Thalia

by Larry McMurtry

  The next one was a round dance too, and we danced real slow. Molly had on a dark blue dress, and she had little tiny shadows under her eyes, like she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Her neck smelled like lavender. But her breath smelled a little like whiskey; I guess Eddie got her to take a drink. I wanted to say a lot of things to her, but she laid her head on my shoulder, and we didn’t talk. Then I let Johnny dance one with her; I told him it was his Christmas present. I danced one with Mabel; she talked a blue streak.

  After that I got to dance a good square dance with Molly, and that was fun. Eddie come in in the middle of it, but he had to sit down and wait. I figured I would give up on it for the night and get drunk myself. As I was leading Molly off the floor I told her I had her a Christmas present.

  “Let me come over and get it,” she said. “Dad hasn’t been in too good a mood lately.”

  Eddie grabbed her and hugged her; he was about five degrees drunker than he had been. Johnny was getting drunk too; he spent most of his time with Mabel.

  “Old Josh is going to take her home,” he said. “I asked. But she said I could come by later and she’d make me some hot choclate. You know how I am about hot choclate.”

  I went in and took after the eggnog pretty heavy. I liked to sit and listen to fiddle music, so I sat down by the refreshment table and listened to “Sally Goodin,” and “Four Little Ladies,” and “The Texas Star” and all the others.

  Then all of a sudden Molly run in and squatted down by me and whispered in my ear. I seen she was crying.

  “Go stop them, Gid,” she said. “It’s such a nice dance; I don’t want them to fight. Eddie gets so mean. Tell Johnny I won’t never like him agin if he fights.”

  “What happened?” I said. “I been drinking too much. Where’d they go?”

  “Outside,” she said. “Go stop them, Gid.”

  Most of the people still seemed to be dancing and having a good time. Usually when there was a fight a lot of the men would go out and watch.

  “They went off behind the cars,” she said.

  When I stood up I didn’t feel so drunk. “I doubt if I can stop them,” I said. “But I’ll try.”

  The cold air felt real good after the dancehall, and my head felt clearer. Sure enough, they were over behind the cars. I guess they had already fought a little, because Johnny had a nosebleed. It didn’t mean much; I think his nose bleeds just from excitement. Six or eight of the bachelors were standing around watching; they had turned some car lights on, so everybody could see better.

  Eddie had one fist doubled up and his arm drawn back, and Johnny was just standing there watching him; he had his thumbs hooked in his pockets. Johnny was drunk as a bat; they both were.

  “You’re a damn oil-field hound-running coward,” Johnny said. Johnny looked happy about it all; he never minded fighting. But Eddie was serious about it; he kept his fist doubled up. Eddie was a coward, that’s why I wouldn’t have wanted to fight him; somebody that’s scared of you can really be dangerous. Johnny never noticed things like that.

  I started to say something to Johnny, but decided not to. They were going to fight anyway. Eddie kept standing there, holding back his fist and sneering that mean sneer of his, and all of a sudden Johnny made a run at him and they went to the ground. Johnny was a quick bastard when he started. They went to rolling and bumping on the ground, each one trying to get a choke hold and neither one doing the other much damage.

  “Hell, them boys ain’t fighting,” a man said. “They’re just wallowing on the ground. Get up from there and fight, boys, if you’re gonna fight.”

  They did, and that was Johnny’s mistake. Eddie got him off balance and knocked him down and went to pounding on him. Then Johnny nearly got up agin and Eddie jumped on him and began to pound him against an automobile.

  “Now that’s fighting,” the feller said.

  I was getting nervous. It looked like we were going to be disgraced. Johnny couldn’t get his balance, and Eddie kept pouring it on. Finally he got Johnny down agin, only he didn’t go down with him. He stood back with his fist doubled up. I guess he thought he had won, because he kinda laughed.

  “You goddamn cowpunchers, you can’t fight,” he said. “Hell, it takes a roughneck to fight.”

  And that was Eddie’s mistake, thinking Johnny McCloud would quit fighting just because he was beat on a little. I knew damn well Johnny wasn’t done with the fight because his eyes were open; Johnny never quit nothing while he still had his eyes open. I guess he was resting. Eddie sneered and Johnny come up and stayed up. Eddie tried to kick him back down, but Johnny got the leg and set Eddie down himself. And while he had his leg he managed to yank off one of the roughnecking boots and he threw it out in the darkness as far as he could throw. Then he run Eddie against an automobile. They were out of the light then; I don’t know exactly what happened. Somehow Johnny got Eddie up on the hood of a car and shoved him clear off on the other side. He ran around the car right quick and we did too, but the show was over. Eddie was holding his neck and spitting and wouldn’t get up or say anything; I think he had bitten his tongue when he hit. Besides the sheriff came out about that time.

  “These boys ain’t hurting one another, are they?” he said.

  “Naw, they’re just fighting, Gus,” a feller said. “I guess they’re about done.”

  Eddie stood up, but him and Johnny were both too tired to say much. I motioned at Johnny to keep quiet but he didn’t see me. The sheriff didn’t mind fighting, but he couldn’t stand nasty talking.

  “So you leave her alone,” Johnny said. “You horse’s butt you.”

  Eddie walked off to look for his shoe, and the sheriff turned around and took hold of Johnny’s arm.

  “I don’t like that filthy language,” the sheriff said. “Who started this fight anyway?”

  “I did, by god,” Johnny said. “And by god I finished it, too. And I’d whip you too if you didn’t have that damn badge on.”

  That was just the kind of crazy thing Johnny would say. The sheriff started off with him. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain is one thing I won’t stand for,” he said. “Not even at Christmastime. What if a lady had heard you say that?” And off they went.

  “Don’t think that Gus won’t arrest them,” the feller said. “He won’t stand for no goddamn cussing, and I don’t blame him.”

  “No, but you know something,” another feller said, “he’ll never get elected in this damn county agin. That’s just how goddamn sorry people are getting.”

  I danced a round dance with Molly and told her it was okay.

  “They wasn’t neither one hurt,” I said. “Eddie will be back when he finds his shoe. I guess I better take Johnny’s horse up to the jail and see if I can talk the sheriff into letting him out.”

  Molly felt a little better when she was satisfied there was nobody killed.

  “I wish I could take you home,” I said. “Even if he has got an automobile.”

  “It makes me mad the way you talk about Eddie,” she said. “Working in the oil field ain’t no crime, is it?”

  “No, and you’re too sweet to argue with.” We walked off the floor and I got my coat.

  “I hope they let Johnny go,” she said. “Tell him to come and see me when he can. I’m sorry he got in trouble on my account.”

  She wouldn’t go outside with me, even for a minute—afraid she would bump into Eddie, I guess—but I made her promise to come over and help us with the hog-killing, the next week. I figured I could give her her Christmas present then. I sure did hate to leave her at the dance.

  THE SHERIFF of course wouldn’t let Johnny go. I guess Johnny cussed him all the way to the jail. He was a funny sheriff. He never got mad and he never got tickled, either.

  “That boy talks too nasty,” he said. “I ain’t gonna have that nasty talk around where there’s ladies. Why, that would be a disgrace to the county.”

  “I know it,” I said. I thought I better agree with him. �
��If you’ll let me have him, I’ll take him out of town quick, so there won’t be no danger.”

  “No, I’ll keep him tonight,” he said. “Just put his horse in the barn. Be a good lesson to a boy like that. Besides, I want to give him a good talking to before I let him go, and he’s done asleep.”

  So I went on home, eighteen miles by myself.

  Twelve

  THE WEDNESDAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS, DAD DECIDED IT would be a good time to kill the hogs. We had four big shoats to butcher; more hog meat than me and Dad could have eaten in two years. Dad had done made arrangements to sell three of the carcasses, though; the fellers he sold them to came over to help us. Dad had gone over special and asked Molly to come cook for the crew, and Johnny was there, of course, mostly just getting in the way. When you took Johnny off of his horse he was the worst hand in the world.

  Me and him did the actual killing, shooting, and sticking, while Dad and the other men built the fires and got the water ready. Dad, he wouldn’t have wallowed around in the hogpen mud for half the pork in Texas. Johnny worked the gun and I worked the butcher knife, and we laid them low. Then we got our horses and drug the carcasses up to the fire one at a time.

  Johnny bitched around so much while we were scraping the carcasses that Dad finally sent him off down in the River pasture to drive in a yearling he thought was getting sick. Actually Dad must have liked Johnny; he let him get away with a damn sight more than I ever got away with.

  About nine-thirty Molly come riding up; she had on her red mackinaw. Just seeing her made me feel so good I could have jumped six feet. I never realized how lonesome I stayed till I got close to Molly. Not even then. When I realized it was when I had been close to her and one of us was leaving. Then for a day or two the world would look twice as bad as it really was.

  I took her down to the barn and put her horse where ours wouldn’t kick hell out of him. I got her back in the hallway, out of sight, and gave her a kiss.

  “Silly,” she said. “Who ever heard of kissing in the morning?”

  She wouldn’t let me hold her hand when we got outside because she was afraid everybody would tease us. She was right; they would have.

  It was a good day. We got the hogs butchered without no trouble, and Molly cooked a big dinner and everybody enjoyed it and complimented her on it, and that made her feel good. Johnny even made it back in time to eat; for once he showed pretty good manners. In the afternoon we made soap and cracklins and the other fellers loaded their pork and went home. It was nearly suppertime before we got all the kettles cleaned, so Molly decided to stay and fix supper, too. Johnny went on home. Dad gave him a quarter of pork for a Christmas bonus and he told us all Merry Christmas and went off with it tied to his saddle. Watching him leave made me blue for a minute; it was strange. I knew right then he’d never get Molly to marry him, only for a minute I wished he could have. It would have been nice for him if he could have.

  “Well, we done a good day’s work,” Dad said. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm. I could stand some supper.”

  We went in and the kitchen was nice and warm. The lamps were lit. Me and Dad sat at the table and watched Molly working around the sink and around the stove, not paying us much mind; it was a treat for us just to watch. Me and Dad had batched for nine years, and we thought we got along pretty well, but having Molly in the kitchen eating supper made the way we usually done it seem pretty flat and dull. The house was just so much fuller with her in it. I guess Dad felt it too.

  “Sure do appreciate your coming over to cook,” he said. “This here’ll beat Christmas.”

  Molly turned and looked at him a minute; she had a pan of biscuits in one hand and a gravy bowl in the other, and I don’t think she even heard him. She just smiled and went on cooking, and Dad never repeated it. He was looking too tired, Dad was. He hadn’t been feeling too good, I didn’t think. Course he never said a word about it.

  Molly fed us beef and beans and biscuits and gravy and pie, and we ate plenty of it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I couldn’t keep from wishing I could get her to marry me. Then we could have her around all the time. She sat down at the other end of the table and drank her coffee, not saying anything but perfectly content. We were all quiet, but it was a real easy quiet.

  Finally Dad got up and said he had to go to bed. He offered to pay Molly something, but of course she wouldn’t take nothing. So he gave her a quarter of pork and some cracklins and told me to ride home with her to see that she got there all right.

  Then it was just me and her in the kitchen.

  “Let’s go over to my house, Gid,” she said. “Dad’s gone to Wichita. You and him won’t bother one another tonight.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  When we got there we built up the fire in the fireplace and sat in front of it a long time. I gave Molly her Christmas present, but I wouldn’t let her open it, and we sat there not talking much or kissing much or anything, just resting together. Then she leaned forward and took some pins loose and shook down her long hair and lay back against me so the firelight shone on her face and eyes and mouth. I was half-sick, I loved her so much and was so excited by her. In a minute I was all wrapped around her. She wanted to go in the bedroom, and pulled her shirttail out as we went down the hall. It was cold as ice until we had been under the covers for a while, and then it got toasty warm and only Molly’s fingers were cold. And there wasn’t no old man to worry about, so we could go ahead. Only I was so excited about her I didn’t do no good; I don’t guess I knew enough about what I was doing.

  “Oh hell,” I said. “Dammit. I wouldn’t blame you for marrying somebody else.”

  “Be still and hush,” she said, and kissed me.

  “I don’t see why you put up with me,” I said.

  “You’re my favorite,” she said. “You ain’t done nothing wrong. You just enjoy me a whole lot, I can tell that. And that’s what I want you to do. Go to sleep, sugar.”

  And I did: it was the best sleeping in the world. When I woke up I could hardly believe I’d slept so good. Molly was still asleep and I was holding her. It was pure enjoyment. Finally I woke her up because having her asleep made me feel lonesome. We hugged and talked awhile. But she wouldn’t say she’d marry me.

  “That would be wrong,” she said. “I don’t love you that way.” And then she leaned over and looked me right in the face, with her hair touching my chest. “But you love me that way, don’t you?” she said, as if she had never thought of it before. “You do love me that way, Gid,” she said. “That’s going to be so sad. I don’t love anybody that way.” And she lay with her face tucked into my neck a long time, so I could feel her breath on my Adam’s apple.

  About daybreak we got up and had a real good breakfast and were cheerful as we’d ever been. I went home and worked and was all right that day. But the next day when I woke up I was so lonesome for her I was sick. All I could see that day was her face leaning over me, and her hair.

  Thirteen

  IT DIDN’T SEEM LIKE I WAS GOING TO BE ABLE TO STAND not having Molly around more of the time. Every time I thought about her I got bluer and bluer. And if that wasn’t trouble enough, Dad had me farming. It was a warm January and looked like it was going to be warm all winter. Johnny was doing most of the cow-work, and Dad was just mostly piddling around; he still wasn’t feeling good. So for four days in a row I had to go down and follow them worthless mules around that worthless field, thinking about Molly all the time and wondering when I’d get to see her.

  Then one Monday about the middle of the morning Johnny come through the field on his way to the League pasture. He was jogging along looking pretty discouraged, and I waved at him to come over. I was tired of kicking clods around anyway, and he got off his horse and we set by the plow awhile.

  “Don’t you get tired of this?” he said.

  “Naw, I love it,” I said. “I’d like to do this for the rest of my life. What are you so down in the dumps about?”

 
; “Oh, Molly, I guess. I wish I wasn’t so damn sweet on her. Hell, I oughtn’t to be. She don’t care nothing about me. At least not like I want her to. She just ain’t got no sense.”

  “She’s got the wrong kind of sense,” I said. “Anyhow, what’s she done now?”

  “Nothing she hasn’t done before,” he said, looking real sour. “I rode all the way over there to visit her last night and the first thing I saw was Eddie’s damn automobile. I never even went in.”

  “See ’em?”

  “I looked through the kitchen window. He was sitting there eating vinegar cobbler and she was waiting on him just like he owned the place.”

  That made me plain sick. We sat there for about ten minutes, neither one of us saying a word. I couldn’t think of one hopeful thing.

  “Shit on the world,” I said. “Let’s go someplace. I’ll be damned if I’ll plow my legs off while she cooks cobbler for somebody like Eddie. Let’s just go to the Panhandle and show them all.”

  “All right,” he said. “You going to leave the plow here?”

  I DID. I rode in on one mule and unharnessed. Dad was up at the house, sitting by the fireplace trying to shave a corn off his toe. He looked pretty tired, but I wasn’t in no mood to sympathize.

  “Dad,” I said, “things are just going wrong. I’ve had enough of this country. Me and Johnny are going up on the plains for a little while. I hope you can hire you a little help.”

  “Going, are you?” he said. “That oil-fielder running you off?”

  “Not by a damn sight,” I said. “I’m sorry to leave you.”

  “Oh, I guess I can do the work,” he said. “I always have.”

  I seen he wasn’t gonna act nice, so I didn’t say any more to him.

  “Let me hear from you now and then,” was the last thing he said.

  So we rode to Henrietta that night and arranged with an old boy to take the horses back to Archer County for us. We got good and drunk, and along about midnight we caught the train north. Our spirits weren’t too good, but we were the only passengers, and we each got a bench and went to sleep. I dreamed that Dad was out terracing in the moonlight. When I woke up Johnny was still asleep and I had a headache, so I went out on the porch of the caboose. I guess we were about to Childress then; anyhow we were on the plains. The cold air kind of cleared my head. It was exciting to see all that country stretched out around me, but I felt pretty sad, too. I was split: I was glad to be where I was, and yet I wanted to be where I had just left. Looking down the rails, I couldn’t help but think of the people at home, Dad and Molly mostly.