In the City of Shy Hunters

by Tom Spanbauer

  Who knows how long Joanie stood bent over laughing.

  How long we stood watching.

  When Joanie stood up straight, she held the photo out in front of her, pointed the photo around the room, pointed Fresh Fruit Truman Compotee at each one of us.

  Each one of us waiting for the joke.

  Then: AIDS! Joanie shouted.

  Truman Compotee looks like he has AIDS!

  HARRY’S FACE WAS SO white it was green. The deep breath he took, pushed his shoulders up, his head. His chin rolled back and his eyes were staring up.

  Both Fiona and I looked up at where Harry was staring at the ceiling.

  Harry, in the basement below the dining room, sat just about right under table twenty-eight, which was just about right under the Sistine Chapel God.

  Table twenty-eight just about right under the space between man reaching and God’s finger.

  The hierarchy of humiliations.

  Harry let his head roll. Fiona just like that was next to him, her open palms on his neck, her open palms on his head. Harry leaned into her, put his face against her white waitron shirt, put his head on Bernadette’s breast.

  Fiona’s red lips, a life all their own, kissed Harry’s head.

  Mack Dickson and Davey Dearest and Walter, Chef Som Chai and the Thai kitchen crew, the Puerto Rican busboys, the Mexican dishwasher, had turned into Art Family.

  John the Bartender held his hand over his mouth and ran into the toilet. Only cocaine and champagne in his stomach, John’s fountainmouth was one loud long scream and splash, scream and splash.

  Joanie had not moved. She still held the photo-booth photo up with one hand, her other hand over her mouth.

  Joanie’s eyes had the red puffy stare of one who has spoken unspeakable truth.

  Mack Dickson stepped out from the crowd, walked slow up to Joanie. His olive-skinned hand made a swipe. Ripped Fresh Fruit Truman Compotee out of Joanie’s hand.

  Snot out of Joanie’s nose; she tried to wipe it.

  John the Bartender barfing. Harry weeping. Joanie making little hiccup sounds. Her hands open, palm up.

  My God! Joanie said. My God!

  Mack Dickson slapped her hard, one cheek, then the other.

  Fiona closed her eyes, pulled Harry in closer.

  Mack Dickson hit the EXIT door, slammed the door open. Then it was Davey Dearest, then Walter.

  The Thai kitchen staff left behind them.

  Then the Puerto Rican busboys.

  The Mexican dishwasher.

  In all the world—abracadabra!—in the unrelenting bright fluorescence, all that was left was John the Bartender barfing in the toilet like Bobbie.

  All that was left was Harry kneeling on the floor between Fiona’s long legs, shoulder-rolling big sobs into Fiona’s lap.

  Fiona. Her lipstick a big red scar. Her hair every which way. Black mascara puddles under her eyes. Her porcelain arms a loop around Harry.

  All that was left was Joanie standing in her spotlight for life in her pink bra and pink bikini underwear. Sobs so big they’d break a rib.

  All that was left was a Brillo box.

  All that was left was a tiny photo-booth photo next to my foot on the floor.

  All that was left was my naked self.

  Even myself.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Charlie’s back was to the door. I was sitting on the bed, and Charlie was kneeling on the floor sucking my cock.

  Just like that, Bobbie walked in. The doorknob turned, the door opened, and Bobbie walked in.

  Bobbie had her hair done up in a French twist, and she was wearing a new dress Father bought her, shiny pink. Bobbie standing in her new shiny-pink dress she wanted to show me, staring. I tried to get Charlie to stop, tried to push Charlie’s head off, but he wouldn’t stop, not till I said, Charlie, I didn’t lock the door. Not till I said, Charlie, Bobbie’s right behind you.

  Charlie kept kneeling, turned his head around.

  Hi, Princess! Charlie said.

  Bobbie’s hands on her hips.

  What the fuck are you doing? Bobbie said.

  Giving your brother a blow job, Charlie said.

  He’s just a child, Bobbie said.

  He’s thirteen, Charlie said.

  He’s twelve, Bobbie said.

  Almost thirteen, I said.

  Then: Did Daddy buy Princess a new dress? Charlie said.

  Bobbie jumped at Charlie and Charlie got up quick, turned his whole body around, and faced her. Charlie stood in place, his hands fists, his cock still hard enough to bounce, his face smiling but not his eyes.

  Bobbie’s arms were out in front of her like she was Superman and going to fly.

  That’s disgusting! Bobbie said.

  Disgusting? Charlie said.

  You two! Bobbie said.

  Not as disgusting as you fucking your father, Charlie said.

  Like she was holding a planet of the known universe, Bobbie bent forward more, spread her arms more. You could see she’d shaved under her armpits.

  If you can fuck your father, Charlie said, I sure as hell can suck your brother’s cock.

  Bobbie’s fingers spread out; her fingernails were painted the same pink as her dress.

  We’re not so different, Charlie said. I like Parker dick as much as you.

  Bobbie stepped forward quick, swung hard with her open hand, and slapped Charlie across the face. The slap was loud and stayed in the room. Charlie didn’t move.

  Then Charlie swung hard with his open hand and slapped Bobbie across the face. The slap was loud and stayed in the room. Bobbie didn’t move.

  Then Bobbie slapped Charlie.

  Then Charlie slapped Bobbie.

  Those two would’ve kept on forever until the both of them were bloody stumps, I knew, so I covered myself with a pillow and pushed them apart at the hips, stuck my head up in between them, pushed myself up through.

  I was shorter, looking up.

  Charlie and Bobbie chin to chin, eye to eye.

  Charlie didn’t look down at me, didn’t blink, kept staring right at Bobbie.

  Then: Will, Charlie said, take that fucking pillow off your cock. You got nothing to be ashamed of.

  I looked over at Bobbie.

  Bobbie didn’t blink, didn’t look down, kept staring right at Charlie.

  You heard him, Will, Bobbie said, You got nothing to be ashamed of!

  So I dropped the pillow, my feather pillow I always slept with.

  All of us silent, all of us all one thing.

  My heart, the broken pieces scratching up against my chest.

  The pillow on my green rug, Charlie’s cinnamon-brown feet, my pink feet, Bobbie’s feet in nylons in her shiny black patent-leather shoes.

  Of course I started crying. Big sobs, snot running out my nose, my chest up and down.

  Then pretty soon Bobbie was crying and then Charlie was crying too. Two of us naked, one of us in a shiny pink dress, all of us a forearm apart, crying. Then Bobbie leaned over to me and hugged me and said, I’m sorry, Will honey, and Charlie leaned over to me and hugged me and said, I’m sorry too. And then we were all hugging each other and we were crying so hard, big loud sobs and body jerks, crying our guts out.

  Stayed standing, holding each other up that way, most of the afternoon.

  Charlie and Bobbie and I are still standing there.

  THE SECRET PACT was Bobbie’s idea.

  Bobbie and I were sitting on the two-by-six boards of the swings on the old swing set, not swinging up high, just letting our bodies roll around in the swings, our hands on the rusted chains, dragging our feet on the smooth concrete. Bobbie and I chewing on stems of the good kind of grass, the sun low, just starting to set, making the sky fancy with colors. The wind through the cottonwood trees sounded like God whispering. Charlie’d just ridden ayaHuaska home to Viv’s double-wide, and Bobbie and I were sitting in the swings, rolling rolling.

  Then: You and Charlie been sexifying
for quite a while now? Bobbie said.

  Bobbie had changed into her plaid pedal pushers and white top. Bobbie was looking at her thumb, scraping pink off her thumbnail.

  Beginning of the summer, I said.

  You do anything else? Bobbie said.

  What else? I said.

  Besides blow jobs? Bobbie said.

  We jerk off, I said. And rub up against each other, I said. Then one time we cut each other’s wrists, and became blood brothers, I said, And promised.

  Bobbie pushed her feet against the ground and swung back. Forward and back, forward and back, faster and faster, Bobbie pumped herself up in the air higher and higher. Bobbie’s body was dark and the sky was orange and apricot and the swing made the back-and-forth squeak, the squeak pitched higher and higher as the swing got higher. Bobbie’s hair was flying all around her head: off her face when the swing went forward, into her face when the swing went back, and sometimes just all over the place because of the wind. Bobbie got the swing so high she almost went all the way over.

  Then Bobbie quit pumping, just let her legs dangle, and the back-and-forth, back-and-forth of the swing got slower and slower, and the swing sound not so high-pitched, and pretty soon Bobbie in the swing was sitting still next to me.

  Bobbie’s pink thumbnail was bleeding.

  Just the wind and the way things sound at sunset.

  The horrific whisper: Promised?

  What did you promise? Bobbie said.

  My breath in. My breath out.

  To always tell the truth to each other, I said. That our secrets are always safe with each other, I said. We promised to always respect each other and never forget each other.

  Bobbie’s big brown eyes. She reached her hand across from her swing to my swing, put her hand palm up against my open palm.

  Just then was perfect, the exact moment in between dog and wolf. Entre chien et loup. The world went from day to night, the wind stopped, the cottonwood trees stood perfectly still, and, in the whole world, Bobbie’s whisper was the only thing you could hear.

  Bobbie’s whisper: Charlie and me. We got to do that.

  THE WAY BOBBIE figured it, she and I were the same in blood and Charlie and I were the same in blood, so she and Charlie had to be the same in blood too.

  So the next day we saddled up ayaHuaska and Chub, and Charlie rode ayaHuaska and Bobbie and I doubled on Chub. The spots on ayaHuaska’s butt said: wind.

  Big wind, Charlie said.

  Horse farts, Bobbie said.

  We tied the reins together and let the reins go and we played Going Slack. Charlie and ayaHuaska in the lead, Bobbie and me on Chub, just behind. Just like old times, the three of us riding free, the wind in our hair, the long yellow grass fancy-waving, the blue sky coming down all the way around us.

  Charlie did the Hooker Arm Drag and the Saddle Spin.

  Bobbie wasn’t going to be outdone so Bobbie and I worked it out, and Bobbie and I stood up on Chub, and Bobbie and I did a Duet, our arms sticking out, and Bobbie and I felt the way we’d always wanted to feel. The way the ocean feels, rolling rolling, or why birds like to fly so much.

  Double Hippodrome Stand.

  Through the paths in the willows to Spring Creek, galloping, willow leaves and branches stinging our face and arms, Charlie ahead on ayaHuaska, Bobbie and me on Chub, we rode until we got to our willow tree.

  Who can get their clothes off first?

  Bobbie was the first, way ahead of Charlie. Charlie was still on his Levi’s buttons when Bobbie dived off the bank, the smooth round white arc of her in the blue sky, big splash into the blue-green water.

  Charlie’s body, then mine, one arched uninterrupted muscle each, one long breath through clear water, one long hot dusty day; our youth.

  Whooping and hollering, water in our ears and nose, our breath in and out, in and out, the mud under our feet sticky and deep.

  THEN LATER, LYING on the grass in the sun, naked on our towels. Bobbie’s towel a cornflower-blue rectangle. My towel a white rectangle. Charlie’s swimming-pool blue. Bobbie lined up the three towels, just so, facing north and south, Bobbie in the middle, each one of us chewing on a stem of the good kind of grass, swatting deerflies, frogs and crickets going, a blue jay yakking in the willows, dragonflies, a water snake through the soggy grass. The sun heading west, the sky yellow bright.

  Bobbie got up, walked to Charlie’s Levi’s and picked them up, took Charlie’s red Swiss army knife out of the pocket. I turned my eyes away when Bobbie walked back. The hair of her down there, I never did get used to.

  Bobbie knelt on her cornflower-blue towel and sat down on her calves, her back to the sun. Bobbie took Charlie by the wrist. Charlie sat up.

  Bobbie’s first slice across Charlie’s wrist drew blood.

  Charlie looked at the blood coming out of his wrist, then up at Bobbie, over to me.

  We got to be equal in all of this, Bobbie said.

  Charlie’s hair was wet and hanging down his back. So black and wavy in the sun. For a while, Charlie didn’t know what to do with his face. His black eyes under his broad brow were two dark holes. Then Charlie smiled. The gap between his two front teeth was another dark hole.

  Bobbie handed the knife to Charlie and held out her wrist. Charlie laid the knife blade on Bobbie’s wrist, but he didn’t cut.

  You son of bitch! Bobbie said. Cut me or I’ll cut your fucking balls off.

  Charlie pushed the knife and sliced. You could hear the slice.

  Blood coming up out of Bobbie’s wrist, rolling down her forearm. Blood coming up out of Charlie’s wrist, rolling down his forearm.

  Charlie pressed his wrist to Bobbie’s wrist and with his other hand grabbed Bobbie’s forearm. Bobbie put her hand around Charlie’s forearm. Charlie leaned his forehead against Bobbie’s forehead.

  Magpies in the willows, blue jays yakking, frogs, crickets. The sun on the down side. All at once, everything loud and bright and full.

  My sister, Charlie said, I promise to always tell the truth to you. I promise that your secrets are always safe with me. I promise to always respect you and love you and never forget you.

  A drop of blood fell on Bobbie’s cornflower-blue rectangle.

  Now you go, Charlie said.

  Bobbie reached behind Charlie’s neck and pulled Charlie to her, forehead to forehead.

  My brother, Bobbie said, I promise to always tell the truth to you. I promise that your secrets are always safe with me. I promise to always respect you and love you and never forget you.

  I promise, Bobbie said.

  I promise, Charlie said.

  CHARLIE AND BOBBIE slid down the bank to the water and washed the blood off. It took awhile for the bleeding to stop. We tore my T-shirt in half and wrapped one half around Bobbie’s wrist, the other half around Charlie’s.

  We were lying on our towels again, Charlie on his swimming-pool-blue rectangle, Bobbie in the middle on her cornflower-blue rectangle, me on my rectangle of white. Chub and ayaHuaska were snorting, tailswatting deerflies, munching on the green grass.

  Charlie was up on his elbows, looking over at Bobbie’s breasts. Charlie’s cock was getting hard.

  Charlie getting hard started getting me hard.

  I tried to think of something else. Starving Korean children. President Kennedy getting shot. The Mormon church taking over the world.

  Bobbie pulled herself up and leaned back on her elbows.

  Bobbie’s hair was wet and pulled back off her face. Her cheeks were rosy from the sun. Her neck was long and her breasts curved down to her nipples, the slope under her breasts. Her belly was flat and in the sun the light blond hair on her white skin. Then, farther down, the dark hair of her crotch.

  Never did get used to that hair.

  THAT WAS WHEN you two first made love, Bobbie said, Wasn’t it?

  When? Charlie and I said together.

  When you became blood brothers, Bobbie said.

  Charlie slapped a mosquito on his back.
Bobbie slapped a deerfly on her ass cheek.

  Well, I said, Not really. Charlie was always jerking off, and sometimes I’d help him out.

  But, Bobbie said, That was the first time the two of you made love, right?

  Made love? I said.

  Charlie sat up, crossed his legs, and crossed his arms over his crotch.

  That’s right, Charlie said. That day was the first time.

  We made love, I said.

  A big old rainbow trout jumped up out of Spring Creek right then, and Charlie and Bobbie and I all saw the trout, and we went: Ah! Wow! Fuck! Did you see that? That was a rainbow!

  All of us sitting up, pointing. All of us all one thing. All that was left of the trout, a circle of water going out.

  YOU’RE GOING THIS way and then shit happens and then you’re going that way.

  Fatum.

  Trouble in my forearms, up my arms, down through my heart, splash down into stomach.

  So that’s what we should do, Bobbie said.

  Bobbie didn’t look over to Charlie or to me. The sun was straight in her face, the circle of water on her face, sun reflected.

  Do? I said.

  We should make love. Bobbie said, All of us.

  What? I said.

  Charlie’s eyes two black holes in his face. Underneath his hands, in the shadows, the head of his cock poking through, leaking cum.

  You’re brother and sister! Charlie said.

  And Cotton Parker is my father, Bobbie said.

  And you two are both males, Bobbie said. Homos. They throw you in jail for that. So what the fuck?

  Bobbie, I said.

  Bobbie pulled a piece of grass out of the ground, the good kind, stuck the stem in her mouth, chewed on it, then took the grass out of her mouth, held the stem like a pointer, and shook the pointer in Charlie’s face. In my face.

  Listen up! Bobbie said. All of us, each one of us here, is fucked up. Goddamned square pegs in a world of round holes. Ain’t one of us fits in anywhere. And we never will. Ain’t one of us got a friend in the world. And I doubt we ever will.

  Charlie 2Moons, Bobbie said, You’re a half-breed oversexed homo.

  Will Parker, Bobbie said, You’re a crybaby and a homo and don’t have the gumption to hurt a fly.