Wyoming

by Barry Gifford

  “Uncle Jack is a civil and mechanical engineer, Roy. He can draw plans, too, like an architect. He was a Seabee, and the navy offered to make him an admiral if he stayed in.”

  “Why didn’t he?”

  “He said to make money it was better to be in private industry. That’s why he moved to Florida, to build houses. My brother can do anything, though.”

  “He can’t fly.”

  “What do you mean, baby? You mean like Superman?”

  “No, Uncle Jack told me he tried to become a pilot in the navy. They sent him to Texas to learn how to fly, but he washed out. He said there was something wrong with his ears that made him lose his balance.”

  “Yes, that’s right, I remember when he came home from Texas. He was so disappointed. But Jack can do so many things. You know, baby, if you get really interested in something, you should follow it through all the way. I mean, find out everything you can, learn all there is to learn about it, try to do it or figure it out. That’s what your Uncle Jack does, that’s how come he knows so much about different things. He can’t do everything so well, like flying a plane, but he tries. And you know he’s been practically all over the world. Jack’s a great traveler,”

  “I’m going to be a great traveler, too. We travel a lot, don’t we, Mom?”

  “Yes, we do, but except for Cuba and Mexico, only in the United States.”

  “I like to draw maps.”

  “You mean to copy them from the atlas?”

  “Sometimes, just to learn where places are. But also I like to make countries up. Oceans and seas, too. It’s fun to invent a world nobody else knows.”

  “What’s your favorite country that you made up?”

  “Turbania. It’s full of tribes of warriors who’re always fighting to take over all of Turbania. The largest tribe is the Forestani. They live in the mountains and come down to attack the Vashtis and Saladites, who are desert people.”

  “Where exactly is Turbania?”

  “Between Nafili and Durocq, on the Sea of Kazmir. A really fierce small tribe, the Bazini live in the port city of Purset. They’re very rich because they own the port and have a big wall all around with fortifications not even the Forestanis can penetrate. The Bazinis also have rifles, which the other tribes don’t. The Vashtis and Saladites ride horses, black and white Arabians. The Forestanis travel on foot because the woods in the hills are so thick that horses can’t get through. And each tribe has its own language, though the Bazinis speak Spanish and maybe English, too, because of the shipping trade. The Forestanis can also speak like birds, which is the way they communicate when they don’t want anyone outside the tribe to know what they’re saying. It’s a secret language that they’re forbidden by tribal law to teach outsiders. If a Forestani is caught telling the secret bird language to a person from another tribe, his tongue is cut out and his eardrums are punctured.”

  “Well, Roy, we’ll be in Chattanooga soon. Let’s have a snack and you can tell me about some of your other countries, I hope they’re not all as terrible as Turbania.”

  “Turbania’s not so terrible. Mom. Wait until you hear about Cortesia, where all the people are blind and they have to walk around with long sticks to protect themselves from bumping into things and each other, so everyone pokes everyone else with their sticks all the time.”

  Nomads

  WHERE ARE WE NOW, MOM?

  “Just outside Centralia, Illinois.

  “This is sure a long train.”

  “I’ll turn off the motor. Tell me if you get too cold,

  Roy, and I’ll turn the heater back on.”

  “It’s cold out, but not real cold yet, even though it’s almost December. Why is that?”

  “Weather is pretty unpredictable sometimes, baby, especially in the spring or fall. But you can bet before too long this part of the country’!! be blanketed white.”

  “How come we never take a train?”

  “You took a train a couple of times, don’t you remember? When you went up and back to Eagle River, Wisconsin.”

  “It was fun sleeping overnight on the train, though I didn’t really sleep very much. I stayed up looking out the window into the shadows, imagining what might be out there. I like the dark, Mom, especially if I’m protected from it, like through a train window. “

  “What did you think you could see, Roy?”

  “Monsters, of course. Lots of large creatures crunching through the forest. Then I could see camp-fires, real quick little flashes of smoky light burning up through the trees. I thought maybe it was Indians, the last ones left living in the woods, moving every day and setting up a new camp at night. “

  “Nomads.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nomads are people who travel all the time—they don’t live in one place.”

  “Is Nomads the name of a tribe?”

  “It used to be. They’re in the Bible, I think. Now it’s just a word used to describe anyone who’s constantly changing their place of residence.”

  “We move around a lot.”

  “Yes, we do, but we mostly stay in the same places.”

  “That’s what the Plains Indians did. I read that they would come back to the same campgrounds depending on the seasons.”

  “I think the Indians understood the weather better than most people do now.”

  “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “People live mostly in cities, so they defy the weather. They stay in their buildings and complain when it rains or snows, or that it’s too hot or cold. The Indians adjusted better to changes of climate. When it was too warm on the plains, they moved to the mountains, where it was cooler. When it snowed in the mountains, they moved down.”

  “This train is about the longest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Cotton Belt Route. Southern Serves the South. Don’t you love to read what’s written on the boxcars?”

  “Yeah, but what do the letters mean? Like B&O?”

  “Baltimore and Ohio. L&N is Louisville and Norfolk, I think. Or maybe it’s Louisiana and Norfolk,”

  “It’s almost ending. Mom, I can see the caboose. Start the can.”

  “It’s nice to have heat, huh, Roy? If we were Indians in the old days we would’ve had to wait on our horses until the train passed,”

  “We’d be wrapped in blankets, so we wouldn’t be too cold.”

  “I once saw a painting of an Indian riding in a blizzard, his long-braided black hair and blanket covered with ice. Even the pony’s mane was frozen.”

  “I like cars, Mom, but horses are more beautiful. I'd feel more like a real nomad if I were on a horse instead of in a can Wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess so, baby. But it would take us a lot longer to get anywhere.”

  “Sometimes I don’t care how long it takes. And when we get there I’m always a little disappointed.”

  “Why disappointed?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because sometimes it’s better to imagine how something or someplace is rather than to have it or be there. That way you won’t ever be disappointed when you find out it’s not so great as you hoped.”

  “You’re growing up, Roy, you really are. Some people never figure that out.”

  “Probably the real Nomads knew, and that’s why they were always moving.”

  “It’s impossible to avoid being disappointed sometimes, baby, unless you learn to not expect too much.”

  “I like traveling. Mom. I like it more than being in one place, so maybe I’m learning.”

  Ducks on the Pond

  ROY! ROLL UP YOUR WINDOW. It’s freezing outside.”

  “I want to leave it open just a little, okay, Mom? I like the feeling when the heater’s on high and we can still feel the cold air.”

  “Amazing how cold it can get in Mississippi, huh, Roy? And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

  “Where are we now?”

  “We just passed the Batesville turnoff. We’ll stay tonight in Memphis^ maybe at the Peabody if
we can get a room. Remember that hotel, baby? The one with the ducks on the pond in the lobby.”

  “There was a kid there the last time who told me he drowned a duck once. Not one of the Peabody ducks.”

  “Drowned a duck? I didn’t know ducks could drown.”

  “I guess they can. They have to come up for air. like people, only probably not as often,”

  “I wish I could pass this darn truck, Sorry, Roy, I don’t mean to swear, but the driver won’t let me get around him. Tell me more about the ducks. Who was it who drowned one?”

  “A boy I met at the Peabody Hotel the last time we stayed there. He was older than me, twelve or thirteen, I think.”

  “It was in March. Bert came up.”

  “Is Bert still alive?”

  “Of course, baby. Why would you ask that?”

  “Just wondering. You said he was having trouble with his brain, so I thought maybe it exploded or something.”

  “He had something growing in his head, that’s right. You remembered. I think the doctors took it out.”

  “Before his brain could explode.”

  “His brain wouldn’t have exploded, baby. At least I don’t think so. If the thing that was growing in there got big enough, though, it might have squeezed the inside of Bert’s head so much that he wouldn’t have been able to think properly. I’ll call him when we get to Memphis.”

  “What if the doctors couldn’t get it out?”

  “I’m sure they did, Roy, otherwise I would have heard something. I think I can pass now, hold on,”

  “Mom, where did the seed in Bert’s brain come from?”

  “Just a sec, baby, let me get back over into the other lane. Okay, what did you say? How did a seed get where?”

  “In Bert’s brain. The thing that was growing began as a seed, right? How did it get planted there?”

  “That’s a good question, Roy. I don’t think anybody knows exactly, not even the doctors.”

  “Remember the Johnny Appleseed song? ‘Oh, the Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed. The Lord is good to me.”

  “I like to hear you sing, baby. You have a sweet voice.”

  “It couldn’t have been an apple seed in Bert’s head.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Don’t think about it anymore, honey. Pretty soon you’ll see the ducks on the pond at the Peabody.”

  “Maybe that kid will be there again.”

  “I guess it’s possible.”.

  “I wouldn’t ever try to drown a duck, even if I could,”

  “No, Roy, I don’t believe you ever would.”.

  Sound of the River

  IS IT OKAY IF I TURN UP THE RADIO?”

  “Sure, Roy, but not too loud. What’s playing?”

  “I don’t know, but I like it.”

  “Is that a man or a woman who’s screaming?”

  “He’s not screaming, Mom, he’s singing. Sometimes he shouts, but it’s part of the song. But that’s not the part I care about so much. What I really like is the kind of thumping sound behind him, the way it jumps up around his voice sometimes and almost swallows or drowns it or something.”

  “You mean the rhythm section. It’s the part of the band that keeps the beat. They keep the song moving.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard music like this before. It reminds me of the noise water makes hitting against the rocks on the side of the river, like down behind the Jax brewery. The same sound over and over, only it’s not exactly the same.”

  “That’s the Mississippi, baby. Can you remember how the waves sound on the beach in Cuba? The way they slap down on the sand, then make kind of a hushing noise as the water rushes up before rolling back. It’s different than the sound of the river in New Orleans.”

  “I remember being out on a little boat with Uncle Jack and on one side of the boat the water was green and on the other side it was blue. Uncle Jack told me to put my right hand into the water on the starboard side, into the blue, which was really cold. Then he told me to put my left hand into the water on the port side, and it was very warm. He said the cold blue side was the ocean, and the warm green side was the Gulf Stream. Wasn’t that near Veradero?”

  “No, honey, that was off Key West.”

  “Where are we now, Mom?”

  “Macon, Georgia.”

  “What’s here?”

  “Oh, most likely the same as everyplace else. Men and women who don’t understand each other and aren’t really willing or able to try. Just what this man is shouting about on the radio.”

  “I think he’s saying, “Lucille, won’t you do your sister’s will? Oh, Lucille, won’t you do your sister’s will? Well, you ran away and left, I love you still.’“

  “Sounds about right to me.”

  Red Highway

  YOU HIT ONE THAT TIME, Mom. I felt the bump.”

  “I can’t avoid them all, baby. They crawl out on the road and lie there because the asphalt absorbs heat and they like the warmth. I have to admit Fm not very fond of snakes, but Fm not trying to run them over.”

  “I know you wouldn’t do it on purpose. There are a lot of good ones, like king snakes, who help farmers by eating rodents that destroy crops.”

  “You’ve always loved reptiles, Roy. Maybe when you grow up you’ll be a herpetologist.”

  “Is that the big word for reptile handler?”

  “Herpetology is the study of snakes, and a herpetologist is a person who studies them.”

  “There’s another one! It must be six feet long. You just missed him/’

  “They’re easier to see when they’re crawling, otherwise they blend into the highway here.”

  “Why is this road dark red? I’ve never seen a red highway before/’

  “It must be the earth here, baby, the color of the dirt or clay.”

  “If it rained now, I wonder if the snakes would all crawl away/’

  “Probably they’d want to get down into their holes.”

  “Why were you so mean to that man in the restaurant back in Montgomery?”

  “He said something I didn’t care for.”

  “Did he say it to you?”

  “No, Roy, he said it to everyone who could hear him. He wanted people to hear him.”

  “What was it that he said?”

  “He was showing off his ignorance.”

  “Nobody likes a show-off.”

  “Especially not his kind.”

  “What was he showing off about?”

  “He used some words I don’t like.”

  “He called you beautiful. ‘What’s the matter, beautiful?’ he said.”

  “That wasn’t what upset me. It was what he said before. Forget about him, honey. God punishes those people.”

  “Could God change him into a snake and make him crawl out on the red highway so he’d get run over?”

  “Roy, don’t believe you’re better than anybody else because of the way you look or who your parents are, or for any other reason you had nothing to do with directly. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “It sounds simple, but it’s not so easy to do. Treat people the way you’d like them to treat you, and if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything.”

  “Uh4iuh.”.

  “Sorry, baby, I don’t mean to preach, but that man made me angry.”

  “Watch out. Mom, there’s another snake!”

  Lucky

  IT’S ALWAYS RAINING IN INDIANA.”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it, baby?”

  “I remember one night we were driving through Indiana like this and I saw a sign that said New Monster. Lucky was with us, and I asked him what it meant, and he told me there was a new monster loose around there and the sign was put up to warn people. I imagined a crazyman had escaped from an asylum, or a dangerous freak had run away from the sideshow of a carnival I was really frightened and stayed awake for a long time staring out the wind
ow watching for the monster, even though it was dark.”

  “Poor Lucky. He was the one who wound up in an asylum,”

  “You told me he had to go to a hospital.”

  “He did, Roy, a special kind of hospital for people who can’t control themselves.”

  “Lucky couldn’t control himself?”

  “In some ways, baby. He told terrible lies to people in business and got into. trouble all the time. You know how handsome Lucky was, and he could play the piano so well and sing. When he was a young man he’d been a great athlete, too. He was a wonderful golfer and tennis player and swimmer. Lucky charmed everyone, men and women loved him. but he was insane.”

  “Later, Lucky told me the name on the sign was really New Master, which is a town in Indiana. He was just joking around with me, Mom. That wasn’t such a bad thing, even though I got so scared.”

  “No, of course not, baby. Lucky stole a lot of money from a big company he was working for, but he didn’t go to jail for that, they let him off easy. Then a few weeks later he was arrested for taking off all of his clothes in front of some young girls in a park. I guess he’d done things like that before, or he tried to do something with one of the girls, I can’t remember, so this time he was committed to an institution.”

  “Do you know where Lucky is now?”

  “I think he’s still locked up in Dunning.”

  “Where’s Dunning?”

  “A place outside Chicago.”

  “How long does he have to stay there?”

  “Oh, Roy, who knows? I suppose until he’s well It’s really terrible about Lucky, it wasn’t his fault. He just couldn’t control himself.”

  “Lucky liked to eat spaghetti with a spoon. He’d chop up his noodles with a knife and then eat them with a tablespoon. Do you remember that, Mom? I think that’s a crazy way to eat spaghetti.”

  K. C. So Far (Seconds/Alternate Take)

  HOW COME WE’VE NEVER been to Kansas City before?”

  “I used to come here often when I was a girl. From when I was your age until I was seventeen. I rode the train back and forth from Chicago to see my father.”