“Ain’t you gonna change them sheets?” he asked sourly.
“Hum? No. Why?” she asked drowsily.
“Well by God,” he said, walking distractedly around the bed. “You’re a fine one, ain’t you. If my mother was alive and knew how you acted she’d have your hide. I’ve always heard women got nasty in their old age but I never thought it would happen to no wife of mine.”
“Didn’t you like it, Herman?” Ruth asked, still sleepily. She was near enough asleep that she could be a little mean.
With a grunt the coach lay down and turned his back on her. Like it! It was fine come-off. What could a man say to a damn woman?
Fourteen
“KEEP AN EYE ON THEM CORKS, BILLY,” SAM THE LION said, getting to his feet. “I’ve got to go water the grass a little.”
The corks bobbed undisturbed in the brown water of a large stock tank, and Billy, also undisturbed, sat by the water’s edge, watching them. Sonny was stretched out on his stomach in the Bermuda grass along the base of the tank dam. The May sun on his back was so warm that it made him drowsy, and he was almost asleep, content to leave Billy in full charge of the three fishing poles.
Sam the Lion took a long time to water the grass, but he finally came back, grumbling and buttoning his pants.
“Be nice to be able to piss,” he said. “If I last another year I’ll be dribblin’ it on my shoes. I’d almost be willing to be young again if I could take a real piss. Looks like we ain’t gonna catch much today.”
“We never do,” Sonny said. Once every year or two the pretty spring weather would tempt Sam the Lion to get out and, as he put it, get a little scenery. The rest of the time he was content to get his scenery from the pretty calendars the local foodstore put out.
When the urge for the outdoors came on him he would get Billy and the three fishing poles, enlist Sonny as a driver, and take the boys year after year to the same tank, perhaps the worst stocked fishing tank in the whole country. Once in a while they caught a perch or two, but always such undernourished specimens that old Marston refused to cook them.
“Hell, Sam, you wouldn’t have nothing but two ounces of fried bones if I did cook them,” he maintained.
Sam the Lion didn’t much care, and neither did the boys. Billy loved to sit on the bank and watch the rings in the water or the dragonflies that skimmed along the surface. He was always surprised and a little disconcerted when Sam the Lion grabbed one of the poles and actually pulled up a fish. When he looked into the water he saw no fish, and he was never really sure where they came from.
After a while Sonny got tired of dozing and got up and walked along the tank dam a little way. It was a beautiful afternoon, a good day not to be doing anything—the sky was very blue and the pastures were green with spring grass and mesquite. In a moment he himself had the urge to water the grass in the way that Sam had, and he walked to the edge of the dam to do it. He felt warm and well and was faintly pleased by the spurt of his own water, even stretching himself a little to see if he could send a stream all the way to the foot of the dam. He didn’t quite make it, but it was a high sloping dam and he came close enough to be fully content with his own range.
It was only as he turned around and was buttoning himself that he noticed that Sam the Lion had observed his little game. It embarrassed him just a little, but it did something much stranger to Sam the Lion. Sam began to snort, always a sign that something was affecting him powerfully, and then he began to laugh his loud, solid, rich laugh, something he did so rarely that both boys were startled. He sat by the water laughing, running his hands through his hair. Tears began to run down his face so freely that Sonny was not sure what was happening, whether Sam was laughing or crying. He pulled his handkerchief out of his hip pocket and began to wipe his face but no sooner had he done that than he burst out cussing and got up and stomped around furiously on the Bermuda grass.
“Goddammit! Goddammit!” he cursed. “I don’t want to be old. It don’t fit me!”
Then, seeing that the boys were scared, he became embarrassed and sat back down, still sniffing and snorting. He looked at the water and blew his nose and for a minute tried to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But both boys continued to stare at him and he gave it up and tried to explain.
“I’ll tell you what it was, son,” he said, looking at Sonny a little ruefully. “Seein’ you pissing off the dam reminded me of something. I used to own this land you know. It’s been right at fifty years since the first time I watered a horse at this tank. Reason I always drag you all out here probably—I’m just as sentimental as anybody else when it comes to old times. What you reminded me of happened twenty years ago—I brought a young lady swimming here. It was after my boys were already dead, my wife had lost her mind. Me and this young lady were pretty crazy, I guess. She had all the spirit in the world, and we had some times. We come out here swimmin’ one day without no bathin’ suits and after we got out of the water I walked off up there to piss. She was always on the lookout for something funny and she offered to bet me a silver dollar I couldn’t stand on the top of the dam and piss into the water. I took the bet and gave it a try but I never came no closer than you did. That lady’s still got the silver dollar.”
He was quiet, looking at the water.
Sonny had never known Sam the Lion except as an old man, and he was surprised and a little awed by the story. He wanted to ask who the woman was, but he didn’t have the nerve.
“What became of the lady?” he asked.
“Oh, she growed up,” Sam the Lion said, a tone of regret in his voice. “She was just a girl then, really.”
“How come you never married her?”
“She was done married,” Sam said gravely. “She and her husband were young and miserable with one another, but so many young married folks are that way that I figured they’d work out of it in time. I thought they’d get comfortable when they got a little older but it didn’t turn out that way.”
“Is growin’ up always miserable?” Sonny said. “Nobody seems to enjoy it much.”
“Oh, it ain’t necessarily miserable,” Sam replied. “About eighty percent of the time, I guess.”
They were silent again, Sam the Lion thinking of the lovely, spritely girl he had once led into the water, right there, where they were sitting.
“We ought to go to a real fishin’ tank next year,” Sam said finally. “It don’t do to think about things like that too much. If she was here now I’d probably be crazy agin in about five minutes. Ain’t that ridiculous?”
A half-hour later, when they had gathered up the gear and were on the way to town, he answered his own question.
“It ain’t, really,” he said “Being crazy about a woman like her’s always the right thing to do. Being a decrepit old bag of bones is what’s ridiculous.”
It had rained the week before and there were deep ruts in the dirt road. Sonny drove as carefully as he could, but Sam the Lion scratched his head and watched the speedometer nervously, convinced that they were proceeding at a reckless speed.
“Did you know about me and Mrs. Popper?” Sonny asked suddenly, feeling that if he was ever going to talk about it the time was at hand.
“Yeah, how is Ruth?” Sam asked. “I haven’t had a close look at her in years.”
“Sometimes she’s okay,” Sonny said. “Sometimes she doesn’t seem to be too happy.”
Sam snorted. “That’s probably the understatement of the day,” he said. “I figured her for a suicide ten years ago—people are always turning out to be tougher than I think they are.”
“I don’t exactly know what to do about her,” Sonny said hopefully.
Sam the Lion laughed almost as loudly as he had on the tank dam.
“Don’t look at me for advice,” he said. “I never know exactly what to do about anybody, least of all women. You might stay with her and get some good out of her while you’re growing up. Somebody ought to get some good out of Ruth.”
They pulled onto the highway and in a few minutes the fenceposts were going by so fast that Sam the Lion could hardly see them. He breathed as little as possible until they hit the city limits sign—then Sonny slowed down and he relaxed.
“Say, was Duane along that night you all got Billy in the mess?” he asked. “I’ve been wondering about that lately.”
Sonny was caught off guard and was completely at a loss to answer. He automatically started to lie, but because it was Sam the Lion the lie wouldn’t come out. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth, but the truth wouldn’t come out either. First the lie and then the truth stuck in his throat, and right in the same place.
“I see,” Sam said. “Watch out, that’s Old Lady Peters backing out of her driveway up there. She thinks it’s still 1930 an’ she’s just as apt to back right in front of you as not.”
He gripped the door handle tightly, prepared to leap out if necessary, but Sonny had seen the old lady blocks before he had and calmly, out of habit, swerved wide around her and coasted them safely up to the poolhall door.
Fifteen
THREE DAYS AFTER THE FISHING TRIP, DUANE GOT SO frustrated that he beat up Lester Marlow. Jacy and Lester had gone to Wichita together three Saturday nights in a row, and Duane could stand it no longer.
“I don’t care if it ain’t Lester’s fault,” Duane told Sonny. “Maybe if he has a couple of front teeth missin’ Mrs. Farrow won’t be so anxious to have Jacy go with him.”
Sam the Lion overheard the remark and gave a skeptical chuckle. “The only person who’ll profit by that sort of reasonin’ is Lester’s dentist,” he said. “Maybe Jacy likes to go with Lester.”
That was an incredible thing to suggest. Duane and Sonny were both flabbergasted.
“You don’t think she wants to go with that fart, do you?” Duane asked indignantly.
“Well, Lester ain’t entirely unlikable,” Sam replied, not at all flustered. “I don’t know Jacy well enough to know what she wants, but you’ve been blaming her mother all this time for something that might not be her mother’s fault. If I was you I’d investigate.”
Duane stormed out of the poolhall, mad as he could be. He didn’t want to investigate, he just wanted to whip Lester, and about midnight that night, as Lester was passing the courthouse, Duane waved him down. Sonny was the only other person to see it.
“I know you’re mad,” Lester said, as soon as he got out of the car, “but you needn’t be. All I’ve done is take her to dances. I’ve never even kissed her.”
It was a shameful admission, but true: Jacy gave Lester absolutely nothing in the way of intimacies. She didn’t have to.
“You took her to a naked swimming party,” Duane said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t kiss her.”
“I didn’t,” Lester said, but at that point Duane hit him on the mouth. Lester swung a half-hearted blow in return and found himself sitting down—at least he found himself getting up, and he could only assume he had been knocked down first. The fight was well started and things were easier for him: he couldn’t feel himself being hit, and after three or four more licks Duane bloodied his nose and stopped fighting.
“That’s just a taste,” he said. “Don’t you take her anywhere else!”
Lester said nothing, and Duane and Sonny walked away. Not saying anything was something of a triumph, Lester thought. He had made no promises. He went across the street to the filling station and ran some water on his nose, thinking that in a way he had been ganged up on. Sonny had been there. It could even have been that he was not knocked down fairly—Sonny could have tripped him. On the way back to Wichita he concluded that Sonny probably did trip him, and instead of going to his home he drove out to a place on Holiday Creek where some of the wilder boys often gathered on Saturday nights. A lot of boys were there, sitting on the fenders of their cars drinking beer, and when they saw how bloody Lester was they were briefly impressed. What happened? they wanted to know.
“Couple of roughnecks beat me up,” Lester said stoically. “You know, Crawford and Moore, over in Thalia. It was about Jacy Farrow. I would have done okay if one of them hadn’t tripped me.”
“Those motherfuckers,” one of the boys said. “We ought to go over there and pile their asses.”
“No,” Lester said gallantly. “I don’t want anybody fighting my fights.”
“Aw, hell, it’d be somethin’ to do,” a boy said. “Besides we can get the Bunne brothers to do the fighting.” The Bunne brothers were local Golden Gloves champions, a welterweight and a light-heavy. They enjoyed fighting, in the ring or out.
Lester didn’t try again to discourage them, but for himself he decided it would be best not to go back to Thalia. The boys took that in stride—they didn’t really like Lester much and were just as glad he stayed in Wichita. The nice thing about his getting beat up was that it gave them an excuse to drive to Thalia and watch a fight.
The Bunne brothers were located at a Pioneer drive-in, trying to make some girls in a green Pontiac. The welterweight was named Mickey, the light-heavy, Jack. They were glad to get a chance to go fighting: the girls were just a punch of pimply virgins who had run off from a slumber party in Burkburnett. A couple of boys elected to stay and work on them, but that still left seven raring to go. They piled in a second-hand Mercury and headed for Thalia, driving about eighty-five and laughing and talking. Saturday night had taken a turn for the better.
After the fight with Lester, Sonny and Duane walked over to the café to have a cheeseburger. Duane really wanted sympathy, but Genevieve was not inclined to give him any.
“No sir,” she said. “There wasn’t any point in your bullyin’ Lester—it ain’t his fault you can’t make you girl friend behave.”
“You’re as bad as Sam.” Duane said bitterly. “Why Jacy would marry me tonight, if she had the chance.”
Sonny got up and put a couple of nickels in the jukebox, hoping a little music would ease the tension. It didn’t seem to help much, so after a few minutes the boys left and drove out to the Y, a fork in the road about five miles from town. The fork was on top of a hill, and when they got there they sat and looked across the flat at the cluster of lights that was Thalia. In the deep spring darkness the lights shone very clear. The windows of the pickup were down and they could smell the fresh smell of the pastures.
They only sat a few minutes, and then drove back to town. When they pulled up at the rooming house the Wichita boys were there, sitting on the fenders of the Mercury.
“There’s the Bunne brothers,” Duane said. “That damn Lester must have sent ’em.”
Both of them were badly scared, but they didn’t want the Wichita boys to know that so they got out as if nothing were wrong. For a moment no one said anything. Sonny nervously scraped his sole on the pavement and the sound was very loud in the still night.
Mickey Bunne came cockily over and broke the silence.
“Hear you men beat the piss out of Lester,” he said.
“I beat the piss out of him,” Duane said quickly. “Sonny wasn’t involved.”
“That ain’t the way Lester tells it.”
The other boys got off the fenders and began to edge around.
“He probably lied about it,” Duane said. “I didn’t hit him over five times, anyway. I told him to stop going with my girl.”
Mickey moved a step closer. “He said you both whipped him.”
“You don’t really think it would take two of us to whip Lester, do you?” Sonny asked. “All he had was a bloody nose and a busted lip. If we’d both fought he wouldn’t have been able to drive home, much less tell lies about it.”
The Wichita boys were momentarily silent, even Mickey. What Sonny said was obviously true: it didn’t take two people to whip Lester Marlow, and he hadn’t been damaged much, anyway. Most of the boys didn’t feel particularly unfriendly to Duane and Sonny, but that didn’t matter. There had to be a fight. The Bunne brothers wouldn’t go home without a fight. Fo
rtunately Mickey Bunne was quick-witted and saw right away what tack to take.
“Who whipped him don’t matter,” he said. “We don’t like you country boys tellin’ us who to go with and who to leave alone. We like to screw country girls once in a while.
Duane was getting a little nervous. “I didn’t tell him not to screw country girls,” he said. “I told him not to bother Jacy. He can fuck the whole rest of this town for all I care—I’m just tired of him botherin’ Jacy.”
Mickey grinned. “Lester don’t bother her,” he said. “She laps it up. I seen her naked one time myself, out at Bobby Sheen’s. She ain’t bad lookin’. Who she really likes is Bobby Sheen—him and her played around all one night. I guess she’s about as much ours as she is yours. I may want to go with her myself some time, you can’t tell.”
That was too much for Duane: he hit at Mickey, and the fight was on. It was not too bad for Duane, although Mickey beat him handily and knocked him down once. Duane was so mad he didn’t really feel the pounding he took. He was fighting for his girl, after all. Sonny was the one who suffered most. He wasn’t mad at all, and he wasn’t fighting for anyone in particular. Besides that, he didn’t like to fight and didn’t know how, whereas Jack Bunne liked it and knew how very well. It made for a painful beating.
Fortunately the Bunne brothers knew when to quit. They were not looking for trouble, just for excitement. Sonny and Duane were both standing when they quit, although Sonny wanted very much to sit down. He had a pain in his ribs.
“Well let’s go, men,” one of the boys said. “The deputy sheriff’s liable to come drivin’ by.”
“We ain’t broke no laws,” Jack Bunne said, not even winded, but the boys all went on and piled in the Mercury. They whooped and laughed as the car pulled away.
“Motherfuckers,” Duane said wearily.
Sonny walked over and sat down on the curb. One of his ears was paining him severely, and he had caught at least a couple of hard licks in the rib cage. Duane came and sat down too. They were both too winded and depressed to say anything. It was enough just to sit. The town was very quiet. From the west, far out in the pastures, they heard some hounds, so far away that their braying sounded as thin as the yapping of puppies.
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