You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive)

by Robert Bruce Cormack

  “Poor, Joey. Bless his heart. Keeled over one day like a downed Spitfire. Wish I had more pictures of him. So you figured I needed company, did you? That’s very thoughtful.” Bisquick jumps over on her shoulder. “A bird’s a big responsibility, Sam. Especially at my age.”

  “You’re not old.”

  Bisquick pecks at her breast. “Lord love him,” Margot laughs. “Just like Joey.” Bisquick takes another peck at her breast. “Persistent little rascal,” Margot says.

  “He did that to me in the store,” Judy says.

  “Just like my Joey.” She pets Bisquick’s head and smiles. “Okay, Sam,” she says. “You done good.” Bisquick bobs his head up and down.

  “He does grow on you, doesn’t he?” Judy says.

  “That’s a Mynah for you,” Margot says. “Hell of a nipple grabber, though. Guess I’ll have to get used to it. How are you doin’, Sam?”

  “Not bad. Judy and her husband are here for their holidays. Maybe we can get you over for dinner.”

  “That’s a great idea, Daddy. You’ll come over, won’t you Auntie Margot?”

  “I’m not loaded with invitations. What’s your hubby’s name?”

  “Muller,” Judy says. “We’re trying to have a baby.”

  “Well, honey, it’s not rocket science. When you say ‘trying’, that mean someone’s not pulling his weight?”

  “Muller’s a little down lately.”

  “Men are all the same. They’re only really good during Lent and halftimes. Got yourself some cute girlie stuff?”

  “I’ve tried the stockings, the garters—”

  “Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” I say. “I’m sure Auntie Margot can figure out the rest.”

  “What’s the bug up your ass?” Margot says.

  “Asshole,” Bisquick lets out.

  “I’m just saying we get the picture.”

  “Look, Judy, you know the drill. Get both parties hot and bothered and let nature do the rest.”

  “Asshole,” Bisquick says.

  “They’ll figure it out, Margot.”

  “Good thing it wasn’t you telling Judy about the birds and the bees. She’d be working in an aviary right now.”

  “Daddy never told me about the birds and the bees.”

  “You’re a slacker, Sam.”

  “She’s in her thirties, for chrissake.”

  “It might have helped, Daddy.”

  “I’ll give you one piece of advice, Judy,” Margot says. “Don’t leave it to science. Men operate on blood flow only. Right, Sam?”

  “Okay, enough.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “We should get going. Glad you like Bisquick.”

  “Like I said, you done good.”

  “Good luck with him, Auntie Margot. Hope you come for dinner.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on, kiddo. Good luck with the baby making. Just grab Muller by the ears, Judy. Works every time.”

  “Bye, Margot,” I say. “Enjoy the bird.” Bisquick makes another play for Margot’s nipple. He never gives up.

  Chapter 16

  The grocery store is full of kids banging their toys against canned goods and end-of-aisle displays. We get the walnuts and go next door to the liquor store. “It should be French if we’re having soufflé,” Judy is saying. I look around nervously, wondering if this is the place where I pressed my ass against the window. I honestly don’t remember. We go to the French section and get a wine neither of us can pronounce. It’s good having a little time with Judy. She freaks me out a bit, a grown woman calling me “Daddy” all the time, but Judy’s always been like that. She has names for everybody. Mary was the same when she was younger. She used to call me “The Bean” because I was so skinny. My weight’s stayed pretty much the same over the years, probably because of ruffage. These days, Mary occasionally calls me “Cranky Face” because of my sunken cheeks. “How are you and Muller doing?” I ask Judy. “Any problems?”

  “Like what? Why are you looking so nervous?”

  “Nothing, sweetie. So everything’s fine?”

  “I think so. Why, did Muller say something to you?”

  “About what?”

  “He seems distant these days. It’s not like him.”

  “Maybe he’s not used to sleeping in the basement.”

  “He says I’m putting too much pressure on him. Like the other night. I wanted to try something—”

  “Keep the graphic stuff to yourself, sweetie. I’m trying to be a parent here. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “How are you and Mom getting along?”

  “I think she wants me to be a greeter at Lowe’s.”

  “I wish Muller would find something.”

  “How about a chef’s course?”

  “He has a chef’s degree. Muller’s got lots of degrees. He just has to apply himself. He’s really a great cook.”

  “I know he is, honey.” I keep seeing Otis’s eyes rolling back in his head.

  “Will you talk to Muller, Daddy?”

  “And say what?”

  “He listens to you.”

  “We’d better get going. Your mother needs the walnuts.”

  Out by the car, I see the old couple from the paint store. The woman recognizes me. She nudges her husband. “Hello there,” she calls out. “How are you feeling?”

  I push Judy towards our car like we’re in a hurry. “Just fine,” I call back.

  “Who are they?” Judy says.

  “I think I met them in a waiting room.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem jumpy.”

  “Let’s get in the car.” The old couple watch us drive way.

  Turning off Canfield later, Judy says to me, “Muller should cook. He’s happy when he cooks. He’s very creative.”

  “Seattle must have a lot of restaurants.”

  “Stop trying to get rid of us, Daddy.”

  “Sorry. I think Muller will make a great chef.”

  “I liked what you did for Auntie Margot, by the way.”

  I keep seeing Bisquick pecking at Margot’s boobs. “Determined little bugger, isn’t he?”

  Margot kept saying. And priced accordingly.

  Chapter 17

  The Rec Room of Sound plays, the soufflé rises, and Otis stares out at us from his computer. “Here’s Percy Sledge doing another Dan Penn, Spooner Oldham composition called, ‘It Tears Me Up,’” he says, “which I intend to do myself, shortly, thanks to our friend, Muller. We’re on our way to ‘I Want to Be Free,’ by Joe Tex. Here’s a little known fact. James Brown stole Joe’s dance moves, especially dropping to his knees and the cape. Stay tuned. I’ll be back after I eat my wacky brownie.”

  I jump up and head for the door.

  “Sam—” Mary says.

  “I left my wallet at the liquor store.” I run out, jump in my car, and drive like crazy over to Otis’s house. Max and Ruby are out front trimming roses. I run past them up the front steps. “Crisis,” I yell, and they follow.

  “What’s up?” Max says.

  “Your father’s naming names,” I say.

  We find Otis downstairs, licking his fingers. “I’m gonna take a short siesta on the couch, folks,” he says. “I’ll just let Albert King play through. In the meantime, look around your houses and see if you need any painting done. My wife’s affordable and thorough. Don’t believe that crap about College Painters. They’re all immigrants getting ripped off left and right.”

  I drag Otis out of frame and upstairs. “You said Muller’s name on air, you dumb bastard,” I say. “My daughter can hear that.”

  Otis’s eyes remind me of a bass. “Freedom of speech is guaranteed under the First Amendment”—he hiccups and slaps his chest—“of our beloved Constitution.”

  “Fuck the Constitution,” I say. “Quit saying Muller’s name on air. Quit saying it period. If my wife finds out we’re making grass brownies, there won’t be any more. Understand?”

  �
�Duly noted,” he says.

  “Sorry, Sam,” Max says. “On that same subject, though. Any chance of Muller making another batch? Otis cleaned us out.”

  “Not according to him,” I say.

  “Have you been hiding brownies, old man?” Max says, grabbing Otis. “Is this my shirt? Stop wearing my clothes.”

  “I put clean shirts in your drawer yesterday, Otis,” Ruby says.

  “I have to go,” I say. “Muller’s making soufflé.”

  “God, I’m starving, Ruby,” Otis says. “Make a soufflé, will you?”

  “I don’t know how to make a soufflé.”

  “Make your own soufflé, old man,” Max says. “Hoarding our brownies. You’re lucky we don’t lock you downstairs again.”

  “One little soufflé!”

  “Forget it, Otis, we got gardening to do.”

  Chapter 18

  The soufflé turns out light as cotton candy, and like cotton candy, you wonder if you ate anything at all. You remember opening your mouth, chewing, rolling it around, but then you’re wondering if it’s a hoax. You don’t feel like you’ve eaten, even if there are a few walnuts and turnip French fries left on the plate. “I’ve gotta hand it to you,” I say to Muller as we’re clearing the table, “you’ve got talent. I might need a snack in an hour, but the food was delicious.”

  “What’s delicious, Daddy?” Judy says from the living room. She’s going through the channels on the remote. Half the time, she runs right past the show she wants to watch. “Mom, it’s on,” she says, and Mary comes out of the washroom. It’s American Idol night. Muller and I do the dishes and then slip outside behind the garage.

  “We’d better lay off the grass brownies for a while,” I say. “Otis can’t keep his mouth shut on air.”

  “He says there’s a market for grass brownies, Sam.”

  “Don’t listen to Otis, for chrissake. The man’s a walking identity crisis. Do you want to end up like him?”

  “I would if I had Ruby.”

  “If you—what?”

  “If I had Ruby.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I really like Ruby, Sam.”

  “Come again?”

  “She makes me feel good about myself.”

  “So she makes you feel good, so what?”

  “I think I’m falling for her, Sam.”

  “You—you’re telling me you’ve got the hots for Ruby? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “I’m just telling you how I feel.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel. Christ, you’re one fucked up prick. That’s my daughter in there. Your wife, for chrissake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  The back window opens. May calls out. “Sam? Are out there? Is Muller with you?”

  I push Muller into the garage. “Get in the car,” I say. “I’ll tell the girls we’re taking a drive.” I go inside and grab my keys off the kitchen counter.

  “Where are you going now?” Mary says.

  “I’m taking Muller out for a drive by the lake. Won’t be long.”

  “Pick up some ice cream, Daddy,” Judy says.

  “Okay, sweetheart.”

  My heart’s going zip-a-dee-doo-dah and my tongue is at the back of my throat. You hear about domestic violence and wonder what pushes people over the edge. All the neighbors say, “Nice couple, quiet,” but that’s a front, a ruse. Next thing you know, there’s tape across the front door. Read the papers. I’ve been a calm man up to now, loving husband, doting father. All that could go in a heartbeat with Muller around. I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles look like ping pong balls.

  Chapter 19

  All the way to Montrose Beach, Muller sits there, smoking these bent cigarettes he keeps in his back pocket. They’re shaped like his ass. I park, turn out my headlights, then light my own cigarette. I puff, seeing ghostly eyes in my rearview mirror. “Boy, I’d like to knock your teeth in right now,” I say.

  “Sorry, Sam.”

  “You’re a grown man. You’re married. You have responsibilities.”

  “I can’t help how I feel.”

  “For chrissake, Muller. You can’t go around getting stiffies every time someone sticks a knuckle in your back.”

  “I know that.”

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go tell Judy.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “You want to end your marriage, is that it?”

  “I love Judy, Sam.”

  “Then what? What is it?”

  “I just feel good around Ruby.”

  “Don’t give me that crap.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “You’re one sick dickhead, you know that? Do you know what this would do to Judy if she found out? Do you, you fat fuck?”

  Muller lets out a short sob. “I’d kill myself before I hurt Judy.”

  “Yeah, well do it then. Go kill yourself. There’s the lake. I’ll say you tried to help a terrier in distress. There’s probably one out there somewhere.” Muller opens the car door and climbs out. “Get back in the car, Muller.”

  He shakes his head and walks off down the beach. At the water’s edge, he kicks off his sandals, goes in the water up to his waist, and then disappears below the surface.

  I wait a minute. Then two minutes. The stupid bastard’s not coming up. I toss my cigarette and jump out of the car. I run down the beach and make a shallow dive. Water goes up my nose. I come to the surface, then dive down again. Under the murky water, I see Muller’s face, cheeks puffed out, hair rising. I pull him up coughing and belching. “What the fuck are you playing at?” I yell.

  We stumble up on the sand and collapse. I can hardly breathe. The asshole rolls on his stomach, his pants stuck up his butt crack. I pull him to his feet and push him towards the car. We’re covered in sand and smell terrible. I get in, slam the car in reverse, and drive out along Lakeshore to Foster. I can’t even look at him I’m so mad. “Why would you do that?” I say.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You could have drowned us both.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “You’re a moron.”

  “You should have left me.”

  “And tell my daughter what? Sorry honey, Muller isn’t coming home. He wasn’t as good a swimmer as he thought he was.”

  “I’m an excellent swimmer, Sam.”

  “Shut up, Muller.”

  “I’m just saying I’m certified.”

  “And I’m telling you I don’t give a shit.”

  “Just saying—”

  I grab my hat off the floor and start smacking him. His big arms come up covering his head. “I don’t care, you hear me?” I yell. “I don’t care! I don’t give a rat’s ass if you can swim!” I’m breathing hard, my eyes getting more ghostly in the rearview mirror. Muller takes out his cigarettes. They’re soaking wet. He still tries to get one going. “Give me that,” I say, throwing it out the window.

  I pull into a parking lot next to a variety store. I get out, slam the door, kick the trim. Then I go in, grab Judy’s ice cream, and ask for a carton of cigarettes. “What happened to you?’ the guy at the counter asks.

  “Just bag the stuff.” I take everything out to the car. Muller’s throwing up out the window. I go back in the store and buy paper towels.

  Coming outside again, I toss everything through his window. “Here,” I say, “I got paper towels and cigarettes.” Muller sits there with the stuff on his lap. “Give me a cigarette,” I say.

  He fumbles around, tearing things, the ice cream container falling on the car floor. He finally gets the carton open and hands me a cigarette. He doesn’t take one for himself. “Do you want a cigarette?” I say.

  “I don’t smoke that kind.” He takes out his wet cigarettes again. I grab the pack and throw it out the window. We drive home without talking.

  As we pull in the driveway, I say to him, “Let me do the
talking, okay? Just shut up. Don’t say a fucking word.” He belches up a bit of Lake Michigan. “You slipped on some rocks.”

  “Okay.”

  “I tried to grab you and fell in, too.”

  “Okay. . . . thanks, Sam.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.” He starts sobbing again.

  Chapter 20

  Muller’s in bed with an ear infection. Judy brings him warm tea while Mary watches me over the newspaper. She’s been eyeing me all morning. There’s sand in the carpet and a few spots on the kitchen floor where we dribbled water last night. I told her we went out on some rocks and Muller slipped. I went after him. It sounded believable, but you never know with Mary. She likes to ruminate. It’s the ruminating that kills you in the end. “Sam,” Mary says.

  The phone rings. “Hold that thought,” I say. I grab the receiver. It’s Margot.

  “Sam?” she says.

  “Hey, Margot. How’re you liking your bird?”

  “Over the moon, Sam. Over the moon. Bisquick’s a natural performer. I bought a video camera. He’s up on YouTube right now. I’ve got eight hundred views already. Check him out. He’s adorable. Smart as a whip, too.”

  The doorbell rings. I hand Mary the phone and answer the door. There’s Max standing on the porch, looking at the boxes.

  “Hey, Sam,” he says. “Just thought I’d drop by, see how you’re doing.” He looks past me. “Muller here?” He keeps making facial gestures. Mary looks around the corner. “Hi, Mrs. Bennett,” he says. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Sam,” Mary says. “Don’t leave him standing there. Come in, Max. We’re watching Bisquick on YouTube.”

  Mary and Judy are at the computer. He’s sitting on Margot’s shoulder, talking away. I’m more impressed with Margot figuring out how to operate a video camera.

  “Is she a ventriloquist?” Max says.

  “It’s a Mynah,” I say. “I gave it to her last week.”

  “How does she get him to swear like that?”

  “That’s what Mynahs do, apparently.”

  “Tell the folks what you’ve been doing today, Bisquick,” Margot’s saying and Bisquick bobs up and down. “Did you take a sauna?”