by Homer Hickam
Homer picked up Albert, his fear giving him strength, and carried him to the Buick and put him in his tub. The rooster hopped in and stood on Albert’s back. Homer climbed behind the steering wheel. That was when Troy emerged from the gas station holding a sawed-off shotgun.
Homer pressed down on the gas, wheeled the Buick around, and headed back down the road. A mile or so later, after his heart had stopped pounding in his ears, Homer sent up a prayer. “Dear God, please don’t let me be too late to save Elsie!”
As it turned out, God was apparently unconcerned whether Homer was too late or not. After an hour of driving in a direction he hoped was toward Charlotte, Homer realized he was completely, totally, and utterly lost. The Buick had also taken up spitting and coughing again. Homer desperately turned down one road and another but found nothing but the occasional fence marking a pasture containing cows, sheep, or goats.
Finally, the car provided a final and dramatic rattle and stopped altogether. Stranded, Homer had no choice but to set out on foot. Leading Albert on his rope leash, he walked for about half a mile before the alligator dug his paws into the dirt and provided his no-no-no sound. Homer picked him up and carried him like a baby. The rooster walked in front as if scouting the way for a while, then climbed up on Homer’s shoulder for a ride.
It was with a great deal of relief when Homer spied a farmhouse up ahead. He knew it was a farmhouse because beside it sat a barn and a corral in which stood a white horse. “Ten,” Homer said, recalling the car game that Elsie liked to play. This made him feel unhappy because Elsie was somewhere with a thunder road runner who was, for all he knew, probably a murderer on the side. He worked hard to keep his unhappiness from devolving into panic, which would do nobody any good. Like the Captain had told his foremen-in-training, “A man who loses his head is no good for anything. You got to train yourself to stop and think the situation through. Don’t do anything until you’re sure it’s right.”
All while he was walking, Homer had tried to think the situation through but couldn’t come up with anything except to get the Buick fixed and get on to Charlotte and the Sunshine Motel, where he hoped Elsie would be. By the time he reached the farmhouse, he was very tired and the front porch had two rockers and a swing on it. He considered knocking on the door but the people inside were likely asleep and, anyway, probably wouldn’t ask him in, especially when they saw Albert. There were also no wires of any kind leading to the house that Homer could see, so it was obvious they had neither electricity nor a telephone. The rockers beckoned and Homer sat down in one and removed his blister-producing shoes, careful not to make noise. He briefly sat there, wiggling his toes and lightly rocking and arguing with himself that maybe he should wake up the people in the farmhouse, anyway, or maybe keep going until he found a telephone. He did that for only a few minutes and then fell fast asleep.
When Homer awoke, it was to the sound of several roosters crowing. The sun was creeping up above the pasture across the road. When he heard a noise, he found himself staring into the pale gray eyes of a gaunt man dressed in coveralls sitting in the rocker beside him.
The man had a strange kind of face and Homer thought he’d never seen the like of it. He had skin that was white as plaster and his hair was also white, so white it looked like he’d stuck his head in a can of whitewash. He wasn’t an albino, Homer didn’t think, because he’d heard they had pink eyes and this man’s eyes were gray, but, still, he had to be close to one.
Homer bent down and picked up his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just resting.”
“Oh, please stay,” the man said. His tone was friendly. “Our porch was made for comfort and it appears you’ve availed yourself of it. That pleases me.”
Homer put on his shoes, wincing as they pressed against his blisters. “My car broke down and I was walking,” he explained, “and got tired. I have to get to Charlotte as fast as I can. Can you help me?”
The man ignored Homer’s plea. “I also noticed that you have an alligator. And a rooster. It’s a quiet rooster. When my roosters crowed, it didn’t.”
“It does seem to be a polite bird,” Homer acknowledged. “The alligator is named Albert and is my wife’s pet. We’re carrying him home to Florida.”
“I see,” the man said. “And where is your wife?”
“That’s why I need to get to Charlotte. She has been kidnapped by a man named Denver who runs the thunder road.”
The man’s mouth moved very slightly. It was almost a smile. “Yes, I know who you mean. Denver transports illegal liquor to Charlotte. He usually has a woman with him so he appears to be just an innocent family man. I suspect your wife is being used in that ruse, in which case you have little to fear from him. He is not by nature a rapist or a murderer. He merely likes to drive fast. I noticed you winced when you put on your shoes. Do you have blisters?”
Homer, relieved at the man’s good report of Denver, looked unhappily at his shoes. “I do. These shoes are pretty new and not really meant for heavy duty. How can I find Denver?”
“When he goes to Charlotte, he usually stays for about a week. I have heard he prefers the Sunshine Motel. Most likely, he’ll be there. My name is Carlos. What’s yours?”
Homer felt more relief at the confirmation of the Sunshine Motel as Denver’s destination. “My name’s Homer,” he answered.
Carlos clapped his hands. “Delightful! You are named after the original sage, scribe, writer, and poet! I, too, do a little writing. Tempest toss’d the tide of woman, precious ‘v’ of life and love, yearns a man with bended knees, succor’d fast the nectar of gods. I wrote that just last week.”
“That’s pretty good,” Homer said even though he didn’t really think it was.
“Do you write as well, Homer?”
“Well, I write in what’s called a mine diary. Captain Laird wants all his foremen to do it and so I do even though I’m not quite yet a foreman.”
“Can you give me an example of your prose?”
Homer thought about that, then said, “‘Loaded thirty-two tons on Three West. Water pump broke. Fixed with mine wire but liable to come loose.’”
Carlos looked skyward with an expression of rapture, even though the porch roof was in the way. Finally, he lowered his head and said, “Although it is difficult for me to follow, I sense great meaning there.”
Through the screen door, Homer heard the sound of light footsteps and then a woman stepped outside on the porch. Homer thought she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her olive-colored skin was without blemish, her nose was majestic, and her lips were full. On her hands were gold rings set with stones that looked like they could be rubies and garnets. She wore gold bracelets of various designs on her wrists, a white kerchief on her head, and a blue silk robe around her exquisite body.
Homer stood, not because she was beautiful and exotic (which she also was), but because he had been taught by his mother to always stand in the presence of a woman just met.
“Soufflé,” Carlos said, “we have a guest. His name is Homer and he is a writer. He travels with an alligator whose name is Albert. That rust-colored rooster with the bright green tail over there has no name—for there are many gods or angels unnamed—but is also his companion. Homer, this is Soufflé. She is my mistress.”
“I’m actually a coal miner,” Homer said, noting that Carlos had called the lovely woman his “mistress,” and not his wife. He had never known a man and a woman who lived together without being married except for an elderly brother and his sister over on Anawalt Mountain, near Gary.
The woman studied Albert, who responded by looking back at her with much the same expression he used with Elsie, that of adoration. Soufflé then turned her eyes toward Homer, who couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were black as a bottomless well, a well in which Homer thought and even wished at that moment he might fall forever. He also had the unsettling sense that she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“You are
most welcome to our house,” Soufflé said. “Will you and Carlos write together?”
“Well . . . I am on my way to rescue my wife.”
“He seeks Denver the driver who has kidnapped his wife, which worries him unnecessarily,” Carlos said. “Yes, we shall write together. But first, our morning meal!”
Homer didn’t intend to write with anyone but, in the hope he could convince them to help him, he followed Soufflé and Carlos through the parlor, which had ornate furniture, all red velvet and gilt and grander than any Homer had ever seen, and thence into the kitchen, where a table was already set. He sat in the chair Carlos pointed to and then Soufflé served pastry dishes and eggs and an odd-shaped fruit that tasted like a Fig Newton, only richer. She also served coffee that was darker and richer than any he had ever tasted.
After Homer’s plate was full, Soufflé excused herself, saying she was going to feed Albert. She returned soon after. “He seems to like chicken,” she said, “but yet I sense the rooster is his friend.”
“Not sure what they are,” Homer replied, chewing the figgish fruit with great satisfaction. “The rooster likes to sit on Albert’s head and Albert doesn’t seem to mind.”
“You clearly are a remarkable man,” she said, “to travel with such creatures. The rooster is much more than he seems, as is the alligator. But, of course, you know that.”
Homer didn’t know that but he nodded as if he did. He also noticed that Carlos did not suggest that Soufflé join them at the table and that she did not remove her head scarf even though the kitchen was warm from the wood-fired stove and the sun streaming through the window. When Soufflé left the kitchen again, Homer asked about the kerchief. “You will never see her without her hijab,” Carlos said. “She must always wear it in the presence of men except for her husband. Since I am not her husband, she always wears it.”
“Is that a North Carolina rule?” Homer asked.
Carlos sat back and laughed heartily. “No, Homer. It is because Soufflé is a Moslem woman, a follower of Mohammad of Arabia, although she is Persian. It is a stricture all good Moslem women follow.”
Homer had heard of Moslems but the only thing he knew about them was mixed up in his head with stories he’d read as a boy about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and Aladdin and his flying carpet.
Carlos said, “Of course, she removes the hijab when we are performing relations but for that she requires complete darkness lest I see her hair.”
Homer blushed. He imagined Soufflé’s hair must be lustrous and ebony and thick and long, all the things he liked about a woman’s hair. Still, he wondered what kind of den of iniquity had he fallen into where an unmarried man and an unmarried woman lived under the same roof and had relations. He glanced at Carlos and thought maybe the man was so pale because he was sick. And then Homer wondered how it was Carlos could perform properly with such a gorgeous and strong woman as Soufflé. But that was truthfully a sinful thought so Homer put it aside and focused on eating. He needed nourishment, after all, if he was to keep going after Elsie. When he finished, he said, “Thank you, Carlos, but I have to go.”
“Where?”
“I have to walk back to my car and see if I can fix it.”
“You didn’t mention a car. I have a fully equipped machine shop where you can repair it. I also have a tractor. We can go after your vehicle and bring it here.”
“Well, that would be fine,” Homer said.
“Only one thing,” Carlos said. “The tractor requires repair and I know nothing about machinery. Soufflé has been trying to fix it. Perhaps you can give her a hand?”
“Well . . .” Homer went through some sequential thinking. What use was it to hike back to the car if he couldn’t move it? The tractor was the key to finding Elsie. “All right. Where’s the tractor?”
Carlos smiled, Soufflé, coming back into the kitchen, smiled, and Homer decided to also smile. At Soufflé’s invitation, he rose from the table and went with Soufflé to the barn where the tractor awaited.
After shooing out the chickens nesting in the engine box, Homer inspected the old tractor and discovered there really wasn’t much wrong with it. The air filters and the carburetor needed cleaning, the oil needed to be changed, the belts tightened, and a leak in the radiator patched. This Homer did as quickly as he could although it took all morning.
After the tractor started right up, Soufflé gave Homer a kiss on his cheek. “You are the genius,” she said. She was standing very close. Homer had never had any woman who wasn’t his wife stand so close to him before. He felt a bead of sweat on his forehead.
Soufflé said, “Now we must eat again. I shall prepare a cold dish of nuts and dates. Stay here and I will return.”
“I really need to get my car.”
“Just a little while, my dear mechanic. You cannot go anywhere without nourishment.”
Homer felt it would be impolite to turn Soufflé down and he supposed she was right about the nourishment, anyway. He went outside into the little pen where Albert had been placed, checked on him, then went back and waited in the barn. Before long, she returned with a plate of nuts and dates and also a jug of wine. “We make it with our own grapes,” she explained.
Soufflé prepared a short-legged table and sat in a pile of fresh hay, patting a spot beside her. “Come. Let us eat and drink and celebrate the repair of our tractor.”
Homer sat in the hay beside her. “Isn’t Carlos going to join us?” he asked as she poured the wine.
“That dear man,” she said. “He works so hard on his poetry in the morning, he must rest by noon. He has taken to his cot and will be asleep for hours. Try this. It is very good.”
Homer sipped the wine. It was very good, indeed.
“And the dates. And the nuts. They go well with this wine, which you must drink after each morsel.” A few strands of Soufflé’s lustrous ebony hair slipped into view from beneath her hijab. Homer was surprised at how the sight of her hair affected him. He felt his temperature rising. She poured more wine, then offered the plate of nuts and dates. Homer took a handful.
“It is a fine thing we have done,” Soufflé pronounced, putting the plate of nuts and dates on the table and then lolling back into the hay. “A farm without a tractor is no farm at all, just as a man without a woman is no man at all nor a woman without a man.”
Homer tried to piece together what Soufflé had just said but the wine had seemed to dull his ability toward sequential thought. “A farm without a man is no woman at all?”
She smiled and languorously stretched. “A woman is no farm without a man.” She touched his hand and ran her own up his arm. “But a woman with a man is a farm that needs a tractor.”
Everything Soufflé was saying was starting to make an odd kind of sense to Homer and the wine was also very good. Upon her suggestion, as her hands went behind his neck, he thought he’d have some more of it, and also perhaps some dates and nuts. He might have done it, too, except his eyes were so heavy that he couldn’t keep them open. When he next woke, he was lying on his stomach and there was straw in his mouth.
20
DENVER KEPT COMPLAINING THAT TAKING ELSIE’S ADVICE had caused them to drive all night without any excitement at all. Elsie didn’t argue. She was just glad that they were no longer flying recklessly across the roads with policemen chasing them. When Denver confessed he was lost, he pulled behind an abandoned barn. While Elsie slept in the back seat, Denver leaned back in the driver’s seat and snoozed until the morning sun woke them both up. When Elsie heard him get out, she pretended to sleep until she heard him open the trunk. She sat up. “Are you truly lost?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” he confessed. “I thought I knew these roads but some of them got washed out in the spring.” He opened a thermos and poured some coffee into its top. “You hungry?”
“I guess I am,” she said. She swung open the door and came out and stood in the grass in her bare feet. “Is there a bathroom in that barn?”
“I used the other side. You can, too, if you like. Just avoid the wet spot.”
Elsie squinted toward the barn, then took her leave. When she got back, Denver had opened up a basket that had apples and oranges in it. She chose an apple, then drank coffee from the thermos top. “More,” she said, and Denver obligingly poured the last of it.
“We got to find the highway,” he said after putting away the basket. “It’s the only way we’re going to get to Charlotte today. Might be some more thunder road out there. You up to it?”
“No,” Elsie said. “I’ve decided I don’t like being a gangster’s moll. How about letting me out somewhere?”
“Your husband’s going to be in Charlotte. If you want to see him, you need to stay with me.”
“What if you get stopped and I get arrested?”
Denver shrugged. “That ain’t the worst thing that can happen.”
“No? What’s the worst?”
“That!” he said as a car boiled up on the dirt road and, siren screaming, came racing toward them. Shots rang out. “State police! Get in the car!”
Elsie did not hesitate. She got in the car and Denver slammed down the gas pedal and drove across the pasture and through the line of bushes behind them. The bushes, it turned out, hid a fence, which was instantly turned into splinters. The wailing police car raced behind them, a uniformed man on the passenger side halfway out and squeezing off pistol shots.
Denver spun out, headed back, shattered the fence in another spot, and passed the police car, which slid to a stop, then turned around to give chase. Elsie realized she was grinning. Denver noticed it, too. “You enjoying this?”
“I guess I am,” Elsie confessed.
“Maybe you would make a good gangster’s moll!”
Bumping through a ditch, Denver drove the car up on the dirt road. “Okay, I know where I am now. The highway’s that way. I missed this fork last night.”