The parts I loved most are the parts I always love most with McCarthy, the sweet, dumb clarity of youth, the luck and love in a bloodbath world. Harrogate the melon-mounter, the pearl-hustler’s daughter. Which speaks to nothing except my own youth, I’m sure. Thinking that McCarthy shows more of his youth here, not yet in full possession of the balance and wisdom to come.
But I like feeling uncertain about this. McCarthy puts a hell of a lot into Suttree the man. It will stick with me.
And what happens then?
When?
After you’re dead.
Dont nothin happen. You’re dead.
You told me once you believed in God.
The old man waved his hand. Maybe, he said. I got no reason to think he believes in me. Oh I’d like to see him for a minute if I could.
What would you say to him?
Well, I think I’d just tell him. I’d say: Wait a minute. Wait just one minute before you start in on me. Before you say anything, there’s just one thing I’d like to know. And he’ll say: What’s that? And then I’m goin to ast him: What did you have me in that crapgame down there for anyway? I couldnt put any part of it together.
Suttree smiled. What do you think he’ll say?
The ragpicker spat and wiped his mouth. I dont believe he can answer it, he said. I dont believe there is a answer.