, scream and smash themselves on things and piss on the floor. He had a great-uncle, didn't quite have all his brains screwed on straight. Used to do stuff like that, Ma said. Hanged hisself in the barn before Jayne was ever even born.
He saw a lynching once. Weren't pretty. He thinks good an' hard about it, hopes she sees.
"Sure I am, River-girl," he says. "Git."
"Take me down a peg?" and now she's close to laughter. "My place is the kitchen. Simon's waiting."
"Go on," he says. "Ain't bulletproof."
"You ain't got no guts, girl-Jayne."
His fingers are against the trigger so quick he doesn't even notice.
"Hey, mooncalf. Wanna be a saint for real?"