Red Dog, Red Dog

by Patrick Lane

  Tom noticed Marilyn slip out the back and he followed, stopping at the door. His hand played across the ragged screen, small points of wire brushing against his fingertips. She was so small. He thought of her standing over Norman as if he was a hurt animal and not a man. Then she’d glanced up, and her eyes had gone right through him. He’d felt her inside his body and, confused, suddenly wanted to touch whatever it was that could do that. She was a girl, yes, but she was a woman too. He felt she was someone he could hold without hurting, him or her. Marilyn, he said, and she looked back, walking toward him, her skirt switching around her legs. He felt she was a girl who needed looking after. She stepped up onto the porch and smiled through the broken screen at him. It’s you, she said.

  Tom asked if she wanted a drink and she nodded. She followed him into the kitchen and he gave her a gin and Seven-up in the cleanest glass he could find. They walked together into the living room, her head barely coming to the middle of his chest. People were there, some of them passed out, one couple he didn’t know on the couch partly covered with the curtain they’d pulled down off the side window. There were others in corners they’d blocked off with a cushion or chair, places where they could pretend to some privacy. Not much was broken, the lamps still burned, the three remaining dining-room chairs were upright, and the ashtrays were full but not on fire. Someone had turned the loveseat around so it faced the window. Tom sat down on it and put his feet up on the windowsill, Marilyn taking his hand. He held it awkwardly, small in his. He’d kissed girls before. He’d touched them too, girls he’d met when he was still in school and others through Eddy and Harry. His brother had told him he could fuck one out at the lake two summers before, but he’d walked away when it came his turn. He knew most everyone thought he was strange around girls, but he’d never cared what others thought of him.

  Marilyn’s scent rose up around him, makeup and lipstick and something she called Evening in Paris cologne. You smell good, he said, and Marilyn laughed and poked her pink tongue into her gin. They sat there listening to “Blueberry Hill” yet one more time.

  That Fats Domino can really play the piano, she said.

  Tell me what happened to your eye.

  She turned her head so he couldn’t see. Oh, that, said Marilyn. That’s nothing really, and then she lifted her shoulder, keeping her head turned partly away to hide that side of her face.

  The house was quieter now, the poker game having put a damper on the party. He was suddenly interested in what she had under the sweater with that little necklace of plastic pop-pearls draped across her chest. He wanted to take hold of the beads and pull them just hard enough to scatter them across her lap onto the skirt that had ridden up above her knees.

  What he felt was strange and new. He was sitting with a girl whose feelings were everywhere on her and all he was doing was holding her hand. He felt awkward and said, I read a lot of books, you know.

  Like what?

  Oh, you know, books like The Amboy Dukes and Cry Tough. I even read Of Mice and Men. I get most of them from the library in the basement of the Courthouse, but it’s the Bible I like most.

  Marilyn giggled and told Tom to close his eyes and kiss her. He felt her soft lips opening, her tongue delicately slithering across his teeth, the milk in her bad eye a small sea storming. His hand found its way under her sweater, flesh on flesh but for the cage of her bra, and her hips rose to him, that girl-smell rising. Tom felt himself get hard and he shifted his leg, afraid she’d feel it, but she didn’t move away. She held herself close as the talk in the kitchen began to fade. A couple of drunken girls screamed as a car pulled out of the driveway, the horn blaring, men shouting back at them. He heard Stupich make a bet, Andy answering him, saying he’d raise ten bucks. Tom could imagine Billy sitting there as he thought about the bet, Lester across the table watching Billy and the other players for any sign of a tell. There’d be a pile of loose bills in the middle of the table. And then someone dropped a glass on the floor. When it shattered, everyone out in the kitchen went silent.

  Marilyn gave a little gasp. What’s going on?

  It’s too quiet, Tom said.

  Some guy he didn’t know stuck his head out from under the torn curtain on the couch. His eyes squinted as he stared over the arm toward the kitchen, a girl’s voice coming strangled from under him, telling him to get off her. The two bodies scuffled for a second and the guy’s head went back under, a girl’s bare knee poking out the side, brown hair sprawled on the arm of the couch. Tom listened and heard footsteps on the floor above him where Eddy’s room was. His brother had heard the car pull away and the shouting, then the sudden quietness downstairs, and wanted to know what was going on.

  It’s my brother, Tom said. He’s heard it too.

  Heard what?

  The quiet, Tom said. His hand lay under her sweater, still splayed across the narrow folds of skin where her waist bent. He could hear bare feet move across the landing overhead and start down the stairs, Harry’s boots behind him.

  Marilyn tried to kiss him again, but Tom pulled away and unhinged his arm. Her tongue retreated like a sly snail. You told me you’d close your eyes, she said, pulling down her skirt, the pop-pearls bouncing on top of her small breasts.

  They got up from the loveseat and headed to the kitchen, the room feeling thin as if someone had taken a rubber band and stretched it out to its breaking. When he stepped through the doorway, he saw Mother scolding someone, telling them to move out of the way. She was at the counter between a boy and girl he’d never seen before, reaching into a cupboard, a whiskey bottle there behind a stack of plates. Mother, he cried, and then he saw Lester Coombs lean over the table and grab Rafe Gillespie by the shirt. The deck Rafe had been dealing from sprayed from his thick fingers over the litter of money on the table. Tom put his arm out, holding Marilyn behind him as Andy and Stupich reared back. Gregor tried to get out of the way, his chair tipping as he fell sideways onto the floor. At the same time, Billy was on his feet, his chair spinning away from him and bouncing from the door frame beside Tom’s leg, Joe close, just behind Billy, the two of them starting to turn, but toward Lester and Rafe or where, Tom didn’t know. He took another step into the room and saw Eddy by the washing machine, waving Lester’s pistol crazily, yelling at everyone, saying: The party’s over! Harry, who was standing with Crystal, made a move toward him and then the pistol went off.

  The bullet seemed to travel so slow Tom thought he could see it, that lead gleam streaming through the smoky air. The bullet crossed the room and chose to enter into the skin above Lester’s collarbone. When it came out the other side, it went looking for Nancy’s throat. Marilyn peered from behind the living-room doorway. Stay there, Tom gestured. And then the pandemonium. The men and women who’d been watching rushed for the back door, a girl he didn’t know screaming as she tripped and fell, everyone cursing as they tried to push through the door into the backyard. When Tom turned, he saw Billy bump into Mother as he tried to stop Eddy, Joe right behind him. Tom had time only to reach out his arm and clothesline Joe’s throat, Joe falling to the floor, Tom’s knee in his back, his hand pinning Joe’s arm behind him. Andy and Gregor scrambled around Joe’s sprawled legs, and then over the fallen girl who was trying to get to her feet, only to go down again, the breath broken from her, Stupich swearing at someone as he reached down and pulled her to her feet, propelling her out the door. Andy and Gregor shoved past the table as they told the last few people to get out of the way, Andy bumping into Lester Coombs, who was standing in shock in the corner, Nancy beside him, her hand on her throat, a wisp of blood between her fingers. Rafe Gillespie crawled out from under the table and stumbled through the door Tom had just come through, Rafe heading for the front of the house and his car parked up on the road somewhere. Tom heard vehicles starting, the sound of their tires in the driveway, cars and trucks going in wails toward town. He had Joe’s arm behind him in a hammer lock, Joe cursing him as he tried to get free. Tom looked up and saw Billy
trying to grab Eddy, shouting, You shot my sister, you sonufabitch! He saw them struggle for a moment and suddenly Eddy had the pistol pressed in the back of Billy’s skull. Okay, okay, Billy said: Enough. Eddy stepped back from him, the pistol still in his hand.

  Mother had somehow got herself jammed into the crevice between the stove and the counter and was holding on to her side, Sally-Ann by the sink trying to get her out. Tom kept holding Joe down, Joe squirming there. Let me up, you fucker! he snarled, as Tom pressed harder, warning him not to move. Crystal was leaning against the windowsill. She lit a cigarette and looked on, Harry beside her, picking up a fallen chair and shaking his head.

  Nancy stood there silent, her mouth quivering, the blue gnarl of the bullet just under the skin on the side of her throat looking like a swollen tick that had pulled its whole body into her blood. Tom and Joe stood up, Tom releasing Joe’s bent arm and pushing him toward the door. Tom told him to get the hell out of the house, but Joe only went as far as the doorway, Billy telling him to help Nancy outside and Joe then, with one last look at Tom, taking her by the elbow and leaving. Lester Coombs took his hand from his shoulder, looked at the blood on his fingers, and said in disbelief to Eddy, You cocksucker!

  That’s when Eddy and Harry started herding Billy toward the door, Eddy stopping a second and taking money from the table. Lester told him to leave the cash alone and Eddy said he was taking a hundred bucks for the aggravation. Eddy waved the pistol at the rest of them and said again that the party was over. Sally-Ann was at Eddy’s elbow saying please to Eddy, Tom knowing she was asking for a hit of junk and not for help.

  I think I broke a rib, Mother said, adding: That Billy should learn to watch where he’s going. She leaned against the sink, still holding her side, and Eddy, never taking his eyes off Billy, told Sally-Ann to help Mother back to her room. Lester scraped the rest of his money together with one hand, stuffing the bills inside his shirt, blood staining his shoulder, and left. Crystal walked out behind him, her red shoes hanging from her hand, the high heels hard and bright, stabbed against her thigh. And then they all left, Harry following them out a few minutes later.

  The room was suddenly quiet again. Marilyn picked up a chair, sat down at the table, and started gathering the cards together from among the spilled drinks. She’d been watching when Eddy put the pistol against Billy’s head. Tom had heard her saying over and over in a sing-song: Do it, do it. He looked at Eddy who was leafing through the money he’d taken, a tight smile on his face.

  I’m a ghost, Tom said, and Marilyn squeezed his wrist and said it wasn’t true. Feel me, she said, pressing her hip against his thigh, his cock stirring, a blind mole in his pants, and for a moment he wanted her gone with the rest of them.

  Marilyn said she felt sorry for Nancy.

  She’ll be all right, he said, it’s just a flesh wound.

  Marilyn held his hand, the two of them going down the hall to the open doorway of Mother’s bedroom. When they got there, they saw Eddy sitting on the edge of the bed, Mother lying there with her hand against her ribs. Eddy said: Mother, and then told her how she should’ve known better than to unlock the bolt he’d put in precisely because of everything that had transpired. He held out the money he’d taken from the pot and said it would cover buying a better refrigerator, maybe even a used Kelvinator or International Harvester, or at least one with a really good freezer compartment that worked and how she would like it because of the way the old one froze everything, especially the vegetables down below, and for her to think of the milk, which always separated and went bad when you thawed it. He went on like that, his mouth as fast as ever, trying to reduce all that had happened to something of little consequence. While he talked, Sally-Ann murmured: C’mon. Eddy, please, each word like a bead counted by a thumb.

  I think we should have some breakfast, said Tom.

  Who’s she? Eddy asked, nodding toward Marilyn.

  She’s with me, said Tom. For now, he said.

  Mother groaned as Eddy rubbed her left leg, the one she said always pained her. Tom stood there with Marilyn’s hand on his arm, knowing that what had happened at the party would have consequences no matter Eddy trying to talk it away.

  7

  tom drew a cloth over my face the night I died, his thumbs on my eyes to close them. He’d watched a hundred animals die, a thousand birds. His sister wasn’t going to be left staring while her eyes dried into raisins. Then he left me and went to Father, who was passed out in the cellar. He shook him awake, ducking the blow that Father threw at him. After he told him of my death, Tom went to sit on the well-head, a boy in tattered pyjama bottoms shivering in the cool of the autumn night. He sat and watched his father moan his way up to the house. It was Father told Mother I was dead. She listened, and when he was done, she rolled over and covered her head with the quilt.

  Father gave me a little charm on a string. He tied it around my neck in the hope it would necklace me to heaven. Instead, it hung me here on earth, my spirit roaming. It was a dark place Mother dwelled in, a cave sealed up, no opening to be found. No matter the cause or belief, the spite or spectacle, Father stood under the apple tree, his bare feet in untied boots, nothing on but long underwear, and filled the hole, the last breath of mine still trapped here on earth or so Mother would say. Father had said I’d be gone within the year. You watch and see, he’d cried to his sons. She’ll kill this baby too.

  What we hate most, we love to death. What we deny, we want.

  My passing was my own.

  When I was born, Father told his sons my name was Alice, after his sister. Eddy had told Tom it was Alice Blue-Gown, like in the song. But why? he asked. Eddy just smiled his smile as Tom began careening with delight through the house, saying my name over and over, Blue Gown, Blue Gown, Eddy watching as Tom flickered from room to room until he flew out the back door.

  Father came and went, and when he was away Mother would come out into the house. Sweeping down the hall or shifting the furniture in the living room, working in the vegetable garden or on her knees in the flower beds, she was a sight. She’d curse the world under her breath. When we were dead and buried, a madness was born in her. There were times her mouth was a flail, her silences a terror. The boys saw her tears and heard her lamentations. No one knew who she’d be when she was around, just as no one knew who she was locked inside her four walls, the bars she made Father put in her window an iron frieze keeping the world out. Father could’ve broken into her room with a well-placed boot on the door, but he never did. He said whoever was behind it was better left alone.

  Once when Father was shaking himself out of a drunken sleep, he told Tom the only thing he was afraid of was Mother killing him. He said he dreamed of her cutting his throat when he was passed out. There were nights he’d come home drunk from town and swear she was an apparition. He’d wonder aloud to Tom at how any of his children were made, let alone born. He told him that he hadn’t ridden their mother. It was some other man come out in him, a nightmared man he didn’t know who she’d tried to kill without success.

  He told me one night that the first time he saw her standing by the road back in Saskatchewan, she’d been strange. I can hear Father now: A siren is what she was. She was sent to tempt me from my path. She stood between me and sun. She still does. That day I could see right through her cotton dress to her nakedness. She knew what I looked at and displayed it so. She laughed at me staring. Every year has been marked by her crazed ways. Her mother was just as mad at the end. Some nights, she’d wander out to the barn and sit under the dangling rope, railing at the bats that hung like soiled gloves from the roof beams. Who she was when she came back to the house then was anyone’s guess. Nettie was snarled wire, white water. You waded in her wronged pools at your own cost.

  Tom and Eddy figured Father must’ve lain with Mother four times, though who knows his own father ever? Mother would say that last with a quick smile at her boys, and it drove Father wild when she did. He’d shout at her: Little
did I know that farm of yours was to be the beginning of my end. Little did I know! Mother laughed at him. Tell that to my mother, she said. She was the one you took to bed each night after being in the stable with me in the day. I remember the spool bed creaking, just like I remember the straw stickling my knees as you took me!

  All lies, said Father, raging. What about you at Watrous with that slicker out in the parking lot? What of him?

  We were only talking.

  His hands were all over you. You were bad from the start, he cried.

  Not so bad you didn’t take up with me, tearing off my dress that night in the barn, she said.

  Me? Me? You couldn’t keep that dress on. And it wasn’t in the barn. It was the field.

  My own mother! Tell me about that, she yelled, and retreated to the bathroom as Father went out the door.

  After Docker and Father were gone, Tom would drift off by himself, disappearing for days sometimes, wandering in town or in the hills. Mother never asked where he went or why he wasn’t home half the time, but Eddy would track him down. There’s only me and you, he’d say. Lost wasn’t the word Tom should think of. Found was what Tom had to learn. You’re found, he’d say. I found you and now you’re not lost.