The Dog of the South

The Dog of the South

Charles Portis

Language: English

Pages: 253

ISBN: 1585679313

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Ray Midge is waiting for his credit card bill to arrive.

His wife, Norma, has run off with her ex-husband, taking Ray's cards, shotgun and car. But from the receipts, Ray can track where they've gone. He takes off after them, as does an irritatingly tenacious bail bondsman, both following the romantic couple's spending as far as Mexico. There Ray meets Dr Reo Symes, the seemingly down-on-his-luck and rather eccentric owner of a beaten up and broken down bus, who needs a ride to Belize. The further they drive, in a car held together by coat-hangers and excesses of oil, the wilder their journey gets. But they're not going to give up easily.

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you’re talking about but I’ve never been in one. Look here, you can’t just go around saying Braxton Bragg lost the war.” “My father said he lost it at Chickamauga.” “I know what Bragg did at Chickamauga, or rather what he didn’t do. I can’t accept Joseph E. Johnston’s excuses either for not going to help Pemberton but I don’t go around saying he lost the war.” 67 Charles Portis “Well, my father believed it. Pollard was his man. A fellow named Pollard, he said, wrote the only fair account of

out. The headboard of the bed was covered with some cheap white synthetic material—in this land of mahogany—and the name KARL was carved into it in block letters. Each time I woke up, I was confused and then I would see that KARL and get my bearings. I would think about Karl for a few minutes. He had thought it a good thing to leave his name here but, ever wary, not his full name. I wondered if he might be in the next room. With his knife and radio he might be on the move con­ stantly, like J. S.

and she turned her back to me and went through the curtain to her living quarters. I rang the bell but she wouldn’t come back. I was annoyed with Webster for poking around my room while I was asleep but I didn’t mention it. I asked if he could run an errand for me. He said nothing and kept working in his notebook. He and Ruth both had decided that I was the sort of person they didn’t have to listen to. There were certain white people that they might have to listen to but I was not one of them. I

her that I had recently dreamed of just such a tableau as this—a woman and a small boy and I seated before a low table. She didn’t know what to make of me. First the pelican and now this. The details, I should say, didn’t correspond ex­ actly. Christine didn’t have nice clothes like those of the woman in the dream and Victor didn’t appear to be a little smart-ass like Travis, although he was clunking his heels against the seat in a rhythmic way that I found irritating. Still, the overall pic­

hit the creeks at high speed. Water shot up through the floor and the boys began to squeal and jump about. Now I was driving recklessly. A catlike animal sprang into the road and then stopped. I saw his face in the glare and it looked almost human in that 198

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