“But did he say where he was going?”
“Well, it’s Friday night. I imagine he’s got a date.”
“Joel? Douglas, he hasn’t had a date in almost a year. He just doesn’t seem to be interested.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “He’s interested, all right, Eva, believe me. I think he’s probably mooning over some girl.”
“I hope so,” Eva said. “It’s unnatural for him to be unhappy.”
“You’re right. Yes, ma’am. He is a happy boy, most of the time. But he’s always been quiet too.”
“And sometimes he just disappears,” she added. “That used to scare me, and him just a baby, barely able to walk. I couldn’t keep up with him and I never could get through to the girls to watch him.”
Douglas chuckled. “I would come in from work for lunch and you’d be frantic because he was lost again. But we’d find him out in the yard playing or asleep under a tree. Remember that time—he was just out of diapers—we found him running down the road between the alfalfa and the cotton, naked as a jaybird?”
Eva shook with laughter until she had to wipe away the tears. “He was happy as a lark,” she laughed, “and so filthy! That was when you built that little seat with the steering wheel and put him up on the tractor with you while you worked.”
“I remember that. I couldn’t believe how content he’d be, either, with that loony smile just pasted on his face the whole time. You know I thought back then he was a little simple-minded?”
“Douglas! Whatever made you think that!”
“Well, he just never said anything unless I pulled it out of him. ‘Tinkin’, he’d say. ‘I as just tinkin’, Daddy. I’d pull him down from the tractor and we’d sit on the ditch bank for a drink, and I’d ask him if the cat got his tongue. ‘No, Daddy,’ he’d say. ‘I as just tinkin’ about a sky ana cowds!’” He never cried or fussed, no matter how hot or tired he got; he just wouldn’t give it up. ‘Me wuk. Me wuk. Me not tired.’ I swear, Eva, that’s why I thought that boy was simple.”
“But he turned out to be a big help. As young as he was, when he started school, you decided you needed to hire someone to take his place.”
Douglas found himself blinking back tears, remembering the day Joel boarded the bus with his sisters. He hugged Eva. “I really missed him when he went off to school. Even as young as he was, he could work like a kid twice his age. He was hard to replace. It was lucky for us he wasn’t a blue baby like the two before,” he said gently.
Eva smiled at him. “Those were rough times,” she agreed. “Joel was a miracle, I guess. I just wish I knew what was hurting him now.”
* * *
He had tried staying home. But his parents were getting too insistent. His mother fussed over him too much at supper, making him feel embarrassed. He didn’t like her to be constantly jumping up from the table to pour more tea for him, or to keep pushing the peach cobbler she’d made; and he was sorry too that after working all day outdoors, she’d come in and baked it. He’d tried to cover up by smiling, but he couldn’t get over the lump in his stomach well enough to eagerly accept seconds. “Naw. Thanks, Mom. I’m full.”
He felt empty when he left. They were watching television as usual when he came in freshly bathed, wearing a new shirt and fresh Levi’s, his hair combed. “You look nice, honey,” his mother said. “You going dancing?”
“Just out.”
He drove slowly by the Allens’ on 9th. Plenty of times, he’d come in on this street to pick Tom up after finishing his chores. Tom would usually be on the front porch waiting. The few times that Joel had been in Tom’s house were uncomfortable. The preacher was always right there waiting, giving him the once over, his face as mean as a bulldog, his big, square jaw and stern mouth barely cracking a smile. Joel had often imagined it suddenly splitting open, fractures running from the chin to those fierce-looking eyes, pieces of granite falling away to reveal something worse. Mrs. Allen was almost the exact opposite, fragile as bone china, thin and neat, but her smile was strained, too. Outside, he would suck in fresh air, realizing he’d practically been holding his breath the whole time, as if something were about to happen.
Driving by now, seeing the lights on, he realized he’d wasted his time hoping to catch Tom outside. He knew his bedroom was toward the back, but as he passed where he could see the side of the house, the light was out, which meant Tom was either in the front part or out somewhere. But who would he be out with?
A prick of jealousy coursed through him, hurt that he had no real friends now but Tom, and yet Tom probably had plenty more from church, maybe friends he had more in common with now.
He drove up and down Main Street, joining the procession of other teenagers out on a Friday night with nowhere particular to go. He made the complete tour a couple of times from the east end of town to the west end, feeling bored and lonely, seeing only the crowds at the hangouts, the line at the Mimbres Valley Theater, the teenage couples at the A&W. He envied the others out on the street, doing the same boring thing, but at least having someone to be bored with. But going back out to the farm was unthinkable.
Some of the guys, other ag boys, would be out at the old riverbed north of town with a keg and campfire. He shrugged to himself and turned north onto the highway to Silver City. Ten miles north of Common, he turned west. His lights bounced up and down on the bumpy dirt road, catching the mesquite bushes and drifts of sand along the edges. In the distance he saw the glow of the campfire behind a large sand dune. As he came closer, his lights reflected off the other pickups and caught the flutter of crickets and moths swarming around the edge of the light. Laughter and loud voices sounded through the open window of his pickup as he bounced to a stop.
In the bottom of a gash in the earth where the river had run, the campfire was blazing brightly, swirling with hot red ashes. Ten or fifteen guys and a few girls stood around its edges. One or two noticed him as he came up onto the bank, but they didn’t say anything. Their faces were indistinct, half in dark and half reflecting bright orange against the fire’s glow. He jumped down into the sandy bed and saw Bill Crawford. Joel moved up next to him and nodded. Bill got a funny look on his face, as if he’d been caught and didn’t want to be seen. “Hey,” he said, and started to move away.
“Hey,” Joel caught his arm. “You gotta beer?” Bill led the way, staying ahead of him. The keg was buried in ice in the split half of an old oil drum. Most of the beer he got in a plastic cup was foam, but it was cold. Joel flicked the head off with his finger and drank. “What’s goin’ on?”
Bill shrugged, still eyeing him uneasily. Joel felt the hostility, barely concealed below Bill’s expression. He squinted at Joel, studying his face. “You alone?”
Joel nodded and quickly sipped on the beer. “Nice night,” he observed, looking around at the blackness.
“Yeah. Not much doin’ in town?”
“Not much. Never is, though,” Joel said.
Bill began walking back to the fire. “You want somethin’ else, man?” Bill asked coolly.
Joel looked at the beer in his hand. “Well, no.” He followed, feeling embarrassed. “Just seein’ what’s goin’ on, you know?”
Bill shrugged. “Haven’t seen you around much, ‘cept the other night.”
“Well, you know, me and Dad have the farm work all to ourselves these days.”
“Yeah. I heard your sisters got hitched. Where they livin’?”
He told him. “We don’t see ‘em much, except around Christmas.”
“I’m gettin’ married myself. Fuckin’ truth,” Bill said. He looked around as Joel did. “She’s not here, man. She’s pregnant.”
“Oh. Well…congratulations, huh? Who is she?”
Bill was staring into his cup. He glanced at Joel and kicked a hill of sand into the fire. “Jeannie Lynn’s cousin. You don’t know her. Her mom and her’re stayin’ with the Lynns. She was a fuck machine, man. I thought she’d take precautions.”
“Oh.
” The fire’s heat burned Joel’s face. In its light, he saw some of the guys from the ag class at school. But nobody made a move toward him, even though one of the guys nudged the one next to him and jerked his thumb in Joel’s direction. Bill moved off, and Joel found himself wondering why he’d come. He drank his beer and went back to the keg. Nicky Coleman was helping Cindy get a refill. “Hey, Nicky.”
Nicky twisted around, met Joel’s face, then turned back to the keg. He pushed the pump again and a clear stream of beer flowed into Cindy’s plastic cup.
Joel held his under the spout and felt the cold move up his hand, the cup getting heavier as it filled up. “Thanks.”
Cindy regarded Joel as she sipped daintily on her beer. “That guy you were with the other night?” She giggled. “He was really shit-faced.”
Nicky grinned in a funny way, showing his teeth. “He queer or what, man?”
“Huh? Tom?” Joel felt the heat of embarrassment in his face and felt himself choking up. It would be easy to admit it, then laugh it up. Yeah, that queer bastard, man, I thought he was one of us, you know? But a moment too long had passed. “I don’t know,” he finally said, which was the truth.
“Yeah?” Nicky said, with an edge in his voice. “I wouldn’t want to find out. I ‘as you, man, I’d get me a girl, quick.”
Joel couldn’t think of anything to say. Nicky’s face was stone cold. Cindy was grinning like an idiot.
“Jeannie Lynn says he kissed you, man. Then you two left,” Nicky said. He pushed Joel on the shoulder. “Here’s advice to an old friend; you make it in this town, you get yourself a girl like normal guys. We been tellin’ you for a long time that kid’s different. And people are talkin’. I can’t believe you had the balls to show up out here.” Nicky indicated the guys around the fire. “Not more’n five minutes before you showed up, man, they were laughing their asses off about you. Now, excuse us.” Nicky and Cindy left him standing by the keg.
Joel moved off to the side into the darkness and sat down on the edge of a rock. His knees were shaking badly. From where he sat, he watched the group around the fire, and now it seemed they were all looking in his direction, their laughter derisive. He fought against the paranoia, but couldn’t shake it. One guy walked away from the fire and stood just inside the glow of light. He unbuttoned his Levi’s and peed shamelessly into the sand between his feet. Somebody laughed loudly. “Hey, pervert! There’s ladies present!” Then someone else shouted, “Don’t let Reece catch you. I hear he’s queer now!” More laughter. The guy shook his cock and wobbled back, obviously drunk. He buttoned his fly and wiped his fingers on his thigh. “Shit. Ain’t afraid of no fuckin’ queers,” he said.
Joel threw the cup away and jumped down from the ledge. He moved back into the light, angry, breathing rapidly, feeling the adrenaline flowing through him. Fifteen yards or so away from the fire, he stood with his feet planted defiantly, arms folded across his chest, staring across the flickering light at his old friends huddled around the campfire, daring anyone to say something. A few of them looked in his direction, their faces like little imps grinning at him, but of course, nobody made a move to challenge him. He knew as well as they did who’d win a fair fight. He itched to smash somebody’s face, but nobody moved. Fuck it. Not tonight. Not worth the effort, he thought.
He turned his back on them and walked back to the pickup. Their laughter now sounded sharp and piercing against the night, more like the distinct yelp of coyotes that lived in the desert and ran in packs in the darkness, their marauding often leaving damage farmers would discover in the light of day. He didn’t hear Bill Crawford’s low laughter. “Anybody hear him deny it?”
Saturday, June 5
Joel called again.
“Mrs. Allen?” Joel identified himself.
“Hello, Joel. Yes?”
“Is Tom okay?”
“Well, yes. It’s just that—”
“What? Isn’t he or not?”
He heard, very faintly, a sigh. “You can see Tom at church tomorrow if you come.”
Mrs. Allen seemed nervous suggesting that. Then, the telephone went dead.
* * *
Tom had almost run down the hallway and grabbed the telephone from his mother when he heard her say, “Hello, Joel.” But he was held back by his old dread as effectively as if his spinal chord had been severed. His feet turned to mud. And his mother carried out her husband’s wishes. This time when she got off the telephone, she tapped on his door and came in. He saw that she was angry—well, as angry as she could be. She stood in his doorway looking at him with her arms folded protectively across her chest. “Thomas, Joel is getting a little persistent, and I think you ought to tell him that he’s not to call here again, unless you make arrangements for proper times.”
“And how am I supposed to tell him that, Mother?”
She came into his room and shut the door. “Don’t snap, Thomas.” She smiled, begging for a little understanding. “I know you’ve been sick.”
“I’m sick of staying home, Mother. I’m sick of Father’s unreasonable demands. Joel and I had plans for this summer. Then Father comes along and ruins it!”
She shook her head. “Your father knows what’s best, Thomas. You know that.”
“No, I don’t! Not any more. He makes mountains out of mole—”
“That is quite enough!” she said, in a louder voice, but its undertone was still one of pleading. “Your father has been quite lenient, considering you still haven’t offered any good explanation for your behavior.”
“I’ve gone all week without giving Joel an explanation, and that doesn’t bother anybody! You know he’s my best friend, and now he probably thinks I don’t even like him!”
She laughed softly. “Oh, for goodness sakes, dear, Joel is just a kid. He doesn’t need to have your father’s actions explained.” She smiled as though the understanding was simple.
“Then please, Mother, be reasonable. If I can’t call him, how’s he supposed to know not to call me?” It was an effort, but he softened his tone, knowing that she was not to blame at all. He sighed. “I’ll make amends to Father. You’re right. We’re just kids, Joel and I. What respect do we need?”
Unbelievably, she smiled, looking pleased. “Besides, I invited him to church tomorrow. won’t that be okay?”
When she shut the door, Tom lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. If Joel did come to church, it would at least be a chance to see him, and if they could talk, he might be able to explain. But he wasn’t sure if Joel would want to; every time he had called, his parents hung up without telling him anything. He probably thinks I don’t care any more. And then he thought, If only there was some way to satisfy Father. More than ever, he resented his father’s unshakable rules.
CHAPTER 6
Sunday, June 6
6 a.m.
His father would be praying. His mother would be preparing a light breakfast before church and, by now, Tom would be in the living room, sitting back in his father’s leather-backed office chair at the desk talking with Joel for a few minutes before he unlocked the church.
His father was praying. His mother was in the kitchen, but Tom was already back in his room. After unlocking the church, he had tried to call Joel, his heart pounding, knowing that if his father caught him, it would be over. He had waited anxiously at his father’s desk, ready to drop the receiver and duck if one of his parents appeared. He had expected Joel to answer on the first ring. Waiting for the muted clatter of the ring on his end, Tom had gone through a bad case of the jitters. Then he had sagged as the telephone rang. And rang. A little, faraway sound. But nobody answered. Nobody was there.
He put his tie on without checking it in the mirror. He changed out of his house slippers and took his wingtips out of the closet. As usual, dust from the dry desert air had found its way into the closet, and the black shoes were lightly powdered. He rubbed them on the bedspread as he sat on the edge of the bed to put them on. His face was a blank. He we
nt through the process of being busy. But he saw nothing he touched; he crammed Sunday school papers into his leather Bible, pulled his window closed over his bed, locked it.
Come on. Be there, Joel! I tried to call, but you weren’t home. Did you finally give up?
At breakfast, he ate his toast without buttering it, and wasn’t even conscious enough to make small talk. Nor did he see his father look at him a little suspiciously, then shrug, and continue working over the index cards he studied in final preparations for the sermon.
I never thought he wouldn’t be home! But maybe he will come.
“.lock the church?” Father was saying. “Well, Thomas?”
He looked up, catching only a few words. He took a blind shot. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. We’re going over then. Wash up these dishes, Thomas, before you come.”
“Okay, Father.” He started on the dishes then and listened to them leave. The sun would have broken through the kitchen window facing east, except for the tall church steeple slicing through the sun perfectly and, as he carried the dishes to the sink and began running water, his face was cast in its long shadow. The job took him longer than he expected and, as the clock in the living room began to chime, he realized he would be late. Even if Joel had come before church, it was too late now. They would both have to endure it. And there wouldn’t be a chance to tell Joel what he had decided to do.
6:20 a.m.
Joel parked at the church but sat in the pickup with the engine running and the heater on. The night had sucked all the heat from the earth and, until the sun was fully up above the Florida Mountains, it would be cold. He was still not sure he should try to force Tom to talk to him, and wondered uneasily if Tom really didn’t care anymore.
Now he waited for God and His congregation to arrive. Late in the night he had bathed, then walked out into the dark predawn. Overhead, the stars were a blaze of cold light, but nothing stirred in him at the familiar sight. He had walked over the farmyard without feeling his usual pride; he sat on the tractor staring north toward town where Tom lay sleeping. Common was a necklace of lights shining through the dark like jewels on the velvety blackness of the desert. He had stayed out in the chilly night until the string of lights had turned gray, growing pale against the coming sun, blinking out one by one.
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