Rant

Don’t make me laugh. Don’t call what’s really loose morals any “attack.” Women in the Shelby family have always run around. No curse settled on the Shelby women, except maybe the curse of promiscuity.
    Ruby Elliot: But soon as Hattie Shelby turned thirteen, it did happen, again. Another stranger and another baby. This baby was Irene’s own mama, Esther.
    Edna Perry ( Childhood Neighbor): Their farm, Middleton folks call it the “Shelby Place” even after Chet Casey took over. For all those years it was Bel raising Hattie raising Esther. Local history is, the exact day little Esther turned thirteen, she got pregnant with Irene.
    Ruby Elliot: A family history like that, and you can’t blame Glenda Hendersen and me for fearing the worst once Irene got to ninth grade. We walked everywhere with her, not once letting our best friend out of eyesight. When we weren’t watching Irene, her ma and grandma was. You could argue they drove Irene a little crazy, mother-henning that way. Could be that amount of safeguarding is what drove Irene to sneak out. Just to be by herself and walk along the river, through the trees along the river, alone.
    Sheriff Bacon Carlyle ( Childhood Enemy): The wild-dog packs running around in those woods, it’s nothing but selfdestructive, walking in those woods by yourself. For a young girl like Irene was, we’re talking about just plain insane suicide behavior.
    Ruby Elliot: Except maybe Irene didn’t want to spend her life hiding behind locked doors and best friends and her mama’s skirt.
    Basin Carlyle: Irene Shelby took to sneaking off. Then she got herself knocked up. Then she gone and married Chester. No mystery. It’s crazy talk to say a rapist has run down four generations of the same family. Don’t make me laugh.
    Reverend Curtis Dean Fields: Still, for the life of me, I never did see any child grow up to look so much like his father. Why, anybody meeting Buster and Chester Casey would swear those two were twin brothers.
    That is—if they weren’t born a generation apart.
    Glenda Hendersen: Granted, Chet was some years older than Irene. You could blame that for why the two of them never acted close, not in front of folks. Never so much as held hands. But they seemed to genuine care for each other, right up until Chet climbed into that airplane and never looked back.
    Irene Casey ( Rant’s Mother): You’re asking, was I raped? Was I attacked by a stranger who might’ve been my father, and my grandfather, and great-grandfather? Why bring up such awfulness?
    I don’t know. I forget. I can’t remember.
    31–An Accounting
    Irene Casey ( Rant’s Mother): Close as I can figure, the older Carlyle boy went and got himself made sheriffjust so he can break bad news to folks. He come up our porch steps, middle of breakfast, the morning after Buddy’s car accident, and banged on the screen until Chet come to the door. Bacon Carlyle, he says, “I regret to inform you, but your son, Buster Landru Casey, was killed in a car accident at approximately eleven-forty-three of last night.” He read the words from a little white card, looking at the card instead of us. Sounding out each word, slow as if he was in second grade. Then, all respectful, he snatched off his trooper hat, and he turned the card over and read the back side, saying, “You have my deepest sympathies in your time of grieving.”
    We’d already see’d that part while he read us the first side. Chet asks, “They found a body yet?” Bacon shrugged, the big idiot. He stuck the white card inside his hat and set the hat back on his ears.
    Lew Terry ( Property Manager): Some farmer in bib overalls shows up, ringing the buzzer, and rolling me out of bed in the middle of the day. Daytimers haven’t any respect. He won’t leave my stoop, and he’s waving an envelope with this building as the return address, claiming to be the Casey kid’s father. The father guy comes here all the way from nowhere to collect his kid’s stuff. Of course I gave him my sympathy. The police have already combed the apartment, but they didn’t say I couldn’t let in relatives. Funny thing is, the layout of this building isn’t overly logical. To find the kid’s unit, you need to go all the way to the back of the firstfloor hallway, take the fire stairs up to the second floor, then walk along an open-porch deal to the end door. I don’t tell the father guy this, but when I duck back inside my unit to get the pass key, the guy’s