by Callan Wink
Nearly twenty miles out of town on dirt roads. And Martinsdale, the nearest town, wasn’t much of a town to begin with. He tried to sing along with Willie but his voice cracked like always, and so he unwrapped another sandwich, wishing he had more coffee.
* * *
—
The Virostok ranch house was tucked back into a small depression in the hills. A white two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch, one winter away from needing a new coat of paint. Off to the side of the house there was a pole barn and a corral with a big chestnut gelding standing swaybacked in the weak sun. There was an older Subaru wagon in the driveway. An unstacked pile of firewood with a splitting maul stuck in a big cottonwood round. August parked next to the Subaru and got out, stretching. Smoke was rising from the chimney of the house in a gray pillar. There was no doorbell, so August stood on the slightly warped boards of the porch and knocked. He could hear music coming from inside. It was faint, but it sounded like rap, lots of bass.
After another few knocks the door opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch. She was wearing workout clothes—black leggings and a purple tank top. Her sandy-blond hair was held back by a headband. She had wide hips, a small bust, almost no taper at the waist—a sturdy keg of a woman, approaching forty years old by the looks of it, with a fine layer of sweat on her bare arms, droplets clinging to downy hairs on her upper lip.
“Oh, hey,” she said. “Sorry. I was on the elliptical and didn’t hear you at first.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kim, Ancient’s fiancée. He had to go to the hardware store but he told me the new hand might be pulling in soon. August, right?”
“Yep.”
“You find the place all right?”
“No problems. Easy enough.”
“Where you from, August?”
“I drove up from Livingston. That’s where I’ve been living for a few years. But I’m from Michigan, originally.”
“Oh, Livingston’s a nice little town. I almost moved down there years ago to get my master’s at MSU. That place is crazy about fishing. It’s amazing how people travel from all over the world to go to Yellowstone to catch a dinky trout and put it back. You like fishing?”
“It’s okay. I go sometimes.”
She laughed. “Well, we got the Musselshell up here. In the spring it’s a muddy mess, in the summer it’s pretty much dry, in the winter it’s frozen. Someone told me there’s fish in it, but I’m not sure how.”
“Probably some catfish, at least. A catfish can pretty much live in anything.”
Kim was looking past August, and he could see the distance her eyes traveled, over his shoulder, over the brown fields, out to the low mountain range to the south.
“I guess if you don’t have a little catfish in you you’re bound for misery up here,” she said, shaking her head. “Let me get my boots on and I’ll walk you over to your room.” She went back inside and reemerged in rubber muck boots and a down jacket. August got his bags from the truck and followed her across the yard to the pole barn. In the back there was an apartment with a couple of small windows, a patio made of flat cement pavers, and a gas grill.
She flicked on the fluorescent lights. There was a bunk bed along one wall. Concrete floors with an assortment of carpet remnants for rugs. A sink and a small set of cupboards. A two-burner hot plate and a half-sized refrigerator/freezer. There was a round table with a single chair. The walls were fresh white, unadorned except for a calendar from Western LP Gas, from last year, and a framed cross-stitch that read IF YOU’RE NOT GOD OR GEORGE STRAIT, TAKE YOUR BOOTS OFF!
“No frills,” Kim said. “But it’s comfortable enough. Feel free to do whatever you want to make it yours. Paint, or get a couch, or hang stuff up, or whatever.”
August dropped his two duffels. “I’m not too picky. Looks fine to me as is,” he said.
“No TV,” she said. “I’m not sure if Ancient told you that when you talked to him.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I guess you and Ancient will hit it off, then. He doesn’t care about TV one way or another. His idea of entertainment is changing the oil on a tractor. He wanted me to get you started on that pile of firewood out front. I told him that you’d probably want to take a little rest and relax when you got here, but he said it wasn’t like you’d caught a red-eye from Tokyo. Working for him can be a real treat,” she said. “You’ll find that out, I imagine.”
“He’s paying me to work,” August said. “I’ve got nothing else to do. Where does he want it stacked?”
“There’s a spot around the side of the house, a lean-to with a concrete pad. You’ll see it. There’s a wheelbarrow there, too.”
“Okay, I’ll just get my stuff straightened out and I’ll get to it.”
“Well, there’s no hurry, I’m sure. Oh, and I’ll be making some dinner tonight. Why don’t you come up to the house around six? Usually you’ll be on your own for food, and God knows you’ll be happy enough to get a break from Ancient’s cantankerous ass, but since it’s your first day I thought it would be nice to have a little get-to-know-you meal. Pork chops and green beans, salad and some cornbread.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“All right then, I’ll leave you to it. Going to get my butt back on the elliptical.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob and didn’t say anything for a moment. “You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Nope. Haven’t found the time recently.”
“I doubt you’ll find many alluring prospects up here. Does Livingston still have all the trains coming through? I remember how loud that was. They’d blow their horn three times at the crossing, and it was enough to rattle your fillings if you happened to be standing out on the street.”
“Yeah, that’s still going on. More than ever. They got coal trains heading to Portland now. Seems like a constant stream of them.”
“That must be pretty special.”
“You get used to it.”
“Well, that’s how it is up here, too. Except for it’s not trains, it’s silence. I’ve been up here for a year now, and it’s like the Grand Central Station of silence. I’m sure I’ll get used to it at some point, but I’m still waiting.”
When Kim left, August unpacked his jeans and shirts and refolded them into the dresser drawers. He hung his lined Carhartt jacket on the rack next to the door and dug through the smaller pockets of his duffel for his deerskin work gloves. He sat on the bottom bunk for a moment and then leaned back, fingers laced behind his head. He was over six feet tall and several inches of him hung over the foot of the bed, but the mattress was firm and felt new. The top blanket was wool, a diamond Indian-style pattern on it. There were two pillows. They were crisp and felt new as well. He heaved to his feet, and before heading out the door, he took down the UNLESS YOU’RE GOD OR GEORGE cross-stitch and slid it under the bottom bunk. He put the outdated Western LP Gas calendar in the trash. The walls were blank now save for the two nails. He went out and got to work.
* * *
—
The logs were already cut to stove length; they just needed to be split. It was pine of some kind, straight grained and sticky with pitch. They were quick to cleave, flying apart with a satisfying crack at the head of the maul. August fell into an easy rhythm, warming a little with the exertion, rolling the sleeves of his flannel up over his elbows.
He split two wheelbarrows full and carted them over to the lean-to. He made square end-stacks and then started filling in between them. He’d worked his way through half the woodpile when a flatbed Ford pulled in and parked next to the Subaru. The man who got out wore jeans and a fleece-lined jean jacket, a silk scarf knotted up at his throat and a battered wool Stormy Kromer hat. He was younger than August had imagined he would be—midthirties at the oldest. August took off his gloves and leaned the maul against his knee.
“Unless you’r
e the firewood fairy, I’m going to guess that you’re August?” August nodded, and they shook hands. “I’m Ancient Virostok,” the man said. “Welcome aboard the good ship Virostok. As of this moment we’re managing to stay above water.” Ancient regarded the pile of split wood and nudged a piece with his boot. “Looks like Kim got you lined out on the firewood. I appreciate you getting right to it.”
August shrugged. “I’ve never minded splitting firewood.”
“I hear you there. That’s a task that I almost hate to delegate. You know what they say about splitting firewood?”
“Maybe.”
“It warms you twice.”
“My old man always says that.”
“Sounds like an intelligent person. You told me when we talked on the phone, you’re originally from the Midwest somewhere, right? Wisconsin?”
“Michigan. Pretty much the same.”
“Your old man’s got a little spread back there, you said?”
“Farm. He does dairy.”
“I hope you don’t think it’s me prying, but I’m just curious. Seems funny to work on another man’s place when you got one in the family. You and the old man at odds?”
“Some. I don’t much like dairy. And I like it out here.” August gestured vaguely behind him at the hills. “Sun comes out more.” He nodded at the woodpile. “We don’t burn pine back there. It’s all oak and maple. Hardwood. Crooked grain. Hard on tools.”
“I’ve never been to Michigan. Been to Minnesota one time, though.” Ancient took his cap off, scratched his scalp, and then settled it back down firmly. “Rochester, Minnesota. Wasn’t there long enough to really give me the lay of the land, though.”
“What were you doing down there?”
“Mayo Clinic. Took my dad a couple years ago. The fact that he wasn’t the one who hired you will tell you all you need to know about how that whole deal turned out.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Well, we were on the outs a lot. But I never did go off to work anywhere else, though I definitely thought about it. Three generations of Virostoks, right here. My mom named me Ancient because when I came out in the hospital my face was all scrunched up and small. She said I looked one hundred years old as a baby. Now I suppose I look about thirty-five, and I only feel like I’m one hundred.”
August didn’t say anything and leaned on the ax handle.
Ancient crossed his arms over his chest and said, “We’re running three hundred head, give or take. One thousand deeded acres. Access to another five hundred of BLM, and we just picked up another piece, I’m happy to say. Decent grass and we got it pretty cheap. We’ve got water rights on the Musselshell and the North Fork and two good wells. We’ve had half a dozen serious offers to sell in the past few years, but I told them all thanks but no thanks, and that’s how it will be until it hurts too bad to get out of bed. My dad was a mean old son of a bitch but fair and hardworking, and that’s who I model myself after. I’m not saying all this to brag myself and the place up, just want you to have a sense of who and what you’re working for, that’s all.”
August nodded. “Sounds good.”
“I guess I told you most of that on the phone, didn’t I?” Ancient said.
“Pretty much.”
“Something tells me you just want to get back to work and don’t want to hear a bunch of rambling from me.”
August shrugged.
“Kim’s always telling me that I repeat myself. I’ve spent a fair amount of time alone, and so when I talk I’m not always as concerned about my audience as I should be. Kim tells me that, too. You got a lady friend back home, August?”
“Haven’t had time recently.”
“Jesus Christ. At your age I didn’t have time for much else.”
August put his gloves back on and hefted the maul. “I’ve been working a lot.”
“I guess you and I will get along, then,” Ancient said. “I’ll let you get back to it. Dinner in an hour.”
* * *
—
Dinner was dry pork chops, dry cornbread, mushy canned green beans. They sat at the rectangular dining room table, Kim and Ancient across from August. There was no music or TV, and the sound of cutlery on plates was very much in the room.
“This is a delicious meal,” August said. “Thanks, Kim.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “Glad to do it. I came to cooking late in life. Up until recently I just really couldn’t be bothered. I was addicted to those Healthy Choice microwave meals. Busy with work, busy with school. Food was just kind of a means to an end. Being up here with Ancient, though, I’ve had more time. And it’s more fun to cook for an appreciative audience. Ancient is so hungry by dinner I could probably serve him shit on a shingle and he’d love it.”
Ancient shrugged and smiled. He’d picked up his chop and was gnawing the meat from the bone.
“God, Ancient,” Kim said, laughing. “You’re a savage.”
“In Asia, if you don’t belch after your meal you’re considered a rude dinner guest,” Ancient said, putting the bone down and wiping his mouth with his napkin.
“So?” Kim said.
“So, it’s a similar concept. I’m trying to get every scrap of meat off this thing, and you should take it as a compliment.” Ancient smiled and winked at August. “And you know what they say—the sweetest meat is closest to the bone.”
“Oh, really? Is that what they say?”
“Sure, but I’ve always been a more-cushion-for-the-pushin’ sort of guy.”
“Keep digging yourself in, pal. How about we change the subject? August, what sort of things do you like to do in your free time?”
August was trying to cut the remaining meat from the pork chop bone, but the knife wasn’t sharp enough and the pork chop kept sliding on his plate. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Stuff with my friends. We do a lot of driving around.”
“Fishing?” Kim said. “Didn’t you say you like fishing?”
“Sure. I like to go fishing sometimes.”
“I remember when I had time to go fishing,” Ancient said. “Nineteen eighty-nine, I think it was.”
“Oh, bull crap, Ancient. I bet you could never sit still long enough to fish in the first place, no matter what. I love you, but patient you ain’t.”
“I have patience,” Ancient said. “Just not a leisurely sort of patience, is all. Anyway, fishing is for people who don’t have to work.”
“Well, maybe I should take it up, then,” Kim said, putting her fork into a pile of disintegrating green beans, tightening her mouth—not quite a frown, but a tightening nonetheless.
“You said you went for a master’s degree?” August said.
“Almost. I was going to, but ended up not.”
“For what?”
“Education. I’m a teacher. But not currently. I was teaching high school English in Boise before I came here. I still love it. I love the kids. It’s just the parents.”
“You should hear the shit she had to put up with from these parents,” Ancient said. “It would boggle your mind. It’s no wonder kids in Asia do better on all the tests and things. Their parents aren’t coming into the school to whine to the principal if little Junior gets a bad grade. When I was a kid, ol’ Mr. Rodabaugh would lay into you with a yardstick if you weren’t acting right. I guarantee every D I got in math I damn well earned.”
“Who wants dessert?” Kim said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve got a frozen chocolate cream pie. It’s store-bought but it should still be pretty good.”
August was in the Two Dot Bar, waiting on his hamburger. The bartender was a large older woman wearing a Montana State Bobcats sweatshirt and a baseball cap emblazoned with a rhinestone cross. “Whatcha drinking?” she said, putting a napkin down.
“Bud,” he said.
“I don’t recogn
ize you,” she said. “You old enough?”
August looked around the empty place and put his wallet on the bar. “I’m old enough,” he said.
“Bottle or draft, then?”
“Bottle.”
There was a single small TV hanging over the backbar, a basketball game on. San Antonio playing L.A. August drank his beer and watched without much interest. From where he sat he could see into the kitchen, the large, stained, apron-covered gut of the cook leaning against the grill. There was a blast of cold air at his back as the door opened and closed and a man walked in. August watched in the cracked mirror as he crossed the room and pulled up a stool at the other end of the bar. He was stocky, with a thick black beard, a red silk scarf, and a wide flat-brimmed vaquero hat.
The bartender sighed. “Timmy,” she said. “Coors?” The man nodded, and when she put the bottle in front of him he drank half of it in one long pull and then belched. He took his hat off and set it on the stool next to him, rubbing his scalp, his thick black hair sticking up in greasy spikes. August’s burger came out, and the bartender slid it over. One skinny patty, a whitish piece of iceberg lettuce, some onion, and a pale-pink tomato surrounded by a pile of soggy French fries. August doused the burger with mustard and salted the fries liberally. He could feel the man at the end of the bar looking at him as he started to eat.
“You’re pretty brave,” the man said.
August dunked a fry in ketchup. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
The man jerked his head at the kitchen. “I heard the county health inspector went back there once. No one’s heard from him since.”
“Oh, shut up, Timmy,” the bartender said. She waved her hand at him and slid August another beer. “Don’t listen to that idiot. He’s been coming in here since he was about sixteen, driving me crazy.”
“It’s because I love you, Theresa. I kid because I love you. But I’m serious about that food.” He shook his head and pointed his beer at the burger. “Here we are, surrounded by prime beef and homegrown potatoes, and Theresa still gets the frozen patties from Sysco. The fries they poop out into a mold from processed potato goop.”