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l residents and to themselves； and take only from the vacationing tourists with cameras dangling from their rubber necks。
Two miles outside the city limits in gently swelling country is my small leased farm of twenty…three acres； a small house to live in； an outhouse and outside shower； a wellconstructed concrete brick cockhouse and some thirty…odd coop walks。 My shack； as I called it； was unpainted but fortable。 The man who built it had started with concrete bricks； but ran short before the walls had reached shoulder height。 The remainder of the house had been pleted with rough； unfinished pine； and roofed over with two welded sheets of corrugated iron。 In a downpour； the heavy pounding of raindrops on the corrugated iron had often driven me out of the shack。
Omar dropped me off first and then drove to his own farm。 He had much better facilities to take care of the cocks than I had； and； upon his suggestion； I had agreed to alternate between our farms for conditioning purposes。
Buford ran out of the cockhouse as I entered the yard； a big white smile shining in the middle of his ebony face。
〃Mr。 Frank；〃 he said happily； taking my bag； 〃I sure is happy to see you！ My curiosity's been drivin' me near crazy for two days。 Just wait tifi you see them big packages I put in the house！〃
I entered the shack； followed closely by Buford； and the first thing I did was reach behind the dresser for my pint of gin。 As I had suspected； the bottle contained less than two ounces； and it had been almost half full when Omar had picked me up three days before。 I looked sternly at Buford； but he was pointing innocently to the two large cardboard boxes on my bed。
〃I don' know what they is； Mr。 Frank；〃 he said quickly。 〃The man from the express brought 'em out day before yesterday； and I signed your name。 What do you reckon's in there？〃
I finished the gin； and handed the empty to Buford。 Buford had had his share while I was gone…the man had an unerring instinct for discovering where I hid my bottle。 He thought that finding my bottle was some kind of a game。
I took out my knife and slit open the two cardboard boxes。 One box contained a speaker； and the long box held an electric guitar。 But what a guitar！ The instrument was fashioned out of some kind of light metal； painted a bright lemon yellow and trimmed in Chinese red。 On the box； above the strings； there were two sets of initials； encircled by an outline of a heart。
If I thought I had made the grand gesture when I sent Bernice a dozen yellow roses； she had certainly topped me。 The electric guitar and its matching yellow amplifying speaker must have set her back four or five hundred dol lars。 I searched through the excelsior in both cartons for a note of some kind； but there wasn't even a receipt for the instrument。 The initials inside the heart contained her message。
Buford looked admiringly at the guitar； shaking his head with feigned amazement。 As soon as I looked at him he laughed the professional laugh of the American Negro。
〃Whooee！〃 he exploded with false amusement。 〃You got yourself a guitar now for sure； Mr。 Frank！〃
I pointed to the door。 Out in the yard I gave Buford a tendollar bill in payment for looking after the place for three days。 Buford had his own farm； a wife and four children； but he spent more time with me than he did with his family。 When I happened to think about it； I'd slip him a five or a ten； but I didn't keep him on a regular salary because I didn't need him around in the first place。 He knew as much about the raising and handling of gamecocks as any Negro in the United States； if not more。 Unfortunately； because of his color； he was barred from almost every white cockpit in the South。。 He would have been an invaluable assistant for me on my trips to circuit cockpits； but I couldn't take him along。 However； he helped me out around the place； handled opposing cocks in my own training pit and made himself fairly useful during conditioning periods。 He loved game…cocks。 That much I knew about him。 And I believe he would have sacrificed an arm or a leg for the opportunity to fight them。 Because I knew this much about the man； I was well aware that his rich and easy laughter was insincere。
What in the hell did Buford have to laugh about？
〃I fixed up all them sun coops the way you showed me； Mr。 Frank；〃 Buford said。 〃And I put some new slats in the cockhouse stalls。 But they ain't much else to do； so I won't be back around till Saturday。〃
I nodded； and Buford climbed into his car。
〃Whooee！〃 he laughed through his nose。 〃You got you a git…fiddle now； sure enough！ Wifi you play some for me e Saturday？〃
Again I nodded。 As Buford made a U…turn onto the gravel road toward the highway； I entered the shack。
The wonderful and unexpected gift had made my heart sing with delight； although I had controlled my inner excitement from Buford。 As soon as he was gone； I connected the various electrical cords； following the directions in the illustrated instruction booklet。 I plugged the cord into the wall outlet and tuned the strings。 The full tones； amplified by the speaker set at full volume； reverberated in the small room and added a new dimension to my playing。 After experimenting with several chords； banging them hard and listening to them echo metallically against the iron ceiling； I tried a song。
Halfway through the song I stopped playing and placed the guitar gently on the floor。 Unconsciously； I had played 〃Georgia Girl〃 first。 The rich amplified tones brought suppressed visions of Mary Elizabeth flooding into my mind； and I dropped the plastic pick。
In the sharp silence； following so closely on the sound of the echoing song； I pictured Mary Elizabeth in my mind； stifi in the same position where I had left her at The Place。 She sat quietly； feet below the surface of the pool； and with dancing dappled sunlight reflecting on her pale nude body。 Her blue…green eyes looked at me reproachfully； and her ordinarily full lips were set in a tight grim line。
To make her disappear I shook my head。
This was a recurrent vision of Mary Elizabeth。 Whenever I happened to think of the woman； a guilty； sinking feeling acpanied the thought。 She was always nude； always at The Place。 I never thought of her as fully clothed…that was a Mary Elizabeth I didn't want to think about…the spinsterish； school…teacherish； Methodist kind； with a reproving expression on her face。 As a rule； when I hadn't seen Mary Elizabeth for several months； her features became indistinct； except for her hurt blue？ green？ eyes。 But her body was always as clear in my mind as a Kodachrome color print。 I remembered every anatomical detail； the way her right shoulder dipped a quarter of an inch lower than her left； the round； three…eyed shape of her button navel； and every golden pubic hair。
I loved her and I had always loved her and I always would love her； and the dark guilty shadows erased her pink…and…white body from my mind。 No man had ever treated a woman any shabbier than I had Mary Elizabeth！
Suppose； I thought blackly； she just says the hell with you； Frank Mansfield； and marries a nice stay…at…home Georgia