They sat in Wells' room, Wells on the bed and Chigurh in the chair by the window. You dont have to do this, Wells said. I'm a daytrader. I could just go home.
You could.
I'd make it worth your while. Take you to an ATM. Everybody just walks away. There's about fourteen grand in it.
Good payday.
I think so.
Chigurh looked out the window, the shotgun across his knee. Getting hurt changed me, he said. Changed my perspective. I've moved on, in a way. Some things have fallen into place that were not there before. I thought they were, but they werent. The best way I can put it is that I've sort of caught up with myself. That's not a bad thing. It was overdue.
It's still a good payday.
It is. It's just in the wrong currency.
Wells eyed the distance between them. Senseless. Maybe twenty years ago. Probably not even then. Do what you have to do, he said. Chigurh sat slouched casually in the chair, his chin resting against his knuckles. Watching Wells. Watching his last thoughts. He'd seen it all before. So had Wells.
It started before that, he said. I didnt realize it at the time. When I went down on the border I stopped in a cafe in this town and there were some men in there drinking beer and one of them kept looking back at me. I didnt pay any attention to him. I ordered my dinner and ate. But when I walked up to the counter to pay the check I had to go past them and they were all grinning and he said something that was hard to ignore. Do you know what I did?
Yeah. I know what you did.
I ignored him. I paid my bill and I had started to push through the door when he said the same thing again. I turned and looked at him. I was just standing there picking my teeth with a toothpick and I gave him a little gesture with my head. For him to come outside. If he would like to. And then I went out. And I waited in the parking lot. And he and his friends came out and I killed him in the parking lot and then I got into my car. They were all gathered around him. They didnt know what had happened. They didnt know that he was dead. One of them said that I had put a sleeper hold on him and then the others all said that. They were trying to get him to sit up. They were slapping him and trying to get him to sit up. An hour later I was pulled over by a sheriff's deputy outside of Sonora Texas and I let him take me into town in handcuffs. I'm not sure why I did this but I think I wanted to see if I could extricate myself by an act of will. Because I believe that one can. That such a thing is possible. But it was a foolish thing to do. A vain thing to do. Do you understand?
Do I understand?
Yes.
Do you have any notion of how goddamned crazy you are?
The nature of this conversation?
The nature of you.
Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men
Il y a cet art du dialogue sec chez Cormac McCarthy, pas étonnant que les frères Coen aient adapté No Country for Old Men : on les y trouve déjà à la lecture du texte post-animation. Ici le tueur face à l'un de ceux qui remontent ses traces. Le meurtre est dit sans fioriture, on presse la détente en discours raporté comme on clignerait de l'œil. Il y a cet art du dialogue sec partout dans le livre, cet art de la formule brève (« la nature de toi »), zero percent body fat, il ne reste que ce qu'il fallait laisser, épuré à l'extrême, jamais de trop.