Books [Got to Go Crik]
The zombie phase lasted for about a year. Edward never did a stroke of work if he possibly avoid it. Once in a while he would pick up a small, easy job, cleaning out a ditch, or mending a roof or whitewashing an outhouse. Seventy-five cents a week was enough to buy some grits and butts meat. His women friends would cook his meals in exchange for part of the rations. He paid for his washing by cutting firewood. Clothing was no problem. He still had two old suits left and a pair of overalls.
Even the crack with its fish and oysters did not attempt to throw off his lassitude. He scarcely ever smiled and he never laughed. Saturdays and Sundays he tramped the road; the rest of the week was given over to eating and sleeping with a few hours of work interspersed.
Then gradually a change came over Edward. Word had been passed around that the channel bass were biting in the surf. He returned one morning from the beach with three fine bass in his bucket. He displayed his catch to everyone he met. Life danced in his eyes again. His white friend who lived across the ditch asked: How much do you want for one of those bass?” Edward replied: “I 'speck [he?] worth forty cent.”
This was Edward's first sale of fish in years. He took