by Marc Hess
I came home for this bunk? The old man’s threat left Max unimpressed. “Yeah? And who gets the turkey buzzards?”
“No joke! This is a sin, Verdammt. A sin saddled on you.” His eyes rolled back, fogged over as he lapsed into the language he had grown up with: “… immer Pferde jagen … Bullenreiten …” Max picked out random words: horses, rough stock to be broke, rodeo buddies, and Mexico. His father kept saying Mexiko.
Everyone knew of Maximilian’s younger days as a rodeo man. Max never doubted the old man’s toughness. Odd, though, that his father had never displayed his championship belt buckles or showed any old rodeo photos. Carel had one from Uncle Victor. Max recalled that Mari kept a set of her father’s buckles mounted for display on her bookshelf. He made a mental note now, that he should probably get one of his own father’s buckles before the old man passed away.
“It’s no sin to have a good ride, Papa.”
“Ach.” The old man shook his head, and the German words that followed were mostly lost on Max. “Enge Freunde, we were. Drei schmutzige Kameraden.”
Good friends? Three … something friends. Dirty friends? “Oh, don’t go German on me,” Max said, trying to keep his temper under control. “Just say whatever it is you’re trying to tell me. And say it in English, for God’s sake.”
The angel of clarity settled upon Maximilian. The focus returned to his eyes, and he spoke without obstruction or temper. “Okay den. What happened. Down in Mexico a good ways back den. We lay de sin of fornication upon dat one Mexican girl. Each of us. Lord, each and every one of us.”
Max’s jaw dropped.
Maximilian went quiet.
Was that all he had to say? An odd sense of relief seeped through Max. He pursed his lips to keep a smile from creeping across his face. This was almost comical. His father went a-whoring down in Mexico. That almost brought out a human side of the old man.
“So, did you guys pay her for this? That happens all the time, you know.” It suddenly occurred to him that this might have been something more vicious. “Or was this … uh, forced on her, like a …”
That brought the madman back out. “Es ist egal, boy!” he exploded. “It’s a sin. Fornication is a sin, an’ you …” He aimed a bony finger at Max’s face. “An’ you …”
“Oh, don’t you go lay this on me.” It was Max’s turn to fly off the handle—so similar to his father’s behavior. He caught himself, collected his thoughts, and continued in a calmer tone. “Let me guess. You and your old rodeo buddy, Victor Geische, the drunk. You said Drei. Three friends. Who was the third?”
The old man took a moment to stare into the past. “Teddy Hilss.”
“Mari’s father? Well, I never figured him to be the type.”
“Teddy. Ja. Ja. It was Teddy. He was de one which goes back to get her. All de way back to Mexico.”
“The Mexican whore?”
Maximilian looked back to his son. “Ja, he finds her. Wit’ child. Pregnant by one of us. Or all of us.” The old man appeared to laugh. “An’ ol’ Teddy goes an’ marries her. Down here at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. She has de baby right dere at de Hilss homestead.” He gave his son a malicious grin. “Dey name de new baby for her Mexican grandmother, or something. Maribelle.”
Mari Hilss? Did he hear that right? His father had spoken in English. There were no words to confuse. Max felt the blood drain from his head. “Mari? You could be the father of Mari?”
The old man’s head was nodding. “Dat very person dat you copulated. De very one.”
“My half-sister, then? Or Carel’s, even!” The chair fell over when Max stood up. He struggled with an urge to strangle his father—to shove him to the floor and let his own feelings reign. “Well, damn you, then. Just … damn you!”
It was his father’s turn to calm things down. “Ja. I am damned. Soon to start my time burnin’ in de flames of hell for what I have done here on dis earth, in dat … dat Gott verlassen Mexico. An’ I tell you now, I stand in fear of dat.” He was climbing back into the pulpit now. “An’ I’ll have my own son dere to burn wit’ me. Bathed in dose very same flames, not even to stop dere wit’ you.” He pounded out each syllable on the cover of his Bible. “Dies ist das sin that transcends all generations!”
Max saw it all now, like a specter creeping out from behind the blinds: how his father had wielded his guilt over them all—Max, his sister, and his brother—throughout their entire lives. If Maximilian had ever come to doubt the magnitude of that one sin, so long ago in Mexico, and all the consequences that had followed him home to Fredericksburg, then his own son’s illicit sexual relationship with Ted Hilss’s daughter had hammered home his belief once more. The tryst that drove Max out of town had provided his father with the confirmation of his own perverted theology—and driven the last undeniable nail into the old man’s hell-bound coffin.
The front door opened. Evelyn and Gerdie were back, with reluctant children in tow. “The kids were getting tired.”
“We were all getting overheated out there.”
From his father’s corner of the room, Max barely looked at them. Their figures seemed so gray, an abstraction. His jaw felt numb; his mind was racing. Oh, jeez, half- or not! Not … my own sister.
Maximilian’s head tilted to the side.
“But maybe not my sister, though,” Max whispered. “It could just as well be Carel, eh?”
The old man’s breathing was slow and steady. The lids slid over his eyeballs like a reptile’s.
Max reached out and shook his father’s bony knee. “Wake up. Wake up, Papa.”
Kids protested from across the room. “Why couldn’t we stay longer?”
“Uncle Jock was there.”
“We weren’t tired, Mom.”
“Hush.” Gerdie silenced her boys and crossed the room to the dark corner, where her men were so covertly engaged.
Max stared blankly at her approach, as if he were in trouble. My … sister?
Maximilian, the coward that he was, had dozed off with the loose flesh of his cheeks bagging up on one side of his face, looking so fragile and innocent.
“It’s okay, Max.”
He recoiled when Gerdie’s hand touched his shoulder.
“He’s fine. Just napping.”
Max’s mind flashed uncontrollably on the years spent in condemnation of his father’s rancid cruelty—and now there was more. But me? Or Carel, even?
He shook his head in revulsion. What kind of pervert would fuck his sister?
• • •
As daylight waned, the fairgrounds stretched out against the darkness. The outlying hills dropped into the edges of the night, while the neon lights and the skeleton frames of the amusement rides cranked their way up into the soft pink tissues of the fading skies. Whoops and hollers from the Tilt-A-Whirl rolled like a breaking wave over the hurdy-gurdy of the midway barkers and the whiff of deep-fried carnival food.
Carel had never missed a county fair in his life. Now he stood against a familiar rail, determined to set a new record for how many beers he could drink in one evening. The night crowd flowed in through the gates, heading toward the outdoor band shell, where a group dressed up like cowboys dragged their instruments and equipment out on the stage. The dance slab before them held a summer crowd of date-night romancers, gaggles of high school friends old and new, and real cowboys itching for a good ol’ two-step.
Willow came waltzing through the gate on the arm of one of those Ebberhaus boys, wearing a smile as big as the moon. Seeing her there stripped the bitterness from Carel’s heart. Just knowing that she was his daughter was better than all the money he had ever lost.
“But I don’t have any money, and I don’t have her,” he said to no one in particular. He decided to step up and say hello to her, maybe meet her guy, maybe become a bigger part of her life.
“Talking to someone?” Thea stepped in from his blind side and gave him a friendly hug. She was squeezed together and dressed to dance.
; “No. I was just …” He shrugged. “Hey. You are looking pretty hot tonight. Can I get you a beer?”
Thea smiled at the flattery. “Save your money, Carel.” Her eyes swept through the crowd. “I’m looking for Max. Have you seen him?”
The bitterness came back to his heart. He just shook his head to answer Thea and watched his daughter disappear into the dance crowd.
• • •
Max had buried himself in the anonymity of the dance crowd when Thea found him. She had a warmer greeting for him than for Carel, but it hardly registered. His mind was back in that sweltering living room, picking through the red-hot puzzle pieces that had spilled from his father’s mouth.
When Thea took his hand, he was doused in a vivid recollection of Mari touching him. He recoiled as if snakebit before quickly apologizing. “Oh, sorry. I …” He forced a wobbly smile. “Caught me off guard.”
“You pining for some other girl?” Thea joked.
He blew that off with a honey-toned “What would make you think that?” and a nervous laugh. He put his arm around Thea’s shoulder and pulled her to his side so she wouldn’t be looking at his face. It was at a dance just like this one where it all started going wrong with Mari. She was Carel’s girl way back then.
The band started with some rocked-up country tune that grabbed up the entire audience in one sudden beat. On the first chord, the minions became a pulsing sea in front of the stage. With arms stretched overhead they shouted the lyrics, while more traditional paired-up dancers scooted along the edges of the throng.
“You going to give me a dance, mister?” Thea asked with an unrefusable smile. “Looks like we have some cowboy-surfer music tonight.” She wove her arm into his and lured him into a few simple steps.
Max remained distant—just going through the motions. He knew he wasn’t the dance partner she’d discovered the other night. Over her shoulder, he spied Willow off in the crowd, dirty dancing with some muscled ranch boy. Willow’s mother was out there too, ripping it up with some dark-haired stud. Max watched as mother and daughter caught each other’s eye and exchanged a quick glance, some kind of signal or shared antic. They both smiled the same simple way.
My God, what they don’t know.
“What?” Thea called to him, bringing him back to the girl in his arms. “Did you say something?”
He hoped not. “What do you say we get a drink?”
“Sure.”
With a cool beer in his hand, Max made an effort to behave more like he was on a date. He smiled and nodded as Thea’s mouth moved, but he didn’t catch all her words—it was loud, and he was distracted. Then Thea was smiling and waving at someone over his shoulder.
Max turned to see Carel’s fist on its way toward him.
He ducked, and Carel’s arm wheeled through the air, connecting with nothing. Carel stumbled up again, getting in Max’s face and shoving hard at his shoulders, splashing beer all over his shirt.
Those nearby took a step back, spontaneously forming an impromptu arena. Others pushed forward to bring on a fight crowd.
Max spoke first. “You … you got no idea what’s going on here.”
“Me?” Carel shrieked. “I don’t know what? In my town? You’re fucking with my people?” He pointed at Thea, who was stepping backwards. Then he pushed at Max.
Max held up his hand but Carel answered with another wide roundhouse swing, this one landing against Max’s neck. The effort took Carel off balance and they fell into each other, grabbing and shoving and looking more like two bears dancing than a scuffle.
Max pushed him off. “Listen to me, dude. You don’t know the truth about this. I do. You have no idea …”
Carel cocked his arm and threw it forward again, awkward. Max pulled aside. The force of Carel’s own swing took him stumbling to the ground—first to his knees, then on all fours. It was ugly.
The crowd thickened around them. Max looked at his beer-stained shirt, then to Carel, who was getting up as awkwardly as a camel rising to its feet. Max took one step forward and kicked out, catching Carel below his ribs and rolling him back to the ground.
That’s the way to settle this.
That blow gave Max a great sense of release, and he leaned in to deliver more, but a burly fair security man grabbed him from behind, one arm around his neck and the other pinning his right arm behind his back. Carel stood up on his own for a moment, then dropped back to his knees.
The moment froze like a photograph. No one moved. It became oddly quiet for a fair crowd—the music from the band shell became a muted background and the carnival sounded far, far away.
Carel raised his head. Standing over him in full uniform, with sunglasses dangling from his breast pocket, was Gillespie County Deputy Lester Metzger.
Lester stooped down in front of him and checked his breathing. “Think you’ve had enough fair for one night, Mr. Geische?”
Carel moaned something and rolled onto his side. Lester stood and nodded to the security man, who released his hold on Max. Lester’s partner, Deputy Ortega, made his way onto the scene of the crime, squawking into his police radio. Max was certain that he was about to have another nasty meeting with the sheriff, but Lester said nothing while pulling Carel to his feet.
Willow and Mari were standing together, front and center where Max could hear them. “Why does Daddy have it out for Max so much?” Willow asked her mother. “I thought they were cousins.”
Max turned to look at Mari, the childhood playmate who might be his half-sister, or maybe Carel’s half-sister or cousin or something. She was rigid, chewing on her lower lip. Max remembered how she used to do that when they got into trouble.
The sin that transcends generations. The lies here were deep, so deep. No fight could resolve them.
“Tell her,” Max barked at Mari. He nodded his head toward Willow. “Go on, tell her.” He felt like he was about to cry or get sick. Or … something.
Nothing was said.
“Tell me what, Mom?”
Mari pulled her hair back and scrunched up her face like she had tasted something sour.
Out of the side of his eye, Max saw Carel shaking his head, staring down Mari and telling her no. “Do you want her to hear it from me?” Max shouted at Carel. “Because, damn it, I will …”
Mari was slowly shaking her head. She turned to her daughter. “Well, Max is your father, sweetheart.”
“Who?”
“Max. Max Ritzi.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“Willow, watch your language. You’re out in the public.” Mari paused.
“Max?”
“Yes. Your dad, Carel, didn’t … well, biologically speaking, anyway. Carel Geische, well, yeah, he’s the one I married. Acted like he was your father. Sometimes, that is.”
Willow looked from one man to the other.
Mari pointed at Max. “And that fellow there … The only thing that he put into this deal was a small drop of his manhood.”
Willow looked back to her mother and then to Max. Mari raised a finger and touched Willow’s chin. “All he gave you was that little dimple you got right there. You ever notice that?”
Willow’s laugh sounded fake. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“The cat’s out now, sweetheart. And we’re done here.”
“Really?” Willow seemed more quizzical than confused.
The crowd had meandered off to the next amusement. Thea was nowhere in sight. The lawmen held Carel off to one side, where he stood struggling to keep his balance and repeating, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Willow looked back to her mother. “You know, I knew something was odd about this whole thing.” She shrugged, looked at Max, and said, “Wow.”
Max spoke directly to Willow, but his words were intended for all. “I did you right, Willow. Secrets like that are going to screw you up in a big way. You can’t even imagine what’s going on here.”
“Okay. That’s cool.” She didn’t sound convinced.
/>
Mari released a sigh loud enough for Max to hear, a big breath that she had probably held in for years.
Without waiting for Lester to come over and offer him first aid, Max turned and walked back into the anonymity of the fair crowd.
• • •
An ambiguous compulsion lured Carel onto Mari’s front porch in the quiet of that deep night. He rapped on the screen door—not too hard, not too insistent. Waiting a moment, and mulling how wrong this might be, he knocked a second time. Waited. Then stepped away.
The night about him was set with stars. The moon laminated the hay stubble in the nearby pastures and drew a halo over the hills up there where Geische Manor stood. Cora Lynn had forgotten to shut off the patio light—something she never failed to do.
The door behind him opened, and Mari stood inside the screen, bedraggled and swallowed up in an oversized T-shirt. Neither angry nor disappointed, she looked as if she might have been expecting him.
“Is Willow here?”
“No.” She cocked her thumb over her shoulder. “But Dean’s here. You looking to get your ass kicked a second time tonight?”
I didn’t lose that fight … The thought welled up from a corner of his mind but never made it to words. He almost said, I’m sorry, but he wasn’t sure where that fit in. So he went with, “I was just wondering about how Willow is taking all this.”
Barefoot, Mari stepped out into the moonlight, closing the door softly behind her. “We best talk out here.”
She took a seat at one end of the front porch glider. Carel stepped over and sat down at the opposite end.
“Whatever I did or didn’t do,” he proclaimed, “I kept your secret.”
“My secret? Ha!”
Carel leaned in, trying to keep his voice down. “I’d never sell you out like that. Like Max did tonight. You know I’d—”
“You punched him in the face.”
“Punch me. Go ahead. Kick me in the nuts. I’ll still keep your secret.”