Thalia

by Larry McMurtry

  “We don’t want the buzzards to eat him,” Jimmy said, but Joe didn’t know what a buzzard was. He had crying fits for three weeks after that.

  I had raked out the east side pretty thorough and was trying to make a start in the northwest corner when my fork struck something that made a glassy sound, and, of all things, I fished up one of Dad’s old whiskey jugs. It surprised the daylights out of me. No telling how long it had been back in that corner. It was still corked, and had whiskey sloshing around in it. Nobody had touched it since the day Dad set it in the corner.

  I laid my hull fork down and picked up the jug and went back to my sitting bale. I felt real strange. Picking up the jug brought Dad back to me, and it gave me the weak trembles. Dad’s beard and his hat pulled down over his eyes. When I pulled out the stopper and put my nose to the mouth of the jug, the strong whiskey fumes went right up my nostrils and made my eyes water. His eyes and his eyebrows and skinned-up hands and yellow fingernails and two broken-off teeth and the gray hair under his hat, around his ears. The whiskey smell was Dad’s smell: I never got close to him in my life that I didn’t smell it. The night Eddie and Wart brought him in out of the smokehouse they didn’t even pull off his boots; Gid had to do it after he came.

  For a while I sat by the bale, just holding the jug. It was brown, that thick glass kind. The outside was dusty, but the dust hadn’t got through the stopper; it hadn’t even rotted much. If I had drunk the whiskey, it would have made my tongue numb in a second. Twice in my life Dad had made me drink whiskey, and it scalded my throat both times. The first time I was just a little girl, three or four years old, and Johnny and his dad came over. The men were drinking. I don’t know why they did it, but they caught us kids and made us each take a swallow of whiskey out of a tin cup. We cried and then ran off down to the pigpen together, me and Johnny; that was the day we got to be friends. That night Dad got me on his lap and teased me. “How’d you like that likker?” he said. “You want a little more? You can have some if you want it.” Momma had done gone to bed. I hugged his neck big so he wouldn’t make me drink any more.

  The other time was years later, three or four years before he died. I had slipped off somewhere with Eddie while Dad was gone to Henrietta. Dad got back first, and when Eddie and me seen the wagon we knew he’d be mad. Eddie wouldn’t come in with me; he let me off at the barn.

  “Hell, he’s your dad,” he said. “You can handle him better than I can.”

  But I couldn’t, really. When I went in the kitchen and told Dad where I’d been, he grabbed me and like to whipped the pants off me with his razor strap.

  “When I leave you at home,” he said, “I want to find you here when I come back.”

  My feelings were hurt and I hurt from the whipping too and wanted to go to bed, but Dad felt lonesome and sorry for himself and he made me sit up till midnight, keeping him company. We sat at the kitchen table and he poured me a big glass of straight whiskey and told me not to drink it too fast and not to leave till I drank every drop of it. I vomited half the night.

  There was only one time in my life when I ever drank whiskey of my own accord, and that was the afternoon Eddie told me he wanted me to miscarry Jimmy. He didn’t know I was pregnant by Gid, either; he thought it was by him. I cried and argued and argued with him about it.

  “Shut up arguing,” he said. “I told you before we started all this I never intended to have no kids. All the time I was growing up I had them little brothers and sisters of mine under my feet constantly, and I don’t intend to fiddle with no more kids. They’re just trouble. You should never have let it happen. If you don’t get rid of it yourself, I’ll take you to a man who’ll get rid of it for you.”

  “What kind of a man is that?” I said. “And how do you know about him?”

  “I done rung the bell a time or two before, in my life,” he said. “It cost me fifty dollars, both times, but that’s a damn sight cheaper than raising a goddamn kid. If you’re smart though, you can save us that fifty dollars. Go horseback riding a lot.”

  “No, I want to have him, Eddie,” I said. “I won’t have any more, but I want to have this one.” I was crazy about Gid in those days; he was all I could think about.

  “I told you what you better do,” he said, finishing his beans. “And you better do it, if you don’t want no operation. Because I’ll take you if I have to drag you, you can believe that, can’t you?”

  I could believe it. Eddie was just like Dad when it came to doing what he made his mind up to do. The only way to stop either one of them was to be stronger than they were, and I never was that strong, at least not physically. Once in a while I could stop them another way.

  That afternoon I cried and cried. I could already feel Jimmy kick against my belly. Then I got one of Eddie’s whiskey bottles and kept mixing it with water and drinking it till I guess I got drunk. My head felt like it had smoke in it, and everything in the house looked funny. I decided I would try to get Gid to run away with me, and if he wouldn’t, I’d run away myself. I had fourteen dollars of Dad’s money that Eddie had never found. I figured I would catch a train to Amarillo; that was where Gid and Johnny went when they ran away. I guess I was crazy. I changed clothes three or four times that afternoon, trying to decide what to wear to go see Gid. And I never had that many clothes; I changed into some twice. When Eddie came in I just had on an old cotton slip and was down on my hands and knees fishing under the sink trying to find a tow sack or something to use for a suitcase. I must have been drunk; I never knew Eddie was in the house till I felt his hips jammed against my behind and his hand around my middle. But I knew it was his hand; nobody’s hand behaved like Eddie’s.

  “I’m glad I got me a wife that goes around half-naked,” he said. “That’s the most exciting kind.”

  I was crazy, I didn’t even know what he was saying. “Eddie, have you seen a sack?” I said. “I need a good big sack.” For a while he wouldn’t even let me back out from under the sink; I couldn’t even raise my head.

  “Sack, my eye,” he said. “You don’t need no sack, sugar-doll,” and his hand gave me fits and he got to wanting to kiss me; then he let me out. I couldn’t get it out of my head that I was leaving; I wouldn’t even know he was kissing me till he would quit for a minute. I had to vomit a lot that day too. When Eddie woke up he told me I could have the baby.

  “I learned something today,” he said. “It’s more fun wallowing around with you when you’re pregnant. I never knew that before. I wonder why it is?”

  I was feeling so bad the news didn’t penetrate to me till later.

  “I guess it must be the tilt,” he said. “The tilt’s a lot better this way. I hope it keeps on improving, I like to have something to look forward to.”

  I guess it did, because it was him wallowing that made me start with Jimmy, when the time came. I never even tried to get him to quit; that wouldn’t have worked with Eddie. The day the baby was born he left and didn’t come home for three months, and that meant that Gid could come every day or two. I was happy. And Eddie liking the tilt so good made things a lot easier when Johnny got me pregnant agin, three years later. Otherwise Eddie would have either beat me to death or left me, then and there. Or both. If there was one thing Eddie never had much of, it was patience with me.

  And Dad never either. Smelling the whiskey made me think of things about Dad that I hadn’t thought of in years. He always felt the worst when he was the nearest sober; I guess it just took whiskey to make life look good to him.

  One of the worst times I ever had with Dad in my life was the afternoon he told me and Richard about the facts of life. It was four or five years after Momma died; I was about seventeen. Except for one trip to town when I was a little girl, I had never been farther away from home than the schoolhouse. Eddie wasn’t even in the country then, and since we were all too big for school, I didn’t see Gid or Johnny more than a few times a year. Once in a while they would stop at the windmill for a drink of water. I had n
ever even thought of having a boy friend—my brothers were the only boys I really knew.

  And it was the same way with the boys—none of them ever had a girl friend till after they run away from home. Richard never, I’m sure; he only went to the schoolhouse two years. Me and Mary Margaret were the only girls he ever saw, and him and Mary Margaret fought like cats and dogs.

  One evening I was rolling the flour to cook the supper biscuits, and Dad came in and sat down at the table. It was March or April, and the sand had been blowing; Dad’s hair was full of grit, and he sat at the table and stratched his head. He never said a word to me. I started to ask him if he wanted me to give him a haircut; I gave all the haircuts my family had, as long as I had a family. Except for one burr haircut Joe got while he was in high school; it made me mad because he sneaked around so about it.

  But Dad didn’t want one. He was in a strange kind of mood, and I didn’t bother him. I was getting ready to grease the biscuit pan when Dad went to the back door and yelled at Richard. In a minute Richard slouched in.

  “Just leave them biscuits awhile,” Dad said. “Come back here with Richard and me.” They went off down the hall, and I wiped some grease off my thumb and followed them. They had gone into Daddy’s bedroom and it was the biggest mess in the world. Dad never even let me make the bed.

  “Shut the door,” Dad said. He sat down on his bed and pushed back his hat. He sat there about ten minutes, just thinking, and I wanted to get back to my biscuits.

  “What did you want, Daddy?” I said. Me and Richard were just standing there. Except Richard wasn’t impatient. He never was.

  “I guess Richard’s old enough for me to show him a few things,” he said. Neither one of us had any idea what he was talking about. Finally he grinned at Richard.

  “Take your pants off,” Dad said. It didn’t surprise Richard; I guess he thought he was going to get a whipping, was all; he took off his overalls. It had been cold and he still had on his long johns.

  “My god them’s dirty underwear,” Dad said. “Take them off too.”

  “Aw, it’s cold,” Richard said, but he started unbuttoning, anyway. In those days me and Richard and Mary Margaret all slept in the same bed—just Shep got to sleep by himself—and I had seen Richard pee a million times, so he never thought of being embarrassed just because of me. I was just a little bit embarrassed—not so much that as worried, because Dad was acting so strange. Richard was cold-natured and got goose bumps all over his legs.

  “Now, Molly, get your clothes off a minute,” Dad said.

  I had been about to giggle at Richard’s goose bumps, but that surprised me. “Why do I have to?” I said. I knew better than that. Dad looked at me for the first time since he’d come in.

  “The next time you ask me why when I tell you to do something, you’ll get a real tanning,” he said. But he wasn’t mad, he was just warning.

  “What all did you say take off?” I said.

  He was cutting himself some tobacco then. “Ever stitch,” he said. “I need to show Richard about women, and you’re the only one around. Hurry up.”

  That was the first time I ever felt funny being around a boy. I took my pants and shirt off, but I sure did want to keep my underwear.

  “I’m cold too,” I said. “Ain’t this enough, Daddy?”

  “I’m gonna warm you in a minute,” he said. “I told you what to take off.”

  I still had on long johns too, only the legs were cut out of mine. I went ahead and took them off and stood there naked, holding my underwear in front of me. Dad never looked at me, but I felt awfully embarrassed; it was a strange feeling. Then Dad noticed I was holding my underwear and he snatched it out of my hands and threw it down on the floor. That made it worse.

  “All right, now, Richard, looky there,” Dad said, nodding at me. “That’s how they look.” Then he looked me up and down himself, a real long look. “Molly’s a real pretty gal,” he said. “You’re lucky to get to see such a pretty one. She’s a damn sight prettier than her momma ever was.”

  “What am I supposed to look at?” Richard said. “All I see is Molly, and I know her anyway.” If it had been anybody but Richard, I would have been even worse embarrassed. There wasn’t no harm to Richard.

  Dad laughed. “You ain’t looking good,” he said. “Come up here by her and squat down where you can see. See where that hair’s growing on her?”

  I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I knew Dad didn’t want me to cover myself up with them. Finally I held them behind me. Richard had squatted down by me and was really looking.

  “Oh yeah, that’s where she pees,” he said. “I see that. Why’s all that hair grow there? It’s on me, too, but not as much.”

  “That’s to make it hard to get into,” Dad said. “The thing to remember about it is that’s where you make babies, right up in that crack.”

  “It don’t look like a big enough place,” Richard said. “I’m still cold without my pants.”

  “Stand up here,” Dad said. “You can just stay cold. You ain’t much of a boy, anyhow. Make him stiffen up, Molly, so I can tell him how it works.”

  I knew what he meant, or thought I did, and I didn’t move. I didn’t want to touch Richard.

  “Take ahold of him,” Dad said. “He don’t know the first thing.”

  “No, I don’t want to,” I said. “Richard don’t want me to, either. He understands it, he’s seen the bulls.”

  “You’re the contrariest damn girl I ever saw,” Dad said. “Do like I told you.”

  Richard’s was hanging there, about arm’s length away, but I knew I wasn’t going to touch it, not even because Dad said to. In a minute I started to cry, and tears were running down my chest and stomach.

  “I’ll give you something to cry about,” Dad said, and stomped out. I knew he was going after the razor strap, and I couldn’t think of anything to do, I just stood there crying. But the minute Dad left Richard’s got stiff. When Dad got back it still was. Richard and me were both surprised.

  “Well, did she help you?” Dad said, when he seen it.

  “Naw, it just done it by itself,” Richard said. “I’m sorry. I never meant for it to.” He was as embarrassed as me.

  “Why, hell,” Dad said, “that’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do. Now you see, when it’s like that it fits the crack in Molly. And most of the time it makes a baby, so you got to be careful where you shove it.”

  “You mean if you don’t put it in you don’t have no babies? Then why do people have babies anyway?” Richard said. Richard had a hard time understanding it. But I did too. I just stood there wishing it was over.

  “Because it feels so good when it’s up in there,” Dad said “You’ll feel it some day.”

  Richard perked up at that; he loved to feel good. “Oh,” he said. “Then can I try it with Molly right now? I’d like to know just how it does feel.”

  Dad hit him across the behind with the razor strap.

  “No, and get your pants on and get out of here,” he said. “I’ve shown you all you need to see. You don’t never do it with your sister; not never. And you better remember that.”

  I reached to pick up my underwear, but Dad shoved me back away from it.

  “I’m going to have a little talk with you,” he said, and Richard left.

  “Why didn’t you do what I told you to?” he said.

  I tried to think of a good answer, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know why, actually.

  “I don’t know, Daddy,” I said.

  “Do you want me to whip you with this razor strap?” he said, standing up.

  I shook my head. But I knew he was going to.

  “If I brought that boy back and told you to do it agin, would you mind me this time?” he asked.

  I thought about that a long time. From the way Dad looked I knew about all I could do was take up for myself. Besides, I didn’t want to touch Richard.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” I said, “I sure wouldn�
��t.”

  “I’ll make you think wouldn’t,” he said, and I got the worst whipping he ever gave me. But I never did say I would, and he finally quit. He would always quit if I took up for myself long enough. Sometimes it was real hard to do, and it was hard then.

  OF COURSE Richard was a pest after that. Dad had got his curiosity aroused, and he soon forgot the part about not doing it with his sister. He pestered me for two solid years. But he wasn’t no danger; he was just a nuisance. I could always fight Richard off.

  Dad always expected his kids to mind him without asking no questions, and whenever I got in trouble it was always for not minding, or for asking questions first. But I still thought he was an awful good daddy, and that’s what Johnny and Gid could never understand. They never liked Dad; neither did Eddie. But all they seen was his rough side. Dad never went around making over me, but I could tell he liked the way I fixed things and took care of him. It used to make me blue that I was the only one he had to love him. Momma and him wasn’t suited for one another; Dad was rougher on her than he was on any of us. The boys all hated him because he worked them so hard, and Mary Margaret couldn’t stand him.

  Him and Eddie did manage to tolerate one another, I guess because they both liked to drink whiskey. Likker was the only thing Dad ever gave away; mostly because he liked company when he drank. And Eddie liked free likker. He took advantage of Dad that way.

  Once Dad even told me that if I got married, to marry Eddie.