That is the goddamn truth, Cecil thought, staring at the thing, looking straight up, looking at it perched there, thirty, forty feet up in the big oak tree, blocking out everything, blocking out the whole fucking sky. How it got up there was something else again, but it was there, all right, a really big mother, bigger than the relics on the ground, just hanging in the branches like it grew right there, and Cecil knew it hadn't done that, knew someone put it there.
"Well, it is something to see, I got to say that," Cecil said, because he couldn't think of anything else. "Say, am I still going to get a drink?"
"I said coffee, don't be expecting something else."
"Coffee's fine. I don't suppose you got a doughnut too?"
"No," she said, "I don't suppose I do."
"No problem," Cecil said, and anyone who knew him knew that wasn't so, knew he had doughnuts, coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon, every morning at nine.
It was light enough to see him well now. She looked to the side, didn't look him in the face. It was awkward to keep doing that, worse if you didn't even try. Cecil looked bad. Cecil looked bad all the time. He might, though, look a little worse, she decided, in the pale morning lavender light.
"I don't mean to be blunt," she told him, "don't take what I'm saying like that. What I'm saying is, I don't have company a lot, Mr. Dupr–Cecil. Nothing personal, it's just the way I am. In the entertainment field you're with people all the time, I don't have to tell you that. I don't get a lot of time to myself. When I do, it is precious to me, and I don't care to share it with anyone else. So how long you think this talking's going to take?"
Cecil blinked. "Hell, I don't know how long we're going to talk, I'm hoping to get it done quick."
"I hope I don't misunderstand that."
"I surely hope you don't, I can't imagine any reason that you would. What I was thinking, we could have that coffee, maybe you could be polite. I'm sure you had manners one time, I'm sure your mother said treat people nice. I think we could get to know one another, get to be friends, see what happens after tha—"
Cecil stopped. Gloria was gone. She'd walked away and simply disappeared. Cecil looked behind him, turned and looked ahead. Stepped around a big live oak that was broad as he was tall. Scrap wood rungs had been nailed to the trunk, like a little kid had put them there. Stepping back then, squinting through the branches, through the half light, he saw her there, climbing straight up.
"Oh Jesus," Cecil said. He felt a little knot in his belly, felt a little something in his throat. The tree seemed to lean, seemed to waver, seemed to sway. Cecil wasn't scared of anything at all. Cecil wasn't even scared of God. He was scared to even think about climbing up a tree. And, he thought, if anyone knew that, anyone at Piggs, Cat Eye or Grape or anyone at all...
He took a deep breath. Kept his eye steady on the trunk. Didn't look up, didn't look down. Slid one hand up the tree, clutched one rung and then the next. Slid one leg and then another after that. Hugged the tree hard, learned trees were big, learned trees were sound. Learned, if you didn't let go, the tree would be your friend.
Stopped once. Wiped off the sweat with his sleeve, keeping both hands on the tree. Risked a glance up, knew, at once, this was the wrong thing to do. Saw where he was, saw the trees and the sky. Knew he was high enough to die. Knew he was—–
"THIS IS YOUR JU 52 JUNKERS AIRPLANE, THE WORKHORSE OF THEGERMAN AIR FORCE..."
The loudspeaker blared. Fifty-two strings of Christmas tree lights started blinking overhead. Cecil nearly lost it, Cecil hugged the tree for dear life.
"...WHAT MANY OF YOU MAY NOT KNOW IS AN EARLY VERSION OF THIS CELEBRATED CRAFT–Grrrrrrrk-hissssh!–TOOK WING IN1930. AFTER THAT IT WENT THROUGH MANY ALTERATIONS INCLUDING PASSENGER AIRPLANE, TRANSPORT AND BOMBER, BECOMING, AS MANY OF YOU KNOW, ONE OF–Skkkkkrreeeek–THE MOST FAMOUS AIRCRAFT OF ALL TIME. THE PLANE YOU SEE HERE WAS FIRST BUILT AT THE JUNKERS FLUGDZENG UND MOTERENWERKE AG. RIGHT BEFORE THE WAR, THE g3e BOMBER TYPES WERE ROLLING OUT OF FACTORIES AT DESSAU AND BERNBERG. POWERED BY–Shrrriiik—hrrrrrr!–THREE BMW 132T DASH TWO RADIAL ENGINES, THE PLANE ATTAINED A MAXIMUM SPEED OF THREE-OH-FIVE KILOMETRES PER HOUR, WITH A RANGE OF–Griiiiik-griiik!...
"Sorry 'bout that," Gloria said, poking her head out an open port above. "Can't ever get that tape to go anywhere but high. Shoot, I guess you noticed that. You all right, Mr. Dupree? You coming up or what?"
Chapter Twelve
"...I can tell you there's people who'll say it right out, I mean, even if they're tryin' to be polite, you know what I mean? Someone wouldn't incite your feelings for anything at all like Maggie Thatch whom I'm very close to? Well you'd think, until it all comes out. We are in the middle of a TV show, that Discovery thing about gnus? She hits that MUTE and says, Gloria Jean, you're a absolute nut, you are crazy as shit, girlfriend. Isn't anyone mentally right living in a German warplane. Isn't any fucking Germans doin' that. They're living in houses like everybody else.
"Well I am taken aback. I tell her, look, it is not for everyone, it is just fine for me. I don't tell you not to live in the Lamprey Motel, which I wouldn't drive by, hon, for fear of a social disease. Well she didn't take well to that, things haven't been right between us since.
"See I grew up in this thing, okay? Lord, I know that spiel by heart. Every time I hear Daddy talk I like to bust out crying but I haven't got the heart to take him off.
"The place went busted when I was thirteen, just after mama died, and that flat finished Daddy off. He took to drink soon after and I went to live with Aunt Brill. I don't guess I'd of ever come back if he hadn't passed on. I needed a place real bad, or you wouldn't see this girl in Mexican Wells, I'd be somewhere they got a street light. I hope you're not looking for sugar or cream, I don't serve either one."
"Black's the way I like it," Cecil said, "that's fine."
It wasn't, it was bad. Instant, not even hot, not even stirred, little black crystals floating on top. He'd watched her make it, knew what he'd get. Watched her in the very tight kitchen up between the wings. Hot plate, counter and a sink, little tiny fridge. Not a whole lot, but there was hardly room for that.
Jesus Christ, hardly room for anything, as far as he could tell. He wondered how people got about. Wondered if Germans were smaller than anyone else. It was kind of like the tunnels you used to crawl in, write dirty stuff on the walls. Only these walls were corrugated tin. The walls, the floors, inside the plane and out. The whole thing astonished Cecil. And, at the same time, made him feel at home. This was the very same stuff he'd used to build Piggs. Why, he could build a bomber himself if he ever wanted to.
There were little canvas seats, folded up right against the wall. You wanted to sit, you folded one down. Gloria had put little cushions down, souvenirs from several Western states. Good idea, Cecil thought. A lot of Germans had sat in those seats, and they weren't exactly clean.
Cecil sat and watched. Watched that tight little ass when she bent for something low. Watched how the T-shirt bared her belly button when she reached for something high. Knew he was right, knew the climb was worth the trip. Man, he loved to see her dressed. He wanted her just like this. Maybe she had some other clothes, women always did. Maybe he could see her in a lot of different stuff.
"–I used to take cream and sugar both, I mean spoonfuls, I don't mean a little bit, you know what that does to the body tissue, well I quit that. You want to keep dancin' you can't even look at something's got sugar or fat–"
Gloria stopped, felt her face flush. Saw him looking at her, tried to look at something else.
"I am babbling like a brook, you know what? I don't ever do that. I'm a little hot, that fan's not working just right."
"Fan's just fine," Cecil said. "What you're doing, hon, you're running kinda scared."
Gloria nearly dropped her cup. "Just what do you mean by that? What have I got to be scared about, Mr. Dupree?"
"I guess you'd know as well as me."
"I don't guess I would."
Ceci
l had to grin. He knew scared when he saw it. She sat on a stool, sat with her knees real tight. Holding the saucer on her knees, looking at him now like he'd caught her in his headlights, caught her in the road.
"You didn't want me comin' up here, you're madder'n hell about that. You tried being nasty, that didn't work, so you start running off at the mouth. Now that is a normal behavior, that and pissin' in your pants. What you're thinking, you're thinking, is he going to make me fuck him or not? That's what I came for, you know that as well as me, that's why I got you in the car."
"Well are you?"
"I was. That was my intention. I might not do it now."
"Why not? I mean, I'm grateful for your hesitation, I appreciate that."
"I used to do crazy shit, you know? Stuff a kid'll do, like you see this mes'can walking, you know you're goin' to run the sucker down. Haven't got any damn reason, okay? You just flat gotta run him down. Another thing is, take something off a fella, something you don't even need. He's maybe got a dollar, he's got a fuckin' comb. Burn some bozo's trailer down. Used to do that all the time. You don't even know the guy, you burn his trailer down.
"See that's growing up. You get to be a adult person, you quit doing shit like that, you start using your head. You say, Cecil, Cecil Dupree, you got a choice. You can do what you want, you can do anything you like, can't anyone can stop you doing that. You can screw this very lovely person all night, you don't even gotta ask. You get tired of that you can burn her fucking airplane down.
"You don't want to do that, you can give her a puppy. Give her a kitty cat. Give her a trip to Paris, France. You don't have to do none of the above, you don't have to do anything at all. You see what I'm saying? You get to be Cecil Dupree, it's just as big a kick not to do something as it is. Hey, I never get into personal stuff, I think I'm kinda taken with you."
"Sometimes it helps to open up and share," Gloria said. "I can understand that..."
"Huh-unh. Don't. Do not ever mess with me, Gloria. Do not ever tell me shit you think I want to hear."
Gloria's heart nearly stopped. He didn't raise his voice, didn't glare, didn't stare, didn't show her anything at all. What happened, happened in his face, the thing that was there getting dark and darker still, getting dark as liver, getting close to black.
Cecil got up. Put down his cup.
"Don't tell those cunts at Piggs I was here. Don't fuck anyone, don't go out of town. I am declaring my affection for you, Gloria, you understand that? This is a serious matter to me. If you got any smarts at all, you'll respect my feelings, okay? And get some real coffee, grind the beans yourself. Find a place to live. Cecil Dupree don't go with some broad, you gotta climb a fucking tree..."
Chapter Thirteen
The sun flared over the trees, howling in a nuclear rage, incandescent anger in its single flaming eye, simmering and seething, pissed at everyone. Ate up the night, sucked the morning dry. Chewed up a dawn in Tennessee, hawked it back up, spit it on southern Arkansas. Loosed all its fury on Texas, determined to burn the state down this time, starting with Medicine Wells...
Cecil stomped out in the sun, neck burning up, overalls sticking to his knees. Gut still churning from climbing down the tree. Hoppers jumped ahead. Gnats came out and headed for his nose. Cecil got in the car and said, "Get the hell out of here, Cat."
"Hey, what happened," Grape said, "you get any, man?"
"Shut the fuck up," Cecil said.
Grape was much smarter than Cat, but Grape had been napping and didn't see Cecil stomping through the weeds, wading through the wrecks, didn't know what was going on, got a look at Cecil's face half a second late. Sat back, shut up, didn't say a word after that.
The ride back to Piggs was very quiet. Cat Eye thought about a pie. A chocolate or a peach. Grape thought about a drink. Cecil thought about Gloria Mundi. Thought about her in a going-out dress, a dress that fits good, like you see in a ladies' magazine. Thought about her in an apron, cooking something nice. Remembered her coffee, decided to think of something else.
What he thought about most, was whether he ought to be doing this at all. Messing with the help is no good. Even if you own the place, you're asking for trouble right off. The guy runs the bar, he's going to steal a little more. Even the guy sweeps up, he's sore because everybody else is sore, too.
The dancers, Jesus, that's the worst of all. A person of the stripper persuasion is strung out to start. Piss 'em off, and they'll drive you fucking nuts.
Gloria Mundi, Cecil thinks, is a bad idea. Slap her around, do what you want to do. Do that, she's out the door fast. Wait her out, be nice, she maybe comes around. Then what? Then you got to buy her shit, take her into town.
Whatever you do, it'll turn out wrong. Cecil knows that, he's done it all before. He also knows he is wasting time thinking about it, he knows he's going to do it all again.
Cecil is sitting in the back. Cat Eye's driving, Grape is in the front. Cecil looks at the back of Cat's head. He looks at the back of Cat's head maybe five, six times a day. Cat's neck is very thick. It has seven folds of fat. Cat shaves his head close, right down to the skin. And even if there isn't any hair up there, Cat has dandruff anyway. Little flakes falling on his shirt, on the seat behind his back.
Cecil's used to that, he sees it all the time. But this is not an ordinary day. It's six in the morning, he's been up all night. He didn't get laid, all he did was climb a tree. His face is on fire. His face gets worse when he's mad. It burns like someone's dropping kitchen matches on his skin.
I feel like shit, I gotta sit and look at that, Cecil thinks, I gotta look at Cat's head.
"Stop," Cecil says, poking Cat in the back, "stop the fucking car. Stop at the 7-Eleven store."
"Gotcha," Cat says.
The store is maybe half a mile away. Cat pulls in. The store is bright with cold fluorescent light. A million crickets are bouncing off the windows outside.
Grape turns around. "What you need, Cecil, what you want me to get?"
"I don't want you to do nothing," Cecil says. "Cat, go in the store. Get some Head 'n Shoulders. Get me a Coke. Get me a Snickers, better make it two."
"I'd like some Fritos," Grape says. "See if they got a Big Red."
"Get it yourself," Cecil says, "don't be asking him. I don't remember he's in your employ, I think he works for me."
"Right," Grape says, and doesn't look at Cecil again.
Cecil gets out. The windows on the Caddie are tinted, and he squints in the sudden morning light. Reaches in the pocket of his overalls, puts on his shades. He can smell the coffee they're making inside. Maybe he'll have a coffee too. Maybe get a doughnut. You can get a good doughnut or a roll, you get there early before they're all gone.
Two little black kids are making wide circles on the drive, running over crickets with their bikes. They are seven or eight, maybe thirteen. Cecil can't tell. Nigger-rap T-shirts, worn-out jeans. Brand new basketball shoes, bigger than either kid's head. When the tires get a cricket, they make an awful sound.
Cat Eye comes out. He's chewing on a donut, sugar all over his mouth.
"They didn't have a Snickers," Cat says, "I had to get a Mars."
"I don't want a Mars, I want a Snickers," Cecil says.
"They didn't have none."
"You didn't look."
"They hadda Milky Way and Mars, that's all they got."
"They got a Hershey with nuts, why'nt you get that?"
"You said a Snickers. You said, get me a Snickers and a Coke."
"Fuck it, gimme that."
Cecil takes the paper sack. Opens up his Coke, looks at his Mars. Hands the Head 'n Shoulders to Cat. "Go over there. They got a hose by the tanks. Shampoo your head."
"Huh?" Cat Eye looks blank. "What for?"
"Do it. Do it right now. You're making me fucking sick."
Cat Eye doesn't argue. Cat knows better than that. He doesn't tell Cecil you don't shampoo if you don't have hair. Even if you did, you didn't do it at the 7-Eleven
store.
He takes off his shirt and lays it on the hood. Walks over to the gas tanks, turns on the hose. Takes the top off the shampoo.
The young kid running the store looks out. Sees Cecil and the Cat. Sees the lizard-green Cadillac. Decides he doesn't care to get into that.
Cecil drinks his Coke. Doesn't like the Mars. Likes the nuts fine, doesn't like white stuff inside.
One of the kids has a Cowboys gimme-cap, bill turned to the back.
"Why he doin' that," he asks Cecil. "How come he washin' his head?"
"'Cause he wants to," Cecil says.
"Man hasn't got any hair."
"Won't do any good," the other kid says, "man hasn't got any hair."
The kids go huk-huk-huk! Cover up their mouths to hold the giggles back. Pedal in circles round Cecil, laughing and looking at Cat.
"Stop it," Cecil said, "quit doing that."
"Doin' what?"
"Running over bugs."
"Ain't your bugs, man."
"You listening, kid? Don't squash the bugs. I don't like to hear you squashing bugs."
The first kid grins at his friend. "Better not squish no bugs. Lone don't like you squishin' bugs."
The other kid laughs.
Cecil says, "What? What'd you say to me?"
The kid's not dumb. The kid pedals quickly away, making a bigger circle with his friend.
"Called you Lone," says the friend. "Got you a mask and all, you the Lone Ranger, man."
"Where you Indian, where Tonto, man?"
"Tonto, he givin' hisself a sham-poo."
"Shit. Tonto ain't got any hair, can't get a sham-poo, man don't got any hair."
"Where your horse, man? Where Silver at, he waitin' in the car?"
The kids laugh and howl. They make big circles and run over crickets. Squish-squash-squish.
"Gimme the keys," Cecil says.
"What for?" Grape says.
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