Benediction

by Kent Haruf

My father’s a minister, yes.

  I recognized you. She turned and looked out at the wet street. How about this rain?

  I wish it’d quit, he said.

  Oh no. You don’t know nothing about rain out here. You haven’t been in Holt long enough. You got to want it to keep on.

  The rain came down hard and sheeted off the street, filling the gutters, running toward the town pond. Then as they were watching, it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The sun shone out from behind the racing clouds.

  That’s it. That’s all we get, the old woman said. She stepped out briskly and walked away up the block.

  He watched her. He moved out from under the porch roof and crossed Main Street and turned up Fourth Street. The trees were all dark and dripping, the sidewalk spotted with puddles. In the air was the sweet pure after-rain smell and the smell of wet pavement and wet ground. He was three blocks from his house when the two high school boys pulled up at the curb in a black Ford. One of them said, Hey. Come over here.

  John Wesley looked at them.

  We want to talk to you about something.

  About what?

  Something you need to know.

  When he turned and went on along the sidewalk, they jumped out of the car and caught up with him.

  Where you going? Wait up. Shake hands, son. The first boy put out his hand and when John Wesley only looked at it the boy snatched his hand and squeezed it.

  What do you want?

  What do we want. He turned to the other boy who was shorter but dressed in the same way, in long baggy shorts.

  We want to help you.

  That’s right. Why don’t we just walk along here and we can talk.

  I don’t think so.

  No, let’s just walk along here. He draped his arm around John Wesley’s shoulder, moving him forward, and the other boy came along on the opposite side. They walked to the end of the block and crossed the street.

  I figure you’re headed home, aren’t you. The bigger boy stared closely at the side of John Wesley’s head. Am I right?

  It’s none of your business.

  You’re going back to your house. We know that.

  He has to get himself ready, the other boy said. She’ll be picking him up any minute.

  How’s she doing for you? the first boy said.

  Who?

  Genevieve. She’s fucking you now, we know that too.

  Shut up. He pushed the boy’s arm off his shoulder.

  Here now. Don’t get upset. I was just going to give you a few pointers. You don’t want to make a mistake about this.

  Leave me alone.

  Now be nice. We’re trying to be friends here.

  We only want to give you some advice, the second boy said. Is she treating you right? Tell us that. John Wesley stepped off the sidewalk to move away but they moved in front of him now. I mean is she fucking you the way you want?

  Fuck you, John Wesley said.

  No, I can’t do that, the boy laughed. I might like to.

  She fucked you pretty good, didn’t she, the second boy said. Like you told us she did for you.

  Fucked me dry, the first boy said.

  Shut your mouth, said John Wesley.

  He don’t like that kind of talk.

  He’s a preacher’s boy. Course he don’t. He don’t appreciate bad language.

  He still never answered you.

  No, he didn’t. Does she fuck you the way you want? Tell us the truth.

  I said shut your stupid mouth.

  Because she’s done about twenty of us by now. She don’t keep anybody for long, though. Fuck her while you can, is what I say.

  John Wesley swung and hit the boy in the face. The boy coughed and bent over and spat in the grass. You little son of a bitch. I think you broke a tooth. He felt inside his mouth with his fingers and looked at the bloody piece in his hand. He grabbed John Wesley around the neck and hit him until his nose spurted blood and he fell down on the wet sidewalk. The boy leaned over him and wadded his shirt in his fist. I ought to beat the shit out of you. You little son of a bitch. He let go of the shirt and John Wesley dropped back on his elbows.

  Let’s get out of here. Come on. The two high school boys went back the way they’d come, looking around at the houses to see whether anyone was watching, and crossed the intersection and went on to the car.

  John Wesley sat up and watched the Ford make a U-turn in the street and drive back toward Main. His nose was bleeding steadily. He wiped it on his shirtsleeve and lay back and looked overhead at the dripping trees. The sidewalk felt cool. He began to think of Genevieve. I fought for you. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. They were bigger than me. There were two of them. I hit one of them for you. I hurt him and then he hit me and made me bleed. You can see the blood on my shirt. My blood was spilled for you.

  17

  ON THE FOURTH OF JULY, Lorraine went next door to Berta May’s carrying an old blanket and came out with Alice, and then they walked out along the quiet empty street in the evening, heading toward Highway 34 and on to the high school football field to watch the fireworks. It was cool and fresh now after the heat of the day. Out beyond the town limits the combines were still running in the wheat fields, their lights turned on, bright in the fields, the grain carts and grain trucks parked off to the side, and above them the clouds of dust hanging in the air, carrying the smell of chaff and dust and cut wheat into Holt.

  They walked to the highway and turned past Shattuck’s Café and then south at the school grounds to go out behind to the football field. There were many other people walking along in the evening. They arrived at the field and went in through the gate at the chain-link fence and crossed the white-chalked lanes of the track and went out onto the grass. The lights on the tall poles around the field were burning fiercely, making a loud hum. The grass looked very green under the lights.

  Let’s go out there, Lorraine said. It’s nicer. She led Alice out to the middle of the field where they saw the Johnson women seated on a blanket. Hello, Willa called. Over here. Come join us.

  They walked up to their spot and Lorraine spread the blanket she was carrying and sat down beside them while Alice stood and looked all around at the grandstands filling up with people and the man up in the announcer’s booth above the stands, a dangling lightbulb on a cord above him showing him there starkly, standing by himself, and she looked past the goalposts to the south end where the volunteer fire department was arranging the fireworks.

  Do you want to sit down with us? Alene said, and Alice sat down between the Johnson women and Lorraine. Two boys her age came and sat in front of them. The boys turned to look at her and Alice saw them but pretended not to notice them. They sat with their arms wrapped around their knees. After a while the man up in the booth began to talk into the microphone.

  Folks, I want to welcome you all tonight. Folks. He stopped. Is this thing on? His voice sounded loud and broken, scratchy.

  Yeah, it’s on, somebody called. Go on ahead there, Bud.

  All right then. I guess you can hear me. Well. Good evening, folks, and some of the people sitting on the grass said Evening back to him, and he went on. This is a good occasion here tonight. Isn’t it. We all know that. This is part of what makes us great as a country. This day, this celebration, this yearly event, commemorated here this evening. Now I’m going to start our program tonight by recognizing our armed service in this troubled time for our country. I want to request anybody here tonight who served our country to stand up. Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force. National Guard. All of them. It doesn’t matter. They all count. Even the Coast Guard that in time of peace is under the auspices of the Treasury Department, folks, did you all know that? and under Defense in time of war. That’s right. Stand right up. Let us see you.

  Some of the men and a few women stood up in the grandstand and there was an old man who struggled up from a lawn chair near them in the football field.

  Give them all a hand why don’t you, folk
s, and all around them on the brightly lighted grass and in the grandstands people applauded. Alice watched Lorraine. She clapped her hands once or twice and then stopped, so she stopped too.

  Now I want to make special recognition of one boy in particular here tonight, the announcer said. I won’t say out his name because he said he don’t want me to. But he’s being sent over next week to the war over there. Helping to take our democracy across to the desert to those people they got there. Yes, that’s him. I see him now. Down on the left side of the bleachers there. Stand up, will you, son? Yes, that’s right.

  A boy rose and looked out at the football field without making any gesture or turning around. A young boy, in his army uniform.

  Give him a warm sendoff, people. Yes, that’s the way.

  Some in the grandstand stood up to applaud and some of the people out in the grass stood. The boy in uniform sat down beside a woman next to him and the man in the booth went on.

  Now. We have us another treat here tonight. Big Bill Jones is going to sing a selection for us now.

  Up in the booth a tall man took the microphone and began to sing “Some Gave All, All Gave Some” over an instrumental recording. When he was done singing people applauded. He had a good voice. Then the announcer said, Big Bill, wait right here if you would and get us started on “America the Beautiful.” People sang along with him and they all sang the National Anthem. For that, people stood and men took off their caps. On the football field Willa stayed seated on the blanket. It’s too hard to get up and down, she said. Never mind me. She smiled and looked around at them through her thick glasses.

  They sat down again and the announcer said, Now will somebody shut off these field lights for us? They waited. Will somebody shut off these lights so we can start? Folks, we can’t get started till the lights are turned off. After a while someone pulled the switch and they all sat in the faint light of the evening, the afterglow of sunset still showing to the west but everything dark now in the east. They waited and then suddenly the first rocket shot up and it broke overhead.

  There was a loud explosion and strings of light spurted out and dripped down and winked out and white smoke drifted slowly away. Then another rocket exploded. The young boys in front of them named each one as it went off. Come on, bust, they said, and then the rocket burst and they said, Comet. Chandelier. Pixie Dust. Parachute. Silver rain. Carnation. Chinese Night.

  After a while, Lorraine lay back on the blanket. Then Alice did too, and presently the Johnson women stretched out on the blanket next to them and the fireworks fired up into the cool summer night and the ghostlike trails of smoke drifted away in the sky, the pure blue stars far over them, all shining, above the football field on the high plains. The boys went on with their running account. Alice slid over closer to Lorraine.

  Are you doing all right, honey? Lorraine said.

  The girl nodded.

  Are you cold?

  A little.

  Lorraine pulled her closer.

  I wish my mother could have seen this, Alice said.

  Yes. Raise your head for a second, honey.

  Lorraine laid her arm down on the blanket and Alice lay back and Lorraine pulled the loose end of the blanket up over them both. Alene looked over and watched Alice for a moment. A rocket went off and she could see the girl’s face in the shimmering light. Her eyes clear and serious. Her smooth soft girl’s cheeks. Alene’s eyes welled up with tears, looking at the girl, but immediately she wiped the tears away. Next to her, her mother went on watching the fireworks.

  At the end there was a long chain of explosions with a final cannon boom that echoed across the town out into the country. Then it was dark, the smoke drifting away above them, and then the high field lights came on again. Everything seemed brighter than ever.

  The announcer came on again. That’s it for tonight, folks. Take care going home now. Mind your step now.

  On the field they stood up and folded the blankets and people came down out of the grandstands and they all went out slowly in a crowd, not talking much, tired now and satisfied, moving out through the gate.

  Good night, dear, Alene said, and without prompting Alice went to her and hugged her and then she hugged Willa. Afterward she walked home with Lorraine, back on the west side of town along the gravel street under the corner streetlights past the quiet houses, a few of them with lamps on inside, and once they saw an elderly woman let a little white dog out and then she called it back in and shut the door.

  18

  IT WASN’T THE IMAGE of her naked beneath the thin raincoat standing in front of him in the back office of the hardware store that Dad Lewis remembered. It was the look on her face before she slapped him. And the pitch and the desperation of her voice on the phone three months later in the spring when she called, screaming that Clayton had killed himself in Denver.

  When he had not stopped thinking about her a year later, he decided he had to find her. He drove to the town a hundred miles south of Holt where she had moved with Clayton and the two children to live with her parents. But she was not there now. The parents did not even live there anymore. A man with a beard was renting the house. I don’t know, he said. I just moved in. I don’t know anything about them. They left some stuff in the basement if you want that.

  He drove to the post office and the police station and talked to people at both places. They didn’t know anything either. He returned to the street where the house was located and knocked on the neighbors’ doors, but it had begun to snow now and the few people who were home didn’t want to stand there talking to him with the snow blowing in. On the opposite side of the street he finally found an old woman who told him the parents had moved back to a town in Nebraska and that their daughter had gone off to Denver with the two children. He thanked her and started driving back to Holt in the gathering storm. The wind was blowing the snow across the two-lane blacktop so hard that he had to squint to be sure that he was still on the road and he was forced to stop every five or six miles to scrape off the windshield.

  Two weeks later he drove to Denver. It was on a Sunday and he told Mary that he had to pick up a special order. He didn’t tell her then and he never did tell her nor anyone else what he was doing. The wind was blowing again but there wasn’t any snow this time. He arrived in Denver in the middle of the afternoon.

  From there it was almost too easy. Her name was listed in the phone book. She and the two children were living in a one-bedroom apartment in a run-down house in the middle of the city. He climbed the stairs and went back into the dark hallway and knocked. There was noise inside, a TV going. Then the door opened and she stood before him. She looked bad now. She had let herself go. She was barefoot and still wearing a bathrobe in the afternoon, made of some thick fuzzy material, dirty at the front and frayed at the cuffs. Her blond hair had grown out unevenly and she hadn’t yet combed it for the day. She stood in the doorway staring at him.

  You, she said. What are you doing here? Didn’t you do enough already?

  I wanted to talk to you, he said.

  How’d you find me?

  You’re in the phone book.

  Oh. Well, I don’t have a phone no more. They shut it off. I can’t afford it. What do you want?

  I come to see how you are.

  I’m here, look at me. Can’t you see? What’d you think would happen?

  Dad looked at her and looked away. He said, I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry it turned out this way.

  You’re sorry.

  I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.

  Jesus Christ, she said.

  Can I talk to you a minute?

  What do you want to talk about? You want to take me up on my offer? Is that it? You changed your mind?

  Your offer. What offer?

  To let you fuck me. Pay off what he stole.

  What? No. For hell’s sake. That’s not what I come for.

  Well, I can’t blame you. She pulled the robe tighter. The way I look now.


  It’s not that. Is that what you think? It’s not about that. I come to help you if I can. Can I talk to you?

  You just want to talk.

  That’s right.

  You mean you want to come in.

  Yes, so we can talk a little.

  Come in then. It’s a mess. But I’m not going to apologize to you. Why should I?

  He followed her back through the dark living room, past the two children sprawled on the floor like some kind of little animals in front of the television, watching some animated movie.

  Come out here, she said.

  In the kitchen she removed dirty dishes from the table and put them into the sink which was already full of dirty dishes, and swiped at the table with a washrag. Sit down, she said. Don’t be so polite. You don’t have to wait for me.

  He sat down. She dropped the washrag in the sink and sat across from him and lit a cigarette. He looked at her and watched her smoke. Then he removed the wallet from his back pocket and took out all the bills and stacked them on the table. He had five hundred dollars to give her. She stared at him.

  What’s that? she said.

  For you, he said.

  How come? Why are you doing this? I don’t even understand why you’re here.

  I told you. I want to help you.

  You’re giving me this money.

  Yes. That’s what I come for.

  You don’t want nothing in return.

  He shook his head.

  She pushed the hair away from her face. I can still do things, she said. We could go in the back bedroom. I don’t have no disease or nothing. She put out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. I don’t look like much but I could still give you a good time. You’d get your money’s worth.

  I’m not doubting that, Dad said. But that’s not what I’m here for.

  Are you a homo? she said. I wondered after that other time, when I was naked, when I still looked okay.

  What are you talking about?

  Don’t you like women?

  Of course I like women. I’m married. I’m still in love with my wife.

  That don’t have to stop you, she said. If you’re not queer, are you just stupid?