Thalia

by Larry McMurtry

  “Look who’s here,” he said. “What happened, you ain’t but an hour early? Where’s your friend Ikey?”

  “I been working,” I said. “Hello, Molly.” I knew he’d bring Ikey up, but I didn’t intend to talk about it. Ikey was a nigger, but he was a nigger that could vote, and he was supposed to be partners with me to watch the voting box. Molly had already promised she would stay awhile with me after Johnny’s shift was up, so what I had to do was figure out a way to get rid of Ikey quick. Johnny knew just what I was up to, of course, but it wasn’t gonna do him any good.

  “Get down,” Molly said. She grinned at me, as sweet as ever, but Johnny still had ahold of her hand, and she never made him turn loose.

  I couldn’t think of too much to say, so I took my horse over and tied him to a mesquite. I went in and was going to vote, but they had been so busy spooning around they hadn’t even unpacked the ballots, and I had to do it. I never voted though, I forgot about it. I don’t think I voted in that election at all. Molly had finally got her hand loose, and when she stood up we all went over to the cistern and got a drink.

  “What’s that I smell on you, Gid?” Johnny said. “Smells like screwworm dope. You ought to taken a bath before you come to work for the government.”

  “You don’t smell like no prairie flower yourself,” I said. “Been trapping any skunks lately?” When Johnny was just a boy the McClouds had had to sell skunk hides to keep going. They wasn’t the only ones, of course, but Johnny hated skunks worse than anything. His folks had finally got better off, but they still just had a little two-section place.

  “Not lately,” he said, but it kinda irritated him.

  Molly, she never taken sides when me and Johnny argued. She would just stand there and grin her pretty, friendly grin, and curl a loop of her hair around one finger. She was pretty as a picture when she done that.

  It didn’t seem like I’d been there no time when Ikey come. He had an old brown mule that was about half-crippled; he rode the mule bareback wherever he went. We seen Ikey coming and Johnny began to grin. He always had some trick to play on Ikey, and most of them were funny.

  “Looky there,” he said. “Here he comes, riding that three-legged mule. I tell you what, Gid, some day let’s saw that crippled leg off. That way it won’t drag and slow Ikey down.”

  “You hush that,” Molly said. “How’d you like to have one of your legs sawed off?”

  “I might like it,” he said. “You want to saw one off for me?”

  “That’s no way to talk. Make him hush, Gid.” She sidled over toward me just a little bit.

  Johnny just looked that much more devilish.

  “What he needs is his damn head sawed off,” I said. “That’s the only kind of sawing that would do him any good.”

  Ikey arrived about then, and got off his mule. “Good mornin’, Mis’ Molly,” he said. “Mornin’, Mistuh Johnny, mornin’, Mistuh Gid.” The thing that worried me about Ikey was that he was so proud of being good enough to watch a ballot box like the white folks that he probably wasn’t going to be in too big a hurry to leave. But I figured I could persuade him.

  “Morning, Ikey,” Johnny said. “Whyn’t you shoot that pore old mule and put him out of his misery?”

  I had to grin at that. Ikey was as surprised as if Johnny had asked him to shoot his wife. He thought he had one of the best mules in the country.

  “Shoot dis mule?” he said, looking at it real close. “Den how’d I get aroun’?”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Molly said. “He’s crazy. Come on in and vote, Ikey.”

  I was all for that, so I went in and fixed him up a ballot. I thought if we made a big enough thing of him voting Ikey might be satisfied and go on home.

  “Boy, this is a big election,” I said. “They say every vote is gonna be important. Think it over good, Ikey. Don’t be in too big a hurry.”

  “Naw, don’t excite Ikey,” Johnny said. “He might stab himself with that pencil. It ain’t worth the trouble, Ikey. The man with the most money’s gonna get it anyway. It always turns out that way.”

  “It don’t, do it?” Molly said. She never liked to hear anybody run down politics. I guess it was because her old man had been commissioner for our precinct one year; everybody criticized him so she had to take up for him twice as hard as she usually done. He was the most thieving commissioner there ever was, besides the most lazy, and Molly knew it. She just never would admit it, to herself or nobody else. Her daddy didn’t get elected because he was the man with the most money; he got elected because he was the man with the most whiskey to give away. There weren’t but twelve people in the precinct able to vote, and he gave ever one of them a jug of whiskey and still only won by one vote. The man that was running against him was too decent to vote for himself, and Old Man Taylor wasn’t, so he won it. Afterward he got hold of the ballots and found out who voted against him and went around and got his jugs back from those. I know that’s true, because one of the ones that voted against him was Dad, and the jug was damn sure all he got back. I guess Molly was the only person in the world who ever liked that old man.

  Ikey, though, he never paid any attention to what we were saying to him. He was set up so he could just pay attention to one thing at a time, and right then he was paying attention to voting. He got out his spectacles that he was so proud of and polished them on his pants leg and put them on and adjusted them so he could see over them. It’s a damn cinch he couldn’t see through them. It would have been like looking through a pair of stovelids. After he got them set so they wouldn’t interfere with his vision, he began to read the ballot. That took so long that me and Johnny had to go off behind the schoolhouse to pee before he got through. We left Molly there to help Ikey read.

  “You sneaky bastard,” I said, when we got out. “How long was you’all over here before I come?”

  “Why, I’m ashamed of myself about that,” he said. “Don’t you think I’ve got a pretty girl, though?”

  “I think Molly’s a pretty girl, all right,” I said, “but you ain’t got her by a long shot. Why don’t you take after Mabel Peters, anyway?”

  “Why, Mabel’s crazy about you,” he said. “Watch where you’re pissing. You get it on these gabardine pants and your name’s mud. I mean it.”

  Actually I just splattered a little on his boots. “It’s about time you were going home, ain’t it?”

  “Why, yes,” he said. “I’ll go get Molly.”

  He went, but he never got her. I went too. She walked out the door with him and he had her hand agin, but she must have told him she had promised to stay awhile with me. He didn’t look too cheerful. I went on in to help Ikey.

  He was sitting there licking his pencil, and after he’d done that about five minutes, he voted.

  “Good lord,” said. “I just remembered something. I was supposed to cut a big patch of cuckleburrs today. Down on the River. Dad’s been after me about that for two weeks.”

  “Well then, why don’t you go cut them?” Johnny said. “I’ll stay here and do your turn at the voting box. You just go right ahead.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I wouldn’t want nobody to do that. That’s my responsibility.”

  “Don’t worry so much,” Molly said. I guess she was so sweet it never occurred to her what I was really worrying about. It damn sure occurred to Johnny.

  “He better worry,” he said. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Fry mad at me. I think his best chance is just to forget about this voting and go do his work.”

  “Well,” I said. “Since you’re so anxious to help, I wonder if you’d like to lope off down there and cut them for me. It wouldn’t take more than four hours.”

  That got into his quick. “Hell no, I wouldn’t like to,” he said. “I’m a cowboy, I ain’t no damn cuckleburr chopper.”

  “Well, Ikey, what all do you have to do today?” I said. “Maybe I can hire you to do it. I’ll give you two dollars, and you don’t need to worry about watc
hing this voting. Miss Molly’s gonna stay here a little while and she’ll be glad to do your part for you.”

  Ikey didn’t give any argument at all. I wasn’t much expecting him to: his normal wage was about a quarter a day.

  “I’ll cut ’em an’ be glad,” he said. “I’ll jus’ be glad.” I gave him the two dollars and that settled it. That much money was such a shock to him that he couldn’t hardly get it in his pocketbook. Then he folded up his ballot real slow and careful and looked kinda sad about having to drop it in the box. One thing about him, he really liked to vote. Then he got up and put away his spectacles.

  “Well, I’ll go cut ’em, Mistuh Gid,” he said. “I sho enjoyed de elecshun day, Miss Molly. I hope we have anothuh one soon as we can.”

  Molly kinda laughed. “We will,” she said. “We’ll have one in November. You be careful, Ikey. Don’t chop off your foot, and don’t get on no snakes.”

  Ikey got on his mule and went off. Johnny just grinned and winked at Molly. It was hard to get his goat.

  “I wish I was well off enough to hire my dirty work done,” he said. “But I ain’t that lucky. I always have to do my own.”

  “I never noticed you doing much,” I said. “Besides, I felt sorry for Ikey. I’d like to see him get himself a better mule.”

  “If that ain’t a lie I never heard one,” he said. “Ikey’s gonna spend that money on whiskey, and you knew it before you gave it to him. And you’ll probably talk him out of three-quarters of that. You can’t fool me.”

  “Why, Gid, I heard you quit drinking,” Molly said. “I didn’t know you started agin.”

  “I haven’t,” I said. “Johnny’s just spoofing you.”

  “Well, I got to be going.” Johnny said. He’d done all the damage he dared do. “Don’t you’all take no bribes under five dollars.”

  That made Molly mad, so he was smart to leave. She was kinda patriotic, and never liked to hear people hint about crooked government. It was because her old man was so crooked himself.

  Anyway, Johnny got on his horse and loped off, and there we were. It was about ten o’clock, and I didn’t figure we much needed to worry about anybody coming to vote before dinnertime. Voting is the kind of thing most people like to put off as long as they can.

  I looked at Molly, and she was looking at me and grinning. I guess she knew good and well what I was up to, rushing Ikey off.

  “Well, Mr. Fry,” she said. “You sure was in a big hurry to chase everybody off. That wasn’t very sociable.”

  “I ain’t very sociable with crowds,” I said. Specially not crowds with Johnny in them.” I kinda reached for her hand, but I missed. She laughed and stepped out the schoolhouse door. The wind begin whipping her hair up around her face.

  “You’re grabby,” she said. “Grabby Mr. Fry.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I said. “And don’t put on thataway. Let’s go around to the cistern.”

  “Okay,” she said, “let’s do. Only you’re so unsociable. I might just better go home.”

  I got her hand after all and squeezed it and she squeezed back.

  “I’m a lot more sociable where you’re concerned,” I said.

  I got my big slicker off my saddle and spread it out by the cistern so we could sit down without the grass and the chiggers eating us up. We got on the shady side and leaned up against the rocks and just set there. It was right on the hill, high enough that we could see anybody coming a long time before they would notice us. Molly let me put my arm around her, and she kind of slumped against me, and talked about this and that. I mostly listened. After a while my arm went to sleep, but I didn’t dare move. Her hair was in my face. She must have washed it that morning, because it was real clean and I could still barely smell the vinegar she rinsed it in.

  “It’s a nice day for election,” she said. “Look at the way the grass waves. I bet we can see nearly all over the county from here.”

  I kept wishing she’d turn her face around, but she wouldn’t do it.

  “Gid-ing-ton,” she said, “what are you doing back there where I can’t see you?” She called me that sometimes; she thought Gid was too short a name. I was agreeable.

  “Don’t you wish I’d turn my face around, so you could kiss me?” she said. “Now don’t you?”

  “I could stand it,” I said. “You won’t, though.”

  “You think I should let a boy kiss me on election day?” she said, and then she turned around anyway, and let me. Some of her hair was between me and her mouth; I didn’t care. Only after a while she began to giggle and squirm.

  “Let me fix it,” she said. “Who wants to kiss hair?” she sat up and turned her back, and all I could see was black hair and her polka dot dress. Then she rolled over on the slicker and propped up on her elbows.

  “Let’s quit,” she said. “Let’s just talk. What if Johnny was to come back?”

  “What if? It ain’t none of his business what we do.”

  “He thinks it is, though.” I made her let me kiss her again, but she kept giggling and wouldn’t get serious about it. “Johnny thinks it’s all his business,” she said. “He keeps asking me all about us.”

  “Well, he can just cut it out,” I said. “I’m not going to put up with much more of him. You’re my girl now, ain’t you?”

  “Am I?” she said, looking up at me through her hair, half-grinning and half-serious. “I think I’m too silly for you.”

  “No you ain’t. Why, I’m worse that way than you are.”

  “No you ain’t,” she said, and she wasn’t kidding. “You’re not even as silly as Johnny, and he’s not as silly as me. Eddie’s the only one who is.”

  “If you mean he’s the only one who’s dumb, you’re right,” I said. I hated that sorry Eddie. “At least I’m a little smart. I’m smart enough to know you’re the prettiest girl there is.”

  I made her let me kiss her agin, and finally it shut her up and she got real quiet and sweet. Once you get Molly quiet she’s the warmest, sweetest girl in the world.

  “I still think you’re my girl,” I said.

  “Maybe I am,” she said. “Lay down here and hush.”

  She hugged me real tight, and just about that time we heard Ikey’s mule. I could tell that mule a quarter of a mile away.

  “Damn it all,” I said. “Ikey’s coming back. I’d like to wring Johnny’s neck. I know damn good and well he put him up to it.”

  “Let’s just lay here,” she said. “Let’s don’t get up. Maybe if Ikey sees us he’ll go on away. Or we could run hide.”

  “No,” I said. “Damn Johnny anyway. I’ll get even with him. I don’t want Ikey to see us, and it’s silly to hide. I ain’t gonna do that.”

  She got up and I folded the slicker.

  “Brush the grass off my dress,” she said. “I got off the slicker.”

  She turned her back and I brushed her off. She didn’t really look mad, and she put her arm around me and let me hold her hand even while Ikey was coming up. But she kept looking off across the pasture, off down Idiot Ridge.

  “Where did you get that dress?” I said. “It’s awful pretty, Molly.”

  “I made it. Thank you.” She looked up then and seen I had grass on my cheek, and she brushed it off with her hand. “You just ain’t very silly, are you?” she said.

  Two

  JOHNNY NEVER WOULD ADMIT HE SENT I KEY BACK; HE WAS too stubborn. But I knew he was the one responsible. I finally got Ikey sent off agin, but it was too late. Ikey wasn’t hardly out of sight the second time before Dad come, of all people.

  Dad made out like he come to vote, but he never: he just come to see what I was doing. He knew I was there with Molly, and he just thought he’d come and spy a little. I hated it like poison when he did something like that. Molly, she never minded. She always took up for Dad, and I guess he liked her for it; he always treated her like she was the prize of the world. Except when I got to talking about marrying her—then he got mad.

 
“Don’t be a damn fool and marry young,” he said. “Specially not to no poor woman. Work about thirty more years and make you lots of money. Then go off somewhere and marry a rich widow. Don’t never marry somebody who’s as broke and ignorant as you are; marry somebody who knows a little about it. Then you might have a chance to enjoy yourself a little.”

  That was Dad for you. I didn’t pay him much mind. He never could understand that he wasn’t me.

  What I knew was that Johnny McCloud had two things coming: one was a good saddle, and the other was a good whipping. I guess he thought I had a whipping coming too, because he started it all.

  About a week after election day, Old Man Ashtoe, the feller Johnny was cowboying for, sent him up to Henrietta with a little bunch of cattle he wanted delivered. Johnny delivered the cattle, all right, but then he bought some whiskey from somebody and got drunk and insulted a deputy sheriff or two and got put in jail. Soon as he got home Old Man Ashtoe fired him, and Johnny was so broke he had to take a job with a harvesting crew. The first day he worked with them was the day they were finishing up harvesting our oats. Dad had me out helping them, of course.

  “Ain’t this hell?” Johnny said, when we were going out that afternoon for another big load of shocks. “A cowboy oughtn’t to do work like this. This here’s clodhopper work. It’s a kind of disgrace, ain’t it to you?”

  “Not to me,” I said. “I don’t have no choice about it. It’s a real disgrace where you’re concerned, though. If you’d have behaved right, you could be horseback right now.”

  “I never asked for no sermons,” he said, grinning at me. “You’ve got just as much oatseed in your hair as I have. Where you want to work, on the wagon or on the ground?”

  “On the wagon,” I said. “You’re such a good hand with a pitch-fork, I don’t want you to get out of practice.”