The Weather and Women Treat Me Fair

by Percival Everett

“Planning to stay through the winter?”

  Michael took a breath. “I don’t know. It’s been a thought.”

  “Gets cold.”

  “We’re from New England.”

  “Uh huh.” The vet got in his truck.

  “Thanks for driving such a long way.”

  “It was the only way to get here. Sorry I wasn’t of more help.” He started the engine. “Let me know how the salve works.”

  Michael watched the truck bounce down the road and disappear around the bend.

  Old Sherman’s brother, Pap, was looking to sell at least one of two horses. And one of them limped.

  “I guess you don’t want this one,” said Pap.

  “I don’t think so,” Michael said.

  So, Pap had his son lead the lame horse back into the barn.

  “But this one looks in good shape,” said Michael, walking around the horse.

  “Look at his teeth,” said Pap.

  “How old is he?”

  “Look at his teeth.”

  Michael looked at the horse’s teeth. “Is he ten?”

  “Look at his teeth.”

  “Younger than ten?”

  “Look at his teeth.” Pap spat on the ground between his feet.

  “What is he, about four then?”

  “Some teeth, eh?”

  Michael paid seventy-five dollars for the animal and walked him over the hill and home to Gloria.

  “I got a good deal on him from Pap,” Michael told her. “Seventy-five dollars. He’s only four and we can re-sell him.”

  “Do you really want to stay here through the winter?” asked Gloria.

  “If you’re up to it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means if you think you can take it, we’ll stay.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me, what?”

  “Can you take it?”

  “I can take it.”

  “Then I can take it.”

  “Fine. Then, we’ll stay.”

  The horse wouldn’t budge if a person sat on his back. And he followed Michael around as a dog would. He followed him to the woodpile, to the outhouse, and everywhere else. Some days, the Indians would sit along the top of the ridge and laugh. Then, Old Sherman came by.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” said Michael.

  “How are you nice white people?”

  “Fine.”

  Old Sherman looked at the horse.

  “Look familiar?” Michael asked.

  “Yes.”

  Gloria came out of the house and asked if anyone cared for coffee.

  Old Sherman didn’t hear her. He was looking at the horse. “Yeah,” he said, “this horse carried my little girl to the doctor in Carlis. She was one year old then. She had the fever.”

  Gloria looked at Michael, then asked Old Sherman, “How old is she now?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Your brother told me he was four,” said Michael.

  “Not my brother,” said Old Sherman, shaking his head. “All my brother ever says about a horse is ‘Look at his teeth.’ He wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Michael was out at the well when the vet pulled up. “Hi there,” said Michael. “What brings you up this way?”

  “Thought I’d check on your bunnies.”

  “Still bald. Glo goes out every morning and rubs that gunk all over them and nothing’s happened.

  “I had a thought the other day. Just what do you feed your rabbits.”

  “Rabbit chow.’

  “That’s all? No greens?”

  “No greens.”

  “That may be the problem. Rabbit chow doesn’t have vitamin A. You ought to give them some greens.”

  “What about the plague?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind.”

  Fall came. The horse died of old age. The rabbits died of the plague, still bald. The vet said they just froze to death. The woodstove was cranked up all the way. The outhouse blew over in the wind. The Indians packed to move down mountain.

  The Weather and Women Treat Me Fair

  “I ain’t here.”

  “I’m sick of sayin’ that.”

  “Tell her I ain’t here.”

  “He ain’t here. She says she knows you’re here.”

  “Just hang up.”

  “Listen, I gotta hang up.” Tate hung up the phone. “Do your own dirty work from now on.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.”

  Will slid his second dusty boot off onto the floor and wiggled his socked toes. “My poor pups. I hate puttin’ up fence.”

  “You gotta do something about that gal.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Hell, just marry and get it over with.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t care what you do, long as I don’t have to talk to her any more.”

  Will unbuttoned his shirt and let the air hit his chest. “Least it wasn’t so hot today.”

  “What’s goin’ on with you two, anyway?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “She seems all right.”

  “Yeah.” Will lit a cigarette. “She’s just about the ficklest woman west of east. When I’m with her, she says I’m crowdin’ her and when I’m somewhere else, she can’t live without me. If I pick her up on time, I’m rushin’ her. If I’m late, I don’t care.”

  “Marry her.”

  Will laughed.

  “The picture sounds perfect.”

  “You’re a sick man.” Will drew on his butt and let out the smoke. “I just wanna go to town and get some soft touchin’ from some new faces.”

  “Right.”

  “You wait and see. You know that Becky, the one that works at the River Inn?”

  “I know who you mean.”

  “Well, she’s had her eye on me.”

  “Hunh. And you’ll talk to her, probably even get a boner and then you’ll see Caitlin come in with some guy or walkin’ past the window and there you go.” Tate laid out a clean shirt and a fresh pair of jeans on his bunk. “But if you don’t get a move—”

  “I’m coming.” Will put out his cigarette and started for the shower. “I don’t think you’re seeing this clearly.”

  “Could be.”

  Tate downshifted behind a car towing a boat. He sighed and sank back into the seat. “What do you say?” he asked, pointing at the vehicle ahead. “A banker from Cheyenne on his way from Wheatland?”

  “College teacher from Laramie.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind just floatin’ around in a boat for a while.”

  The car with boat began to slow, then turned left into a gas station.

  “See. College teacher,” Will said. “Hooked his signals up backwards.” He lit a cigarette.

  “You oughta give that up,” Tate said.

  “I know.”

  “So, it’s the River Inn first?”

  “You bet. Watch out, Becky, here I come!”

  The River Inn was just outside town on the bank of the Laramie River. It had a big deck which hung out over the water. The night was warm with a fine breeze and music spread from the tavern through the evening air.

  Will and Tate climbed the side steps onto the deck.

  “Lots of college kids,” Tate said.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  They found a table near the railing and looked down at the river. The level was low with late summer.

  “Time to come here is spring,” said Will, “when the river’s got some flow in her.”

  “There she be,” said Tate, nodding across the way toward the door.

  “Becky, Becky, Becky,” Will said. “Make a man hurt himself.”

  The waitress came over to their table and took out her pad. She held it down by her thigh. She was wearing gym shorts.

  “Hey there, Will.”

  “Well, hey, Becky. How’re you doin’ tonight?”


  “Fine. You?”

  “Good, now. You know my friend Tate?”

  Becky shook her head and smiled. “No, but I’ve seen him in here.”

  “College kids out in force tonight,” Will said.

  Becky sighed. “School’s just startin’ up. They don’t tip for shit.”

  “What you doin’ later on?” Will asked.

  “Nothing. What you got in mind?”

  “Gettin’ together and goin’ from there.”

  “Sure. I get off at eleven.”

  “Well, all right.”

  “What can I get you cowboys?”

  “Bourbon, straight up,” Tate said. “Change that. Just a beer.”

  “Will?”

  “Beer.”

  Becky walked away. Will watched her shorts.

  “What’d I tell you?” Will said.

  “You told me, all right.”

  “Look at that sky. Clear as a goddamn bell. Looks like you could pluck a star down if you wanted to.”

  “Yep.”

  “My granddaddy had a saying. He said, ‘As long as the weather and women treat you fair, you’re doin’ just fine.’”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “Granny locked him out and he froze to death.”

  They laughed.

  A couple of girls smiled at Will from a nearby table. “There you go,” he said.

  Tate turned and looked at the youngsters. “They’d put you under the jail.”

  “Nubile, boy, nubile.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Will lit a cigarette. Becky brought the beers and was away again.

  “What do you think of Caitlin?” Will asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m sick of talkin’ to her on the phone.”

  “Do you like her?”

  “Sure. She’s nice enough. Pretty.”

  “Yep.”

  “Hell, you’re asking me these questions—how do you feel about her? Do you like her?”

  “Some. I’m fair on the subject.”

  “Yeah.” Tate looked down at the lights on the water. There was a canoe on the river. “Fair, you say?”

  “Fair.”

  “Then this won’t bother you.” Tate pointed with a nod.

  Will looked to see Caitlin and a man in the canoe. He scooted his chair back with a squawk against the deck planks and glared at Tate.

  “Fair, now, you said.”

  “I don’t believe this shit.”

  “What you gonna do? Jump in?”

  “I’m tempted.” Will was still looking at Tate’s eyes when he stood up. He turned and leaned over the railing. “Caitlin!”

  “Oh, hell,” the woman said.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Having fun.”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  Tate leaned back in his chair and chuckled. Patrons were looking at Will and leaning over the railing. Tate said, “Calm down, Will. You’re the one who wouldn’t talk to her. Remember?”

  “Shut up,” Will told Tate. He threw his cigarette at the canoe. The red glow sailed with the breeze and went dark on the water. “Caitlin, you get out of that boat and get up here.”

  “Kiss my ass,” she said.

  Will pounded the railing. “I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious,” Caitlin mocked him. “You’re always serious.”

  “Sit down, Will,” Tate said.

  “Shut up!”

  “Listen, you shit-brained cowboy,” Caitlin said. “I called you today, but you weren’t man enough to talk to me.”

  “Get out of the boat and we’ll talk now.”

  The man in the canoe tried to paddle them away, but Caitlin stuck her paddle in the water and caused them to circle. She was still looking up at the deck.

  Will began to unbutton his shirt. “I swear to God, if you don’t move that thing to the bank, I’m gonna jump in.”

  “Will,” Tate said.

  “What is it?” Will turned to find Becky behind him. He couldn’t talk and his face seemed in search of an expression.

  Becky said, “You want me to let you explain.”

  “Yes.”

  She took his mug from the table and poured the beer over his head. She stomped away amid the applause of tavern patrons.

  Tate shook his head.

  “Who was that?!” Caitlin shouted. She was standing in the canoe. The man was trying to steady the boat while asking her to sit.

  “Who was that?!” she asked again.

  Will wiped beer from his face with his shirttail. “None of your goddamn business.”

  “Who was that bitch?!”

  “Now, now,” Will said. “Why don’t you sit down before you get all wet.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you like that?”

  Tate got up and started away.

  “Where are you goin’?” Will asked.

  Tate said nothing, just waved him off.

  Will studied Tate’s back and seemed to find something. He leaned over the railing, again. “Caitlin,” he said in a calmer voice.

  “What?”

  “Sit down for a second. Please.”

  She sat.

  “I’m only going to say this once.” He paused. “Okay.” He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. “Will you marry me?” The boat drifted into a shadow and he could not see her face clearly. “Caitlin?”

  “Hell, no,” she said, softly. “Hell, no.” Louder.

  Percival Everett teaches at the University of Kentucky and lives with his wife, Shere, who is an artist, in Lexington. He is the author of three novels, Suder, Walk Me to the Distance and Cutting Lisa.