Outside Man

By Marc Heberden

Copyright 1997 by

MARC HEBERDEN
All rights reserved, no reproduction in any form may be made without written consent of the author.

Originally Printed in Paris, France

Numbered Editions

For Mary & Arthur Schultz Maguy & Jacques de Villemandy

Chapter 1

Farmers do not believe in luck. They do believe in fate, mostly as a function of the weather. But when it comes to their own fortunes, because of their immediate involvement with the land, they see their own efforts as being the thing most responsible for personal success or failure. It is a hardy, productive point of view, both self-reliant and efficient. But at the same time it is very causal and, in the end, uninspired. Myths and superstitions, goddesses of fertility worship, the colorings of the human imagination for thousands of years, died with the weather report and the McCormack Reaper. Early spring, out from beyond Bozeman with four hundred dollars, a couple of fishing poles, and a suitcase stuffed with year-old workclothes, he was driving his car along the straight, flat highway stretching west from Spokane. He had driven all night, coming over the Rockies in a pelting downpour, the storm having blown itself out just before dawn. With the morning half gone, the sun breaking strongly through the swiftly scattering overcast, the tires of his car whined through the intermittent wet stretches remaining on the road. Across the endless hills of the Palouse country of Washington, low, slow moving clouds were wetting the cool ground. On the dark flanks of the hills the first green shadings of sprouting winter wheat were beginning to show; and in the deep, unfarmed valleys white blossoming trees with yellow and white carpets of wildflowers at their feet braced beneath the occasional, soft coming and going of the showers. It was about noon when he first saw Gainesville, a few miles distant, as the highway went over yet another of the tirelessly rolling hills. From that distance, other than the towering grain elevators, nothing else could be seen of it except a massing of heavy trees. He had felt hungry for hours and he took the towns offramp when it came along. At the town park he ate his lunch. The park was quiet and cool, the grass spreading beneath big maple and chestnut trees, their young leaves already filling out so early in the Spring. Along one side of the park a high-riding river flowed silently. He sat at the table for a long time watching the river and drinking his coffee. Drinking until closing hour over by Bozeman and then driving over the Rockies had left him practically numb, but the bright sky and fresh air revived him and he went for a walk into town to where, on the main street, cars and pickups angled up in front of storefronted buildings. Two or three stories squat, some of them false-fronted, the brick or wood structures were close and plain. A few buildings had snuck off up the side streets, but most sat squarely on Main, two hard walls marching down the street. He walked all the way down Main and then took a corner and walked around to a side street. There, old houses with close-trimmed lawns slept beneath large-limbed trees. On his way back he came across a blue and gray stucco building with large, weather-beaten wood balconies on all three stories, called the St. Charles Hotel. He went up the steps and across the porch into the lobby. The deskman, bald and oily-looking, read a paper behind the counter and made no sign of movement until he had crossed the wide, red-carpeted lobby scattered with tables and old reading chairs. Then the paper was slowly folded up. Most of the rooms were empty. He asked if he could get a corner room on the top floor, at the front. The deskman shrugged, bringing out a key and laying it on the counter.

6 Fifteen bucks a night, fifty a week, and a hundred and twenty-five a month. The deskman pushed across the ledger. Three bills were out brought from a wallet and the deskman stamped PAID in the ledger. Third floor, to the right. The deskman unfolded his paper. It was a big, L-shaped room with a high ceiling. So big it could have almost been an apartment. A wide bed was placed halfway down the longest wall and there were a couple of old armchairs and a folding-top desk along the other. He opened doors and found the L-shape was caused by a bathroom and kitchen built into one corner of what had been an even larger room. The bathroom was small, tiled from floor to ceiling, and the kitchen was equipped. The room itself was well-lit, one big window facing the street, a smaller one above the bed, and there were a pair of French doors, small glass panes made private with white muslin door curtains, leading out onto the balcony. He threw the shades back, letting the sun come warmly into the room, but did not open the window or the doors, just going over to lay down on the bed. There, suddenly, he remembered his car. But then he yawned and rolled to the side, turning his back to the sun coming in the balcony doors. The sound of a train passing through town, clicking and rattling itself across roadbeds, woke him. The room was dark. Out through the main window, the sky was a deep blue, rich with evening, two stars showing themselves above the dark silhouettes of the trees across the street. He pulled himself upright and rubbed the rough stubble on his neck, then went and opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. With an overhanging roof, the balcony started at his door and disappeared around the far corner. Cane chairs and tables, shoved back against the side of the hotel, spread the length of it. He could see into none of the other doors, all were locked tight with heavy drapes pulled shut. The balcony went around the corner and stopped at the back end where a lone door marked a room there. He leaned on the railing, looking out at the town. Streetlights, beginning to take strength beneath darkening skies, showed in glimpses up through the trees. Brighter lights and the sound of traffic came from the downtown, half a block away. From a house across the street he could hear the banging of pans and cupboards as someone began to prepare dinner. He went back into the room, shutting the doors behind himself, and went down out of the hotel. Cars parked on Main were mostly crowded around a nearby bar or farther down the street by a restaurant. The restaurant, its front done up with barnwood and posts, was called the Country Kitchen, its cocktail lounge called the Fireside Room. From the restaurants menu he found that breakfast was served any time and ordered a Spanish omelet with hash browns. Afterwards, he walked down Main towards the park. Above him, the sky, now black and clear, was full of stars. Between the business district and the park were homes. In some, a yellow glow, but usually just the blue of a television in the dark. He found his car beneath the black trees near the river and drove it back to the hotel and parked it in the lot behind the building. Pulling out his fishing pole and suitcase, he went up into the hotel. Inside his room he set the suitcase in a corner and leaned the poles against it. He kicked off his shoes and opened the balcony doors, and then went and sat in one of the armchairs and looked out over the town. It was quiet out there and it was quiet in the hotel, and he crossed his knees and took a deep breath. Maybe he should have stopped in Spokane. Or gone over the mountains to Seattle. But he had not thought of stopping, when he was going through Spokane, and he had not really been thinking of going anywhere when he paid for that room. So it did not really matter to him, and he did not think much more about it and, after awhile, he nodded off. Waking at three in the morning in the chair, he stumbled over to the bed, falling asleep there by the time he had settled his legs onto it. Early in the morning, he took a long shower, letting the hot water stream over his shoulders and back. Afterwards, looking in the mirror, he decided he could go a while longer without a haircut, just pushing his dark hair back, but he had to get some razors. Out in the room, he opened his suitcase. His clothes were still in good shape and he put on a heavy shirt

7 and a pair of jeans, and wiping off the accumulated dust, slipped on his walking boots. They were heavily creased but the leather carried a dull finish. The morning sidewalks on Main bathed in bright sunshine. So early, the stores were closed. He walked to the restaurant where some cars were already nosed up to the sidewalk. A dozen or so men sat around the tables and along the counter in the morning. Some were eating breakfast, but most just drank coffee and smoked. He went to sit at the counter and ordered toast and some coffee. Half a newspaper lay on the counter next to him and he glanced at it, but there was nothing in it for him. As he ate his toast, letting the waitress keep refilling his coffee cup, he listened to the conversation nearby. Mostly it was about farming and about other farmers. Sometimes though they talked about hunting, or about the economy, or politics, but those topics lasted about as long as it took to make a joke about them, and it always went back to farming, and who was doing what, and where, and whether they were doing it right or not, and who had been able to start and who had not. The same sort of talk he had heard everywhere he had ever been. The grocery was open by then and he went in for his razors. He also went to the cooler in back for some beer. Up front, the owner, an enormously fat man in a green apron, black glasses nearly falling off his nose, rang up his things. Beer and razors, the grocer said. Man can go a long way on those. Ive tried. And our mothers are so proud of us. He pushed his money across the counter, noticing a display of fishing lures behind the grocer. Any lakes around here? The rivers are better. All the way over here? The grocer shrugged. Not many come to fish for the trout hereabouts. Most go over past Spokane. Above Coeur dAlene. Do you fish? Yep. Around here? The grocer bagged his purchases. Oh, here and there. Depends, you know? Back at the hotel, he took the beer to his car and got in. The day before, he had seen a bridge across the river from the park, and he found it and crossed the river and drove out into the countryside. For two or three miles around Gainesville the land was flat. More sprouting wheat showed there and the land was drier and an occasional tractor was out cultivating. The farther he drove, the more the Palouse countryside folded upon itself until, finally, the road was just worrying its way between the high, cultivated hillsides. The fields there were alive with short green wheat, their furrowed regularity combing the hills in big swipes. The unplanted fallow lands were green also, but there it was with the spottiness of wild grass, mustard, or even the occasional patch of sprouting Canadian thistle. If rain held the tractors off the hills, that ground would soon need weeding on top of the normal spring cultivation. His old car was almost as high centered as a pickup and he rolled off the paved highway onto a dry looking dirt road and drove up through a deep, tree-lined gully. Near the top, where the gully finished itself, the road followed a fenceline across the summits of a long series of hills. He could see a long way over the farmed hills, everything either brown or brownish green, and looking back towards Gainesville he could no longer tell where the great flat plain began. Every once in awhile, in the depths of the bottoms, he would see a grouping of trees around a farmhouse. But usually, the trees only marked the spot where an old farm had stood, the buildings long ago having vanished. He was far out in the hills by then and after awhile the fenceline he had been following quit itself in nothing but a last post and some tangled shreds of barbed wire, as if announcing that not even fences would keep him company out to where he was going. There the tracks ran off to one side of the hill and then dipped down along a steep

8 sided bank to the bottom. Following the bottom around, he came out in a wide flat, surrounded there by high, plunging hillsides. Nothing but rock outcroppings and trees, the flat had been given up to nature and had become a half-mile thicket there of bushes and weeds. A small creek trickled inside, and just barely visible through the greening brush, glimmered what appeared to be a small pond. He stopped there and turned off his motor, having a beer in the silence of what seemed the most forgotten place on earth. An hour later he was back in town and he went to the gas station and filled up. Then he went over to the burger stop. Recognizing him from the day before, the cook, a heavily freckled man with wiry red hair, nodded from behind the counter. Whatd you do? Get lost? I stayed at the hotel. A population explosion. He ordered and waited as the cook slapped the thin patties onto the grill. Where you from? The cook yelled at him. He shrugged. I mean, last. Montana. The cook nodded over the splattering burgers and yelled again. I like it there, but I like it better in the San Luis Obispo area. Where? He had to yell, himself, to be heard. San Luis Obispo. No, you like it better than where? Monterey. He nodded. Me too. He took the burgers back to the hotel and ate his lunch in the dark lobby. He was sitting there later, in the shadows with the big doors open out onto the street, when the desk clerk appeared behind the counter. He nodded at the clerk. Afternoon. Yeah, the clerk answered. The clerk had a newspaper in his hand. He looked at it for a moment, and then looked back. Everything all right? Just fine. With a slow movement of his head, the clerk yawned. Quiet around here, huh? He was obviously not used to having someone sitting there in the lobby. Its nice. The clerk leaned across the desk, looking out the door onto the street. If you need anything, he said after a moment, just ring, you know. Right. Later, he said. Up in his room, he opened the French doors and lay down on the bed. He rested his eyes for awhile, listening to the sound of the breeze rustling the young leaves in the trees below his balcony, but then he began to feel restless, and he got up and went down the stairs again. He went to the restaurants cocktail lounge. The bar section was new looking, with vinyl seats and a black Formica counter. The rest of the lounge was made up of red vinyl booths surrounding a dancefloor and a small stage. The place was empty except for a woman sitting at the far end of the bar watching television. When he sat down, she pulled her gaze from the screen and slid around the back of the bar. Whaja like? He looked over the wall at the beer signs and then at the taps. A draft, I guess. The tap only foamed at first, forcing her to dump out the first few glasses. The barmaid wore a satin shirt and tight jeans. She was an attractive, curly-blond, who at one time had been cute. She reminded him of several women he had known who, though all very different in one way or the other, were all too similar in another. At last pulling a beer she felt was reasonable, she brought it over and set it on a coaster. Youre the first on a new tap.. He took a drink. Lets celebrate.

9 The barmaid leaned against the bar, picking up a cigarette. So, what are you selling? I dont sell anything. She took a drag on her cigarette and smiled. Lucky for you. Nobody here buys anything. Do I look like a salesman? The barmaid blew out a cloud of smoke. You look new, and that means youre not from around here or else I would have seen you before somewhere. You know everybody in town? Its hard not to, she said, and then she laughed. Even if you dont want to. I suppose when youre from a place like this... My turn. Do I look like Im from a place like this? You seem like you are. It doesnt take long to seem like anything around here. Especially in a job like this. How long have you been here? Ten years. She stared at him as though he might say something, and seemed to be happy when he did not. Wherere you from? Lately, here and there. But mostly there, huh? I was in Montana last. Whats your name? The barmaid tilted her head in a strange way for a moment, and then smiled. Lonni Scarlet-Mae Gonkle. Lonnis unusual. Believe it or not, its really Lorilei. Even better. Yeah, sure. But Lonni works better. Im Sam Lawrence. Lucky for you. She stuck out her hand. As he shook it, she looked towards the door. Hi, honey. Starting early? He turned and saw a dark, auburn-haired woman. The woman smiled at him. No, she said. I just wanted to see if my white knight has shown up. Not that I know of, Lonni said, looking at back at him. The woman was one of the very few really beautiful women he had ever seen, with fine features and dark, glowing eyes. She was friendly in the way she looked at him and he could see she was completely indifferent to his presence. Lonni leaned on the bar. His name is Sam Lawrence. This is Marilyn Sutton. Sams from here and there, but mostly there. Hes not selling anything. And that is all we know so far. The woman laughed pleasantly. Thats okay. Sometimes, the best thing about people is what we dont know about them. He would not have minded talking with them some more, but Lonni and the woman named Marilyn then went down to the TV end of the bar to talk privately, leaving him to his beer. Neither looked his way when he got up to go out to the restaurant counter. After dinner, the last of the evening sun throwing long shadows across the town, he went to the park and walked along the river. The river was wide, the spring runoff was high, but the channel was deep and the banks were very steep, so he knew the river would maintain its size even after it began to go down. He stopped and put his hand in. Only up to his wrist, the water made his elbow joint tighten, sending a shiver along the back of his legs. Ooh, maam, he said softly, drawing his hand out, reddened from the icy contact. Youre still a cold bitch, arent you? He shook his hand dry and walked away along the bank. The trees around the river, with their young, small leaves, had a pleasant, dark effect on the water, and in that darkness he could see right through the glassy transparency of the surface to a clean, rocky bottom. He walked all the way around the park, breathing in the evening air, and then walked back into town to the bar. There, the wedged-open front doors let him inside where lights over the pool tables and the bar cast smoky pools of luminescence below the dark ceiling

10 beams. The bar itself was old and heavy with a brass foot-rail bolted along the base. He went over and sat on a barstool, ordering a beer from a tall, thin barman with black hair slicked back behind his ears, a hat crease ran around that hair. He wore a cowboy shirt buttoned tight at the wrists and the throat. Sam put a two dollars on the counter and waited, and the barman returned with a pint glass, foam-topped and beading quickly around the sides. Grabbing a dollar, the barman picked a couple of dimes from a change tray and, giving them a flick, tossed them onto the bar beside his glass. Eighty bucks, right on the dot, the barman said. Thats almost charity. We call it marketing. A few men sat at the bar. The closest to him, two stools down, glanced over in curiosity and nodded. Plenty here for so early in the evening, Sam said. Grounds still too wet. Over the mans shoulder, he saw an old man come in through the back door. His overalls were dry and dusty above the knees, but dark brown below, almost wet at the bottom. Someone, at least, had been working. What have you been doing, Fred? Someone called out. Playing in the mud? Playing with himself is more like it, someone else said. Playing with your old lady. The old man stamped off his boots at the door. One of the younger men poured out and gave a glass of beer to the old man and offered a chair, but he just nodded, taking the beer, and headed for the bar. He took the stool next to Sam. He was heavy, almost fat, his flushed cheeks showing a weeks worth of white stubble. He rubbed his hand over his chin with thick, hard fingers. Thats better, he said looking over. His look showed no curiosity, but just a general sort of friendliness. Long day already? Just the first ones, the old man said. The grounds still wet underneath. You end up carrying a pound of mud on your feet. Are you farming? Oh no. Not for another week, maybe. Weve been making fences. Were going to put some cows on turnips. Turnips? I thought this was wheat country. How do you harvest turnips on these hillsides? No, its just for the cows. We seed the hills by airplane and the cows do the rest. Never heard of that? No? You should see the size of some of the turnips the cows dig up. And you should see the cows out there, rooting around in the dirt like a bunch of pigs. How much fence are you building? The old man thought for a moment. About a mile. Not too bad. No, the old man said. Got some rocks though. Howre you getting the posts in? Im not. I have to build goddamn stone-anchored pen-posts right over the top of it. I only got a couple hundred yards today. And that was in the so-called dirt. The old man went back to his beer. Someone put on an old Charlie Pride number and the old man listened, keeping some sort of time with his fingers. Sam finished his beer and tapped his empty glass on the bar. The barman broke off from a game of Horse by sweeping the dice off the bar. Want another? He asked the old man. Sounds good. Make it two more, he said to the barman. He noticed for the first time that the barman had a dark swelling under one eye.

11 The barman went off and the old man glanced over. Bobs not quite himself today. Looks like he walked into a door. Wrong door. I can tell you her name. The barman came back and the old man squinted. The barman squinted back. Whats the matter, Fred? Got something wrong with your eye? He looked at the old man for a moment and then went back down the bar. Whole damn familys like him, the old man said. Not a lick of sense in any of them. Sam took a drink of his beer. I think youre only person here whos worked today. You know of anyone hereabouts who could use some help? I could. Yeah? But I dont have anything to do with the hiring. Which wont happen until we start farming. But you can use some help. We can always use help. But right now our schedule says we arent farming. But you can use some help. The old man smiled. Where you from? All over. The old man nodded. I dont know. But Ill talk to Harley in the morning. Whats your name. Sam Lawrence. Im at the St. Charles Hotel. Im Fred Rosenbrauer. Sam stayed after the old man left, and drank, and listened to the jukebox until it was time to go home. Then he went back to the hotel and stood for a while on his balcony looking out across the town. Although streetlights clouded the night air, he could see out towards where, against the black darkness of the distant hills, a few farm lights burned dimly. Closer, he could see the lighted highway exchange just east of town. There, and along a strip of highway, he could see the lights of cars making their way east in the direction of Spokane, or west towards Moses Lake, or perhaps farther west, even so late at night, towards Ellensburg. Maybe, he thought, some late night voyager was heading for the mountain passes farther on, heading for Seattle. He turned his eyes back towards the dim, distant farmlights out against the dark horizons of the countryside. Far off on some hill the lights of a car rounding a curve flashed briefly and then disappeared, swallowed up in the blackness. In the trees lining the street below him, a bird warbled a unexpected evening song, late and out of place. At the sound of the bird, he suddenly was thinking how, no matter what, he would not let it go like the last time, thinking that things were different. No place was ever different. Things were never different. They were only either a little better, or a little worse. He just had to remember that, this time, and things would be all right. Going back indoors and preparing for bed, he did his best for a few minutes to try to look at it like that. But finally it all fell apart and he was thinking how he could have just been on his way to Seattle, himself, if only he had paid for one night instead of the whole week. But that was all, and then he went to bed.

12

Chapter 2

Before dawn, he followed the red tail-lights of Freds pickup out to the Petersen farm. Not far off the road, all of the main buildings were down in a wide, rock-rimmed canyon. The highpeaked barn revealed by a cavernous opening the depletion of its winter supply of hay. The other buildings-shops, sheds, round-sided steel grain bins, the bunkhouse and a chicken coopspread along each side of the canyon. At the far end of the canyon where it began opening towards an expanding series of dry pasture and rocky scab-land, stood the farmhouse with its big, bayed windows and deep front porch, surrounded by a wide lawn and old, high-limbed and heavy, black cottonwoods. Fred and Sam walked across the dewy lawn to the back porch of the house. Inside, the sounds of frying and the smell of coffee and bacon led them down a hallway to the kitchen. Sally Petersen was a plump, pretty woman, cheerful even at that hour. She kept their plates full of French toast and bacon until they said they could take no more. She also provided a constant stream of news. Harley had gone to an auction, she told them, and she told Sam that there were usually two more men at breakfast, the Petersen sons, Carl and Dan. One had gone with Harley and the other was off on his yearly vacation to Las Vegas and would not be back for a week. The sun just up, they drove off in the cool morning air out to the fenceline. They worked all day there, quitting at six. That evening they joined Harley and his youngest son, Dan, at dinner. Harley Petersen was a short, powerfully built man with short-cropped blond hair. Humor heavily creased itself around his shrewd blue eyes. His son, Dan, about the same age as Sam, did not resemble his father, being tall and dark. But like his father, he seemed easy to get along with. For Sam, feeling at ease with employers was not an absolutely necessity. But he was happy enough when he found it. Over the following weeks, he and Fred worked side by side on the fencelines. Having finished the one they moved on to others, repairing, building or removing. As the days went by, with no more than a few passing clouds in the warming skies, the ground gradually dried out. No longer, when he pulled out an old fencepole, did he find wet, black dirt clinging at the bottom. It was still rich dirt, but lighter in color and dryer, and it was not long before he was in a tractor, tilling it. One evening in late April, Dan Petersen called to say he wanted some help moving furniture for a couple of women. It was still a time when Sam did not know Dan very well. They drove in Dans pickup onto heavy-treed backstreet in Gainesville. Dan pulled to a stop in front of a house which lay barely visible through the overgrown trees and shrubbery. Before they got their doors open a woman came running out to them. She had blond hair straight to bare shoulders, faded cutoffs exposing long, smooth legs, and she was wearing a small white vest. She was a vision of smooth, flowing golden skin. She leaned in at Sams window, speaking across his body to Dan. What are you going to do? She said. Carry all that shit out here from the back? Sam looked at her tiny gold earrings. How muchve you got? Dan asked. She patted the door of the pickup. As much as thisll hold.

13 Her golden skin almost seemed to glow with heat, and Sam stared out the window. There seemed no other place to look. Good, Dan said, starting the truck again. Meet you around back. Okay, the woman said. She gave Sam a smile and he smiled back, and then she was gone. Her names Susan Palmer, Dan drove around the block towards the alley. And her roommate is named Ruth Kirby. Nice smile. There was a long pause, and then they both laughed. Good God, Sam said. At the rear of the house, Sue helped back them across the yard. Wooden steps had been built onto the exterior of the house and they followed her up the stairs to the apartment on the top floor. On the way up, Sue introduced herself to Sam by explaining she and her roommate were legal secretaries working over at the county seat in St. Pierre. They were moving to a house they had found a few blocks away. Living on top of a family, she went on before he could think of anything to say, was a little restricting. As they went inside, the other woman came out of the back room, holding several empty cardboard boxes. The same height as Sue, her hair was a light brown and wavy, held back by a barrette on either side. She had a wide, even smile and clear blue eyes. He had to admit to himself that she was lovely, where Sue was pretty. He remembered the womans name was Ruth. Here, she said, handing the boxes to Sue. These are left over. Good. How much is left? Im all packed. Okay. Sue took the boxes. Ive got a little more. When she walked out of the room he felt as though she had left a vacuum behind. The woman named Ruth looked around the living room at the boxes and trunks piled on and next to the furniture, and at the stripped walls, and at all the pots of plants forming a small jungle near the door, and then into the kitchen where dishes and glasses and a variety of utensils and appliances crowded across the counters. There was still a lot of work to be done. Just as her gaze returned to the living room Dan sat down, finding a seat on a large trunk with his back against a chair. Anything left to drink? he asked. The woman smiled. Thats what I like about guys. They know how to kill time constructively. A beer maybe? Dan asked. You know where it is. Dan groaned and pulled in his legs, looking as if he was getting ready to make the big effort to get up. The woman drooped her shoulders. Oh, dont bother. Please. Allow me. Dan smiled. Since youre up ... The woman looked at Sam. And I suppose youd like something, too. I wouldnt mind, I guess. You guess. Well, maybe youll help. Ill have to unpack some things. He followed her into the kitchen. He liked the way he immediately felt comfortable with her; and he liked how he did not feel particularly attracted to her. He picked up a box she was pointing to and set it on the kitchen table. So youre the new hired hand, she said to him while they unpacked the box. It was full of things from the refrigerator, some still cold. Yep. Your name is Sam. And yours is Ruth. Well, weve got that all figured out now, havent we?

14 He smiled, wondering if Dan had told Sue about a night a few weekends before when he had wandered off nearly dead drunk from a bar. Its so much fun meeting new people, Ruth said, giving him a bit of a look. Dont you think? I mean, new people are so very interesting, arent they? He did not know what the look or the statement meant. Perhaps she thought he was not being very friendly, or she was saying it against herself, or it meant nothing at all. Taken all together, he felt there was nothing he could say in return. She suddenly made a triumphant noise and pulled a sack of beer from the box. And still cold, she said. Back in the living room, Ruth reached into the sack and pulled out a beer. Your Majesty, she said, holding it out to Dan. Before he could grab it though she retracted the offer and quickly pulled the tab open. Sorry, she said, holding it out to him again. Almost forgot. Thanks, Dan smiled. Sam helped himself to his own and then held one out to Ruth. Taking it, she went over and plopped into the stuffed chair behind Dan. He found a seat for himself on the couch between the piles of boxes, feeling, within moments, a bit like a moving item himself. God, Ruth sighed after a long drink. She rested the beer alongside her legs, which by then were stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Moving is a pain in the ass. The sides of her thighs were muscled, as though at one time she had been a runner, with graceful knees and calves. He glanced at the lightly defined separation between the back and front muscles on the sides of her thighs as she worked them a bit to relax them. You dont want to move? he said. Oh. I suppose, yeah, she sighed again. Itll be good to get a little more privacy. Neighbors noisy? Nosy, is more like it, Dan said. Actually, Ruth smiled, Im looking forward to it. Ive never lived in a whole house before. This sounds serious, Sam said. It is. Im tired of moving from place to place like this. This is the last, I hope, and maybe I can settle in and get some good things around me instead of this part-time stuff. She waved her hand at the rooms contents. He followed the gesture. For temporary, you have a lot. It piles up, thats true, she nodded. Things just begin to add on themselves until you can hardly recognize where you started. Thats almost the exact opposite from me. Yes. You move around a lot, dont you? Sue, with a flush on her face, came back in the room and set some clothes in a corner. Look at this scene. Im in there working my ass off, and youre all out here having a party. Youve got more to do? Dan asked, handing her a beer. Oh, God yes. She dropped herself onto another stuffed chair and put the beer to her lips, taking a long drink. Sam watched as some of it escaped and ran down her chin onto her neck, and then down over her collarbones and on down, disappearing there between her breasts. Sweet, sweet Jesus. She lowered the beer at last, wiping her chin and neck with her hand. I love beer. She looked at Sam and laughed. You know, Dan said to him, some people just dont know how to relax. Sue smiled at that, closing her eyes for a moment, long, dark lashes and dark eyebrows there beneath golden-blond hair. For just that moment she looked as though she were sleeping, and dreaming of something wonderful in her sleep. Calm, Sam thought as he looked at that face. He felt as though he were gazing across a quiet pond on a windless summer day, and all there was to be reflected upon the surface was a clean, deep sky. The image did not change when she suddenly opened her eyes and looked straight at him again. So, she said. What sorts of things do you like to do?

15 She had a look on her face showing she expected a joke, or something resembling one. He looked back at her for a moment in silence. It was then that he realized that he wanted her as badly as any woman he had ever met. He was suddenly out in a boat on a warm lake, a hot sun above, fishing maybe, and she was there with him. They would take a lunch and it would be a quiet day with maybe only the occasional passing of an insect in the air to disturb them-hovering near, and then buzzing away. But that, because that was all, would just serve to reinforce their solitude, forming a cocoon of aloneness around them. And in that quiet, with maybe the gentle lapping of water alongside, they would share the day together with no one else to bother them. Like sharing a secret. I like to fish, he said. Fish? I like going out on a nice day. Take a little beer. Get some sun. Maybe catch a few fish ... He raised his eyebrows. She crinkled her nose, obvious in her disagreement about what would constitute a nice day out on a lake.. I like to water-ski, he added, not knowing what else to say. Sue nodded at the water-skiing. As for fishing, contrary to what he might have hoped, she did a literal translation of the word itself, and all she pictured was the creature, wet and bloody and gasping as it came into the boat and then flopping there frantically in the bottom and maybe flopping over against her leg, and a hook in it that had to be pulled out, and then maybe more later after that and they ended up cold and slimy in an icebox, and then later they had to be cleaned. I hate fish. She twisted up her mouth. Yuck. Well, Ruth said, I like fishing. Sam looked over at her. Oh, really? You dont mind the fish? Who says you have to catch fish?. He glanced around. Dan was leaning back with his eyes closed, faintly smiling. Sue and Ruth were both looking at him with knowing expressions. Water-skiing, my ass, he thought. Dan opened his eyes. Fishing opens next week. He smiled. It does? Ruth said. Dan raised his eyebrows at him. You going to go? Sam did not mind being made fun of by people he knew so little. He just wished he had not been so stupid for them, so early on. Depends on the weather. He looked over at Sue, but she seemed to be somewhere else. Singed pride made him ignore their smiles. You really like to fish? He asked Ruth. Love it. The ease with which she responded caught him off balance, but he smiled. Maybe we could go sometime. He said it with deliberate vagueness, intending to ignore it for all practical purposes, and expecting it to be ignored in the same spirit. You dont have to work all next weekend if you dont want to. Well be all caught up by then, Dan said. Sam stared at him. Next week would be fine, Ruth said. He almost stared at her. Hey, Dan would say later, while driving him home. How did you do that back there? Do what? I mean, Ive tried to get something like that with one of those girls for a long time ... but nothing. Very funny. No, man. I mean it. Im impressed. Youre my hero. Fuck you. Dan burst out laughing. Oh, well. It worked.

16 It worked? You got what you wanted. Thats all that counts. Sam looked over at Dan. What did I get? Ruth. Is that what I wanted? Dan looked over at him with a searching look, but when Sam said nothing else he finally shrugged his shoulders. Anyway, try to have a good time. He looked over at Sam again, and when he saw no reply coming again, said, what the hell. Maybe youll catch some fish. After another pause, and another silence, Dan said, you want to go get drunk? When Dan got drunk he liked to talk about what farming meant to him, and for the most part Sam was able to listen to it. The thing about farming, Dan said, was the action of it. The work was physical, and more than anything, that was what made it so absorbing and addicting. Mostly it was the hands, Dan said. There was nothing more enjoyable than being able to work with his hands. A mans work. For the men who liked to touch their work, and who were lucky to have capable hands, there was always a satisfaction, all the creation and control was there. Sam could see Dan liked the control of things most of all. He came to understand how Dan had it, from the smallest weld he made on a piece of equipment, out to the way he worked the land; he was making that piece of the world his own. That was how he owned property. Not with paper, but by the working of it beneath his hands. Sam knew that type of ownership even though he owned none of the land. He had worked enough of it, and often took great satisfaction in what he had done. There had been times when the land had become more than just work and he had become bonded to it, and when he became bonded to the land he became unrestricted by the presence of boundaries, his life, like the land, running off endlessly under the barbed-wire fences. From time to time, he liked to think about that. It had sometimes been the only thing to keep him going. Most of the time though, he was too busy to pay attention to his feelings about it. But the week following his meeting Sue and Ruth he had plenty of time to think about that, and a lot of other things, being completely alone. He was working a field half a county distant from the bulk of Harley Petersens land. Acquired at the death of an uncle, and forty miles away, the property was good land, even if Harley only marginally maintained it. There was nothing exceptional about the work Sam did that week, outside of the extreme solitude. In the morning he would get up before dawn and make himself a breakfast of eggs and toast. Taking his coffee in a thermos, he would drive out to Harleys, arriving before anyone was up. There on the back porch he would find a lunchbox that Sally had set out for him the night before. He would then drive off towards that distant field, located near a place called Cammas-Dian. Harley had told him that Cammas-Dian, now just a relic of a town with a few dead buildings and a few nearby trailers, was named after an Indian who had done, or been something important around there at one time. Each morning, as the sun came casting a pink light over the top of the gray-brown farmland, an indefinite bluish mist in the still and shadowed bottoms of hollows, he went through Cammas-Dian without giving a thought to it, or whoever the old Indian had been. The fields were only a half a mile down the road from it. Harley had rented out the old farmhouse there to a man who worked in St. Pierre. Sam drove past the house each morning but he never saw the people, arriving too early in the morning and leaving too late at night. A few times, when he was on a near hillside at the right time in the afternoon he would see at some distance, a long yellow schoolbus winding along the highroad, making its way out through the rolling farmland. It would stop, and two children would drop out and start up the long road to the house. He was never close enough to even know how old they were. At first that had been a strange feeling, as though he was some sort of ghost that drove across the farmyard to the equipment sheds each day before dawn, and spent the day circling out in the far off hills, never to be known, and leaving each night near dusk. As the newness of

17 the place wore off, so did that feeling, and then all there was to it was the land. They were beautiful hills, some of them enormous, and he loved the way his harrow sculptured smooth the gentle swells of the sides down to the valleys, feathering the differences together until all of it was the same with a rolling, unbroken coverlet of sifted topsoil. With the harrow, he was healing the ground. Twice in that past year the ground had been ripped open and left raw. The first time had been after last years harvest, a disc having cut the stubble back into the ground so it could rot and soften through winter, the disk making deep, straw-choked wounds in the topsoil. Then, in early spring, the field had been cultivated to smooth the texture of the surface soil. But the ground still had been torn, naked beneath the sun. He was now closing it with the harrow, smoothing and protecting its moisture from the coming summer, the small tines of the harrow closing the ground with a thin skin of dirt that would crust with the first rain. If it had been the right year, the fields would have been planted, the seed inserted through that surface to the fertile ground beneath. But there were other fields at Cammas-Dian, the ground he was on had been worked hard for two years and was to be rested a year as fallow. He went carefully to make sure he went well and that the marks were smoothly overlapped. But that was all there was to it, and shortly it became not enough. There was no one to talk to, and the big tractor, although it had a comfortable enough cab, pressurized to keep the dust out, had no radio for company and he was left to his thoughts for the entire day. Never getting back to Gainesville until late at night, he went straight to bed after dinner in his room. He spent day after day, the whole stretch of the week, as an autonome upon the dipping and soaring hillsides. Small thoughts suddenly went on forever. Even the most minor and petty of them swelling bigger than they ever could have normally deserved, rushing off then in sweeping waves out across the far hills, taking him with them. Time, congested within the heaviness of his work, dragged on almost as a solid object, making even the contemplation of the amount of time left in the rest of the day a painful thing, let alone that of the entire week. Occasionally his thoughts bored in upon one hapless memory or idea. But it did not worry him when that happened. He knew it as the natural state of mind out there in the fields, that repetition of ideas, of images. A familiar and mild form of insanity that all farmers knew. And like all other forms of insanity, it acted as a safety valve, a form of protection, given all the possible work his mind could have been doing. Perhaps there was a stagnant quality to that state of mind, a plodding numbness, but there was a stability as well and he accepted the state of mind with the same acceptance he applied to any other facet of farming. There was one state of mind, however, he wished he could have completely avoided, and that was the bombardment he went through each time his mind got around to Susan Palmer. It got to be painful. For hours and hours, her face could hover constantly in front of him. She danced there, and laughed there, and kissed him and sometimes began to make love to him there, and he could not have her. It was just about all he could do at those times to wrench his attention back to the field. For awhile he could hold it like that, and getting there he could even begin to enjoy things again. He would look at the pleasant way the hills folded on themselves, and he would gaze off at distant fields and farms, and even farther to a butte not far south, its rocky, tree-covered flanks looking like an old battleship heaving itself upon the rolling Palouse farmland. But no matter how long that lasted, or whatever else he might be in the middle of thinking, slowly, unconsciously, those dark eyes beneath golden hair would begin rising up into his thoughts, and upwards, and stronger, and then full and aching she would be there and claim him, hers for the taking. And then he would have to thrust it all savagely away again. It was almost evil, how it would come at him, pulling him towards certain disaster. As the days went by, it got so his concentration was constantly in danger. It was on the Thursday morning, in the half-light of dawn, that his concentration went completely away at what could not have been a worse time. He had decided that it was time to change the oil in the tractor. It had been changed once, earlier in the spring, but he knew there had been more than a hundred hours since. So that

18 morning, instead of his usual routine of fueling and greasing, he went into a shed and brought out a big pan and the sixteen-inch crescent wrench. He had already warmed the oil before he crawled beneath the front axle, dragging the drippan and wrench along with him. There, underneath the warmed-up engine, now popping as it began to cool, he sat with his back against the transmission frame, the drip-plug on the engine in front of him at eye level. Pulling the pan beneath the plug, he took up the big wrench, awkward at that level, and adjusted it to the head of the plug. The bolt was really in tight. He found it would not break loose at the first try. He tried again, his mind beginning to wander along other lines thinking things like how, maybe, it really would rain by the weekend. The forecast had said to expect showers by the following week. But the wind had freshened since that time and he felt that it could move things along a little faster. That would make it impossible to take Sues roommate fishing. But then, suddenly, he knew it was a waste of time to speculate. Fate said it was either going to be fishing with Sues roommate, or it was going to be nothing at all. Caught all up in the weather like it was, there was no way of being sure of anything until Sunday, and that would make anything else he could dream up impossible. He shook his head as he gave the bolt another pull. He damned himself for getting himself trapped for the weekend, and he also damned whoever it was who had last set that bolt. Christ, he thought, they must have set it with their boot. He strained again but it did not budge. Getting frustrated, he braced his foot up inside the right wheel well, and putting both hands behind the wrench, gave it everything he had. It was then that he discovered why the bolt had been so tight. It was one of those that had been overtightened too many times, its threads opened up just a fraction. Because of that there was no such thing as degrees of tightness. It was either on or off. To get it to the point it was on, actually did mean a kick with a boot. If he had known that, or else if he had not been so preoccupied with thinking of Sue to have been able to realize the obvious problem, he would have given the wrench a kick, himself. Instead he put every bit of his strength into that gigantic pull on the wrench, the handle only a foot or so away from his face. It was stupid. So the perfectly stupid thing that might happen, did, when the bolt broke loose. With all his might, he practically knocked himself out cold. He barely saw it coming. The heavy steel handle of the wrench smashed into him just below the right eye. Too late, his reaction was to instinctively jerk his head back, so that immediately after the blow from the wrench came a second crashing blow from behind as his head slammed into the unyielding tractor frame. The heavy wrench dropped from his hands down into the drip-pan. For awhile it was very simple. Shooting flashes in his eyes and the pounding waves of the biggest ocean in the world in his ears. Then he got nauseous, and he felt as though he was sitting on the edge of a towering cliff with nothing but air below, and he was dizzy with trying to not fall off. At that he reached up and curled his fingers around some linkage cables, holding himself still. In that cramped area, half-inside the engine space, it was a real possibility that if he started to get faint he might make a hard, uncontrolled jerk with his head, knocking himself out for good. He went through the worst of it just holding on and waiting for the dizziness to pass. He shut his eyes once, thinking that might help, but it did not, only nauseating himself even more. He opened them again and tried to focus on something. He looked at one of his boots. It was just on the other side of the drip-pan as though not really part of himself but just some lifeless thing. A long time passed, it seemed, before he could let his eyes move off his boot and travel up his leg to his shirt to where he could see how his blood had splattered there on his chest. Shit. All he wanted was to get out from under the tractor. But first, because he did not want to crawl back under again, he forced himself to finish the job. Tossing the wrench out of the pan, Sam reached up and undid the bolt, by then easily turned out beneath his fingers. When the hot oil began pouring out, he got himself out of the way and crawled out from under the tractor, his head pinging and pounding while he was on his hands and knees. Then he got to his

19 feet and walked away. He went to the toilet room in the shop, annoyed now that the room had no mirror. He found a roll of paper towels under the sink and, wetting one, wiped at the dirty feeling on the right side of his face. When he took the towel away he saw it was covered with blood and dried blood, the dry blood beginning to dissolve on the wet towel. He threw the towel in the toilet and took another, wetting it and putting it against his face. Mechanically for awhile he did that until he was sure that the blood there was from the bleeding itself. At that point he took a dry towel and pressed it against his cheekbone like a compress. He sighed and took several deep breaths. His head was clearing and only the slightest of headaches was coming on just between the temples. With his free hand he reached up and spread his fingers across his forehead, his thumb at one temple, the tip of his little finger at the other, and he massaged his head with his hand like that until the pointed thing inside delocalized into something more general. He saw he had stopped bleeding and knew why it had stopped so quickly. It was not because the size of it was small, but because of the fast swelling. Even without touching it he could feel the puffiness coming on big under his eye. Going out of the bathroom, he went over and sat down on a chair by the shop door, watching the tractor, over by the shed, dripping the last of its oil out. The rest of that day, he would feel like a different person. Two days later, it would be like having a different face. What happened to you? Ruth would finally managed to say. Like it? He was standing on the porch, which was not as hard a thing to do as he had thought it would be. God. It really does look terrible. What do you do when its like that? Not much. Except maybe wear a bag over your head. The look on his face made Ruth smile. Sorry. You just caught me by surprise is all. Does it hurt? He grinned and shook his head. She let him in, saying she had a few last things to get together. She went off and left him and he sat down in a chair to wait. No, he thought, it did not hurt much. Only when it got looked at. He listened to the sounds of the house. Sue, if she was there, was still asleep. That was one good thing. When Ruth returned to the front room she smiled again at the sight. You get in many fights? She watched for him to smile and then went into the kitchen to get the lunch basket. No. This one I did all by myself. He heard her start to laugh and a moment later she came out, leaning in the doorway with the basket under one arm. Was it very difficult to do? Not when you use a sixteen-inch wrench. He could see her trying to picture it: scenes of what one could do with a sixteen-inch wrench to cause something like that. So, youre not a fighter. Not like this. He felt grateful for the change in direction. She smiled at him cheerfully and he noticed for the first time how fine she looked that morning. She was the first woman he had ever seen who looked right for going fishing, and looked good at the same time. All she wore were some jeans and a sweatshirt, and in her hair a headband going across the top and underneath in the back. He could never tell the difference between what was careful, and what was casual, about the naturalness of women like Ruth, women who seemed to be natural all the time. He liked it, but he did not know how to trust it. She was a type of woman he knew nothing about. He found that, in some ways, he was beginning to feel glad he was going fishing with her instead of Sue. Wed better get out of here, she said, noticing she was being looked over. As they drove towards the lake, Ruth suddenly stretched her arms up over her head, pushing them way back beneath the roof of his car, sighing comfortably. Oh, God! Ive been looking forward to this all week. Me, too, he said.

20

21

Chapter 3

On the way out from town the fields along the road were thick with young wheat, the bright green of it beginning to cover the rich farmland. Turning off from the main road, they had gone down to the lake, passing through a small, cool valley filled with bitter cherry, alder and maple. The trees were full-leafed by then and the air was clean-smelling beneath them. He had been prepared for a big crowd at the lake on opening day. He was surprised to find it practically deserted when they got there. By the bait shop there were some boat trailers, but very few, and most of the rental boats were still tied up along the dock next to the shop. He parked the car next to the dock, and Ruth began to carry their things out onto it while he went into the shop. He bought two of bottles of bright red eggs and two dozen hellgrammites. The young dragonflies, still wingless and mud-colored, seemed healthy crawling around in the bottoms of the refrigerated plastic containers. As far as he could tell, the woman who ran the shop never looked at his face once. He went out the back of the shop and down to where Ruth was waiting on the dock. Their gear was piled at her feet. She pointed at the nearest boat. I like this one. Youre rowing, right? It was the driest and cleanest. He stuck out an oar and snagged a gunwale, pulling the boat alongside the dock. They stowed the lunch and most of the gear up underneath the covered bow and climbed in, Ruth settling herself on the stern seat. When they were ready, he pulled on one oar, shifting the bow out towards the lake. He glanced at her. She was looking over the side into the smooth, green water. Okay? He asked and she nodded. He set the oars with a full bite and began pulling out onto the lake. He rowed slowly along the wooded shore for awhile. At the far end of the lake a high rock bank reared above marshy shallows. Where the bank dipped down were woods, and that was where the exit stream ran out. Of the few boats on the lake, most were there around the lily pads. He did not think it really mattered where they went on such a small lake. In the middle of the lake was another shallow place where lily pads and reeds grew thick. He rowed to it and found a place where the water lilies made a half-circle like a small bay. There they were close enough to entice the fish out but also far enough away not to get caught up in everything. She was ready for him when he shipped the oars, and when he began to prepare the bow anchor, a plastic bleach jug filled with concrete, she was doing the same wither hers at the stern. He lifted the jug over the side and began to let it down into the water. He was surprised by how far down it had to go. There, only twenty feet from the water lilies, the water was more than thirty feet deep. It would have had to be practically straight up and down. He looked back at her. She was tying her anchor line at the stern and he could see by the length she was using that she had gone that deep as well. They would try it at different depths. One of them would hang just off the bottom and the other would go down half-way to see what would come out from the lilies. He picked up one of the rods and began jointing it together. The line on his reel was still clear and bluish on the spool and he knew it was strong and supple and he began threading it out through the guides. He saw her do the same thing and saw she did not throw the

22 bale open but simply loosened the tension a little and pulled the line out as she needed it. He reached for a hook. Before he could begin tying it on though, she stopped him. Show me how, she said, holding out her hook. She smiled. Thats as far as anyones ever gotten me. He leaned towards her and tried to show her how it went with his own hook, but there was something about the upside-downness of it that made it difficult and she told him to hold up. She then moved herself next to him for a better view. Okay. Here it goes. He showed her the simplest good knot he knew. As he trimmed the leftover leader down clean, he said, if this were heavier line, or the fish were bigger, or if the lure were more expensive, you might want to take the end and run it back under the big loop before you snugged it down. Easy enough. She began doing it herself while he looked on. She went all the way through it exactly as he had shown and all he did was give it a last pull for tightness. Thanks, she said, and she watched as he pulled out the bait. The hellgrammites were the best, he knew, but he wanted to see how the eggs went first. She loaded her hook while he was crimping a couple of split shot on her leader about five feet away from her hook. After it was all ready he watched as she lowered it over the side and let it go out until the line went slack when the shot touched bottom. She pulled in about six feet of line by hand and then rewound it on her spool, counting the turns of the handle as she went. He put his shot on and lowered out a dozen feet or so on the opposite side of the boat. They sat there in silence for awhile until she decided to make herself more comfortable by moving one leg over the seat so she was straddling it, and then leaning back against him like he was a tree. Feel better? Much. He felt almost flattered how she had become so comfortable with him so quickly. As time passed, the rhythm of her breathing and small movements of adjustment, brought him to relax against her as well. So relaxed, in fact, that he barely noticed the first words she spoke into the calm silence of the lake, or how they were shockingly correspondent to his own thoughts. I hope youre not too disappointed that its me instead of Sue you have out here. Was it that obvious? So I was right. I wont deny it. Well, if itll make you feel any better, no, you werent too obvious. Ill bet. At least, on the scale of the way they usually react when Sues around, you were pretty reserved. Pretty moronic, you mean. You dont need to apologize. I havent been jealous of Sue for years now. I mean, there are enough other things to deal with. He liked her. There was no trace of irony in her voice as she spoke. Youre very good friends, then. Weve known each other so long, I suppose so. But not close friends? Oh, yes. We trust each other, and confide in each other, if thats what you mean. Weve known each other forever. I knew her even before we moved to Gainesville. You didnt always live here? I grew up on a farm. Although we finally moved to town, so I suppose that makes me a townie as well. Your parents gave up farming? Sam felt her shrug.

23 My mother died when I was three. Dad was almost fifty and she was forty-five. They wanted another child, even though they knew that it had been dangerous having me. As a matter of fact, even before me there had been two miscarriages. So you see how lucky it is Im even here at all. And then you and your father moved to town. No. If it had been the other way around, Dad whod died, and only my mother and myself, I suppose we would have come straight in. But he kept on farming right to the end. He died when I was fourteen, and I came to live here in town with an aunt. An impossible coincidence, he thought. In some ways it was almost the same story. But in others, though, and especially how it turned out, it could not have been more different. In her case, anyway, it fit her pretty well. The only child of a farmer in his fifties, she carried that calm of having been raised in circumstances both simple and serious. A sober little farm girl who arrived in town for school in the morning, and returned for her evening chores, unquestioning and dutiful. And Sue was your earliest friend. We had other friends, of course. You cant help but know everyone. In a way, around here, its just one large family. I cant even imagine it. Youre not from a small town, then. No, you wouldnt be, would you. Small town folk, when they move, dont go to other small towns but into the city. No one would move to a small town unless they had to. Forced to take a job. A teacher or something. Youre right. Sam said. It was not really fair that he had so little to offer back about himself. But then, where she did not mind talking about it, he could not feel the same way. All that had followed had been so different. And he would have had to explain that, and then some other things, before he could start on why he had moved around. Bad luck for him, maybe, but all that had always seemed way too much to explain all at one time. It must be nice to move around. Sue always says she wishes she had. Are you and Sue very different? Or very close? Both. Ruth said with a sigh. She was always so much into the town for me. Even though life hasnt been easy for her here. You might think that things would be pretty easy. But the boys were rough. And when that was over, then shes had to deal with the fact that the cream of the crop around here, you know, doesnt stay around here. Then, nothing really happened at college. She got hooked up with the wrong guy there and just before she got out they broke up. And back she came, with basically nothing. Couldnt she have gone somewhere else? Shes not too adventurous, in the end. I thought she might. Ive never completely figured out why she didnt. Except that maybe there was the idea that she had always had some sort of success here. Or something. I mean, here at least, she knew she could find security, or a social life she understood. And just couldnt see how to build one of her own. But dont get me wrong. Shes not unhappy. It was hard for Sam not to speculate about how, by taking advantage of a standard of beauty upon which so much money could be made, she could have easily gone on to other places, and yet how she had resisted being swept away into that world. Perhaps then, in fact, a fairly simple set of desires. The town, for her, seemed exactly the place where she would eventually find them. It was also hard not to feel even more attracted to her. You werent making her seem that way, he said. I can see youre a good friend to her. Shes a good friend to me, too. Thats lucky, then, for both of you. I could feel jealous of that. I ... Ruth sounded surprised. You have friends... Not like that. Sam stared out at the tip of his pole, a still black dot against the blue of the lake, the line dropping straight into the smooth water. So, how is it youve stayed here? I guess youve decided Im too big for my britches. I didnt mean that.

24 Of course not. The way you talk means youre not as wrapped up in the town as Sue is. Maybe, maybe not. I think theres no maybe to it. Oh, dont you? Sam began to get curious about Ruth, why she had not married yet, or what that part of her own life had been like, and as usual, right when it seemed that everything was going the other way, a fish was on. The tip of Ruths pole jerked once lightly, then stayed there for a moment like that, depressed slightly, and then Ruth gave the pole a soft twitch upwards and set the hook. Sam had felt it, from the first moment, through his back. God, that was fast, she said as the tip of her pole went over in a deep bend, the line cutting the surface of the water away from the boat in a wide arc. Ruth loosened her tension to where the spool began to click off slowly at the heavier tugs of the fish, the pole losing a little of its curve and becoming more lively. It really was a light pole, Sam thought, and while it looked by the bend as though she had something big on, it did not take much of a fish to make it go over like that. It was not long before the tip began rising and Ruth began to reel in. The line, tight, made quick circles in the water. The fish fought well the whole way and at a depth of about ten feet Ruth suddenly caught its glimmer below. There he is! She stopped reeling for a moment to try to see it again. She reeled a little more and then she did see it as it swam down below. That seemed enough for her and she brought the fish up to the surface and alongside and in one motion hoisted the fish over the side, dropping it, flopping, into the bottom of the boat. Maybe fourteen inches, it was a nice Brown trout, its spots bright greens and reds and blacks under an iridescent sheen, its belly ivory white. Ruth got the hook out and handed the trout around to Sam. If you dont mind ... So Im going to be the hit-man. Its the only part I dont care all that much for. Sam held the fish in his hand belly up and rapped its head hard against the aluminum gunwale, its body going stiff and then relaxing quiet. Ruth let out an ugh and Sam put the fish into a open plastic box with ice at the bottom. Then he reached over the side of the boat to rinse off the blood and scales. Its pretty crude, he agreed. He dried his hand on his pants leg, and then handed Ruth the egg jar. Hes a nice one. He looked over at the sleek shape laying on the ice. Nice and fat. Hes beautiful. Sam nodded. They really were the one thing that fit in where they lived perfectly, even better than birds. Ruth pitched her baited hook over the side, and it was not long afterwards that she brought up another, a little smaller but fatter, and the whole scene repeated itself. Sam just lowered his bait to the bottom after that. But nothing happened there for him. He only got nibbled at from time to time and spent most of the morning replacing his bait. Ruth caught a third just before lunchtime. All in all, the most Sam really did topside was to open beers, kill fish, spend a lot of time gazing across the lake, and enjoy the feel of Ruth against his back. It was only once in awhile that he remembered about how his face looked. At lunchtime, just for the sake of quiet, they brought in their lines, Sam asking whether it was really necessary for him. Ruth unpacked roast beef sandwiches made with mayonnaise and sweet pickles, and barbecue potato chips to go with the beer. If they talked about nothing in particular, it did not really seem to matter to either of them. It did not matter at all to Sam. He sensed how a lot of the things he had been carrying around since Montana and Wyoming, and even before, just slid away.

25 The lake was so smooth. The glassy surface like oil with only a slight heaving motion, reflecting there the clear blue sky and the brilliant sun above them. By then most of the other boats on the lake had long since left. Sam looked across the water at the nearest shoreline, high, dark banks and old, overhanging trees casting a deep shade. Lily pads floated out across the shallow waters underneath, and in a few places the underbrush beneath the trees had leaned out over the lake, hiding the shore, the dark waters floating the forest there. A movement in the shadows of some of those branches caught Sams eye and he discovered a heron moving slowly through the reeds and lilies. Dusky blue with black wing plumes and a dark head, it moved with slow, precise steps, sometimes hesitating, one foot poised above the water, its long bill, shining dark above and shell-white below, just above the surface. A few times it probed deep into the water, but it was only testing and each time the bill came out empty. For a long time it fished like that, peacefully and uneventfully, and Sam became used to the quiet spectacle of the birds seemingly futile occupation. But then the heron froze, as though suddenly become a lifeless museum specimen. Sam waited for the plunging slash, and expectantly, time stretched out, and just at that moment when Sam was tensed for something else, the bird took another careful step. It was incredible, that concentration, so focused the bird was not even aware of its own movements, its neck a still tension, the tip of its bill just below the surface. Then Sam was not aware of any movement at all. Again. Three heartbeats went by and then the head of the heron disappeared. When it came out, a silver flashing was caught crosswise between its bills. The heron tilted its head back and the flashing was gone. Then, its head feathers slightly raised, its neck folding again into an S-shape, it looked out across the lake. A re-examination of surroundings. Then shaking its head feathers down and resettling its wings, it began fishing again. Sam turned and found that Ruth had been watching, too. She looked back at him and smiled and he reached for a beer and handed it to her, and then grabbed one for himself. She took the beer, still watching the heron, but then handed it back. Dont want any more? He asked. Ruth smiled. Sure, I would. Youre pacing yourself. No. As a matter of fact, I wouldnt mind having another. Right away. Sam frowned. Ruth laughed. I think youre forgetting. I dont have quite the capacity you do. Sam nodded. Maybe she was right, too. He always had gone through beer the way someone else might go through water. I guess it does look like a lot ... Thats not the capacity I was talking about. I dont give a damn if you drink yourself green and fall overboard. Im talking about my bladder. He pulled to the shore as quickly as he could, and then while Ruth picked her way up into the bushes, he took advantage of the opportunity himself. It was no wonder that most women did not care much for the lethal combination of beer drinking and fishing out in small boats. But he knew there were other reasons women normally did not like fishing. The main thing was the solitude. And yet, she had said she liked fishing, and there she was with him. Of course, he thought, he could be reading that wrong, too. It would not have been the first time. Who knew what anything meant, now. He had not asked her how she liked fishing, whether she liked it alone, or only with others. He had lost all possibility of a first impression, by concentrating at the time on Sue. He could not even take a good guess, now. He looked back towards the bank, a sudden expectancy coming over him as he waited for the movement of her return, as though he might now see something that he had missed. The afternoon was hot and quiet and once in awhile they would catch a jarring, but rapid, trout. By the time the sun began to fall into a cooling evening, they had caught their limit. She had been the steadier with their luck and had managed to bring in the most of their catch. And, when they finally pulled anchor, she wanted to row back. She rowed easily and he watched the dark water swirling smooth around and then away from him there at the stern. Deep green into

26 the depths, the water was fairly clear with faint organic lights and he tried to see as far into it as he possibly could. It was another world below, and they were sliding over the top of it. Below them, the diminishing perspectives of filtered light shifted down in waves through that translucent medium, a liquid gemstone glimmer. He looked down into it like that until, finally, it got to where he was seeing how he was doing it, and then, as was inevitable, the image and the feeling slowly dissolved. When it did he looked up at her. I could get used to this. He stretched and then leaned back with his elbows on the stern counter. She smiled brilliantly at him, her face glowing gold with the lowering sun. You know, she said, you dont look so bad with the sun behind you. You dont look so bad, period. Her expression froze, and he, surprised by how such a thing had just slipped out, tried to keep from looking away from her face. Really? I only feel it sometimes. He could see she was happy, and suddenly, so was he. Tell me, then. How do you feel now? Ruth kept rowing, but now she was looking out across the lake. He looked the same direction. Out at the far end of the lake the sun had gotten to just above the line of trees and they watched how it went in and then how the green shadows of the trees went black. I feel pretty good, thank you, she said at last. That night, the cool air flowed through his window as he drove back to the hotel. It had a cold, almost wet feeling, on his forearm where he had a little sunburn. He remembered how the lake had looked so flat and calm. And the heron along the shoreline, how blue and graceful and unconscious it had been, and more so when it was hunting there than later when it had suddenly spread long wings and lifted itself off over the trees. Then he thought about the best of it. He thought about some of the other times when he had thought he was having the best of it. But for a short while he managed to forget about what always had become of the best of it.

27

Chapter 4

Summer work began the morning Sam and Dan stepped off the porch after breakfast, each carrying a gallon of drinking water, and went into a shed by the barn to get a couple of hay chaps. Heavy, gray leather, with a belt at the waist, they were strapped onto the legs with loose bands behind the thighs and just below the knees. The day before, Sam had bought for himself a pair of bucking gloves, light and tight fitting. He stuck them down inside the belt of his chaps. They got into an old flatbed truck, the sides taken off, and drove off to the fields. With no load on the back the heavy rear springs of the truck were stiff, and they bounced along the dirt roads out into the hills. As Dan drove, Sam watched the ripening wheat fields going by. Neither talked much. It was the start of a hard thing, and they were preparing themselves for it. All the days were going to hurt in some way, but it was the first that would seemed the worst for their winter-bound muscles. The first field was a long patch that meandered between rock ledges, the remnant of a channel carved by an immense prehistoric flood. Only forty yards wide, it turned and twisted for a half a mile. The alfalfa grew well down there and Sam estimated as they dropped into it that at least a thousand bales lay there. It was a good days haul, even if the nearest barn was not too far away. He did the driving and bucking, and most of the time it was easy, only having to swing the bales as high as the bed of the truck. Even so, he followed it with his knee, taking some of the strain off his shoulders and back, and bucking it onto the bed with a snap that sent it sliding over to where Dan was stacking. Weaving five to a layer, Dan stacked five layers and then start another behind it. It was less running around than what Sam was doing, but the work got even by the high stacking he had to do when he got above three layers. For the top layers he had to buck the bales up shoulder and then head high, bucking the bales up with his knee until they were balanced onto his fists for the last shove. He had to do it in one smooth motion, keeping the momentum of the bale as it came off his knee going in the same direction, otherwise the full weight would come back on his arms. One or two could go wrong like that, but a whole day of it would have been too much. Dan was good at it, Sam, when he tried, hit and miss. Luckily, he only had to do it when the truck was almost loaded, tossing the last ones up to where Dan was standing up on top of the bales. Dan said there were guys who could lay bales right into place at seven high, actually more like ten high because of the height of the bed of the truck. There were guys who could toss even higher, like his brother, Carl, who had the technique of going with the bale sideways, grabbing both strings in one hand, putting the other beneath one end, and bucking it up end first with a finish sort of like a basketball hook-shot. Sam tried one, and got it to wobble up five high. Not bad, Dan grinned. Shit, Sam said, his shoulder aching. Just takes rhythm. Once you get it, its with you from then on. Sam slung up another bale. Every other place he had ever hauled hay had used mechanized buckers. Maybe itd help to do a little weight-lifting, too. Hell, no. You know Max Carter?

28 It was hard not to know Carter. He worked over by St. Pierre and was about the biggest person Sam had ever seen. Christ, Dan went on. he could probably lift this truck. But he cant buck them up worth shit. Hes all arm. Just sort of throws them up. But he cant toss as high as Carl can. At least, not without blowing half of them apart. Sam knew how true that was. Already that morning, twice, tossing by just the strings alone, the knots taking too much of the strain too fast, he had been left standing in the middle of a pile of hay. And Carl can go all day, Dan finished. Carter would be dead by noon. Sam could understand that. Only one load and he was beginning to feel it in his legs and shoulders and in his stomach muscles. Only by rhythm would he be able to get through that first day. Or the rest, for that matter. But getting the rhythm was not easy. When they finished loading, Dan climbed down and they headed back to the barn at Harleys, taking that time to renew their strength for the stacking they would have to do there. Days went by like that and then weeks on end, with the same monotonous regularity that all the weeks of driving tractor in the spring had provided, except with the saving graces of company to work with, and the continual, hard physical element of the work. They filled Harleys barn with most of the first cutting, throwing the rest into another, distant barn. By the time they had finished, they had to turn around and start into the same fields again. Fred had already started swathing the second cutting. The bales seemed to never finish. With each passing day, the air got hotter as they drove farther and farther into depths of summer. The work, with the increased heat, seemed continually heavier, and nights became dreamless blackouts of exhaustion. But as time passed the muscles grew strong to the work and a good day began to see more than a thousand bales layered into a barn somewhere. Working without their shirts, they soon darkened to a color as brown as Palouse dirt. If it was hard, monotonous work, it could also be peaceful there in fields cropped close to the ground like huge lawns. Because of how Harleys hay fields followed down in the gullies of the ice age scours, those places too intricate or small to be useful for wheat farming, there was an estate-like feeling around them. Finished with one series of fields they could look back and see an elegant park, like some landscape artists dream of terraced gardens and towering rock ledges. Sam would occasionally point that out to Dan, even though Dan made little sign that he cared, one way or the other. It was into the third week that they began on the best one of all, working a field next to a cliff-walled lake. The field went right to the edge of the cliffs in some places. At noon, the long, narrow lake fifty feet below, reflecting the blue sky from its smooth surface, made for a pleasant place to scramble down to. They could sit with their feet in cool water, eating in the deep shade of the willows and birches growing along the scanty banks. One day nearing lunchtime, so hot the field shimmered beneath them as they worked over it, they found themselves alongside a place where the cliff had no bank below it. There, the rock wall dropped forty feet to the water and continued straight down into the dark green depths. They were just at the edge of the cliff, Sam looking over the edge and Dan standing on top of the piled hay. Hows it look? Cold. I hope so. Before Dan could climb down, Sam had his boots and socks off and was standing at the edge. There, so far below him, with nothing but air between, the surface hypnotically pulled at him. He heard Dan yelling something as he stepped off. A whistling trip down, then instantly cut and shockingly cold, with bubbles white in his face. Then he was just up and breathing again. He shook the water from his eyes and looked up at the cliff above watching for where Dan would come flying off. This is a nice place, Sam said while they ate lunch.

29 Edwards Lake. Its over two miles long, just like that. Except that it widens out up at the other end. Dan pointed up the lake with his sandwich. Sam looked but all he could see were the high cliff walls and a narrow slit of water twisting out of site, another glacial scar, this time deeper and filled with water. At the far end theres a resort, Dan went on. With a motel and a sand beach. Sam looked at the dark, flinty looking cliffs. Sand? They brought it in on trucks. Is it any good? Not so bad. Pretty popular, actually. Any fishing? No, Dan shook his head, but then shrugged. Well, maybe. But no one does it. They waterski here ... Sam looked down at the narrow lake. There was not enough room for both. Any of you ski? Carls got a boat. Lets go, and take Ruth and Sue. I dont ski very well ... Sam shrugged. Waitll you see me. Dan smiled and got out his last sandwich. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, and then he took a big bite out of it and turned back to Sam. Youve been seeing Ruth a lot, havent you. I suppose. Dan nodded. How about that. See what I started for you? What you started? I am responsible. You might have ended up with Sue. There was a note in Dans voice Sam did not understand. Whats wrong with Sue? Whats wrong with Ruth? Nothings wrong with Ruth, Sam shrugged. But whats wrong with Sue? Nothing either ... Dan paused as if he was going to say something else. But what? Dan nodded. But ... past her body, there isnt all that much so great about her either. Thats not what I remember. I mean, youre the one who told me youd been trying to get things going there for yourself. I was just giving you shit when I said that. Sam looked out at the lake. You dont think much of Sue? Oh, Dan grinned. I think about her ... He fell silent for a moment, then looked at Sam. What about you? Sam could see what Dan was asking, and did not really mind, although he had never felt it was much of a way to talk about things even when they did not matter. All right, he said. Just going along. Dan actually smirked. Youre finished. You know it. Know what? You look happy as a pig in shit. Sam shook his head, but Dan did not let him say anything. Listen, he went on. One month from now, youre going to be the most pussy-whipped bastard in the county. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head for emphasis and looked very serious. Pussy-whipped! Dan said. What a word! Maybe. But Id rather be that, than jealous. The smile froze on Dans face. Hey, wait a minute. Im just joking, shithead. Sam started putting his boots back on. I know. He looked over at Dan for a moment and came close to saying something. He would, in fact, have liked to talk about it some. But for some reason right then, maybe the way Dan had been asking about Ruth, or talking about Sue,

30 he did not seem the sort of person who would understand. Sam did not know if that was true, but he felt he could take no chance on it and that things would either get talked about correctly, right from the start, or they were not going to get talked about at all.

31

Chapter 5

One dewy June morning, a feathery blue and purple mist clung low between the gray hills. Far off, the sky was going to blood red in the east with the approaching sunrise. As Sam ran the swather along he saw, each time the road climbed in elevation enough to break out of the ground fog, that strangely scarlet sky. He was not superstitious about it though, he did not believe in the old warning for sailors, and especially not in a country where the winds generally moved from west to east so that a red sky morning meant the storm was already blown out of the day. When he looked around the expanse of sky in all the other directions, he saw nothing else out there, and when the sun finally did rise, it was as though to completely take over that end of the world, and for Sam, then, all the rest of his world could seem to be the swather. The hay cutting machines engine, almost unmuffled, blasted away in his ears as he drove down the road. Sam had never driven a swather quite like the one he was sitting on. Built like a tricycle in reverse, the traction wheels were fixed up front on either side of the cabless driving platform, leaving the swiveling crazy-wheel to trail in the back. Two hand clutches accomplished the steering, and in the straights he did not need to touch anything. In the corners he could take it all around in three or four big corrections or in a series of small ones, gently dogging the inside lever as he went. But even with the roar of the swather it was a pleasant drive, everything had such a simple feeling to it, and he looked forward to the easy job. All he was going to do was cut down the last standing hay into swaths to dry in the sun, and it was not even a very big field and he would be done long before noon, which was important. That afternoon he would be going with Dan to Union City to collect a new combine coming in on the train. No word had yet been said whether he would be hired for harvest, but he was now assuming it, even though harvest hiring was often practically an institution in itself, the same people being hired year after year. Some combine and harvest drivers, having started while still in school, would come back each summer, even if their lives had taken them far afield. For some, harvest was practically a ritual, a return each year to something that, while perhaps they had no exact words to describe why it was they were there, they felt was deeply important. Sam now thought he would be hired with the harvest crew and, most probably, be given a combine. Combine drivers were the highest paid of all those working the harvest, and while just to work harvest was the most important thing, he felt confident enough about it that he could let himself enjoy the thought of the extra money. The fact that Dan had told Harley he wanted Sam to come along and help unload the combine, set it up for the long trip back to the farm and then drive it back, obviously meant he was expected to familiarize himself with the new machine. It was for that reason Sam had volunteered to run down and swath this last pasture, a job that was quick and easy, but which was also something that no one else really wanted to do, thoughts, and work, now turning towards harvest. The field, long and slightly inclined from one end to the other, was bisected along its entire length by an irrigation channel. A number of culverts crossed the channel so machines could get from one side to the other without having to run down the whole distance. Thick growth covered the full ten acres, but along the channel the heavy grass was tall and lush. Jockeying the machine off the highway onto the path going into the grass, he stopped at the entrance to the field, pulling out both hand clutches and locking down the brakes. The gate to

32 the field was a wired fence section to be unhitched and pulled out of the way. As he climbed back on the swather, he looked at the cutting header once more. Built like a simplified combine header, a line of slicing teeth ran along the bottom edge of the cutting platform, there a beater reel would sweep the cut hay back onto the big augers that forced it all to the center and into the maw of the machine. Unlike some swathers that just dumped the hay out behind though, this machine had a sort of conditioning process as well. Two heavy rubber rollers pressed the hay going through into a tighter mass, and then flung it through a chute, where it ended up lying neatly in a line on the ground behind the swather. Later, when the grass was dry, Fred would drive a bailer down the line, making yet more bails for Dan and Sam to haul. If there was one thing farmers could never get enough of, it was hay bails. He looked over all the attachments and gears, pulling and pushing to see if everything was solid. Satisfied, he climbed back up and threw the lever that made all the header workings go; and then running the engine up to power, he started into the field. He made the first swath all the way around the edge of the field, the grass cutting easily into the header and going out behind in an orderly row. On the next swath around, he saw he could only make a few more circles before he ran out of culvert at both ends and would be forced to run down along the irrigation channel, doing out half a field at a time. He continued the big circles, and the sun came up higher and warm the air fast, the light became more yellow as the morning fog went away. At the horizon the crimson horizon became nothing but a fluffy bank of harmless clouds trailing north and south and swiftly disappearing towards Idaho. Each time he passed near the culvert area, the grass slowed him down. Seven feet tall in some places, it made for a good-sized swather bite and he listened to how the engines note deepened as he went into it, and how the machine seemed to work smoother as the grass filled its workings tight. It was a good, full feeling and when he swung the machine away from the last big circle into the first cut down the center, it was with an expectant pull on the inside wheel clutch lever. The swather had tasted grass like that before, and had gone through it easily, but he slowed his ground speed a little anyway to keep the engine from working too hard. Glancing back from time to time, he saw with satisfaction the fat, dark green windrow laying behind and for something to do, would try to calculate how many bales were going to be made there. Halfway down the field though, the engines noise suddenly deepened. He watched the grass going in and it was continuing all right and he looked behind and saw a good line there as well, so he kept going, thinking that it was only an especially thick place he was going through. But then the engine went deeper, and then a noise began under his seat, and he backed up a little out of the grass. Stopped from cutting, the engine resumed its normal roar. He rolled the header workings on and off and that, too, went all right. Thinking maybe something had just plugged up a little, like combines did sometimes, he got down and looked in the header. But he could see no clumps of grass there. He got back on and set the header in motion again, running it at full speed to clear out anything that might have been there. Thinking that had taken care of things, he pushed the wheel clutches in. He discovered then where the noise was coming from. He shut down the workings again and got out and crawled beneath the platform from the rear and saw, as he looked past the hay chute underneath, the mess up in the conditioning rollers. The grass had wrapped itself on both rollers from one end to the other, finally putting too much strain on everything. Oh, fuck, he said softly, crawling in past the hay chutes and putting his hand on the hot grass. He tried to pull some of it out but the thick green stems were too strong and too tightly bound to move. He needed a knife to cut them loose. Why did he never carry one? He tried pulling again. Fucking hell. If only he had something like a sharp rock or nail to break the stubborn fibers with. He crawled out from under the swather and went to look in the tool box. Even a screwdriver would work. Or a claw hammer. But the toolbox held nothing but plastic grease cartridge caps and odd

33 nuts and bolts. He sat back in the seat and looked away down the field, more just to look away than to be looking for anything. High on a far rock bank stood an old hay barn. It was a fair way off but he could not get there with the swather. The conditioning rollers went in gear when the wheels were running. He could not have gone twenty yards without ruining the bearings or setting fire to the grass, and maybe even the rollers. He knew he had to do something, though. Start somewhere. Maybe there he could find a nail. He shut the swather down, the sudden silence of the field ringing in his ears. Not really much more than a long high shed half full of old hay, the barn was dark and musty inside like an old church, sunlight floating in thin streams through the dust-laden air. He made his way in over the uneven floor of broken bales and old haying equipment. The hay was just rotting in there, evidently no one had much use for the place anymore. He looked along the walls and beams for nails or pieces of metal but there were none. He could not find any nails in any of the posts or crossbeams either. It was a haying barn, or had been one, and nails for hanging items up were at best a nuisance. He went outside the barn and looked along there, but could not find anything he could pull off except one very rusty shingle nail that did not look as if it would take much work to destroy. He looked out across the field to the swather. At that distance it looked as if it was sinking into a green ocean of grass. He was not going to walk all that way with one rusty, lousy nail in his fist. The sun continued to climb, the morning half over, and he began to feel frustrated, continuing to look and trying not to think how he wanted to be able to say the field was done, before going off with Dan that afternoon. Going along the barn, he spotted another loose nail behind a board and pulled on it, but it bent and then snapped weakly in two beneath his fingers. Another piece-of-shit nail. He flung the broken end into the rocks alongside the barn. He went around the barn twice and then went back into the barn again and kicked hay away from the sides. But there was always nothing, and all the time it built on him until he felt like breaking something. He kicked some more hay around but it was more just for the feel of it than anything else. Walking back out into the sunlight, he took a deep breath. Oh, come on, he thought. Just one nail. Give me anything, I dont care. He smiled suddenly. Give me a nail and Ill believe. Really. At those thoughts, he could see it was all over. He was in for a long walk back to the farm. If there was anything to pray for now, it was for someone to come along that seldom used back country road, going in the right direction. He gazed around slowly, letting the pressure go out of himself. A pile of rusted equipment lay over by some rocks across the way, and he walked over towards the place. Behind the equipment there was a pile of old barn boards. Actually, it was not a pile, but just another small barn that had completely fallen down like a tired old cow gone down on its knees one last time to die. In one board there was a fat, six-inch nail resting loose in the shrunken wood. In fact, there were a lot of other nails there, too, and he pulled out four, just because, and put them in his pocket. As he went down off the rocks into the field towards the swather, he sort of smiled, but not too much. Even without a cloud in the sky, red or otherwise, he felt eerily as though he might get struck by lightning. The grass tore apart quickly under the nail and he had it cut down to the rubber in no time at all. Then he began to yank out strands. Probably, he could have just gone up and spun the rollers and everything would have just spit out, but he reasoned that it was better to get out as much as possible. To get the grass out then, he would grab a tough fiber and pull with as much strength as he could find and it would slowly drag through. It was tight work in there between the sheet-steel hay chutes, and it was uncomfortable. Years of flowing hay had put a fine edge on the guides and he had to take care that he did not tear his shirt or jeans on them. Because it was so uncomfortable, the pulling went hard, but he made continuous progress and after awhile he even felt his humor coming back. He reached up

34 and pulled at strand after strand, and shortly he felt things giving a little easier and knew then the rest would soon practically fall out on its own. Not so bad after all. He reached for another strand and braced himself again, pulling with a hard tug at first as was still necessary. The grass came slowly, and then stopped for some reason. He set himself and gave a huge pull. The grass held still for a moment, and then it just let go, and for the second time since he had started working for Harley, his mind having been elsewhere, something bad happened. Violently his arm flew back against the edge of one of the chutes in a sliding motion. In that split second Sam knew he had cut himself badly, not feeling it until he looked at it. Across the top of his wrist the skin was wide open, and also opened was the thin cutaneous layer over the muscles below, shining there dark and bluish purple. Only two thoughts went through Sams mind before the bleeding started. One, was that he could see he was really going to bleed that time, and the other was how amazing it was that he had not sliced his whole goddamn hand off. It went bloody fast, and there was a lot of it just as he had expected, but he was still surprised by how much was pouring out. He quickly pulled off his dusty shirt and then his clean undershirt, and he wrapped that around his wrist. While it had not taken long to do, he could not help noticing how much blood had dropped onto the grass around him and how much had splattered onto his jeans. He felt a little dizzy. He tucked the undershirt tight and pulled his shirt back over his other arm, just sticking the shoulder of his injured arm inside, and then crawled out from underneath the swather. Using one hand, it was not easy to back out, and he cursed viciously at the nails in his pants pocket, jabbing sharp at him each time he bent back on his leg. Well, he thought suddenly when he got out from underneath, so much for swathing. At that moment a little wave of heat went through him and he giggled. Then he got up on the swather and started it up. At the first touch of the clutches all the grass plugging the conditioners blew out behind him. He drove out of the field and headed back to Harleys. It was lunchtime anyway, he thought. He looked down at his undershirt on his arm and saw the stain spreading slowly. He could feel his wrist throbbing and he knew he was still bleeding badly. Fuck, he thought, he may as well have set the inside of his wrists against the razor-edged chute and ripped them out. It would have had nearly the same effect. He had never been on a road for such a long time. He was driving and driving and he was not seeming to get anywhere at all. He could feel the swather vibrating, and he knew he was jerkily steering it along, even trying to keep it basically to one side of the road. He was aware of a pain in his arm and that his undershirt there was red and that there were brown stains on his legs. But it was the sun that was more of something than anything else. It beat on him and it kicked into him as he drove. What made it worse was that he could not hear things very well for some reason. The motor was loud, but he could not register anything in his ears except a great, thumping vacuum that sometimes buzzed, too, in an endless nightmare. For awhile everything seemed familiar to him, and then there was something suddenly wrong with his eyes, too. Sometimes, when he passed something he knew well, a road or a house maybe, he felt oddly that he no longer had any connection there and he went on by as though it did not matter, and as though he did not care. But it scared him not to care. What would happen if he went past Harleys without noticing or caring, and drove on and did not even know it, and then he might think that the road past Harleys was the road still going to Harleys? When it suddenly did not look right anymore, then, he might get really lost. Oh, baby, he said. He said it to fill his ears with something of his own for just a moment, and he said it to make the other thoughts go away. Concentrating, he looked at his arm. It was all right, he told himself. The undershirt was a mess but he was fairly certain he had finally clotted up. He looked at his jeans, and at what looked like, but was not, dried mud on his dusty boots. He had bled like a stuck pig for sure. His blood. He cared about that, but right then he was caring about it in a way that was not helping, so he tried to consider a few other things.

35 He thought of Ruth. Which did not seem at all out of place. But even as that was, the thought had a strange quality to it. She seemed so far away from where he was, there, on that road, and yet, he found that when he thought of her, all he could imagine was that she was observing him as he was right there at that moment, and he was ashamed, and he could not take her being there anymore. It was very hard to make her go away though, once she was there. He felt like he was in a fishbowl of something like noise, and something like heat, and it was hard to hide in a fishbowl. But if it all seemed like a fishbowl then, and everyone, and not just Ruth, could see him there like that, then it was also a real enough thing because he could still feel it as well as think about it. And if everything was real, then none of it was surprising anymore, and not even when he thought he saw Ruth standing along the road waving for him to stop. Shit, he thought, had he lost as much as that? Maybe not, he shook his head a little, but he really did feel dizzy. And his eyes really were not right. Colors were not right. Everything was hazy and gray. Or maybe not really gray. He tried to be critical about it. The gray, he reasoned, might have been caused by the haze. It was as if he was looking through a screen of gray squares where every other square was colored in or hazy and he had to try to look through the open squares. Somewhere then, along about there, he knew his worst moment. In his eyes and out in the air he watched as the open squares began to get smaller and the gray fuzz bigger. The roar of the other something also began to get louder and louder in his ears and it got to be almost as bad as the sun that was sitting on his back, squashing his breath from his chest. Then the road that never stopped, simply disappeared. He knew if he fainted dead away he would go right off the high road into a big fenced ditch with posts and bushes and rocks and barbed wire and God knew what else and when he did he was going to be fucked for good. He fumbled in the darkness to get the clutches in, reaching out with his injured arm as well so he could pull both levers at the same time. He missed completely, and thrashed his feet towards the brakes, but he knew it was all over and his guts hardened for the disaster. He now lived through a different sort of moment, but it was no longer strange. Not even when he saw how he was going there, as if from above, as though watching himself from the outside, because it was really happening and that meant what was to follow was also going to be very real and his breath stopped while the engine roared and the heat crushed him and the tension of waiting for it damn near exploded him. But nothing happened, and all that energy suddenly brought back his vision. He was very close to the edge with one tire running half off and it was obvious that any second then he would be down in it. He gave the roadside lever a hard pull and the swather then was powered only on the ditch side. For a moment it ran like a tightrope walker on one foot, balancing itself there, and then with a bounce the machine jumped up on the roadbed. As he approached the house he knew he was feeling better. He was glad for that. He would have hated staggering around in front of Sally. But suddenly, feeling more normal except maybe a little nauseated, he began to feel a little embarrassed, too. He looked at the awful looking thing wrapped around his wrist and hoped he could find something else to put there before he went into the house. There was nothing he could do about his pants though. He shrugged with an air of fatality. Christ, he thought, just do what you can do. He drove the swather over to the shop and brought it to a stop, shutting it down and leaving it there in the sun. He went into the shop and found a bag of clean rags. He pulled out handfuls, finally finding the remains of what looked to have been a long white dress. He bit the edge and tore a wide strip from it. Unwrapping his undershirt, he found that it was all dried at the lowest layer onto his skin. He went out to the spigot beside the door and ran water onto the sodden wrap until it soaked off. He did not try to wash the whole clot off but just the patches on his hand and forearm, and then he wrapped the dress cloth onto it. It looked a million times better. He let the water run on his undershirt then and melted the worst of the blood off, and then he filled a bucket and threw the shirt in to soak. The water there began immediately to turn

36 brown, and he picked up the bucket and placed it out of sight back behind the door in the shop. As he set it down, he stared at it for a moment, but feeling sick again had to turn away. By noon, when Fred and Dans older brother, Carl, showed up, Sam had got the swathers header regreased. Fred got out of the pickup and went towards the house, but Carl walked over to where Sam was finishing. Get it all done? Sam gave the grease gun a last pump. He had found he could use his hand, if a little stiffly. Not exactly. Probably need another half a day. Carls eyes widened. Its that thick there? He looked at the cutting blades but he did not really need to. He knew they were new and sharp still. Great, he ran his hand back over his head to brush the mornings dust out of his thick blond hair. Always good to get more good hay. To Sam, even though he barely knew the older brother, Carl would always seem more like Harley than Dan. Mostly, that impression was physical, Carl being built heavy, like his father, although on a larger scale. He also had Harleys square features with the same amused squint around the eyes, something rarely seen with Dan. But also, there was something about him that was closer, in spirit, to Harley by the way he could make it seem like he loved nothing better than a good return somewhere, no matter how much trouble it took. The inner sufficiency of a farmer who could believe that worth was not an inert quality within things, but something to be bestowed either through labor, or judgment though preferably through labor. Carl was obviously pleased about the effort Sam was making to do the swathing and Sam felt suddenly better. That was another thing he had begun to feel foolish about. Thats about half a day past what I thought. Well, actually, its not. Carl gave him a blank look. Sam held up his arm and pulled back the sleeve. I lost most of the morning, he said and explained what had happened. Carl was nodding. Yeah. Ive gotten cut a few times on those guides, myself. I told Dad we dont need them anyway. I think I need stitches. After lunch everyone had to crowd around the kitchen sink while Sam peeled off the dressing and washed the clot off. The wound, when it was finally revealed, welled up steadily again but in no way like before. It was pretty ugly though. Pretty good, Harley offered. Fifteen stitches, Carl nodded. Sam took that one in silently. Sally handed him a fresh bandage. You better go get stitched up, Harley agreed. Sam saw Dan looking at him and said, I guess I wont be going to Union City with you. Goddamn right, youre not. Sam could only stare. What the hell? Carl said to Dan. Well, what are we going to do about the combine? Somebody else will go with you, Harley grinned. Nothing complicated about that. No, nothing complicated, Dan said. Just had everything planned out, is all. After we got the combine off the train and set up, Fred was going to convoy Sam back up here with pickup, and then I was going to go on down to Colfax and trailer up the new header. Thats what happens to plans, Dan, Sally said. Shit. Now Freds going to have to convoy me, meaning then Ill have to drive to Colfax tomorrow... They went on talking that way for a while longer, and in none of that time did anyone say anything to Sam. What he was going to do, had already been settled for the rest of the day. Later, Dan told him that since there was nothing for him to do there the next day, he might as well take a day or two off to heal up. Sam said he thought he would be all right and that he

37 would get back that afternoon and finish, at least, the swathing. Dan, though, said it did not really matter, in any case. They more than likely had all the hay they needed, anyway. He was tired that night as he lay in bed, the balcony doors open and the cool, sweet air flowing in. But he could not sleep, it ate at him so much. There that day, he had avoided having the biggest accident he had ever come close to yet. Just thinking about it made him sweat as he pictured the ditch and the posts and the barbed-wire fenceline, and how the swather and he would have made an extremely complete accident in the dirt right there, him going over the front into the cutting header in front and the swather going God knew where, maybe right on top of him, survivability an open question. But had that ended up being the main disaster of the day? Not quite. As Sam had stepped down off the porch to go to his car and head into town to see the doctor, he saw Dans back disappear into the shop. When he got to his car, he saw Dan coming back out, holding Sams dripping undershirt. Dan had not seen Sam at first, and it was obvious he had planned to just put it on the hood of Sams car, but when he saw Sam he held it out to him. Here, he said. I need the bucket. Sure, Sam took the shirt. It really needed to be wrung out, which was going to be awkward for him to do. Listen, he said. Im sorry I screwed things up like this. No big deal, Dan said, although some sort of resentment was obviously still there. Well figure something out. Right. Okay. So Ill see you later. Yep, Dan said, going back into the shop. It was a small thing, and in comparison to how close he had come to having a serious accident, it should have been reduced to nothing at all. As it was though, it would keep him up all night and he would even forget to think about Ruth. The smallest things, that had nothing to do with anything really, were like that. Although as far as she was concerned, it might have had everything to do with it. The best drink on earth for getting drunk, he was thinking the next day, was whiskey, both the getting there and then the there of it. Beer was utility drinking, wine was for bota bags, mixed drinks were poisonous, and everything else was either impossibly damaging or too expensive. There was nothing better than whiskey, and there was no better whiskey than a smooth Kentucky bourbon that just evaporated off the back of the tongue like a hot kiss. But she was a lover-baby, too, and like all good lover-babies she could make the knees go weak. Like those of a man in love. He took another drink. He was no longer thinking about the swather accident, nor was he thinking about Dan. He did not even think about the sixteen stitches holding his wrist together, although if he did he could feel a throbbing pain there. But he was thinking about another sort of accident, and telling himself he was going to have to now try to avoid another, if he could help it. Like an interminable bad film, he could reel back his past and see an unbroken string of catastrophe, mostly caused by himself. Early on, going with the girls was like playing with toys, then came the time when dating seemed like buying a car. Then came the philosophic stage. But he was beginning to think that, in truth, love was not some thing to be dealt with, but was just a way of being somewhere with someone that worked. It would not have surprised him if it was that way. It was always the simplest things which were the hardest to accomplish in the right way. He looked over at Lonni and caught her eye. Ah, she came down towards him. Now Im sure I know what youre doing in here. It was almost noon. He smiled at her. This happens once in awhile. I suppose. She pushed across another glass. He expected her to walk away as before, but that time she stayed. In a way he was sorry for that, and in a way he was glad because it meant he was going to have to finally pull himself together. But he was glad for a lot more, and better, reasons. Not the least of which was because

38 he felt a little as though he had been going over the falls in a barrel all morning, and maybe he was beginning to get a bit bruised, and maybe a bit wet, and maybe the barrel was not in the best of shape anymore. You must like it here a little bit then, she said. There was something in her eyes. Maybe it was Ruth as well, he thought, that had made Lonni go so different from how she had first been to him. I like it a lot of places. Whats the longest time youve been anywhere? Three years. And the shortest? A month. And which did you like better? The month. You make it sound like its a matter of barely getting out alive. Thats happened too. She moved herself against the bar. Well, she sighed, its certainly a different way of doing things. I dont know if Id like it all that much, myself. Im not sure all the time that I do, either. You got plans? I havent needed to have any, yet. Then you just must be real picky in some way, deep down. He had never spent much time thinking about such a possibility, or its consequences. He saw that it was not really worth his time trying to explain to her, so he described the moving around part of it, as if she might at least understand what could be loved about the great feeling of turning the car out onto the open road. He described certain parts of the country and circumstances he had loved. He did not believe for a minute she could ever understand leaving and traveling around the way he did, but at the end, she did seem momentarily transfixed by it. God, she said finally. I wish I were a man. Of all the things he had expected her to come up with, that had been the last. Of all the things he had ever heard a woman say, it had to be the worst. No, you dont. Yes, I do. You can go where you want, and when, and the only responsibility you have is to yourself. I was talking for myself. In general. Yeah. But youre a man. Oh, hell. Do you ever go back anywhere? Not really. But you have. A few times. He suddenly felt how the whiskey had dropped out from under him. Here. He held out his glass. Why dont you bring me some coffee? She smiled. Whats the matter? Am I taking the fine edge off your sorrows? Ive already done that. She pulled a mug down and filled it with coffee for him. So, she resettled in place. You dont go back. Dont, or cant? Depends. But mostly dont. You must be running out of places. There are a lot of places. What are you trying to do? Set some sort of record? Most places gone to? Or is it most places left from? She laughed. What are you, going or coming? It does get a little complicated.

39 You dont know, do you. She reached out and put a hand on his good arm and gave it a squeeze. Except that you clean yourself up and work hard, youre the closest thing to a bum Ive ever met. He closed his eyes for a moment, but it only poked him a little, and he smiled. Christ, he reopened his eyes. The days Im not working just kill me. A gravel road went off from the highway about a mile out of town that ran back to the river. There, it settled in and followed the winding course up into the hills. He took that road and drove it for a half an hour, barely glancing at the river slipping past. Finally though, feeling the solitude of ten miles of river behind him, he began looking more carefully at it. By that time the river had diminished in size and was broken as it fell through more frequent rock gullies. For another mile it was like that, and then he went around a bend where the road had to go up and over a small bluff, and he suddenly found himself looking down into a box canyon where the river was cascading in small falls among big rocks. It was a fast glance though, the road going quick around a corner. He slowed to a stop and then backed up. It really did look good down there. Plenty of trees and bushes overhanging the pools, and the water was not very high or fast. It was the best place he had seen so far. Half a mile farther he found a fenceline road heading in the direction of the river, and he turned the car onto the two dusty tire tracks and joggled slowly down towards the canyon until he could drive no farther. Switching his engine off he heard nothing at first, and then he had it: a soft rustling coming up out of the canyon from the river below. The canyon was not straight up and down, there were plenty of easy ways to get below, so he walked along the top until he found the place he wanted. The pools at that spot did not look too deep or big, some big rocks breaking surface, and the high cottonwoods and lower chokecherries hung long branches across the water. Using one hand to brace himself, he scrambled down a steep cowpath, the trail smashed and beaten by countless hoofs. From the looks of things, none of the animals had been there for quite some time. At the bottom of the path he stood on a wide bank, the gravel there scoured by the springtime flooding. Unlike mountain streams left piled with timber and brush after waters receded, that river just swept itself clean almost too clean. He looked back up the trail for a second, but then thought that since he was there he might at least give it a try. Most of the way he could go along the bank, but from time to time he was forced to climb onto rocks in the river until he could get back on the bank again. On the bank there was sometimes hawthorn making things difficult, and sometimes a patch of nettles, but mostly it was tall grass and it was easy going there. Finally, under some tall cottonwoods, he found his stretch of river. The banks were grass with some flat rocks and the birch and alder were back away from the water. The heavy foliage overhead shaded the river from both sides there. It was only down the center, where the sunlight reflected off the big rocks and the stones in the bottoms of the shallower pools, that a sparkling stream of light danced brightly. He linked his pole together and threaded his line out through his guides, clasping on a long leader and an egg hook. Perhaps towards evening he would tie on a fly. But right then he wanted to try it with bait. If they went for bait, they would go for anything. He pushed a couple of salmon eggs onto the hook and flicked them out across the nearest pool. The water there, just off the center of the stream, was fed by a small, sideways tumbling rivulet. The color of the water graduated from a deep blue and green-black at the head to a dark gold at the other end where a big rock tilted yellow towards the surface. Clear throughout, the water rolled across the length of the pool and then disappeared beneath a line of flat rocks to rejoin the river. He let his bait drift with the slow boil of the current. When he got no nibbles there he shifted to another pool, and then another. He fished steadily right through the heat of the afternoon and tried hard to enjoy it, but it seemed to take forever to feel sober again. Late evening, as the canyon went quickly into shadows, he switched to a fly and began casting out onto the surface of the pools. It was early yet for that, but it was a little lazier as well and he felt like getting a little lazy. He would cast the fly out onto smooth water and then

40 watch as the fly made its way across the surface of the pools and then down small cascades. On one such journey the water swirled from a sudden trout. He popped the fly from the water and flicked it back, but by then the fish was gone, to no surprise. Unlike off the big, well separated holes, it was tough to chase anything down after a missed strike in the little, broken pools. The water was too complicated. Of all the types of fishing Sam knew, it was where it was possible to have both the best and the worst types of luck, if luck was what it was called. He had brought some sandwiches, and as the day went dead before the approaching evening he rested from fishing for awhile to eat his dinner. He barely tasted the sandwiches, or noticed they were a little dry. Neither did he feel how the evening was rapidly cooling the air, nor see the sky turning a blue of endless depths, streaked here and there with a pink-tinged waste of cloud. The rock beneath his thighs was cold, and there were suddenly swallows and nighthawks out sailing over the tree tops, chasing the insects out of the fading day, but he hardly paid any attention to them either. And it was only after a long time like that, with the river bubbling cheerfully over the rocks in the stream beside him, that he finally let himself go into exactly how awful he felt. At first he did not think about it and he just let whatever it was get pushed out as though some sort of poison had been building slowly inside. Something felt like it was breaking loose, or breaking up. But that was not all there was to it, something else was there, too, and the sadness of it was very insistent and began to grow, looking for a place it could feed on him the worst. And then it did and he felt it start to change. Jesus, he said out loud, breaking that off with an angry shake of his head. There was no escaping the pain of it though. That was something that had to be lived through no matter how well it was understood. And he felt how it started like a bad taste in the back of his mouth and then went down inside, spreading out there, and it was worse somewhere in between. It was a sick feeling, like he had eaten something he should not have. He stretched back his head and stared at the sky, looking at the first stars appearing there. He felt the cool air on his face and he breathed it in deep as things came and went in him like waves. And sitting like that, keeping himself very still, he finally felt it go away for good. For awhile after that, in the silence of the evening, he just stared at the river. In the failing light he cleaned the few trout he had caught and gathered up his gear and made his way back out the way he had come in, going over the rocks and along the banks beneath the blackening shapes of the trees. Finding a path, he made his way up on top and went along the edge of the canyon towards the field where he had left his car. As he walked along he looked out towards the place in the west where the sun had just set, bright colors painting the sky a gaudy farewell of orange and red. He could see that he had just missed watching the sun go down and he was sorry for that. He liked summer sunsets. Unlike in the winter when it plummeted straight in and everything went black, the summer sun took a long run at the horizon, finally coming down close, red and comfortable, skipping there fat above the surface, and then sliding along just below. At the moment it touched, that movement becomes visible, making it almost possible to feel how the earth was turning away from it, and the real size of what was out there. When Sam drove out along the tracks he left his lights off. The colors of the evening were still with him and he could see the path clear enough there with the skys deep blue hanging over the dark hills to the west. Back on the highway though, with the lights on, everything went black and then all he had was the road. With Ruth at the other end. Holding her on the couch while they watched television, he remembered how she had been the first one to worry about how quickly it had all come together. She knew all about how he had only stopped there in the first place to get a hamburger. There seemed no way to explain how he thought he might be in love with her and wanted her to run away with him from this town. So he tried to make a clumsy joke which, if he got lucky, would get her to open up about her feelings towards him. But all she did was to tell him if it was such a big problem then he knew good and goddamn well what he could do about it.

41 She looked up at him then, very solemn and still, and then reached up and touched his face. Pulling her around, he kissed her and began undressing her, and then they made love there in the living-room with the blue light from the television casting itself over them in the dark; and their blue figures there on the couch visible through the open curtains to anyone who might have been out on the street, having been forgetful of more than just the things they had in mind to say. Afterwards, they had both been surprised at having got carried away like they had, a bit ashamed almost at the secret reasons and passions behind what they had done, unsure of why or how it had come about. But she finally just laughed and said she hoped they had put on a convincing performance. What would a convincing performance consist of? Her silence caused him to look at her. What is it? You know, she said. I just realized that I thought I would know that better than you. What? But Im not sure, anymore. He smiled. What are we doing wrong? Thats not the problem, she said. I think were just not doing something completely right. Maybe its just a matter of practice. He made his face look thoughtful. Either that, or theres nothing to get right, after all. She got up off the sofa and closed the curtains. Then she turned back to him, her body now only a dim form in the darkness. Maybe so, she said, her voice thick sounding. But if thats the case then, as Sue puts it, were just making a mountain out of a motel. She stood by the curtain, clearly expecting a response, but he did not dare tell her it was exactly what he had been thinking all day long, himself. And now he could see that it was doubtful he ever could. Two days after the accident, no one had yet called to tell him to come back to work. He knew he would be going back out there. He had just thought someone, Sally at the very least, might have called. And he could not explain to Ruth why that would matter, anyway, speculation having no place in a house of cards.

42

Chapter 6

One drizzly morning Dan and Sam were cleaning out grain bins in preparation for the approaching harvest. The work was not hard and to be inside the bins was pleasant with the soft rain tingling at the steel walls as they dug loose the old clumps of mildewed wheat clinging at the edges and swept clean the smooth concrete floors. With only the inspection port open, it was dark inside, the air hanging heavily with old grain dust tingling sweet and sour from the malathion used the previous year for red weevils. But the thick taste of the moldy dust and rancid poison was quickly gotten accustomed to, and it was nice to be dry inside listening to the sound of the rain outside. Later that morning though, when they were out in the fields gathering up the remnants of a fence Fred had taken apart, and they had to pick up the posts and the coiled wire and boxes of clips out in the drizzle, it was not all that nice. Sometimes the rain came down hard and it began to look as though it were going to stay, but then it did not. At lunchtime they ate in the pickup as the rain fell. The cab was humid with their wet clothes and they had the windows down so they could breathe. They were not looking forward to the afternoon. As they watched, the skies went really dark and the rain decided to come down for good. They waited there for a few minutes, unable to be sure at first, but the steadiness of the downpour finally convinced them it was going to stay. There was nothing else in particular for them to do anywhere so they decided to go to town and shoot some pool. Bobs was quiet, only a few men along the bar. Bob had the doors at both ends open and the only sound was the hissing of the rain and the occasional slash as a car passed by. Sam went to the bar and got a rack of balls and a pitcher of beer while Dan switched on a hanging light above one of the tables. He looked around for a moment there and finally found a rack and some chalk underneath another table. Having done that he went and sat down, leaning back in a chair with his legs stretched out, pulling his hat down low over his eyes. Sam came back and sat down as well, and they remained there like that with the bright green felt of the table in front of them glowing below the low-slung light, and the open back door across on the other side showing a pale gray light from the alley. Once in awhile, Bob walked by carrying boxes or a broom. He stopped to joke with them once, asking them if they were maybe inventing a new way to play pool. But after that he went back to his housework, working slowly and steadily around the place, and if the work was repetitive or sometimes small he did not seem to mind. I couldnt work in here unless I owned it, Dan said after awhile. Neither would Bob. It makes a hell of a difference. Sam stared off for a moment out the back door at the rain coming down. Yes, he thought, it made a hell of a difference. Especially when it was said right in the helps face. Whats going to happen when Harley retires? I dont know. Probably move to town. I meant, the farm.

43 Me and Carlll get it. What do you think? Dan looked at Sam as though he did not know what Sam was getting at, but then he finally shrugged. Yeah, yeah. Its going to have to get bigger down the line. It only makes sense. It does if Carl gets into it full time. If? He seems to be to me. Seems to be. Sam saw how he had touched a raw nerve, and was sorry. You telling me your brother isnt really a farmer? Depends. Dan watched the rain. Sam looked at Dans face and saw something hard go across it. Look at who hes marrying. What the hell does Marilyn have to do with anything? Sam laughed. He liked Marilyn, the girlfriend of the White Knight. It was not the first time he had noticed how Dan could seem bothered when they spoke of her. As for the farm, he was not going to mix into all that. How Harley got carved up by his boys was not really his concern, either. Obviously, there was no way to talk about any of it. But even if he knew this would be the last he would mention it, he could not help storing away how Dan felt he was more of a farmer than Carl. Meaning, more entitled. Sam thought how, while it was true he would never own any land himself, at least he did not have to worry about the garbage that went with it. Considering it that way, things almost balanced out. He eyed Dan again and that time saw that Dan was feeling uncomfortable for having let slip some of the family things. I suppose that dividing up the land is getting harder for everyone, he said. Yeah, Dan sighed, the air going out of him like a balloon deflating. Its one of the reasons why families are smaller, I guess. And the farms are bigger. Thats the way its going to go. Youre going to be a big farmer some day, arent you? Dan looked over at Sam, a slow grin coming on his face. Well, he said, bigger than Dad. That ought to be something. Dan nodded but did not say anything and just then decided to play some pool. He got up and went over and began racking up the balls. But Sam could feel the difference, and he felt, for the first time, that he could have considered Dan a friend. They played pool for a couple of hours, and they drank beer, and all the time it rained hard outside. The fields would be completely soaked and there was going to be no way, even if it stopped right then, that they could do any farming for a day and a half. The way it was falling, neither decreasing nor increasing, was the biggest thing about it though. It was going continuously, sort of like a river, like it was always going to go like that; just on and on from then on out, and everything was simply going to be a case of either being in it or out of it. Before dinner they drove back out to the farm. But Sam did not stay, driving his car back to town. Part of the reason why he did not stay was for his only having worked half a day, another part of it was because of how they had spent the rest of the day, and for all the beer that had gone with it. The last reason was that he thought Ruth might call during dinnertime. He never did hear from her that night, and it continued to rain that night and then into Friday, and it rained all Friday, and all work came to a dead stop. That night, he sat in the Fireside Lounge. Everything seemed unusual that night. A truly different feeling was in the air with that rain. Even the atmosphere in the Fireside seemed less dense than usual, Lonni leaving the back door open as if to let the clouds bursting outside remind everyone of how things were. Evidently, she welcomed anything that seemed like a change, even if it came in the form of a torrential downpour. Once, as she went by him, she put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug.

44 He laughed. Another minute and youll be dancing. Already am. He put his arm around her waist and held her there for a moment, her back feeling firm inside his forearm. They looked at each other for that moment and then he let his arm drop. She did not move away though, and rested one hand on his shoulder. Boy, she sighed, looking around the place. I dont know if I could handle nights like this all the time. It is different, isnt it? Next thing you know, well all be singing camp songs. Strange. I like it, he said, and then he smiled because it had come out too flat, as though he had felt the need to sound diplomatic. You know, she said. You really are a nice guy. What am I doing wrong? She laughed. I knew it. What? That youd be bothered to be told that. Whos bothered? She looked at him for a long moment. You really dont believe it, do you? He gave her an exasperated look. Her eyes lit up. There. You see? That wasnt all that hard, was it? If there was more to come though, he never heard it. She suddenly had to run away, giving him a last pat on the shoulder. The immediate effect was as though he was left hanging in the air. He was suddenly irritated. It was only a funny little personal conversation and it did not mean anything. But he suddenly could not help thinking how a funny and meaningless conversation with one person, could seem important with another person, and especially with a person who was not there. You think Im just kidding around, dont you? She was suddenly saying to him in a low voice as she handed some empty glasses to the bartender. It was the seriousness of it that startled him. She did not say anything else though, the bartender handing her some fresh drinks and then she was gone again. Like a hit and run driver. A three-man combo arrived and began setting up in the back. But when they began to play, he got up and headed for the back door. He was just out the door onto the porch, pulling on his coat and getting ready to run out into the rain in the alley, when he heard his name called from the door. He turned and saw Lonni standing there. He went back to her. Hi, he said. Are you mad at me? She looked up under his hat. Hell, no. I mean, she went on, I dont know. Its just the way things are tonight. She studied his eyes. I just fool around, and you may not know it, but you really are a nice guy. He could now see she was either more clever, or instinctive, than he had given her credit. But maybe it was something in his face, or maybe because he paused too long, that before he could say anything she turned and ran back into the bar. He went down the steps and out into the downpour, pulling his collar up under the back brim of his hat. Holding the lapels of his coat together in one hand, he jogged down the alley to Bobs, downspouts along the way spurting water at his feet. He went around the corner at the end of the alley and found the back steps he was looking for and hopped up them by twos and ducked into Bobs, half wondering why he did not just go home. For awhile it was quiet in there as well and he watched the rain out on the street, falling in a white spray across the surface, capturing there the unnatural luminescence of the street lights. Then Dan wandered in and found him. Sam did not have much to say at first, nor did Dan. There was something almost awkward about meeting each other like that, as though the bar were only a place for them to be together

45 in connection with farming, having a drink after work. Otherwise it was a little like being caught out. They drank through a pitcher together and pretty soon they had gotten to having equaled the swiftly ever more drunken atmosphere building around them. Sam found himself watching the barroom. In the dark, he could only catch small things; the bartender moving among the tables, a hand slapping a rounded back at the bar, some couples leaving, a group of girls coming in, and the turning overhead fans that only moved the smoke around but did not send it anywhere. He got lost in it and it was not until he came back that he noticed how drunk he was getting, and that Dan was saying something again. ... and the only way to keep from going under is to keep changing with it. And if that means getting bigger, then well get fucking bigger. Sam nodded, feeling a sense of dj vu, and wondering how on earth he was still able to drink the beer Dan was pouring him. It was as though his body did not care anymore. Some friends of Dans caught their eyes, motioning them over to where they were sitting. They went over and Dan did the introductions. There were a couple of women there that were not attached to anyone and one asked Sam to dance. It was good, by then, to get up and move around even though it was hot and crowded on the dancefloor. At one time he went out on the back steps with the woman to get some air and cool off, but they found that things cooled too rapidly out there with the rain coming down just beyond the low overhang of the building and they went quickly back inside, sucked into the black, smoky maw of the Friday night. After an hour of that he was getting to the point of no return, only hanging on by faith, or whatever now passed for it. He could tell that would not last long, either. Then Dan suddenly slid out of nowhere into the seat next to him again. Ive got to get out of here, Dan said. Sam drew himself halfway back towards consciousness. You sick? Im serious. Being serious was just possible, he thought, although he could not see why it was necessary anymore. And do what? Go around the block, Dan said. Or go over to 0. Byron was a town more than thirty miles away. You looking for someone? No. I just have to get out of here. What the hell did you do? Goddamn it, are you coming or not? Sam looked around the place. His dancing partner was out on the floor, and everything else seemed out of it, period. Im not going to stay here, he suddenly agreed. He got to his feet and they snaked their way across the dancefloor and then past the pool tables and out the back. They walked around the corner to the Fireside, Dan silent the whole way. Going in, they found it even darker than Bobs. There were people in there that Sam recognized as having been dancing back around the corner. Everyone was just shifting back and forth, making it the same crowd and the same air. Most of the people were at the tables and the red vinyl booths, and there were actually a few open stools at the bar right then. Although Lonni was too busy to talk, she winked at them. Dan then decided he was not talking anymore and Sam found he had little else to do than watch Lonni. Because of the muggy heat in the bar, she had changed into a cream-colored dress. She was sexy like that, and looked like a black-jack dealer at some Las Vegas casino. Get the boys to pray, Sam thought, but mostly, get the boys to play. Lonnis in a good mood tonight, he said. Sure, came the answer. For all that Sam could see, Dan had given up the mood for living. Almost bad tempered. He began to think he might as well go home and crash into bed. He was not going to sit around drunk in a bar alone, and especially he was not going to sit around alone with someone else.

46 Suddenly, though, Dan reached past Sam and poured himself another glass. Dan was beginning to far outdistance him with beer. Which was indeed something, and maybe not so good. What are you doing? Sam said. Drinking or drowning? Both. Well, Ive got to tell you. This isnt a whole lot of fun sitting around watching it. Too bad for you. Dan looked over at Sams glass, and then poured it full, too. As for me, I think Im drunk. No shit. There was a split second where they looked at each other for what must have been the first time in hours, but before they could say anything else Lonni came down the bar and set herself up in front of them. They live, she said. I was beginning to think I was going to have to shovel you two out at last call. Dont change your plans yet, Dan said. Were just catching our second wind. Looks more like youre three sheets to it. She gave Dan a long look that Sam could see was something private. Dan ignored it. Something like that, he said. Nearby, a group of people got up from a table and left. Dan noticed them and said he felt like sitting in a chair. Lonni slid a glance at Sam, but he shook his head. She raised her shoulders just a little. I thought you might be in here earlier, she said to Dan before he got all the way off his stool. What would make you think that? He looked at Sam. I came in last month. She must be getting to think Im a regular. No. Its just that Marilyn was in here earlier. Oh, yeah? He made an uninterested wave. Was Carl here? No, just her and some of the girls. I thought for sure you ... or Carl ... would be in here. This isnt the only place in town. He looked down at his glass and then nudged Sam and they picked up their pitcher and glasses and moved to the table. The vinyl chairs were soft and a candle in a red glass flickered warmly between them as they sat there. In fact, throughout the whole room, the only real lighting was from the table candles. Away in the gloom they glowed like tiny campfires. Thats what it was, Sam thought. Camping out in the wilderness. Now all they needed were the wienies and marshmallows. He looked around the room again, but after a minute he decided he was wrong. It was a room full of distress signals and they were all in a sinking ship. Or maybe, he thought, already sunk. He looked over at Dan, but Dan was trying to see through the crowd to the door and by the set look on his face, seemed to be thinking hard about something. Sam poured himself another drink, out of habit. Did you see Carl tonight? Dan said after a while. No. Neither did I. Were you expecting to? Not really. That solves that problem then. Never mind. Its complicated. Something to do with women? Yeah. How strange. It isnt all that funny. Dan took his beer in hand. Luckily for me.

47 Something was plainly in the air that night. Something about Marilyn, and Carl, and how Lonni and Dan seemed to have shared something about how that was. And it was exactly the sort of thing Sam needed least of all that night. He could turn it anywhere, expand upon it. One thing about small towns, he thought, no matter what, a guy ended up knowing about things he could not possibly know. He felt he had to say something. Theres no big deal to women going out on their own. Although Sam immediately regretted having said it, Dan seemed to find it a natural thing to have been said. Didnt say there was. You should see your face. I dont give a shit if Marilyns out on the town. Thats Carls problem. So leave it like that. Dan hunched himself forward onto the table. Listen. For me, I dont give a damn. For a guy like Carl, it matters though. I look at it that you have to choose the sorts of girls you can be with. Someone like Marilyn ... you have to make up your mind that thats the type of woman youre getting and theres no sense in trying to look at her any other way than how she is. Women have got to do the same thing, you know. Its just choice. I like Marilyn all right. I dont know, maybe shed do all right if she was married again, this time to Carl. I just think the only type of guy she wouldnt drive crazy is someone who doesnt give a fuck about it. The problem is my shit-for-brains brother. Sam could not tell if it was a drunken exaggeration. He seems all right. He is. Except when it comes to Marilyn. It was obvious that Dan was concerned about his brother and Marilyn. Also obvious was that he was prepared maybe not right then, but eventually to absolve Carl of all fault, real or otherwise, but not his girlfriend. You make it sound like she doesnt really want him, that shes just keeping him because she can. Dan frowned. You dont know Marilyn. She says she loves him. Or something. But a guy has to keep more distance, even when they say that. Otherwise, theyve got you too much. I cant figure Carl out. Hes probably home watching TV right now, and either hes stupid, or else he knows damn well he cant keep her from fucking around all over the place all the time. It sounded hard to believe. It had always been a hard sort of thing to believe. Sam could never understand how everyone always seemed to be able to accept ideas like that so readily. Are you sure about that? I know Marilyn. Dan said her name as though it was distasteful. Or else the statement was what was distasteful. Yeah, but do you know Marilyn and your brother, together? I know Marilyn. It was heavy and unforgiving, and it was not at all clear whether it was just some sort of opinion or if it was based on experience. What was clear, though, was that Dan intended to leave it that way. Sounds pretty bad. Dan stared at Sam, but then he nodded. Its just that I can see some real shit coming and there isnt a goddamn thing I can do about it. If youve gone ahead and spoken your mind to Carl already, then you best keep clear of it now or itll be all over you, too. Dan sat back in his chair and Sam poured out the remaining beer and they went quiet for a time. That was the worst thing to do, and a minute later the room spun on Sam. And it was enough to show him that something was badly wrong. Lets get out of here and get something to eat, he said. I need food. You dont like it here? Were already dead drunk, were not going to get laid, which I doubt would be possible anyway, and theres nobody Ive laid I feel like complaining about, so we might as well leave. Youve got a hell of an attitude.

48 No. Ive barely got an attitude at all. Thats what I meant. The room took another complete turn on Sam, and then Dan, the bar, Lonni and all the rest disappeared. Still steady, the rain felt like a weight on him and he walked slowly under it as he turned off Main towards the hotel. When he got up on the porch, and as he was standing there shaking the water off his hat, a bad feeling came over him again that was not sickness this time, but of hopelessness. He knew they would not be there, but he felt through all his pockets anyway. The deskman was gone at that hour. Sam looked around at the furniture in the lobby, and considered making a night of it there for a moment, but that seemed even worse. He stuck his hat back on and walked out and looked up at the front of the building. Easy enough to climb up. The only problem was that he would still be locked out. Ten minutes walking brought him around the corner to where they lived, but before he got two steps beyond that point he could see it was all over. Except for a very dim light in the living room, the house was dark. A couple of cars he did not know sat out front, although he could not be sure that meant anything. He stood there on the corner, the white rain beneath the streetlight coming down on him, and he looked at the dark windows, trying to see signs of life. Then he suddenly realized he did not want to see anything, and that, as well, he was spotlighted there. He stumbled backwards out from beneath the streetlight and moved off away from the corner. Back at the hotel, he walked around to the back alley and his car. Those doors were always open. He had to get in the front because the back was cluttered with some tool boxes and sacks of nails and screws. As he was crawling in, he finally found some humor in the situation. Welcome to the Hotel Nice-Guy. He pulled the door shut. Lying down with his head on a blanket, his knees bent and crammed beneath the steering wheel, all he could hope for was that he could go to sleep before his body began to feel restless in that position. Before he could find out though, suddenly, from what must have been a goodsized pool of water collected somehow above his windshield, a cold stream dropped straight onto his thigh just above the knee. He felt the chilling wetness go right to his skin and then the following patters as the steady drops began, completing the arrangement. He reached for his hat and maneuvered it to cover the spot so that it drained onto the floor, and then settled himself again. Not long afterwards he got very lucky and he fell asleep and it all went away into the crowded solitude of drunken dreams, where everything in that wild paradise was to be gained, and nothing lost, and all was either blissfully unclear, or way too clear to be believed.

49

Chapter 7

As the hot, long days passed they readied the combines and harvest trucks. The wheat had turned golden and they were already hearing about how it had started in the counties farther south. From there on out it was like going down a slide. All the time they heard about it and then they heard it had gotten as far north as Adams county. Each day Harley went out and tested. Sam would often be the only one around after breakfast, so he would drive Harley up into the fields and then watch as Harley walked out into the golden wheat. Harley was so much shorter than either Dan or Carl, so heavily built, so close to the ground, that when he went out into a field, he looked, out there in the high standing grain, the hills rolling off away and the sky huge overhead, like a part of the land itself. At first Harley only broke off heads and rolled them in his hands, seeing how easily they came apart in his hard palms and then chewing on the kernels. It was not long before he found them dry most of the way through and he began to use a moisture tester, pouring a cup of wheat over an electronic meter. One day, he and Sam ran a combine a little way into the wheat and then used the tester, finding the wheat, mechanically harvested, was down to sixteen percent. In the mornings it would be over twenty, but they were close to the thirteen percent the elevator in Gainesville would accept. While a lot of work had been done on the combines during the long winter months, there were still plenty of things to take care of in the last moments. Sam immersed himself in the preparation in those days to the exclusion of everything else. So he did not have to think about how or why things had fallen apart with her. How it had seemed like things were on rails, running straight and smooth. And then how it just fizzled out. He did not want to know why. Only a year had gone by since a time when it had been all too clear why things had fizzled out. He did not want to know all that again, even if the circumstances this time were completely different. Disasters, he had learned, were best left alone, no matter how they dressed themselves up. Something she had said. Something he had not said. It was not clear where, exactly. But what was clear, was how neither had called the other. And time, as was its habit, slipped onward with ever increasing speed until nothing that had been, existed any more. One morning Harley went out and tested at fourteen percent and told Dan later over the breakfast table to call all the truck drivers. He wanted them to be out the next day at ten. Probably, he said, they would only be able to cut in the afternoons for a couple of days, but they might as well be getting at it. It was going to be a good harvest, for sure, he said as he poured a cup of coffee. How do you know that, Sam asked. Harley shrugged. You just feel it. A good one gets in the bones, and you know you wont have to think or worry about it. Thats all? Harley laughed. Sam thought about if for a moment, trying to feel what his bones were telling him. Dan leaned back in his chair and smiled. Here we go.

50 Nobody said anything, but everyone was thinking the same thing. It had begun, and for the thirty days there was going to be nothing but harvest. All day long it would go, and then all night long where it got to the point they were dreaming about it. Sam looked around at the rest. It was Sally who caught his attention. She was staring sightlessly, pursing her lips in concentration. Harley grinned over at her. Whats the matter, ma? She brought her focus back and looked over at him. I guess Id better be calling my helper. Harley looked around the table. Yep. I think youd better be doing that, too. For Sally, harvest meant thirty days of cooking and cleaning, just like always, except for the amount, which made it almost as continuous as the field work. She smiled and Sam, looking at that smile, figured he was seeing the same one that had appeared at that moment for thirty years. When its all over, Carl said, I think I should tell you now that well all be going to Coeur dAlene. Sam did not know what anyone else was thinking, but as far as he was concerned, the time following harvest was so far away as to be practically unimaginable, and wondered how it was that Carl seemed to be able to make a mental leap like that. He looked across the table at Carl and at his rough-hewn features with the washed out blue eyes. Carl was looking around at the rest of them as though the announcement of harvest had not even counted. Maybe, Sam thought, Dan was right about his brother after all. Harley chuckled. We are? How come? Because thats where Marilyn and me are getting married. And thats when. Sam glanced at Sally again, that time catching her eye. He immediately regretted it. Just momentarily, a look of private pain went across her face. But also more than pain, and he could see a hopelessness there as well. It was only the look of a mother, and that was just a thing, but he could now see, like he never had before, what turmoil Carl and Marilyn were causing the Petersen family. Or maybe it was just Marilyn. In any case, it was something serious and it was strange how Carl had dropped all that right there at that moment. He could not have chosen a better moment to make it seem like a bomb. Almost as though it had been done just for that reason. Nobody said anything right off, and in that silence Carl could only wait, and stare back, and after a moment it got to be too long and his eyes began to shine a little, despite the stubborn set of his jaw. Sam watched Harley sort of smile, but it was Fred who spoke first. Now, what the hell do you want to do a stupid thing like that for? Carl looked at Fred, who was squinting back at him, and then he looked around at everyone else. Sally and Harley looked like they were swallowing things, he saw Sam making his face look like it was made out of stone, and Dan was grinning, red-faced. Carl smiled at all of them. With that Sam saw Harley and Sally start to smile, and then even Fred joined in. It was all pretty awful, Sam thought, and especially awful was the look on Dans face, all red and a little wild in the eyes. But what was worse was the look Carl was giving Dan. Sam finally made it back to his breakfast plate, finding refuge in his pancakes. Suddenly, he felt nothing but sympathy for Marilyn. It was as he worked that afternoon, tightening some wires on an old fenceline up in the hills, that he started really thinking about what had gone on that morning. It was a complicated thing. The Petersens were as good a family as he had known. They were as good to each other as anyone could manage, and they were easier than most on others. There was no question that they would accept Marilyn. But no matter how far they might go to make her feel comfortable, she would never fit very well. He knew Marilyn there from Gainesville, but he also knew her from every other town he had ever been in. There had always been someone like her in those small towns who carried around with them something that other people wanted to talk about. Nobody knew exactly what

51 that thing was, so what got talked about was not what they did, which was rarely all that different anyway, but why they did it. For some reason, people like Marilyn could never seem to explain themselves simply by the way they lived. If he had not known better, he would have thought it was only because she was an extraordinarily attractive woman. There was that almost tough beauty: hard, dark eyes, dark skin and auburn hair. The total effect was striking, and maybe even a little disconcerting, but her smile could be wide and genuine and he had never heard her say a single malicious or selfish remark. She was charming, humorous, sympathetic, and so friendly with everyone that he had been surprised to learn that she had practically no friends at all. It was bothersome and embarrassing, in a way, to know something like that about someone else. But one of the troubles with small towns was it was too easy to know about someone, without knowing them at all. He did not know why she seemed to be causing such a problem. In any case, for the next year, Sally would not be needing to call anyone to come out and help with the cooking, and he tried to imagine Marilyn and Sally in the kitchen together. Hard to tell what that would be like. He stopped what he was doing for a moment, straightening up and looking across towards golden hills. Then again, he thought, there was no telling what this years harvest was going to be like, either. Nobody could ever tell. No one, that was, except for Harley. In no hurry, he ate in town the first morning of harvest and then straggled out to the farm. The truck drivers, high school boys, were busy servicing their trucks, and the field mechanic was running the fuel truck along behind the line of combines and trucks, fueling each in turn. It all had the air of a well-practiced drill even on the first day. He drove past the line and parked his car by the house. He went in through the back porch to the service room and pulled a jug of ice out of the freezer there. Off the shelf above the freezer he grabbed a plastic cap, and was screwing it on and about to leave when Sally came in by him and got a couple of frozen pies out. Her face looked warm and a strand of hair had fallen across her forehead. With the pies balanced on one hand she pushed the strand back in place with the back of her other hand. He had liked Sally right from the start. He liked her practicality and did not mind at all her goodnatured view that sooner or later everyone would end up more or less like Harley and herself, with a house, a family, steady work, and hopefully not too much trouble after retirement, and as long as she could maintain that belief towards a person, then that person shared the same world she was in and they were understandable. Being understandable then, was what Sam was determined to be with her. Regardless of where reality was taking him. Howre you doing? Done, she answered. Finished. You, or the lunch? She smiled, her hand going instinctively to her hair again. I suppose I do look a little frazzled. First day is always like that. A big shock. Just then he saw a girl with dark hair go down the hallway on the other side of the kitchen, carrying some things. Hows your help? He asked. Oh. She paused to give him an idea of what that first morning might have been like. Were going to do just fine. The girl reappeared there in the hallway, giving him a half smile. Really, she was not a girl at all, just a little short and timid. Her face was as flushed as Sallys, but he could see it was not from overexertion. There were a lot of reasons unmarried women went out to work as harvest cooks each summer, and money was not always the main one. He gave her a smile and she disappeared with it back into the kitchen. Sally leaned closer to him and spoke in a lower voice. She really is a very good cook, Sam. Just isnt used to the proportions. Good. Nothing more miserable than a bad harvest cook, is there? Oh! Id forgotten you already had one of those. She gave him a sideways glance, and he had to laugh at how she did it. Thats right, he said. And you do a damn fine job.

52 I wasnt talking about me. You werent? Not at all. He shook his head. Nobodys doing my cooking for me. Thats not what Ive been hearing. Is that so? From what I heard, youre really getting yourself settled in over there in Gainesville. You heard that, huh? A slight pain going through him, but he had to ignore it there in company, asking the question as though it was something to joke about. Only. Sure did. You heard that Sam was getting all settled? He made a face on the last word. She smiled. You make it sound like something terrible. I dont mean to. I dont have anything against it particularly. Nothing ... particular? No, he shrugged. Theres nothing particularly wrong with settling down. It was getting hard to continue keeping a light smile to things, fighting to keep his face from hardening with it. She looked at him steadily for a moment, and then she put both arms around her pies and threw back her head in a laugh. Oh! She cried. As I live and breathe! She eyed him again for a second. Nothing particular ... just everything in general, right? At the look on his face she laughed again, and then cocked an eyebrow at him. Sam. Who do you think youre fooling? As if you could fool anybody. I didnt mean that. Exactly. She smiled sympathetically. Never mind. Its just terrible the way people go on, isnt it? Oh, I dont care ... he started to mumble. Of course not. He was feeling a little caught off guard. He had not realized how much even Sally had things figured out. Or thought she had. lt. made him feel a little guilty, too, because of how innocently she had framed the situation. But more than just that was bothering him. And it was unpleasant to feel how everyone might seem to know so much about things, even if the knowledge was inexact. She was looking at him reflectively. Its not bad. I was just kidding you a little. Im sorry if I got onto something accidentally. She reached out and touched his arm. Really, I knew better than to do that with you. You didnt do anything. You sure? Yeah. Its all my own damn fault anyway. Or will be. She nodded at him. It really seems hard for you, doesnt it? He looked at her for a moment, amazed at how she could be so wrong, and so right, at the same time. And then he finally smiled. He had nothing to hide really. One way or the other. If he ever did. Yeah. To tell you the truth ... it does. Oh, well. Luckily, that wont make any difference. Just another part of your charm. I wouldnt know about that. He felt himself actually getting a little hot on his neck. Oh, Im sure of that! She looked at him and he could do nothing but just stand there under her inspection. Then she raised her head and tilted it over a little. Youre taking the whole thing very seriously, arent you? I dont know, he said honestly. I dont really know. He looked at her with a little smile. Even if I did I would probably get it all wrong anyway. She mirrored his smile back for him, but he could see that she knew as well as he did how really small the joke had been. Im sorry. I didnt realize it was so confusing for you.

53 Its not confusing. Its just that it sort of happened too fast. Were not feeling comfortable with that. Both of you. Yeah. I dont understand what were doing, and neither does she. And you know me ... He thought how that was a safe enough thing to say, and how he was talking about things as though they really existed. Which, of course, was not true. But he could not help it. It was just possible that he might have loved things to have existed. Somehow, talking as though they did made it momentarily seem that way, and made it less embarrassing that they were not. She gave him another long, frank look, and during it he felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if, in fact, she had seen the lie within. It was as though he had lost control of things. A feeling he was all too familiar with. For as long as he could remember, he had experienced a reoccurring fantasy where all of a sudden he would just go nuts, or do something nuts, and the fantasy always came at the strangest times: when he was listening quietly to someone who had nothing to say, or standing in a long line, or maybe even when he had only had a flat tire on his car. Stupid times. The only thing those times really had in common was that he was always somewhere he did not want to be for too long. And too long could be two minutes. He did not know what his face looked like right then, but she suddenly shook her head. Well, she said finally with a sigh. Im sorry to hear how it feels for you. But, thank God, its not going to matter, huh? He nodded. She was right. She knew Ruth, and obviously better than he did. Perhaps, too, she also understood him better than he did, himself. She knew how it would be finishing, just like how he knew it would. Or was. He could not help but marvel though at how easily Sally seemed to accept the way things were, despite what he was sure were her true feelings: that modern relationships were not worth a good goddamn. That night, after dinner, Harley told him it was one of the best starts to a harvest that he had ever known. Harleys face was high with color. Im glad you feel that way, Harley, They had gone out onto the front porch and had stood out there for a long time together, the living room lights behind them glowing warm and yellow through the curtains. Above the far hills shone the full moon, and from the high flung branches of the cottonwoods, black shadows were cast down across the lawn where crickets sent out the smooth and softly rolling crescendos of their song. The still, warm air of the evening, and the low sound of the crickets near the house took Sam a long way back, and the evening became another. But the other, hot and sweaty; and unable to sleep, a boy had crept down the stairs of a strange house and had gone out on that front porch there. It had been no cooler though, and there, with the smell of magnolias, and something like oranges recalling the smells almost more than the place he could remember how other than the crickets that had also been alongside the house in those bushes, it had seemed as though the whole world had died. There were other houses on the street, and other porches, but there had been no lights or movement, just darkness out there made all the more so with only the dim light of a single lamp at the end of the block. In that house slept an old woman he did not know. He did not know her like he did not know the house, or the street. But for some reason that was not supposed to have been important. It was supposed to have been right for him to be there and that was all that mattered. He could remember the heat on that porch, and the smell of magnolias in the dying air, and even how the crickets sounded in the bushes, but for the life of him, he could not remember the womans face anymore. He did not know how long he had stayed there in that house, or how he had arrived there, but he had not been afraid at the time. The fear had only come later when he had learned

54 something about it. But at the time, he had not been able to think about things that way, and he had been just a boy living in a house on a street with a forgotten name. Years later, for awhile, it had become a sad thing to remember. That boy who had gone down those stairs to be away from the terrible sweltering stickiness of old sheets wrapping around hot legs and arms, only then to have found it no cooler on that porch. It had seemed sad, but that then changed, and the memory reverted to how it had really been at the time: just a little boy on a porch in the dark. It could not seem sad because that little boy, while not happy, had not been sad, either. Of all the things he could do about it, he knew he could not be deciding later to make the boy be some way he had never been. What was left for him from that time then was simply the feeling that it had all been wrong, that he had not been in the right place, and that there really might have been a place where the houses and the people were not strange to him, and he was more than just a little boy who was not sad. There should have been a place where he knew he was all right and he did not have to think about it at all if he did not want to. That last thing, though, was where the sadness had come from. He remembered the first time he had learned how it really felt, the feeling of not being right. But also remembered how he had learned to shrug it away most of the time, and because it had seemed like that ever since, there had become less and less about it that seemed strange. All he really had left of it was that it was the first time he had known what it was like to be alone. Of all the places, and of all the times he had known since then, he had never found a better way of defining the feeling to himself. Not so much lonely, as just alone and on the outside of what might have been. But then, too, not in the right place either. It was that last feeling, perhaps, that had made being alone an easier thing to have to put up with. It made being alone just a matter of circumstance, and not the general condition. Of course, he thought, maybe that, in fact, was the condition, period. And all the hopes for something different were just strange and worthless dreams that should have slipped away a long time ago, like the last quiet sob of a child who had cried in his sleep. Harley, leaning against the porch railing, suddenly flicked into the garden below the butt of a cigarette he had been smoking in the dark. Harley did not smoke much, just once in awhile and usually only in the evening and, if so, always out on the porch. Sally would not allow it inside. Well, he said. Time to pull up stakes and get to bed. Sam looked over at him. The light from the curtained windows gave Harleys face a deep, golden glow in the darkness. Harley smiled back at him, and Sam could see that wherever Harley had been, it had been a long way away, too. It might have been interesting to know where Harley had been, to know what remote period, hidden deep in the folds of the history of his people out there, whether personal or otherwise, would capture the silent attentions of the farmers imagination on a warm summer evening. But Sam was too full of his memories right then, and let himself be contented to know he was comfortably next to a man whose own memories were buried in a tradition that had never worried about where it was, or what it was doing there. Oh, yeah, Sam said. Its about that time. Harley looked up at the big moon above, white and clean against the black sky. Sam followed his gaze. Well be seeing him again before harvest is over, Harley said. Supposed to be good luck, isnt it? Supposed to be, Harley nodded. But you know what I think? What? Sam looked back at him. I think its just the moon. Sam smiled. Maybe so. You never know. But one way or the other, it wont make any difference in a hundred years. Giving Sams shoulder a pat, he turned towards the door. Ill see you in the morning.

55 Sam said goodnight and Harley went inside the house. Then Sam turned to look back across the lawn again, half-expectantly. But the other thing was now definitely gone, and there was nothing strange there anymore. It was only Harleys lawn, bright beneath the moonlight, and he was just looking at it the way it was right there and, after a moment, he went down the front steps and crossed it and then went across the gravel of the workyard to where he had parked his car. Nothing strange at all to any of it, except that, for the first time in a long, long time, he could not tell if there was, or would be, even the slightest thing for him there. Just like in the old days, long before all the miles, and the towns, and all the jobs, longer back than that and even going back to the earliest time of all, before he had gone to school where he had started learning about all the things he might have had, but now could never have. Or should not have. Harvest went well for two straight weeks. There were no big mechanical failures and nobody was feeling tired at all despite the pace. But the weather did not hold and one day the clouds came up fat and white, passing large overhead all day. The weather report that night said that while the Cascades were still dry, out past the Olympics a wet system was piling in off the Pacific. There was every chance it would come all the way over both mountain ranges that night. It did not rain that night, and they started the next day as usual, but at noon the clouds closed together and went gray. Then the first drops struck against windshields, streaking black the dust. Even before Harley could call everyone in, the rain was falling heavily. Combines dumped what they had and trucks raced off with their last loads to the elevator. Sally had the lunch ready and they went and ate early. Harley told them they would all be on standby. At that, Pete, the harvest mechanic, said it would be a good opportunity for some of them to do some laundry in town, grinning at the dirtier of the truck drivers who had been bunking harvest out there. Cleanliness, he reminded them, was a virtue. But as for himself, he said, he was going to go have a beer. A Tuesday afternoon, Bobs was as dead as Sam had ever seen it. Sam and Pete, with the Petersen brothers, were sitting at a table towards the front, and through the door they could see the canvas awnings across the street stretch and flap with the gusting wind, the rain itself being blown against the sides of the buildings and then away and down the street. When the glasses and the pitcher of beer were brought over, Pete poured out the first round with the flourish of a man on liberty. He had been in the navy for two stints and it was obvious he still liked to give in to the instincts of a sailor in port. But they all were feeling a little like that. He rapped his glass down first, laces of foam drooping slowly towards the bottom. Then he poured another and gave a contented sigh. Thats how to make it better. Carl lifted his glass. Well, whats it to? They all raised their glasses, but before anyone could say anything Dan laughed. It was a strange thing, right there, and so out of place it was forgotten as soon as it happened. Heres to rainy Tuesdays, Sam said. Pete nodded. Why the fuck not. And the second round disappeared. I can see, Pete poured out another round, an Arkansas accent rounding itself out a bit more, that you old boys like to drink a little beer. An ah kin see, Carl said, That you allve drank a bit yourself. Pete looked down at the table for a moment I guess thats so. He picked up his glass. And I imagine therell be a hell of a lot more to come. When his glass came down Dan looked across at Sam and smiled. Looks like were headed for it tonight. If we survive the afternoon. When the first pitcher was gone Pete threw a wad of money on the table for the next one. While that was coming he stalked over to the jukebox and started dropping quarters into it. Carl went away towards the toilets.

56 Sam looked out the windows at the weather for a time, and then turned back and found Dan staring blankly at him. What? He said. Dan shook his head, a big yawn coming up, and then he stretched his arms out wide like he was crucified. Then he smiled. I dont know. He dropped his arms back to his sides. To Sam, there was something a little empty about the way he did it. I know, Sam nodded. I dont feel right, either. I dont know why. I do. Sam gazed over at Dan, and knew what he was thinking. Dan knew that all Sam had done since the beginning of harvest was just cut wheat, eat, and crawl home to bed. What Dan did not know though, was there had been some purpose in it. But Sam did not want to have Dan thinking anything different about what was going on so he decided to act as if nothing had changed. The pitcher arrived and Pete had the first few bars of a song pounding out of the jukebox. Dan flashed Sam a grin as it began, and then filled Sams glass. Drink up, shithead. He filled his own. Learn to be happy. Like me. Sam sipped his beer, and then grinned. Dan was a real bundle. When he was down, he was so pathetic it was impossible not to feel sorry for him. But when he was up, the worlds sorrows could basically go fuck themselves. He was the only guy Sam could remember ever having met, who was preferable either midway, or depressed, happiness having a tendency to make him obnoxious. He squinted his eye at Dan. Ah, I see where were going here. It must be sweet to have all your wet-dreams come true. Dan leaned back in his chair, a half smiling and faraway look in his eyes. You know, she really isnt all that bad. If Dan had said a stupider thing, Sam had never heard it. But a man has every right to be stupid from time to time, and Sam smiled. Oh, really. No, asshole. I really mean it. I mean, shes pretty nice. Didnt say she wasnt. Yeah, yeah. But you know how we used to talk about her. Sam wanted to deny it, but could not. He had never actually defended Sue, although he did not see how he could have anyway, Dan being the sort of person who crowded all emotions into a category normally reserved for sentimentalism, and then dismissed them. All Sam could do in the face of it was be sarcastic. Not true, Danny? You fucker. Then a different sort of light came into Dans eyes and a grin began creeping across his face and Sam could see the old thing coming again. Dont even think about starting. Okay, Dan put his hands out in front of himself, resting them flat on the table. But really, I was wrong about her. A serious look now came to his eyes, thoughts of Sue turning him there like a weathercock in the wind. Who? Sam smiled at the change in tone, and although he saw they were now going to go a different direction, he felt it was still safe to joke about it. But when Dan realized he was being made fun of, a dark scowl fell over his face. All right. I dont care either, then. Just fuck it. Sam almost sighed out loud, and then looked over at where Pete was leaning over the jukebox. All right, Danny, he thought, Sue now means more to you than you had expected. Sorry. Sam said. But theres no reason to get angry just because youve discovered youre in love. Its no better for me, but do I look angry about it? No, Dan said, looking out across the empty room. Then his eyes narrowed. Youre in love with Ruth? Sam had prepared himself prepared for it, had known he would have had to explain things eventually. But he had not expected it so soon. He felt suddenly angry. What do you think? What I think doesnt really matter, does it?

57 It was true. he did not give a damn what Dan, or anyone else, felt about it. The only problem was, if things had indeed now fallen apart, he was going to have to say it, and get it over with. But even as he knew he must do so, that he would have to do so, he could not bring himself to do so. He knew, suddenly, why things were like that, and he wished he could have been alone to think about it. As it was, though, he had to shove all that aside. Dan had to hear something, and it would have to have the ring of truth because Sue would also hear it. Sue first. I dont know, he said. Im not sure if its right for me to. You dont know if its right for you to be in love with Ruth? Sam could see he was now stuck in it for good. Im not sure I know how she feels about it. Now that I understand. What does she tell you when you ask her? She hasnt said anything. He could not bring himself to admit he had not seen her. He could see he had dealt with things stupidly. But there was some truth in it, in the way how even when he and Ruth had been together, they had never said anything. Dan shrugged. Maybe she doesnt know, herself. Sam could not resist the curiosity. Maybe you know more about it than I do. That might be true. Sam felt the stab of jealousy. He could almost imagine Ruth and Sue, and then Dan, discussing things of importance to him, and leaving him out of it. I wouldnt mind being let in on it, if someone knew. It really bothers you? Sam hesitated. To answer that sort of question was like having to make a decision, and Sam was not used to that sort of decision. But then he just shrugged, suddenly willing to see where things would go. Dan shook his head. Actually, I dont know whats going on. Sue and I talk about it sometimes. But like you said, Ruth never does. I dont know why. Youd think shed tell Sue. Then Id know, of course. But I dont, so all it comes down to is just talk. Thats nothing you can use. My problem is that thats all the talking we ever do that has anything to do with the man-woman thing. When it comes to us ... He lifted his shoulders, and then suddenly they were no longer alone. The last Sam had seen of him, Carl had been using the phone back by the toilets and then had stepped out the back door. When Carl came back from wherever it was he had gone, it was with a very bad look on his face and a hardened anger deep within his eyes. Sam saw it and went on guard. But he was the only one that did so. Dan, as usual, did not pay any close attention to his brothers state. Whatd you do? Dan said to him as soon as he sat down. Go puke somewhere? Sam could see he had been right. Carl was more than just upset about something. No, he said. I didnt go puke somewhere. I went out back for a second. To give yourself a quickie? Carls face went even harder. Youre full of all sorts of bullshit today, arent you? Dan eyed Carl. Carl sat stiffly on his chair, his face flushed. Not in the mood, eh? Sam had never witnessed Carls anger, and he could see that it could be the very big and dangerous sort. You goddamn right. Carl stared, as if expecting his younger brother to make some sort of move. Sam wondered at what had happened to have changed Carl so fast. What was obvious, though, was that Dan was just making things worse, and he seemed to know it and did not care. Oh well, fuck me. Dan jerked his head back with disgust. When Carl said nothing, Dan shook his head. Okay then, he said. Fuck you, too. Say one more thing, fucker.

58 Dan reached out and picked up his glass, taking a sip of beer and then holding the glass there. It was still half full and Sams back stiffened. There was no way to predict if it was going to happen right there, or if they were going to make it outside. Bob was all the way down the bar watching television, and Pete was still fooling around over by the jukebox where some women had taken a table. But Sam knew that when it happened, it was not going to be an easy one to stop. I hope youre going to be a stupid cunt like this all afternoon, Dan said. We all really enjoy it, you know. Dan looked relaxed. You must enjoy being a fucking asshole, Carl said. Since youre one most of the time. Im an asshole? Dan grinned, which was something, maybe, only a brother knew he could do. But Sam was not sure even then. Listen, headfuck, youre the one who started it all. Carl was quiet for a moment. How far back do you want to take that? And I mean, how far? Far as you want. It was bound to happen, I suppose, Carl said, mostly to himself. Why dont we go discuss that particular point outside? Sam felt himself uncoil. All the tension in the air just melted away. The hard edge was gone from Carls voice and he was now just being something sort of theatrical. Somehow, Dan really did know his brother although, suddenly, Sam could not say he liked much the way he knew him. Even angry, even out of line, a man needed to be respected somewhere. No, Dan said. Its raining. Whats the matter? You afraid I wouldnt feel satisfied with just punching your lights out? That I might get carried away? You know something? Dan said after a moment. Its times like this that Id like to break a chair over your stupid head. Dont let fear stop you. Im not afraid of you. Carl got to his feet, but Dan did not and just looked up at him. Wherere you going? You want to come outside? Dan did not smile that time, disgust showing in his eyes. Sit down. Whats the matter? I said, sit down, Dan repeated, only that time loud enough to cause even Pete and Bob to notice them. Carl took a deep breath. I dont know who the fuck you think you are, sometimes. Im going whether you come or not, and you can tell someone the fuck else to sit down. Ive got no reason to stay and drink with you. He reached down and picked up his coat and hat and walked straight out the back door, everyone but Dan watching him go. You know, Sam said to Dan after too much silence. You two are just what every party needs. Dan did not seem to care and was not embarrassed. Were not always like that. Im glad. Dan smiled. Dont worry. Hell be back. I dont know about that. I do. There was something in Dans tone, again, dismissive and contemptuous, and it set Sams teeth on edge. You sure? He always comes back. Sam felt himself get irritated. Then hes really not angry? Dan shook his head. No. Hell just go off and have a beer and well see him later. Sam decided to remind Dan that not everybody felt the same way he did. Hope so. You know, this is one of our last chances to have a beer like this before he gets married. Thats true, Dan stared at the table. Jesus, Ill be glad when they really do get married.

59 Sam left it alone, only asking whether Dan thought maybe the whole thing was getting to Carl. As he asked, Pete finally came over and sat down again. Hell, Pete said, having heard the question, it gets to everyone. Family. Friends. And, he winked, ex-friends ... Maybe, Dan said with a hard sound. All I know is that hes been a pure shithead lately. He reached over and picked up the pitcher, refilling their glasses. As he set the pitcher down he suddenly smiled at them. I mean, worse than usual. He sort of gave a laugh at that, and Sam smiled, and then so did Pete. By dinner time they were drunk. With no one really listening, Pete was talking about himself, and his wife, Darla. That was when Marilyn walked in, Lonni and another woman behind her. Sam saw them first and fell back in his chair. Dan and Pete followed his gaze. Ah, Marilyn said as she saw them and came over. There you are. Sam smiled and looked at the three of them. Lonni was smiling back at him, Marilyn had a gleam in her eyes, and the other woman, someone Sam did not know at all, was looking over their table with its mess of spilt beer, empty and full glasses, and a sopping bar rag, donated by Bob for the night, laying in the middle of it all. Dan rocked back on his chair. Pull up a chair, ladies. He swung his hand up fast, smacking Marilyn up behind. Pete moved his chair to make room. Cant turn down an offer like that, she said, her teeth flashing. She pulled a chair between Dan and Sam. Lonni sat down on the other side of Sam and the other woman took the remaining seat between Dan and Pete. Isnt this cozy, Lonni said. Couldnt be nicer, Pete waved at Bob for some more glasses. He looked back at the three women and smiled. My, my, Marilyn said. How nice to be wanted. She turned and gave Dan a big smile, but he just reached for his beer. Thank you, she continued, turning back towards Pete. Whatever your name is. Pete introduced himself and Sam thought he heard the other woman say her name was Debby. The only things he would remember about her were to be her eyes, and that she did not look as though she had wanted to be there. Whatre you all doing down here? Sam asked. Marilyn and Lonni stopped grilling Pete about himself. We came looking for you, Lonni said. Its true, Marilyn said. Wheres Carl? He said everybody was all down here. It was the first time in hours anyone had mentioned Carl, and there was a bit of silence before Sam said, he stepped out of awhile. Dan immediately laughed. Marilyn looked from one to the other. I seem to have missed something. Dan shook his head. Not really. He gave Sam a glance. She stared at him, and then nodded as though she understood. Im sorry we didnt make it earlier, she said. Lonni couldnt get away any earlier. Sam left it for someone else to ask the obvious questions, or for Dan to explain, but when Dan did not say anything, he said, Carl had to go do something. Hell be back as soon as he can. Whats he doing, Marilyn asked Dan. I dont know. She seemed to want to say something else for a moment, but then changed her mind, throwing her hair back with a shake of her head. Well, good, she said. Meanwhile, we have three here. She looked at Dan for just a moment and then gave Lonni a look. Or maybe its only two. Lonni smiled at her and nodded her head towards Pete. And maybe. she said, its only one.

60 On the other hand, I mean literally, Marilyn said, that looks an awful lot like a ring there on his finger. Whatll we do now? What we always do. Hope the cavalry shows up. Why is it I suddenly feel like dead meat? Dan said. Marilyn made a sympathetic, purring sound in the back of her throat and patted him on the shoulder. Whats the matter, Danny? She looked back at Lonni and smiled. I dont see Suzy here, do you? Lonni only shook her head. Marilyn turned back to him. I hope there isnt something wrong, she smiled. Im glad to see youre so concerned. She tossed her hair again. Im glad youre glad Im concerned, she laughed. Of course, I cant imagine how there could ever be anything wrong there. Really, Lonni agreed. Sam caught her eye and gave her a little frown, only realizing a moment too late he should not have. What? She said to him. and then looked at Marilyn. Uh oh, she said. I think were getting onto thin ice! I dont think so, Marilyn turned to Dan. Were not on thin ice, are we? I wouldnt know. See? She said to Lonni. It doesnt matter. Were not on thin ice. She lifted her glass. Hey! This could be like a bachelors party, couldnt it? A celebration? Yeah, Pete said. Except that the man of honor is missing. The man of honor, the woman named Debby said, is always missing. Everybody looked at her for a moment, the talk stopping dead. It was the first time she had said anything at all, and the result caused her to flush to the roots of her hair. Sorry, she said, looking at Sam. Sam gave her a smile. Dont be sorry, Marilyn said. Its mostly true, you know. I dont know, Lonni said. Sam here is an honorable man. Marilyn broke off from what became an exchange of looks with Dan and turned towards Sam. Youre right, she said. Sam, you are an honorable man. She put her arm around behind his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Does that mean I win something? He said as soon as she let him up. Nope, Marilyn said, pushing her lips out at him. Thats all an honorable man can get. This is where you should take notes, Lonni said in his ear, and her hand suddenly stretched lightly across his thigh. It was not a complete surprise. He had thought that at some time, under the right circumstances, it might happen. But it had caught him unawares and, with a vague and strange discomfort which was, in fact surprising, he could not completely welcome it. Oh, but Dannys honorable, too! Marilyn smiled at everyone. Only it works just a little different. For him, the whole world has to be honorable his way, too. His eyes opened wide. Jesus, Marilyn! But its true. You know it is. But thats okay . I mean, youre sort of like an ideal then. Right? She laughed back at him. Suzys so lucky. Of course, in a way, that makes her unlucky, too. But Im sure shell do all right. I mean, in a way, Suzys sort of an ideal, herself, isnt she? Dan picked up his beer. Her name is Sue. She slowly put her hand up to her mouth. Oh my God, Danny. Im so sorry. No problem. She pushed her hair back again with her hand. I hope not. I mean, I hope there are no problems. Is that what you meant?

61 Sure it was. I mean, I hope you never have any problems with anything, honey. I know how difficult it can be to have standards. See what a mess theyve made out of me? It was really very funny, and Sam thought everybody was going to laugh. But no one did. For a moment, there was no telling who might speak next, but then Pete seized the moment, and waved at Bob for another pitcher. At that, Dan stood up. Ill be right back, he told them, and before anyone could say anything he walked out the door. Pete, who had been sitting through most of the conversation with a big grin on his face, suddenly stood up as well, and he tapped the arm of the woman named Debby. I feel like dancing, he said. Darling, do me a favor. Sam watched them for a little bit. When he turned back to the table he found Marilyn and Lonni talking quietly to each other. Maybe it was a good time for all of them to leave, he thought. Im thinking, he said to them, Ive had too much. You, me, and all of us, Marilyn said back. But Ive never found it to make enough of a difference. She turned back to Lonni and now said loudly, with a flat indifference to Sams presence, I do love Carl. Lonni, then, did not bother to lower her voice, either. I dont know how youre going to manage it. Youve got more guts than I do, thats for sure. Its not that bad. Itd drive me nuts. It almost did me, at first. Were talking about the same thing? Marilyn nodded. But not anymore? Marilyn shook her head. You know that. Not a fucking goddamn bit. What about Carl? Hes got to handle it. Marilyn stared at Lonni for a second. Then she looked over at Sam and smiled as if she had just noticed him for the first time that day, and she gave him a beautiful, wonderful smile, her eyes suddenly peaceful. He could have fallen in love with her just for that smile. Here, he poured her another glass. Youre making me feel sober again. She laughed and picked up her beer. You know what, Sam? No. What? Im just one husband away from happiness. Yes. And you know what Ill be, one month from now? What? She straightened up in her chair. One month from now ... she grinned, Ill be one husband away from happiness. She laughed, and so did he, even as he was thinking how it was easily one of the worst jokes he had ever heard. Maybe it had only been him, but he had felt there had been a degree of contentment and camaraderie to the start of the evening that, by contrast, now made everything seem damaged. There, he felt a depression settle over himself and later, he would just find himself gazing around the table at their party. Pete, Lonni and Debby were talking, and Marilyn was watching the door. To Sam, that would be the worst thing of the whole evening, Marilyn there like that and all she seemed able to do was just sit there waiting. Kind of sad, isnt it? Lonni said softly, suddenly breaking into his thoughts. It occurred to Sam that he must have been staring. Sad? Well, maybe not sad. But ... you know. No, I dont know. I just wish there was something I could do.

62 You think she needs you to do something? What would you like to do for her? I dont know. Just something. God, I hate this shit more than anything else. He did not care if Lonni was insulted. And he did not care, either, when she misunderstood him. Me, too. But thats just the way it goes. Just the way it goes, huh? Yeah. She shook her head. Always the same. First here, and then there, and then its this person, and then that one, and its always the same. But what can you do? She shrugged and smiled a smile of resignation. What you can do is nothing. Nothing? Thats right. She was not misunderstanding him now. Just like that, huh? And thats it? You just snap your fingers and everythings all right? You just say there isnt anything wrong and it isnt? I didnt say that. I meant that theres nothing we can really do, even if something needed doing. Besides, if we did, what would we have to talk about then? He saw now he had really made her angry. You know something? I think sometimes that you dont give a shit about anything. Or about any of us. Oh, Christ, He felt his own temper going for good that night. What I cant give a damn about, is what people do to themselves when they know better. If Marilyns got some problems, Im sure shes aware of where they come from. If she cant do anything about it, you surely wont. Frankly, though, I think shell do just fine, even without all our goddamn sympathy. Lonni looked at him for a long time and he knew she was thinking about him, but he was surprised with what she came up with. You dont really like it here in Gainesville, do you? He did not hesitate one second, leaning towards her, I dont think Ive ever loved a place more in my entire life. It was dark in the bar by then. The little light there was, red or blue from the neon beer signs, was thick with smoke, and faded into blackness as it went into the depths of the tavern. Over the voices came the sound of the jukebox. Sam looked over at where Pete and Debby were dancing again. The song from the jukebox had a plaintive thrust that would have been almost obscene if it were listened to sober the way it was listened to drunk or danced to the way Pete and Debby were dancing to it. Sam felt like he was bleeding to death, right there, and that it was going out of him and onto the floor for all the world to see. Ive got to go, he said. Lonni had been watching Pete and Debby dancing there as well. She raised her eyebrows a little, her eyes not completely focused. Why? He stood up. I have to. She looked up at him and then her eyes slowly lowered. Dont go, she said. He barely caught the words. Ill be back in a little while. No, you wont. He looked at her for a moment, but she was not looking at him anymore. As if that was the way it was supposed to be done. Out the back door and away up the alley, he moved quickly along, going with the first sidestreet that came, going anywhere. It had long since stopped raining. The streets were almost dry and a warm breeze was shifting through town. It was not all that late and he walked along the back streets past the houses, most still brightly lit on the ground floors. Once in awhile though, a bedroom light, and at one house on a small, dark street, a girl was brushing her hair in a mirror. After awhile, he found himself going down the one street he knew better than any other street in town other than his own, and then going in front of the one house he knew on the

63 street. It was dark there, black inside. Both the cars were gone. The weeks gone by suddenly seemed like a form of forever, as though a life of time now separated the present from the past. He went over and up on the porch and saw that it was completely dark inside. Stepping off the porch, he went around the side of the house and to one of the windows in back. It was also dark though and he kept going on through the yard, continuing on back into the alley, feeling suddenly ashamed and feeling he had to try to start thinking realistically again. The air, warm and gentle, meant that they would probably be able to cut in the morning. He looked at the sky and saw it thick with stars, and he turned and headed away from there. The hotel was deserted. Even at that time, during harvest, hardly anyone booked into the hotel. He went across the dim lobby and up the stairs to the third floor and then down the hallway to his room, feeling, by the time he got there, a little sick. When he got inside, he felt very sick and went into the bathroom for awhile. At first he turned on the light, but that made things seem worse and he switched it back off and continued to wait. Nothing happened, though. He undressed by the balcony, standing in the open doorway, breathing deeply, and looking out across the town, feeling the warm breeze on his legs and chest and letting his thoughts drift back downtown to where he knew no one had gone to wherever they were going. After a moment Sam turned and looked at his bed, a barely discernible shape in the darkness. Staring at it, his mind whipped bitterly in a direction he did not want it to go. After a while, when he had gotten himself to stop thinking about it, he tried to go to bed. But despite how much he had drank, and how tired he was, he did not sleep well that night. In the morning, the first thing he noticed when he went out on the balcony for some air and looked down on the street, was a pair of bare feet sticking out the back windows of his car. The mechanic was unconscious on the back seat. All Pete had on were his jeans. His shirt and boots were on the floor. Sam got in and drove off to get some coffee at the restaurant. Pete never moved. At the restaurant, Sam called Harley, and Harley told him that, yes, they would be going, and also asked if he had any idea where Carl and Dan were. Sam did not know. Harley said he hoped they did not have any more days like the one before. When he got back in the car, carrying a couple of cups of coffee, Pete slowly raised one arm and looked at his watch. Good morning. Sam said. Pete took a coffee and moved himself around upright. Oh, my God, he groaned. I died. Sam headed out of town. Turning on the radio low, he let the car carry him along, feeling the breeze on his arm. In the mirror he saw Pete struggling into his shirt, shaking his head. What a fucking night, the mechanic said. I guess. Sam looked in the mirror at Pete again, and Pete caught the look and grimaced. Youre probably wondering how Im still married to the same woman after ten years. Now you mention it, you seem to get a lot of rope. Ah, thats nothing. I was just fucking around, you know? I dont care. I dont need that shit. Nobodys giving you any shit. I didnt mean you. I mean that shit last night. Im past that sort of thing. She was a headcase anyway. I dont think Id have screwed her even if I was single. Sam looked out his window to somewhere. So, tell me. How did you end up in my car? Darla wouldnt let me in. I take back what I said about the rope. Nah. Its not so bad. I know how to get her backed down. Under control. Thats right, Pete mumbled. All it is, is making choices, man. Just got to make your choice, and hope to Christ you dont make some stupid, fucking, mistake. He sighed loudly.

64 You know? I almost broke in. But I didnt. Boy, what a fucking night. Even before the shit flew it was fucked. In the mirror Sam saw Pete bend over, and he had an anxious moment until he heard Pete putting on his boots. After awhile, his head reappeared. This ought to be a hell of a day. Thats for sure. Sam agreed. Everything was going to feel like cotton balls. I dont know how those guys can work together. I mean, they hate each other. Whos that? Sam smiled and Pete saw it. You think its funny? I dont know what to think. I dont know what youre talking about. Pete looked up at the roof of the car for a moment. Oh, yeah. You took off before Dan and Carl got back. Dan and Carl? Sam felt the morning turn a little. What happened? Guess. He shrugged. I dont know. They had another argument, I suppose. Yeah. An argument. Pretty good argument, Id say. Broke a chair and a bunch of glass and got us all thrown out. What about? Fuck if I know. Everybody just got yelling. Lonni went nuts, yelling at Dan, and Carl got pissed off at her, and then at Marilyn. And right in the middle of all of that shit Dan threw a goddamn glass. I mean, not at anyone, but he just threw that fucker down, I think just to stop Lonni because, well, you should have seen it. But she just kept telling Dan to shut up, and then Dan started this shit with Carl, going over and over, am I right? am I right? And shit, I dont know Carl just let go and hit him. On the head. I mean, I really thought he was coldcocked the way he went down. But then they started beating the living shit out of each other. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. It was almost worse than having actually been there. So then what? Not much. Bob got one tossed out the back door and one out the front. We all had to leave then before the Marshall got there, so we went over to the cocktail lounge. All of you? Well, no. Just Marilyn, there at the lounge, crying all the time ... with Lonni and Debby and all ... Harleys road appeared at the next bend and Sam turned off the highway onto it and then ran towards the house. And you. And me. As he pulled to a stop by the barn he heard Pete say to himself, Shit, oh shit, oh dear. Sam was greasing his combine when he suddenly noticed Dan over on the next machine. Other than looking a little tired, Dan looked surprisingly normal. Dan looked back at him and a grin flashed on his face. I heard you went tits up last night. You want to hear what I heard about you? Dan was still smiling. Thats okay. Hows Carl? Dan shrugged, and then jerked his head. Sam looked past him and saw Carl working on a piece of equipment on the other side of the yard. Ive got to tell you, he said, looking back at Dan. You two are really nuts. Dan looked reflective. So you really have heard all about it. Just what happened. Pete came out with me this morning. Whatd he say? That he was too drunk and everyone was too drunk and then you two started tearing each other up. Thats about it.

65 Sam did not want to get between brothers, but he had to know something. Is this going to get worse? No. We were both wrong. Even if Sam was not sure how, he could see Dan meant it. And that was all he wanted to hear, or talk about it, and he changed the subject to the thing that was really on his mind. Did you ever see the other two at all last night? Were you looking for them? Sam shrugged. They dont go downtown much, you know. Probably just stayed home. I mean ... the middle of the week... Sam nodded, knowing all that and wondering why he had bothered to ask. The morning preparations went a little longer than usual, but Harley said that was all right. The grain would take another hour or so to dry down to the right level. Under his feet, Sam could feel just a hint of wetness in the soil, despite how warm the morning was already becoming. While everyone else milled around and talked, waiting to begin, Sam climbed into his cab and slouched there in the seat. He left the doors to his cab open, but turned on the stereo and leaned back, shutting out the world by just closing his eyes. He felt tired, and that made him feel a little displaced, as if things were not completely real. But it was not long before the day then got started, and the mornings blur drifted away. It would have been good if the day had remained normal, and simple like that, but only an hour after lunch it got complicated again. Jesus Christ, Fred was saying. Ive got to quit one of these days, you know? Sam was not listening at all. He was completely dead in the field. It was the third time the same belt had broken on him. The third time. He was not going to screw around with it anymore. He was going to find out what was making it go wrong. Just like he had wanted to do the first goddamn time. He could feel a dull anger at himself for not having just gone ahead and done it, instead of listening to everyone else. Damn it anyway, he thought. He set the pulley aside and reached for a wrench by where Fred was standing. What was that, Fred? He said, selecting the wrong-sized open-end. I said, this is a hell of a way to make a living. Fred handed him the right wrench. Why do you say that? He loosened the nut. The best thing to do was to replace the whole unit. Whether he could talk Harley into doing that was the question. Harley was as familiar with the problem as he was, and might suggest just buying a bunch of spare belts. There was no getting around the fact that even if he changed a half dozen more belts, the expense, even counting worktime, would still be less than if he tore that particular system out completely. But what a pain in the ass to have to do that all the time, he thought. He got the nut off and started on another. ... and Ill tell you another thing, Fred rambled on. You could take me twenty miles in any direction in these hills, blindfold me and tell me where you wanted me to go, and I could get there. I dont doubt it. And you know what else? What? Five years after they stick me in the ground, you wont even know Id been here. Sam jiggled the side of the bearing plate a little and the whole thing slid easily off. It should, he thought, the goddamn thing had been worked on enough. He handed it to Fred. Well, thats how were all going to end up, and thats the fuck of it. God damn it to hell, dont I know it. Sam looked up into where all the other belts and pulleys were, and stuck his arm behind one pulley. After a little groping, and with some effort, he drew out a piece of burnt belt about a yard long. He handed that to Fred as well.

66 Shit, Fred went on, shaking his head. I know these hills as good as any old Indian ever did. Maybe better. Sam stepped back to consider what to do next. That doesnt mean anything. Look what good it did the Indians. Maybe he could weld an extension onto the swing arm and take some of the slack out of it that way. Well, it should. Yes, Sam headed for the ladder on the side of the combine. It should, shouldnt it. He talked to Harley on the radio, and Harley told him to go ahead and get the whole unit, but that he would have to do the work himself because Pete was hamstrung at the moment with a truck that had lost its clutch. Sam and Fred walked down off the hill and found a truck-road in the flat, and they followed that, looking for one of the trucks to come along headed for the highway. Finally one did, and they stopped it and climbed up into the cab and its driver, a high school boy named Tyler, gave them a lift. Sam watched Tyler take the big truck through the gears, only using the clutch once at the start, after that just shifting when the engine came up to its governor. Out on the highway, he upshifted the transfer case to the second range and they ran along fast and smooth for a few miles until they found one of the pickups beside some grain bins. He brought the truck to a stop and Sam and Fred got out and walked over to the pickup. Good kid, Fred said. He seems to like the work. Thats how it starts. Sam gave the ignition a flick and they drove off towards Gainesville. The two of them were silent for awhile and the silence was normal. Then Sam had a sudden curiosity. You ever been married? Of course. There had not been even a split second of hesitation. Sam looked over at him. How was it? Not bad. Got any kids? Not enough time. He looked at Fred and thought the old mans face seemed a little sad. He was immediately sorry, and said so. Whys that? Fred grinned. I dont know. You dont look too happy talking about it. I didnt mind it much. That made one of you, huh? As always, it was like pulling teeth to get Fred to talk about anything except farming. Sam thought he could begin to see at least one reason why Fred was no longer married, if death could be ruled out. Didnt get any complaints. Thats good. Sam now figured the woman was long dead. Yeah. We got along just fine. Still do. What? Sam had never seen Fred with a woman. You still married? Oh, hell no. Havent been married for almost fifty years. So, its your ex-wife. Yeah. You say you still see her from time to time? Pretty often, as a matter of fact. Well, thats nice. She remarry? Never did. There was never anyone else. Although Sam figured there was enough there now that Fred would go on by himself, as usual, Fred just fell silent again. Sam laughed. Are you going to explain, or what? You dont expect to leave me with just that?

67 Fred shrugged his big shoulders. If you want. What happened is that I was married for three months in nineteen forty-seven. No shit. No shit, yourself. I knew her for about a year and one day we went over to Moses Lake and got married. After that we came back, and I dropped her off at her folks house, and then I went home. We were like that for three months. Her living with her parents, and me over here, and nobody knew. Never? Well, not for a goddamn long time. And at the end of three months, that was it? Pretty much. Then we just saw each other after that. Why? You said there wasnt any problem. Ah, well, thats the thing there, you know. You cant imagine the way a girl might have been brought up around here back in those days. You see, she liked living with her folks, they needed her quite a bit... Sam was reminded of someone else, in a passing way. Evidently, anything could get him thinking in that direction lately. ... and she also liked how wed always had to go sneaking off to go dancing and what-all, and as long as we were married we couldnt have it like that anymore. Now could we? You kept seeing her after that? Every weekend. You dated your wife? Ex-wife. You could never get her to move in? Nope. She just stayed on with her folks until one and then the other died, and shed been there so long ... Didnt you ever feel like changing it, after that? Saw no need to. We were used to it by then. This is really strange I guess she always was a little strange. Except for, you know, how she liked to ... Fred patted his knee. That aint strange. ... but she just didnt like it that her parents would know she was doing it. Oh, for Gods sake! Im not kidding. She could only enjoy it if she was doing it on the sneak. Which included, I suppose, having everyone think she was still a virgin. Fred pulled a cigarette out of the pocket on the bib of his overalls and started searching for his lighter. Thats all. She never wanted kids? Oh, yeah, Fred paused for a moment to reflect. You know, I probably could have had some with her. I think she would have liked to, too. Except that she couldnt have figured out how to do it without having seemed to have done it. You know what I mean? That would be a problem, for sure. Makes her sort of special, dont it? And you never wanted to marry anyone else? Nope. Never got lonely? Why? She was always there for that. The whole time? Sure. Boy, Fred. This really is a strange one. I dont know, Fred took a pull on his cigarette. It worked.

68 They went into the equipment dealer and ordered the pieces. For the reason that the main distribution point for the county was over in St. Pierre, they were told they could not get them for another hour until the daily run was made. They went over to the restaurant and had coffee. With the hot sun coming in through the glass, and the solitude of empty booths surrounding them, time seemed to stretch on forever. Yeah, Fred said after a long silence. Ive got to quit this shit. Sam looked up at Fred, dragging himself out of where he had been off to in his own thoughts. Youre not that old. Yeah, I am. Shit. Youre still getting around as good as anyone. Maybe, Fred said. But maybe its time for someone else to step in. He said it without looking up, but Sam knew who he meant by someone else. Ever since he had been hired in the early spring, he had felt how it was just possible that he had been working himself into a permanent position. He just had not wanted to think about it. He looked at Fred and had a sudden thought. That was what all the earlier stuff that afternoon had been about. Fred was thinking that maybe Harley was going to be forced to make a choice between them after harvest, when things went slack, and if so, Fred did not want to be a victim of a choice. He wanted to keep the ability of making it like it was at least partially his own decision. He looked at Fred. Big, heavy shoulders, but a beaten face and beaten hands. Like a fighter. And fifty years more, like he had pretty much said himself, no one would know the difference. Sam did not know what to say. If Freds hinting was real, which made it as big as a barn, it was not a polite thing to leave him hanging. But Sam did not know that for sure. What was worse, even if Sam did not want the job anyway, he did not feel like just coming right out and saying out loud that he would be quitting after harvest. He needed time to think. Everything was rushing in on him in a way it never had before. He looked at Fred again. Fifty years of work. Just like that. So easy, and all he had to do was nothing, maybe not even think about it, and the job would be his. That was how it was supposed to be. One stepped out, another stepped in, and in fifty years someone could blindfold him, too, and he could walk all over those hills like he had made them himself. Just like Fred. And it would not make a damn bit of difference, and in a hundred years even less. For just a moment there was a vision of something else, and he remembered how Fred had said that, after all, nothing was so strange about it, when it worked. Sam took a sip of coffee. Oh, Christ, he said. Theyre probably going to have to pry you off a tractor twenty years from now. All stiff and dry. Like cow shit in a pasture? Sam nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. Or like bullshit in a restaurant.

69

Chapter 8

After dinner Sam drove straight to their door. Sue greeted him. inviting him in and went to get him a beer. He took a seat on the couch. The television was on and there was an old movie playing. To Sam, after half a minute, it looked like the oldest movie in the world. Sue spent a long time getting the beer and Sam knew there was a phone in the kitchen. She came back with the beer finally, and one for herself, and sat down across from him in a big, overstuffed chair as though they were just going to watch the movie together. Perhaps a minute passed before he finally asked when Ruth would be back. She said she did not know. He asked her how she had been doing. Okay, she said. You know. Day by day. Silence fell again and they watched the gray old movie together some more, and then he saw how, while she was not telling him to get out, it would probably be better if he left, anyway. He felt a sudden panic, even though he knew he would not be faced with something really bad. His car was outside and Ruth would not put him face-on with reality. Sue knew that as well, so she was not trying to warn him away. It would not be bad. He went completely self-conscious about getting out though. For half a second he almost considered sticking it out. But then, finally, he knew there was no way he could. He was gathering his momentum, drinking down his beer, when the car stopped outside. It was hidden by his own car in front of the house, and after a minute or so he saw her appear and the car driving away. Sam could not remember having ever seen it, a dark green sports car. But he knew he would now be seeing that car everywhere, and would eventually know everything there was to possibly know about it. She came through the door looking flushed. Hello, hello. She threw her light jacket into a chair and gave Sam a smile. What are you doing up so late? I was out of beer ... Thats what bars are for. Ruth shook her hair back, showing her neck. She had a habit of doing that, he remembered. It was a free and natural movement, and now it pained him to see it. She looked at him again, her eyes clear and pleasant, but not in any familiar way he could remember. The company isnt as nice, he said. Ah. Thats the difference? Would you like another? He felt he could not say no. Why not? Susan? She shook her head, watching the television. Ruth went into the kitchen and then came back and handed a beer to him. He looked at the can and then back to her. Youre not having any? She sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled her shoes off, and then pressed her hands against flushed cheeks. Oh, no! I think Im just fine. Been out on the town. Yeah.

70 Something new. I just decided to get out a bit. He snapped open the can. Its necessary now and again, I suppose. She stretched and yawned, doing nothing to try to hold it back. Sue suddenly stood up. Well, Ive got to get to bed, she said and went off to her room. Sam found himself staring at his beer can. So, Ruth said after a long silence. What have you been up to? Youve got to be kidding, I guess youre still harvesting. Yes, were still working out there. I cant believe you guys. Going like that all the time. I dont see how you can do it. She was letting him see how she wanted it. All he had to do was say he had to work in the morning, and that would be it. They would say a few more things, and then a kiss at the door and a wave goodbye and no mess for anyone to clean up afterwards. But if that was the way it was to be, suddenly he wanted it to end real messy, at the very least. It was not very mature, and not a good way to do things but then, he knew, these things never worked very well anyway, even when everyone was trying to be mature or the something that seemed like mature which was mostly just being unemotional. But it was goddamn emotional. He needed to see something of what he had known of her. Anytime you want to come out, he said, just let me know. I dont know, she said. Im so busy these days. Its no big deal. She nodded. Who knows? I just might. He raised up his beer and drank down the half of it, feeling his heart beginning to pound. Whatever. But I can see Id better not hold my breath. Thats an interesting thing for you to be saying. Her face had gone hard. So its really going to be my fault, after all. Why fight about that. Isnt this what you want? Arent I giving you what you want? Now whats the matter? He finished off his beer. Nothing. Everything is just fine. Like you say, its just the way I like it, and just the way it is. And thats whats the matter. Her look softened. I dont know what to believe about you sometimes. I can imagine. Thats whats nice about friends though. They do you the favor of getting around things like that. Is that your idea of what a friend is? Ruth frowned, looking exactly like what he thought she might look like if she were hoping he would just clear out. At that, everything drained out of him. He dropped the empty beer can onto the side table and got to his feet. Thanks for the beer. Id better be going. I can see Im keeping you up. She looked up at him and all of the old Ruth was back. He saw it, and realized it, but also saw that something had changed in her and that she had hid it from him. Love or hate, he did not know what it was, but it surprised him a little by how strong it was in her. She said quietly, you really are going to be an asshole, arent you? It knocked all the anger out of him and all he could do was stand there. What did you expect from me? She went on. I really dont know. I just dont want to get hurt. Do you think I want to do that? Do you think I want to hurt myself? No. But you have a better way of protecting yourself. All you have to do is leave. You think that protects me? Who the hell knows what protects you, Sam. I sure as hell dont know. But I do know that in spite of all your efforts, this is getting complicated.

71 Thats not all my fault. Just look at the way you came in. It was as if you were saying to me, Oh, what are you doing in my house? Or maybe you were asking yourself something like that. Its not a bad question, Sam. I wanted to see you. Ive wanted to see you, too. But you havent been around and I didnt feel I had the right to ask you where youve been. Thats the way youve made me feel. You just dont understand, he said. Im just not used to it like you are. I just watch things going on around in this town sometimes, and all I can think is how lucky I am that its not happening to me. She shook her head. Oh, for Christs sake. You dont let anything happen to you. She was frowning hard at him and he was now sure she really did want it over, and he knew she was right and that he had to go along with her. But it was also suddenly important to him, with her at least, that she did not think something untrue about what had happened. Listen, he said, I can see how you might think that. Youre so sure of everything. I just dont know how to trust everything the way all of you seem to be able. Maybe, living someplace all your life, you know how to see these things. But I cant. But I do want you to believe... you can believe this happened to me. He could see for sure now he was in love with her and he knew she had decided, no matter whether that was the same for her, against all of it. He looked at her face, and at her shoulders, and how, even at that moment, so tight and hard for both of them, there seemed something graceful about the way she was sitting there. Turning then, walking towards the door, he passed her and she lifted her face to look at him. Sam. He glanced back at her, and she was being kind, but suddenly he could not handle the rejection, no matter how it came now. Dont. Its okay. You dont know... Its okay. Really. Im okay. And Im sorry. There was a time, before they had made love for the first time, when she and him with Dan and Sue had gone out waterskiing. At lunchtime, they had eaten at a wooden raft at the far end of Edwards Lake. The raft had been small but there had been plenty of room for the four of them, and as they had talked their voices had gone out across the smooth water, coming back, echoed and muffled, from the high cliffs around them. After lunch, Dan and Sue had gotten into the boat to fix something in the steering and had ended up sitting in there talking with murmured voices. Sam and Ruth had found themselves left alone at the other end of the raft. They had sat there with their legs dangling in the water, and after awhile Ruth had laid backwards onto the dock, Sam continuing to stare out across the water. What are you thinking about, she had asked him then. Nothing, hed said. Except maybe how nice it is here. He had turned around and looked at her for a moment, and she had looked back, her eyes deep, welcoming him in. How did you end up in Gainesville? She had asked. My dogs got tired. I mean, really. Im not kidding. He had gone back to looking out across the water, but suddenly things had begun to go through his mind. He had not thought much about the circumstances for his being in Gainesville before then, but he suddenly saw it as being a little strange. Really, he had only stopped to get a hamburger. He had thought of what might have happened if he had not been hungry almost like fate and then he had looked next to himself at her legs. They were smooth and tan and she was

72 gently stirring the lake, her thighs alternated tightening and slackening as she moved the water around. His glance had traveled up her body, taking in the swells and curves along the way. She was beautiful, he had thought. He had leaned backwards and rested on one elbow so he could look at her better. Do you think its all that strange? He had said, smiling. Dont you? She had smiled back. Even about us? Well, if it comes to us, that is strange. Do you really thing so? She had asked, her voice going serious. I mean, how we met? He had shook his head. No. How in the world could anyone plan something like this? She had frowned a little. I know it, she had said. but it just seems like there should be more to the way it happens. He had laughed. How it happens is the last thing that bothers me. Oh, I see, she had smiled. Youre only into the big questions. He had found his gaze faltering for the second time that day. Does it really bother you? She had raised her head and looked at him for a long moment, and then she had leaned back and closed her eyes. Not usually. He had not said anything and she had opened her eyes again and looked at him, and then she had smiled. Im sorry. I didnt mean to get carried away like that. She had reached out and touched his arm. Dont worry, Ill get over it. He had looked at her face, by then darkly tanned but also with a fine freckling, and then at her hair, the soft waves tangled from skiing. He had looked down at that strangely muscular throat of hers, and then to where it went into the depression between her collarbones. He had reached his hand out and had run his fingers along her shoulder to that place, and then up her throat towards her chin. Then his hand had dropped away. He had not known if he wanted her to get over anything or not. Is this getting serious? He had asked. I dont know, she had said, her eyes still closed. Why? I dont want to screw things up, is all. It wont be you that does it. He had smiled at that. Dont be so sure. She had opened her eyes. Im not, she had said, looking directly at him. Thats why I said that. There had been nothing he could say. Any honest thing would have only served to tell her she was right. But for some reason he had not wanted to be honest. He had wanted things to continue. The trouble had been that the way those things went had not seemed right anymore, and suddenly he had felt like he was at a place where any step he might make would be the wrong one. For a moment all he had been able to do was to just stare at her face, and her eyes, and her hair, and her dark skin shining with perspiration beneath the sun. So easy, he had thought. It was all so easy. All he had to do was jump. It had happened almost without warning. At one moment he had been looking at Ruth and thinking about how nice that seemed, and in the next moment he had gone and seen the whole thing go past as he knew it would, the dissipation of the dream. They were going to get closer and closer, and then one day it would start going the other way, until it fell as far apart as it could ever be possible to imagine. Inevitable, as those things were. Except that, maybe, that time would be the worst, and it would be a killer, her maybe ending up by despising him, or maybe just throwing him out to wherever she threw her bad experiences. All because he would go too far, and would try to be as though in love with her without being able to accept the circumstances surrounding that love. He had felt her hand suddenly on his back. Only one hand, warm and soft, resting there as though just a place to put a hand. But he had felt himself going into her palm as if he was being held there. She had begun moving her hand across the muscles in the small of his back and the sickness he had felt before came back again, and he had come close to groaning, but had not,

73 and he had leaned forward and had caught some water in his hands and had pressed his face into them. Well, he had thought as he had rubbed the water out of his eyes, it might have been the start of a mess, but it was better than nothing. He had been so tired of nothing. He had turned around to look at her lying there. Her hand had still been on his back. Her eyes had been closed. He had looked at them, and at the dark, full lashes, and then at her temples where the fine hair curled wetly there, looking at her in the way a wide landscape could be looked across from a high vantage point, seeing so much more than just the details of its features, seeing it as a place in the world in which one could belong. He could tell her he loved her, he had reasoned. Sure he could. He had looked down her throat to her breasts, flattened and full under her suit, and then across her soft hips to the strong thighs. And when was the right time to tell a woman she was loved, he had thought? Before or after making love to her? At the time, he had not yet seen her as a landscape to be lived in, but as a field to be worked. By a hired hand. That time now seemed so long ago as to no longer exist. Even at four in the morning everything was still shit, and he was still awake. If he had had any beer, he would have been drunk. But he had nothing and that was part of the shit. It was not that he was feeling bad, it was just that he could not find any way to feel good. So not being either one or the other, or drunk or asleep, and almost too tired to be so awake, he could have sworn he was dead. He was thinking how if things were that way because they had somehow been planned, with few choices to make, then it all was a terrible crime. But, worse was if things were that way with no choices at all. Then it all was a terrible joke. Whichever it was though, he could not be convinced right then that the deep mysteries of the universe mattered much. Because he really did feel dead, and the dead do not give a damn about anything more complicated than death, if that. He looked at the dark ceiling and blew out his millionth cold breath lonely sighs in an empty room, filling the captive air. Then he heard the knock. What? His breath stopped. He listened to a wild silence and then rolled off the bed and crossed the room, his body still dead, his mind nakedly racing beyond thoughts. He opened to the darkness of the hallway. For a moment he stared. Then his mind came back to him again, then warmth to his body. It was cold there at the door. The balcony doors were open, and a small breeze was able to now make its way past him out into the hallway. He shivered. Your right, he said. Weve got a lot to talk about. Suddenly though, he told himself to remember that nothing was ever to be taken for granted. He could be dead wrong. But Ruth just nodded. Well, I should hope so. Right now, though, what Id really like to be able to get is some sleep.

74

Chapter 9

He arrived out at Harleys just as everyone was coming out from breakfast to load themselves into the back of Tylers pickup. It was not the first time he had been late, recently. Problem? Harley asked from inside the cab, looking towards Sams old car. Not really, he said. He climbed over the tailgate, taking a seat on a spare tire. Hard morning? Carl said as the pickup began moving out of the yard and down to the highway. Dan opened his mouth and laughed silently at Sam. The rest of the crew was grinning, but Carl kept his face expressionless. Next time, wake her up earlier. If thats necessary, Dan said. The crew hooted. Sam looked at all of them and then looked away at the countryside going past. Everybody knew by now, and it did not seem too strange to him how he did not mind in the least. But if they wanted to joke about it, he was never going to join in. Even that early in the day, they could all tell it was going to be hotter than usual. The sun, two hours off the horizon, already penetrated uncomfortably into the morning. For the combine drivers, it was with a sense of anticipation that they greased the running parts of their machines, looking forward to when they could shut themselves in with their air-conditioners. For the truck drivers, all they had to look forward to was a long day of sweating inside cabs, the heat coming off the hard packed ground worse than the heat of the air, as they crept around the fields, their engines getting hot, with a chance something, a radiator hose, the batteries, a hydraulic line, might fail. Walking around his combine, Sam could smell the heat in the dust. The stubble, drier than ever, crackled and shattered as he strode across it. They were into awfully good wheat there, he noted for what must have been the hundredth time. So thick and tall-growing that the combines were able to cut it with their headers much higher. It was nice not to have to think about skimming dirt, and it was nice because the combines thrashed better in the good stuff. But there were drawbacks. The high stubble was normally not a problem, but high and dried out as it was right then it could pose a serious fire hazard. He had seen for himself what could happen. He had even been unlucky enough once to have started one. And a fire in stubble could go so fast that it was barely believable, eating up hundreds of acres before anyone could do anything. Of course, a stubble fire would not hurt a harvest much, only being a little hard on the land by leaving nothing but ash to turn back in afterwards. But stubble fields sat next to wheat fields, and to neighboring fields, and things could get very bad. Combines did not start fires. There was nothing hot on them at ground level. Trucks, though, could and sometimes did. Low muffler systems, hot transmissions, straw getting up into engine spaces, were sometimes as good as a match. All of them were being careful in the heavy wheat though. The morning of the first really hot day went well. The combines often filled with grain before trucks, burdened with the long run to Cresswall, could get to them. Sometimes, the combines actually had to stop and wait, their bulk tanks almost spilling over with the wheat. All that morning he had been cutting around a big hilltop by himself, working higher and higher on its golden sides until he came up

75 on top, finding it there very large and almost flat, almost a plateau, and after awhile all he was doing was cutting on the level. Taking advantage of the ease of cutting there, he would occasionally glance around at everyone else. The other combines were all together across on another, huge, hill system. Up the draws on the near side, he could see the truck roads the combines had cut through the wheat, sometimes making switchbacks in a few of the steeper sections. Trucks climbed slowly up those roads to where the combines were, jockeying themselves around afterwards in the steep draws and making their ways back down. The truck drivers remembered to swing over to Sam once in awhile so he never had to stop long a wait for a truck. For him, it was a pleasant thing to work that morning. At lunch though, when everybody met in the big draw between the two hills, Sally and her helper finding them sitting in the shade of their circled machines, it had been different. To be out in the heat, in the middle of all that massed equipment and the hot wheat field, was suffocating. She backed the pickup into the circle of machines, put the tailgate down, and began to set out the food. She smiled at the way all the equipment was parked and at how they all seemed to be hiding under it. You all look like youre expecting an attack. Nobody answered. The combine drivers were almost stunned by how hot it really was. The truck drivers were just doing what they had done all morning, and were moving as little as possible. Well, then, she said as the last plates were set out. Come and get it. At first, no one got up. She looked at them for a moment and then laughed. At that Harley got up off the ground, and then with a few moans the rest of them got up and went over to the pickup. Whats the matter with all of you? She said. Its only a hundred and thirteen out here. Is that all? Harley said, reaching for the iced tea. The weatherman says were supposed to have temperatures over ninety the next few days. Hes not wrong yet. Sam dished himself some fruit salad. You know, Dan said. This would be a great day to go to the lake. A few of the truck drivers groaned. See you later, Carl said. Dan smiled, but then, surprisingly, a conversation did spring up about waterskiing. Sam finished loading his plate and went over and took a seat by his combine and ate there, sitting against a big tire, listening, but not joining into the talking. It made him feel tired and it was something he really did not know all that much about anyway. During that one time he had gone skiing back in early summer, it had been only luck permitting him to stay on his feet. When he finished his plate, and got up to get a second course, Carl found a way to drag him into the conversation. I heard Sam was a pretty good skier. Hes a champ. Sam said. When the boy keeps on his feet, Dan said. Sam nodded from the pickup. Saw you on your ear a few times, too. Yeah, but I think you did it better. Falling down, that is. I dont know. Too bad we dont have a movie. What were you doing, Harley grinned. Skiing or committing suicide? Both, Dan said. There were a couple of girls there. Carl looked between Sam and Dan. I dont know about you two sometimes. Yeah? Dan said. Well, we dont know about you, all the time. That so? Carl, walking back towards his shade, stopped at Dans feet. Dan raised his hands. Its too hot.

76 Sam finished his second helping standing by the pickup and then tossed his plate into the box. He did not throw his cup away though and poured himself another iced tea, taking that with him back to his combine. Before much longer the rest of the crew finished as well, and shuffled off slowly to their machines and the big circle broke up and the harvest crew got back on the hills again. All the chaff and straw got flung out the back of the combines, but even with the spreaders fanning it around, clumping still occurred. On the high stubble they were leaving, the chaff caught on top where it got picked up into the hot areas of trucks. Often enough Sam would see a truck driver stopped somewhere, digging loose straw out from around transmissions and muffler pipes. It was a bother for them, but it was obviously better than the alternative. At about three, when the pale yellow dust was simply hovering fine and hot in the still air, he suddenly noticed something different about one of the trucks. Rolling towards him from ahead, the truck was going to make a swing around out in the stubble and then come up from behind so they could run together side by side. As the truck went by he saw what looked like flashes from the darkness beneath it. When the truck came alongside he called over to its driver and they both stopped. While the combine unloaded, he climbed down and went around to where the driver, Tyler, was pulling straw from under his cab. Some of the straw was cooked very brown. Just cant keep this shit out of here, Tylers voice cracked in frustration. Every time I leave the field its there, and I know its there within minutes after I come back. Sam nodded and looked at the boy who was, if it came down to calling it that, his rival for Freds job. Actually, he did not want to think of Tyler that way. He liked him. But there was no getting around the fact that he, in most ways, had a claim to things there that Sam did not have. Tyler was practically a farm boy himself, although his family lived in Gainesville. All he wanted to do was work for some farmer, work around the machinery and in the fields. What he knew about farming already came close to whatever Sam himself had picked up from an itinerant lifestyle. All that made him feel strangely uneasy around the kid, as though he was somehow dealing with a superior. Tyler had a continuous life there, with friends and neighbors who went all the way back to childhood. From what Sam had heard, the boy was supposed to be smart in school although he did not seem to give much of a damn about anything except the sports. A friendly, likable sort, with a handsome grin. Sam did his best not to feel threatened by a kid at least a dozen years younger than himself. Especially about a job he had not been so sure he had wanted in the first place. He looked under Tylers truck. I thought I saw some burning stuff falling off as you went by. Oh, no. I cant be sure. Tyler frowned for a second, and then motioned for Sam to follow him around to the cab. Sam looked in at the base of the shifting levers where Tyler was pointing. Tyler had loosened the metal cover plate over the transmission. Thats so I can use the extinguisher, he explained. You think thats necessary? Sam could see it was a real worry. It wasnt my idea. Gordon started it. But were all doing it. Gordon was the most inexperienced driver out there, and worried the most about things. Yet he had everybody doing it. What a pain, Sam thought. Its not a bad idea. Yeah. You cant imagine how nice it feels to get the hell out of the place and onto the highway again. Sam gave Tyler a smile but did not get a chance to say anything, his combine suddenly emptying itself and whining at him for his return.

77 It stayed hot like that for the rest of the week, but Friday, only two or three days away from the impending finish of harvest, was the worst. Not even the combines air-conditioners could keep up with it. They were all cutting the last section, a big, deep valley up at Cammas-Dian that bellied itself for more than a mile between two soaring hillsides. In the morning they had got most of the valley cut and by noon Sam and Carl had moved up onto the farthest hillside, running alongside a neighboring field. The hillside was huge, it was like being on the side of a mountain. Sam had never seen so much wheat all on one smooth slope. As he cut he could see far ahead to Carls combine, looking like only a tiny green insect in the golden immensity there. Far below, he could see the other combines working in the valley. It seemed a wonder they were in the same field. At the very top of that hillside ran a fenceline, little more than a fine line in proportion to the field, and on the other side, in a field that seemed almost as large, he could see distant combines working as well, moving their way slowly up onto that mountain of wheat. Everything seemed outsized. But as big as the land seemed, and as hot as it was, he felt no fatigue. The knowledge that they would be finished by the weekend made everything seem that much easier, no matter how little progress they seemed to make each time they cut a swath. There was a lightness to things and everybody felt it. Where before, the days had dragged on from one to another in an endless repetition, with always another field to go to after the last, there was suddenly no other field except a small one back towards Harleys. Like no other thing, that gave them energy for a last burst in the same way a marathon runner gains strength at the sight of the finish line. It was a combination of everything, the heat, the high stubble, the dryness of the air, and how the crew was rushing the work along in anticipation of ending it, that finally did it. He was rounding the far side of the hill at the end of one of his long sweeps. Listening to the stereo, he was barely concentrating, having settled into the monotonous routine of the endless hillside and tall wheat. Suddenly his radio burst into a cacophony of voices. Everybody seemed to be trying to talk at once. He looked down into the long valley where the other combines were. Dans voice was telling someone to just keep going. Sam could see one combine stopped and a truck rapidly moving away from it down the valley. All the other trucks began moving then. The first truck then caught his attention. As it drove away, it left a line of small black patches in the stubble. He saw no smoke or flames, but he knew those little black patches were probably going pretty well. Harleys combine swung over into the black patches in a rush, trying to push a little dirt around with his lowered header. But Sam could see that the fire was spreading too fast to be stopped that way. Harley obviously had the same thought, and Sam saw him quit that effort and head up the hill to get himself between the stubble fire and the standing wheat, and his neighbors, up on top. Lets try to get the stubble down, Harleys voice came over the radio. Sam saw Carl pull out of where he had been cutting and start then to mow through the thick stubble in another line lower on the hillside. Sam, at his end, began doing the same, putting himself so that he would run into Carls new mark. Harley was way off down the hill going at it like they were, having somehow avoided getting his header plugged up with dirt from his plowing effort. The fire gathered itself rapidly and slowly spread towards both sides of the valley, having consumed the thin strip of standing wheat at the very bottom where those combines had been finishing up. In one direction, back across the valley towards Harleys other fields, no one was trying to stop the fire. There was only stubble out that way now and the fire could go for miles without jumping a fence. He did not know if cutting the stubble was going to do any good, but he set his header practically on the ground and began to mow it as flat as he could. What he would have liked to have done was just turn the header off and start bulldozing. But while that gave only a slightly

78 better possibility of stopping the fire, it had a very high possibility of totally ruining his header. Probably though, he thought as he cut along, they would all be doing that in the end anyway. There was no wind to push the flames, but the stubble was really going, the long lines of flames creeping up the hillsides were strong enough to be shimmering visibly above the stalks by then. The black, burnt out area below grew steadily larger, as though a malignant growth, the sense of threat it imposed almost as though intelligent in the way it manipulated their fears. Sam, Carl, Harley, and another combine were all cutting down along a single line by then, creating an eighty-foot swath of shaved stubble along the entire length of the hill. Sam wondered why Dan had not joined them, but he reasoned Dan must have gone for the fire truck, or something. At the far end of the hillsides, a mile away, was a highway. At the other end was a naked, dirt field of summer fallow. If their line held, the flames could be contained. Harley called to them when they had all finished and said they would go over it all again. The stubble now was much too short to burn, but there was still all the chaff there the combines had spewed out behind. The radio crackled again and Carls voice came over. Do you know if we still have the disc up here, Sam? He reached up and pulled down his microphone, thumbing the button. Its behind the shed by the house. Carl was right, Sam thought, a little ashamed at having forgotten that. But it was also a long way back to the barn, and a combine did not go all that fast, and to go and get the tractor out, hook up the disc and return with it might be too late for the neighbors. It had to be tried though, the fire had to be stopped whether it was there, or a mile away. Sam saw Harleys combine turn off in that direction. Harley tried to raise Dan on the radio but finally gave up and called to Sam. I hope I wont have to fuel it. The tractors full. And the discs behind the shed, right? Yeah, he said to the repetitive question. That seemed too short though and he pressed the button again. Yes it is, Harley. Smoke rose up heavily from the blackened valley, but not where the fire was going hot. Sam noticed a pickup appearing suddenly above him at the top of the hill, the neighboring crew having finally spotted what was happening. He hoped to see a tractor suddenly discing along the fenceline, breaking the wheat there into the ground and creating a dirt sweep thirty feet across, enough to stop the fire. If that was the case, he would abandon what he was doing and go up to open up a section of fence so the tractor could get through to their side. Instead though, he only saw the appearance of three combines at the top of the hill, cutting slowly as they tried to eat their way through the wheat there, taking into their slowly turning maws the whole plant in one big bite. He joined in behind Carl, but it was with a sinking feeling, the fire had suddenly swirled into the wheat despite their efforts, and was building itself into what would be, finally, a very real disaster. Strangely, to be near such a thing, was a bit exciting, like how a car wreck can be exciting if one survives. He had never been involved in huge disasters, and he was partly fascinated, in that morbid way everyone recognizes, to see what would happen. But there was fear in this as well, and the tension of both were stifling within the muffled glass confines of his cab. He would have liked to have talked to Carl over the radio, just to find out what he was thinking up there, but knew it would be a wasteful thing to do. He could guess how Carl was no happier. And that was what was a little surprising, since that was not the real reason he would have liked to talk to Carl; that, in fact, it was because of the way Carl was blandly taking charge of things, making a handful of calls to combines and trucks, getting things in order. Carl told the trucks to all go unload, telling one truck to stay at the elevator in Cresswall, near a telephone, in case things got out of hand. It was all done in a low-key drone, calm and capable,

79 and it was a side of Carl that probably few people knew. Even though, if it was known, it was the sort of thing people would not have given him credit for. A truly capable man, who has no idea how capable he is and therefore makes no display of it, will never be given credit for much of anything. Only rarely recognized, and then, only by one or, at best, two or three people. In Carls case, Sam believed there were perhaps three: hopefully Marilyn, probably Harley, and now himself. Anyone else, and especially Dan, would never see it. Probably even Sally would not see it, only knowing her eldest son around the house and at the dinner table where his rocklike persona did not reveal much. In a way, Carl was a bit like Harley, it being only out in the fields that one began to understand him. Out there, riding over the hillsides, slightly quixotic, he was a sort of hayseed Lancelot trying to maintain a tradition he was barely aware of, so profoundly was it a part of his nature. Dan questioned whether Carl was a true farmer or not. It was not lost on Sam how Dans question may have come from the depths of a personal doubt. Perhaps even from a deeply buried jealousy. Which, if that was the case, would then actually make it four people who recognized Carls capabilities, even if Dan only felt it as though from a darkened dream. Sam never saw when Harley came back. Almost at the other end of the swath he had been cutting, the first thing he noticed was how Carl suddenly stopped and got out of his cab, standing there on his catwalk. Sam stopped and looked and saw how Harley had come up the hill behind them, cutting across their lines and going straight towards the flames. Pulling the big disc, Harley went up and then practically into the place where the wheat was burning. He had let the discs into the ground the moment he had crossed the fire line and, there, appearing across the blackened remains of it and disappearing into the standing wheat was suddenly a strangely clean looking swipe of dirt, the rich, reddish-brown contrasting with blacks and yellows. Harley was going fast and he went along just in front of where the fire was burning into the wheat. When he got to one end of the hill he turned and ran back in the other direction. From where he was, Sam could not tell if Harley was enlarging his swipe there, or going over the same ground. But as Harley went across the hill, Sam now saw how the other crew had stopped to watch, making Harley the only moving thing on the hill. Where Harley had cut, again the flames had stopped, but here and there smoke shot up again as the fire found clumps of straw. Going as fast as he had, Harley had gone fairly shallow and there were some places where the ground had not been completely turned. Reaching the end, Harley went around and headed back, that time slower though, running the discs deep. Sam could see nothing behind him then but dark, healthy dirt. Sam and Carl and the other operator turned their combines up the hill towards where Harley was discing, disregarding how the lines they had made were being devoured in flames behind them. They cut alone for awhile, and then the trucks returned from where they had been waiting back at the old homestead. Harley returned with Fred in his cab, and he called for Sam to hold up. Sam pulled out of the wheat and Harley came alongside, and Fred climbed up his ladder and stuck his head in the door. You have to go back to the shop. Im going to take your machine. Whats up? They need someone there to help. Although Sam expected an explanation, Fred said nothing else, and Sam climbed down and walked down off the hill towards one of the trucks. Back at the shop, he found Dan sitting on an upturned bucket, a dejected look on his face. Dans combine was parked alongside the shop and as Sam walked by it he saw the heavy header beam was badly bent out of line on the left end, and the reel was destroyed, splintered slats and twisted metal smashed back into the workings. Lovely, isnt it? He could only nod. Shit. Dan looked over at the header for a moment as if he had just seen it himself. Finally, he got to his feet. Well, I suppose wed better be getting if off of there.

80 Sam looked at the header again. It definitely was a two-man job, but he could not figure out why he had gotten dragged out of his combine for something anyone else could have done. Anyone, meaning Fred or Tyler. He frowned, and he did not care if Dan saw it. Wherere you getting another header? Pete went over to St. Pierre. Dan could see the look on Sams face, but chose to ignore it. It was fairly simple to undo the header, and it was that ease which also bothered Sam. Finally, he asked what had happened. Just a big fuckup all the way around. He could hear the heat behind it, so he waited. After a moment, Dan sighed. Me and Tyler locked horns. It happened once in awhile. A truck, loading on the go, would creep too close, and that was all. It did not take much to damage a header. Too bad. I imagine it didnt do much good to Tylers truck either. There was not much else to say or do about it past that. Accidents always happened. They had been very lucky up until then. As far as harvests went, theirs had been practically accident free. A rare thing. He knew that, but he did not say it, knowing, too, that no matter what, accidents were tough on those having them. The good thing was that nobody forgot about the first thing, and so practically never got excited. That was why he was surprised to hear what Dan said next. Tyler, he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm, has other things to worry about. Sam glanced over, but Dan kept his head down where he was working. Sam knew that one of the trucks had caused the fire, and he suddenly knew it had been Tyler. But hell, he thought, it could have been anybody. In fact, it was amazing that it had not happened before. He found it hard to believe that Dan would crucify Tyler for that. Dan knew as well as anyone that Tyler was a careful driver. Tyler had some problems? Sam felt stupid with the question. Some! He burned up his truck. Bad fire? I dont see how he was still running. Im surprised his fucking hoses or wiring didnt melt. Dan was being very hard right then and Sam did not say anything. It was a side of Dan he had never exactly seen before, although he had seen quite a bit. Dan seemed to be having no problems working his frustration out in other directions, on other people. Sam was not going to oppose Dans feelings, but he was not going to help. Not in the least either because it was all going towards Tyler. He had no exact idea how things happened, but he felt suddenly that he needed to rebuild a few bridges. He did not want to spend the rest of the afternoon on that line. Oh, well. Things could have been worse. And Tylers all right? Dan nodded but nothing came out of him for a little bit and Sam began to wonder if he was resenting the equanimity, but then, finally, Dan gave a shake of his head. Fuck. I thought for sure he was going to just keep on going. What happened? Oh, Dans voice flattened out suddenly. Tyler caught fire while we were unloading. I mean, really caught fire. And he took right off, and, I dont know, then he just ended up in front of me, he made a curving motion in front of himself with one hand, like that. Into the wheat. Yeah. And I ran right smack into the back of him. Oh, shit. Dan shook his head. I might have missed him. The weariness in his voice deepened. But God damn it, the kid was too erratic. Its a hard thing to do, to make a fast adjustment to something when it goes suddenly like that. Dan shook his head again. Boy! What a fuckup.

81 Sam could see that Dan was going in all sorts of directions at the same time, and there was nothing to be done about it. They just kept working in silence after that and got everything disconnected, and Dan finally climbed up in the cab and fired up the combine and then backed it away, pulling the big pivot point out of its socket on the header. He then drove the combine into the yard in front of the shop and shut it down. All they could do then was wait for Pete to get back. Sam could do nothing but stay there and wait, too. Fred was in his combine. Tyler was driving Freds truck. The one that had burned was on the other side of the barn. He walked over to the truck and looked inside. Everything looked normal except down around the base of the shifting levers where Tyler had discharged his fire extinguisher. He leaned over the seat and lifted the cover. There, below the floor, was everywhere the white mess of the chemical over burnt-looking surfaces. It was obvious a lot of straw had got up under there and had really got burning. He could remember how Tyler had taken off out of the field, after the accident Sam had not seen, and how there had been burning straw dropping onto the ground. Tyler must have panicked a little and had gone in front of Dan while trying to put the fire out. Sam could understand how it could have been frightening with flames and smoke coming up around the cover plate, and the thought of all the diesel fuel in his tanks and of all the plastic and rubber surrounding him there in the cab. He took one more look and had to agree that Dan had made one good point. It was, indeed, surprising Tyler had gotten the truck out of the field. He climbed down and went back to where Dan was sitting on his bucket again. He could see that Dan was feeling a little better. Which was fine, no matter why, as far as he was concerned. Just getting the ruined header off his combine must have helped some. He sat down on the ground beside Dan, both of them watching the wheat trucks rumbling by. In the silence of their waiting he suddenly found himself wondering what it would be like to have Dan as a full-time paymaster. Evidently, there would be moments of little mercy. Rival or not, he could feel a certain sympathy for Tyler. Dan recovered his good mood by the time they had gotten things hooked up. Sam and Pete had just barely been able to finish turning last nuts down tight before he revved up and rolled out to join the others. Not a word had been said to Sam about what he was to do, just leaving him standing by the shed, looking dumbly after the disappearing combine. He walked over with Pete to look at the truck, but he saw no help was needed. He only stood around for a little bit before finally walking away. He assumed that Pete, like himself, did not care to be talked to while he was working. He walked across the yard towards the field, feeling a little strange at having nothing to do. By the edge of the field he paused in the shade of a small wood building to watch the trucks go by. There was where he remained. Harvest was back in full gear out there. He could see that. Not, of course, that he could actually see it, with all the hills and valleys in the way. But the trucks came out and the trucks went in; and they all went the same way up a wide draw, disappearing there around a far bend, or came back out down to the highway with their loads, passing him as he watched from the shadows. When the trucks came in empty they banged and rattled on their stiff springs. Coming out, loaded and ponderous, all there was to hear was the engine, pulling along deep and melodic. And that, he was thinking, was all she wrote. Tylers truck had caught fire so he was driving Freds. Dan had run his combine into Tyler, but that had not been much of a problem with three competent mechanics to repair it. And Sam had done what he had been told was needed, and had helped where he could, and not where he could not, and had not burned up or crashed into something... and it was cooler to stand by the field in the shade of that little wood building where it was maybe only a little over a hundred degrees ... and Pete did not think the other truck would be ready until the next day, at best. At first there were a lot of ways he figured he could feel about it. Then he changed his mind and saw only two. He could feel irritated, or he could just shrug his shoulders and not

82 give a damn. He did not like either option. That he was forgotten about, suddenly and completely, there was no doubt. Everybody had something to do, and nobody was going to be wondering what happened to the things that fell through the cracks. Under normal circumstances, he might not have cared at all. But with the things he had been thinking about lately, it was an uncomfortable position to be in. And all just because Dan had been so sore at Tyler that he could not have him anywhere near him. A goddamn whim. A goddamn unforgiving fit of temper. The trucks kept coming and the trucks kept going, and after awhile he got tired of doing nothing, and also tired of thinking about how he was doing nothing, and he walked out towards where the trucks were rolling past and flagged down the next one, a full one coming out. Tyler was driving. Mind if I ride with you for awhile. Hell, no, Tyler said. When Sam took his seat, Tyler let out the clutch and they began to roll. In just that short amount of motion Sam suddenly felt better and he watched as Tyler went through his shifts in the first range. When they got to the highway, Tyler stopped for a second. Sam watched in silence as Tyler leaned over and lifted the cover plate around the shifting levers and peered below. Satisfied, he dropped the plate and then rolled out onto the highway. Then he glanced over with a small smile. Sam could understand. Whether the afternoon had been upsetting or not, it was necessary for Tyler to work himself back into the routine of things. That made all the difference in the world. By evening, everybody would be as they were before, and the fire and accident would just be something to talk about by then. Everybody would be the same because things had not changed all that much. One truck down would not cause anyone to worry, especially with the end so near. One truck was expendable. It was nice there on the highway, Sam told himself, and he enjoyed the ride to Cresswall. The big truck went smoothly along and he and Tyler talked. As always happened when he talked to Tyler, in spite of any strange feeling of rivalry he might have had towards the boy, he could not help thinking how familiar it all sounded. Tyler was a little like he had been at that age. He carried good impressions about people, and enjoyed his work, and he even found Tylers sense of humor somewhat the same. The only difference he could see was that Tyler knew a hell of a lot more about what he wanted to do than he had known at that age. Or any age. Tyler had never had to be anywhere but Gainesville. Just before Cresswall there were some big curves in the highway and he watched how Tyler took them smooth and fast. He was going as fast as he possibly could without blowing any wheat off the top. Really, the boy was pretty good. You know, he said. I think Id like to drive truck once in awhile. Just to be able to go like this. I like it. Tyler looked over at him and grinned. And except for the straw, I especially like it on days like today. Sam felt the warm wind blowing past. It certainly was more comfortable to be moving through it fast, and maybe it was even more comfortable than the flat air-conditioning in the combines. You do feel like youre breathing. Yeah. Of course, today, Im happy to just be breathing at all. Sam had not thought of talking about it. He had got himself past it, thinking it was better to do so considering how he was feeling about things. But since Tyler had brought the subject up, he felt his curiosity come back. What happened out there? Tyler shook his head. Shit if Ill ever know. I was checking all the time. I guess thats how she goes. Tyler was still shaking his head with the memory. It caught me by surprise. I mean, the size of it. The whole cab went full of smoke and got so hot ..., he smiled, I just about fucking shit. It was that fast?

83 Yeah, I dont know, I must have picked up a big clump of straw all at the same time somehow. Nothing else would have gone like that. Dan said he was surprised your hoses didnt melt. Tyler nodded. Suddenly, a small frown went over his eyes. I dont know what happened with Dan. He saw I was on fire. Christ, there was smoke everywhere. I couldnt see anything out of the cab. Next thing, bam, hes right into my ass end. He shrugged. I dont know. I just dont know. Im almost thinking he was still cutting behind me. He was. Tyler did not react for a second, and then sort of smiled. Oh, man. If theres one thing about Dan, its that youd better perform perfectly when youre anywhere next to him. I dont know. Its true. You have to go right down the line with him. Because if you dont, youll make him fuck up, too. No margin for error. He grinned stiffly. Of course, when hes the one that fucks up ... You sound like you know him pretty well. Tyler laughed at something. Dont get me wrong. I like Dan a lot. But hes always been just the way he is. You know, he was my hero when he was in high school. He was the big athlete and everything, and all of us little kids used to hang around him all the time. But even then I remember how he was like that. During games, too, sometimes. Hed just come unglued when someone else, or something, screwed up on him. One little thing, and it was all over. Sam found it interesting, but also found he did not have a thing to say about it. There was a long pause. I hope, Tyler went on, its not going to be too expensive to fix the truck. Sam glanced over at Tyler. There was real worry there. For whatever it was worth, Tyler had not simply been able to dismiss his private little hells. Sam said he did not think it would be much at all. Cresswall had a couple of big elevators. There was no waiting in line and they went right in onto one of the scales. Three girls worked the equipment there and while Tyler was unloading, one of the girls climbed up and hung there at his window to talk with them. Then they reweighed and were on their way again. As they were running back, and as Sam was just watching the fields going past, Tyler suddenly broke in on his thoughts. Next Friday night Im taking that one out. Good for you. What do you think? Sam had not thought anything, but he made an effort to do so. He remembered a very young girl, and a very young and hard looking body. Something he did not know how to look at critically anymore. She looked good, but they all looked good at that age. Sam smiled, despite himself. He really could not say anything constructive about her, except the circumstances. I think shes pretty smart to snag an elevator job. Tyler nodded. I know it. I didnt really feel like it was the big new idea when I asked her out. I felt almost obligated. Sam laughed. I think youre going to be ahead of your time. I hope not, Tyler said after a long moment. You mean, her? I mean everything. Tyler did not say anything, but Sam could see him actually considering it. Tyler, he saw, considered things quite carefully. Tyler glanced over at him, a look of genuine wondering on his face. How is it possible to get ahead of your time? I mean, I think the only way you can be anything else, is to get behind. Then Tyler looked back at the road. He was really sailing along, going fast and clean through the corners and he steered with both hands, but lightly and easily as if it was only a car and not a twelve ton, tandem-axle truck. Sam finally looked back at the road, himself.

84 The truck banged across the bumpy ground through the draws and over the hills, and finally, going over a big saddle, they saw the combines off in the distance across the hilltops. It was not long then before Tyler was going down into the beginning of the last valley and then making his way over to the big hill. The burnt area, far away from where the combines were cutting, seemed unimportant now. Im pretty full, came Harleys voice. They drove up to where Harley was cutting on top of the hill. Tyler maneuvered in beneath Harleys auger as he was moving along, but Harley called over and said they could just stop and do it. Harley sounded happy over the radio and Sam glanced out his window at him. Harley grinned and opened his cab door to yell something. He could not hear it, but thought Harley wanted a drink from Tylers water jug. He grabbed it and climbed down out of the truck and went over to the combine. Harley had already got down and took the extended jug. Well, he said after a drink, looking across the field. What do you think, Sam? Getting close now. He had to raise his voice against the high pitched whine of the unloading combine. Harley nodded. Oh, yeah. We ought to have all this knocked off by tonight. Sam could see that, too. Be done Sunday? Harley nodded again. Just the stuff back by the house. By noon on Sunday, I figure. Sam wanted badly to ask what he would be able to expect after that. But if it had not been the right time ever before, it certainly was not right then. Not with the combine howling, the grain going like a waterfall into Tylers truck, and Harley just having climbed out to stretch his legs. Hows Tylers truck? Harley asked. Petes checking to make sure the wiring and hoses are safe. Get her running this afternoon? Doubt it. Tomorrow? God, Harley. I would suppose so. Harley was pleased at that. So all we ended up losing was Dans header. Yeah. Harley grinned. That makes it one hell of a harvest. It was true. Only one accident the whole time, easily covered in cost by three truckloads of wheat. So what are you doing? Not much. I cant do anything to help Pete. Harley looked off across the hillside to where Fred was cutting with Sams combine. It was far away and Sam could see how it was more trouble than it was worth to switch again. And the end result would be the same, an odd man out. I suppose we could stop Fred. Sam looked at Harley. It obviously had not been too difficult for Harley to see how he might be feeling. He waved his hand. Hes going fine. Harley nodded. I guess youre on the outs, the way it turned around. Sam did not know what to say for a moment. He did not want Harley thinking he was happy in the slightest about the situation, but on the other hand he was not going to put Harley on the spot about it. His only choice was to accept his fate, and console himself that Harley would understand. Looks like Im shit out of luck. At that the auger began to whirl empty. Harley nodded and flashed a smile, and went to climb back up to his cab. Ill see if theres anything I can do down there. Sam pointed back in the direction of the highway. Harley took a step up onto the ladder. You want to wait on the other truck tomorrow? Youll keep your combine rate.

85 Okay. Harley nodded, obviously feeling better for having that taken care of. Petell call you. All right, Harley. Harley jumped up the ladder into the cab. Sam went back and got into the truck. Tyler was in gear and they were rolling even as he pulled his door shut. When they finally got to leaving the field with a load on, he told Tyler how things were, and how if Pete did not need his help he was going to head home. Since everyone had come up from Harleys place that morning in Tylers pickup, he would take that, if need be, to get back to his car at Harleys. Tyler, or someone else, could take the crew back that night on one of the big trucks. Before long, Tyler was pulling to a stop by the barn. Well, Sam said, climbing down, so much for that day. Tyler smiled, but did not say anything and Sam slammed the door shut. He walked over to the burnt-out truck as Tyler drove off. Pete and his pickup were gone. The truck had evidently needed more than just checking, but with hoses and wiring removed he could not tell the extent of it. He stood there for a moment, and then looked around. It was still hot as ever, the sun still well up. It would be many hours before the natural light was gone and he knew they would still have to cut for many hours to finish. Generally, they always quit before dark but he was sure they would keep going until it was finished. If he stood around waiting for that, he was probably going to be standing around for a long time to come. He stared towards the hills. Sheer accident, he thought, misfortune and Dans bad temper... and, bingo, he was out. Bad luck musical chairs. Tyler had not known enough about combines to help him, Dan had said. Sam had let that pass. So Tyler got into Freds truck, and, to finish out the day, Fred had jumped into Sams combine, and the only reason he could figure out was that Dan undoubtedly felt more comfortable being an asshole with him around, than he would have with either Tyler or Fred. It would have been somehow prevented either by Tylers innocence, or by Freds experience, both of which would have put Dan in the wrong. So bring in good old Sam, who does not really matter anyway, and let the shit just fly. What made it so bad was the irony of seeing how he could be so easily cut out, just at the time he was suddenly so determined to stay in. The idea of it tolled ominously, registering heavily upon his feelings. On the outs, indeed. He knew he was getting oversensitized and slowly getting angrier, and he decided he had to get out of there. He did not know whether it was the best decision he could make for himself, but he did know it at least seemed like it was. He went over to Tylers pickup. It was a nice pickup, he thought, feeling gears slide smoothly into position beneath his hand. Just the type he would have liked to have had himself. The big engine roared to life and he drove away down the road to the highway, and then fast down the highway, the big field tires humming as they put Cammas-Dian behind him. As he drove along he looked at the hills going past, and breathed the air; and could almost hope he would not be seeing Pete coming the other way. The next morning Pete told him the truck would be out of it, as far as he could tell, for the rest of the day. He did not sound happy. He was calling from the farmhouse at Cammas-Dian and said everyone else had gone back to Harleys that morning. He did not like being alone up there. It was too strange. Sam asked how late they had finished the night before and Pete said it must have been after ten. Then all they did this morning was move everything back down? Yeah, but that was real early, Pete said. Everybody at dinner was talking about getting things over fast and they all decided to get up earlier than usual so they could have a full day of cutting. It gets that way in the end.

86 I suppose. Jesus Christ, though, you should have been there for dinner. Youd of thought everybody was going nuts. Like a party. Harley broke out the beer to celebrate the end of Cammas-Dian or something, you know? I can understand that. Yeah. Pete sounded disgusted. But look whos still here. Need some help? No, Ive just got some waiting to do, and some long distance driving. Sam wanted badly to do some waiting, and some long distance driving, but he could not ask. Right. Well. Id better be getting at it. Yeah. Ill give you a call when everythings ready. Thanks. Sokay. He gave a small laugh. You know, its hard to work with a hangover. You should be used to it. True enough. And I do not love Cammas-Dian this morning. He said that as something for Sam to laugh at, so he laughed. There was a slight pause, and then Pete sighed. Later on, buddy. Later. Sam hung up. He was thinking about the crew when he suddenly realized he was still standing by the telephone. He came out from under the hotel stairs and went back up to his room. It was a beautiful day outside, the first in a month or so that he had looked at without being at work. He opened the doors onto the balcony and looked out onto the street. It was a quiet Saturday morning. Gainesville was basking beneath a sun already high in the light blue sky. There were some clouds, the first he had noticed for days. The weather had finally changed and the heat would not be as bad. In fact, it was going to be a pleasant day. He looked back into the room. Ruth had gone to visit an aunt in Spokane. He did not expect her back until Sunday afternoon at the earliest. It would be a very peaceful Saturday. He went and lay down, listening to the birds singing outside in the trees. After awhile, he got up and closed the doors to the balcony. The room became quiet and he lay down again. He did not hear from anyone for the rest of the weekend. Saturday night was very simple. He drove over to St. Pierre and got drunk. He did not know anyone there and he was curious to see who might hang out at night over in the town his girlfriend worked in. St. Pierre was very much like Gainesville, and it was not at all an edifying experience. The next morning he remembered how he had even collected a telephone number. He could not see himself ever going back there again. A remorse ridden Sunday morning, he had sat around in the hotel lobby reading a newspaper. But after what would have been lunchtime, and when he knew the phone would not ring, he went out to his car and drove out of town. He drove west. It was a cooler day than on Saturday, just as Saturday had been cooler than the day before. Everything was cooling and he saw even more clouds, and some of them looked to be serious. It was towards dinnertime when he got back, feeling tired and a little displaced, having made a more than three hundred mile circle that afternoon. A circle that kept asking to be straightened into a line. In his room he sat in the padded chair, staring around the empty place. It was just the end of a Sunday, and he had just driven three hundred miles like some sort of crazy man, and there he was as though he had never left that room. He did not know what that town was doing to him. He did not know what the hell he thought he was doing to himself. Half an hour later Ruth arrived, carrying a bunch of packages. When she tossed them on the bed, he felt something fall out of himself. Youre early! She said. I was surprised to see your car out back. Its finished.

87 Oh, boy, she sat on the arm of the chair, leaning on his shoulder. Ill bet it must feel good. But isnt there usually a big party? He could imagine there probably was. She smiled You look completely gassed. I think I am. God, its been a long weekend, she sighed. She went over to the bed and began unpacking what she had bought. But youre finished now so there wont be any more like it, right? He gave out a hard laugh that made her glance over at him. He reached over to switch on the radio, fiddling with it, trying to find something. It took awhile. She sighed again. Spokane was an hour and a halfs drive away. Come here. She picked up a sack. I want you to try this on. He got himself up and went to her. She had a shirt out, and he tried it on, finding the sleeves and shoulders fit right. You like it? He looked down at it. He probably would never have bought a shirt like that for himself. It was not a fancy shirt, but it was no sort of work shirt. She stood there with her arms hanging tired at her sides, watching his face, and she took a deep breath. Oh, thank God, you like it. I was a little worried you wouldnt. You dont know your own strength then. He knew he was sounding flat, and he smiled at her. You really have had a long day. Sort of. Im sorry I wasnt here ... He smiled for real. You cant be here all the time. She looked at him with the same sort of look Sally often gave him. It was not the sort of look he could say anything to. It was many hours later, very late at night, when Dan knocked. His face was bright red, but he was neither embarrassed nor out of breath. So here you are. Yes, Ruth said. And now, so are you. Dan raised his eyebrows. Not going to offer me a beer? Would you like a beer, Dan? Sam said. Yes. They went out on the balcony. The night air was heavily fragrant with the late summer trees. God, Dan took a seat. Im wiped. Sam watched Ruth go into the kitchen, and looked back at Dan. When did you finish? Today. Dan shrugged. I figured that much. Yeah. Well, its finished now, thank Christ. Yes ... Sam looked away and down into the trees thinking about all the places he had been that weekend. And suddenly, he did not care about any of it anymore. But you know, Dan said. I dont want to ever have to finish like that again. Sam tried to sound interested. What happened? Well, nothing really. Going sixteen hours straight just sort of gets to you. Sam counted back the hours and could not make it work. Even without counting the several hours Dan had been drinking, they would have had to start an hour earlier than usual. What time did you start? Same time as always. I mean, it was pretty much the same by the time we got down from Cammas-Dian.

88 Confusion swirled around Sam like a sullen fog, and then he understood. You worked all last night, didnt you. Yeah. We had dinner at three in the morning. You didnt work today at all. You kidding? I slept until this afternoon. Thats one way to finish. I guess. But I dont think I ever want to do it again. Dan looked over at him. Hey, where were you this afternoon? I looked all over for you. Been here most of the evening. Oh ... well, fuck that. I couldnt look all day. Ruth appeared, bringing out more beer. Great. Dan took a can. Ruth sat down and Sam saw she was amused. He looked back at Dan. Well, why not? Good old Dan was, in fact, pretty amusing when he was drunk. What are you doing? he said to Dan, reaching out and patting a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Taking up smoking? He glanced down at his shirt. Oh, yeah. He looked back up and smiled. I mean, no. I lost Fred somewhere. He pulled Freds cigarettes out. There were some matches stuck inside the cellophane. Want one? He asked Ruth. She smiled at him. So how is Fred? Sam asked, looking at the pack. What do you mean, how is Fred? How do you think he is? Dans vision wavered from Sam to Ruth. Oh, who knows, he said. Old bastard ... You were with him earlier? Yeah. Havent seen him for a long time though. But that doesnt matter. Fuckers in a grouchy mood anyway. Dan gave a big yawn. Sam looked at Ruth, but she was gazing off across town. Why? Oh, his back, I suppose. What else? Another few months, if he keeps on going like this, he wont be able to do fuck all. Dan waved his hand in frustration. But do you think anyone can tell him anything? Dan was talking as though Sam knew all about it. But it was the first time he had heard of it. It cant be easy for him. Dan shrugged. How much more time does he need? Dont you think a years been enough? I dont know. Nobodys pushing him. He knows exactly what the situation is. All Im doing ... all it is, is reminding, is all. Thats all. He wont do it by himself. Sam felt Ruths hand on his arm, but he did not look at her. Hey, you know what? Dan yawned again. Weve got a few days to play here in front of us. He leaned forward in his chair to see both Sam and Ruth at the same time. Im thinking that lets have a barbecue tomorrow. Some people have to work, Ruth said. Can you get off? Monday isnt so easy. And Sue? She shrugged. I can ask. Okay. Okay. I can get all the barbecue, and all the meat and stuff. Dont worry about that. He leaned back in his chair again, collapsing his chin towards his chest. Hey, Dan sat up. Is Sue home?

89 Where else would she be? It would have been obvious to anyone how Ruth felt about the idea of him going over there, although maybe not right then for Dan. He went silent, in any case, and whatever it was that had come over him went away of its own accord. It was not much longer before he started to snore. Sam spread a blanket over him. Then he and Ruth went inside, closing the doors. While she was in the bathroom he sat on the edge of the bed. The room was dark, but a dim light came through the diaphanous curtains of the French doors, the heavy drapes tied back. The light was partially from the streetlamps shining up through the trees on the street below, but mostly it was from the full moon sailing high over Gainesville. Just over a month, he thought. Just like Harley had predicted.

90

Chapter 10

In the pink light of dawn, Sam stood beside Sues house trying to peek in the windows. Dan had made arrangements so it would not be necessary to wake anyone up. Sue, after all, was not on vacation and needed her sleep. But Dan had not been up. Sam was barefoot in the cold, dewy grass, and thinking how nothing could seem more dead about a house than the way it seemed at that time in the morning. The bedroom window drapes were closed and he could see nothing. He rapped the tip of his finger lightly against one of the window panes. Nothing stirred. He tried again for longer, and got the same result. After a moment he raised his hand in determination but then another hand appeared at the window, brushing the drapes to one side. It was a mans hand and it was attached to an arm that came off from one side in the darkness. The angle for Dan to see him was wrong, so Sam moved. Dan, though, at that moment rolled over on the bed and pushed the drapes wide open, filling the room with a diffuse, morning light just as Sam got to where they could see each other. There, he also found himself looking at everything else. In deep sleep, with one arm curled back behind golden hair, Sue lay arched into the rose light, her bedsheets all but slipped away, her breasts lightly heaving. Sam had always liked her, and the way he liked her did not now suddenly change. But seeing her there next to Dan, even as she slept so innocently, did somehow change her. He did not know what made him feel such a thing. He could easily put it down to jealousy, he supposed, but he felt that was not really so. There in front of his eyes was now exposed how she could have just about anything she wanted, and nearly without even lifting so much as one of those delicate, sleep curled fingers. What for some was so difficult, for her was a complacency. Always, a man would love her. Sam felt uncomfortable. The thoughts, like what he was seeing, were unexpected. But it was impossible not to now be thinking such things. There they were, Dan and Sue, and although they were so different in many ways, they also seemed right for one another. Even if it was in a way he had never thought about before. Where most couples were drawn together by something they saw in each other, what seemed more important about Dan and Sue was what they could not or maybe did not want to see in each other. Dans face was mushy with sleep, but he had focussed at last and Sam jerked his thumb towards his car. And then the curtain fell. Several hours later, Dan was sitting on a huge rock, his shirt off in the hot sun. Although he was fishing the channel that swept by below him, what he was really doing was drinking beer and getting sunburned. Sam had learned that, in truth, Dan did not really like to fish. Sam came down along the bank carrying their lunch and his fishing gear. Dans choice of a fishing spot was terrible. But it was a fine place for lunch. He stepped off the bank, going across round stones out to the big rock. Howre you doing? He asked as he climbed up. Nothing so far. You been here all morning?

91 Dan nodded and pointed down at the channel running next to the rock. All I have to do is sit here and say hello. Sam looked at how the stream was going past the big rock. Better fishing would be just about anywhere else. If there was such a thing as fishing on that river. I dont think theres anything in here. Sure there is. How would you know? Okay, Dan shrugged. Dont believe me. Sam, with exaggerated diplomacy, tossed a worm into the stream. This isnt all that bad, Dan said after awhile. They ate by the river in silence and then Dan lay back, resting his head on his creel, and took a nap. Sam sat and watched the dark water of the river going past the big stones. Wide and shallow there, except for the channel next to the huge rock, the river in that place made its way across a flat plain. Fields came right to the banks of the river and there were very few trees, and none at the place where they were sitting From the top of the rock he could look out across the countryside where everything was bright and hot beneath the vast expanse of sun bleached sky. Ah, yes ... Dan said suddenly. I wonder what the poor folk are doing. Theyre probably farming. You got that right. Sam snorted, but Dan ignored him. Whats Fred doing today? I dont know, Dan yawned. Same as usual, I expect. Hes sort of an old work horse, isnt he. Hes a working nut, is what he is. Why do you say that? Whats the matter? You afraid I think he works harder than you? A crow flew up out of the field on the far side of the river, and Sam watched it going away, flashing black against the shimmering yellow of the stubble fields. It was like being a cripple, he thought, to have to sneer at almost everything. I just wonder why you sometimes look at Fred like hes odd or something. He is. Compared to who? You? It took a moment, then Dan said, no. Compared to himself. Sam frowned. You dont see it, Dan said, because you havent been here long enough. It was Sams turn to have to digest something. Okay. How is it then? With Fred, its just the way hes been for a year. Its just what way? Difficult. Hes just been real stubborn. And hes getting impulsive. Except for the story of Freds brief marriage Sam could think of nothing Fred had ever done that could be considered impulsive. I dont see that. Whatever. Im not saying youre wrong. You just make him sound like hes sick or something. Dan propped himself up onto one elbow and took a pull from his beer. If I make it sound that way, its because its true, he said. Hes sick as a fucking dog. A bad back isnt what Id call being sick. Oh, shit. If that was all it was ... Is that what you thought it was? Sam felt an awful feeling come over him. Too many times he had known how the present could be destroyed in an instant by a suddenly revealed past. He did not like, nor trust, the necessity for the past. But he also knew if there was now going to be any future for him there, he could not avoid what had gone before. Dan seemed surprised. Hell, I thought everybody knew about it.

92 Why should I? Why would Fred tell me something like that? Or anyone else, for that matter? I dont know. Things get around. Dan frowned and then looked at Sam in a way he had never seen Dan look before, guarded, and very quiet. That night, the air was still warm long after the sun had set. Sam sat out on the balcony with Ruth enjoying the evening, looking out across the trees and the quiet town. She had made margueritas and he poured himself another glass from the pitcher and took a cool sip. Do you know Fred Rosenbrauer well? He said. I knew who he was ... but mostly from what youve said. What did you think of him then? I didnt think of him at all. I knew he worked for the Petersens. Why? I was just talking to Dan about him today, and Dan said Fred was sick and wasnt the same person he was even a year ago. Is he sick? Thats what Dan says. We got talking about how Fred was probably working today when no one else was. Dan said Fred was somehow changed with his being sick, and that he was getting erratic about things. From what Ive told you about him, do you think he sounds erratic? Not really. Thats what I felt, but after today Im not so sure anymore because it fits in pretty well in helping to explain a few things. What things were those? Oh, little things about how I got my job so fast in the first place, and also about how things might turn out for me out there. Ruth reached for the pitcher and refilled her glass. Hows that? I think the Petersens want Fred to retire, and that I could get his full-time position. I thought you already were full-time. I mean, permanent full-time. Do you want it? She asked without the pause he had expected. Sure. She looked away into the trees and the darkness there for a moment. Fucking hell, Sam, she said suddenly, like white heat. Whats the matter? Oh, Sam... Never mind, she finally sighed without looking at him, and set down the pitcher. When the night got cooler they went inside. They were both tired, but they lay against each other for awhile and each knew the other was wide awake. I dont think you ought to listen to Dan so much, She said suddenly. Why not? Because I dont know what he talks about. He laughed. No, really, Sam. What I meant was, I dont know exactly how he puts things and I think you believe him a lot. Why shouldnt I? Ive never heard him tell any lies. She shifted her legs beneath the covers. Im not calling him a liar. Im just saying that he might not put things right all the time, without even knowing it. How can you say that? He felt her take a deep breath. Because Dan Petersen is full of more bullshit than anyone Ive ever met. I thought he just had the normal level like everyone else. Right up to his ears. Im not kidding. You dont know him as well as I do. I know him well enough.

93 Okay. Tell me then. What do you see when you look at Dan? Not much more than anyone else. He works hard. What sorts of things do you want me to say? Tell me what you think of him. How does he feel about things. Women, himself, his family. What does he want to do? Things like that. I dont know. Im his friend, not his psychiatrist. You dont think about why he says what he says? Why should I? It wouldnt make a difference, would it? You havent lived here all your life. You dont know. I wondered when that was going to get thrown in my face. Im not throwing it in your face. Im just saying that there are some things you need to understand. Do I need to understand something about you? She was silent, then shook her head. Its more important, right now, to understand Dan. Why him and not you? When she made no effort to respond, he said, okay. Tell me about Dan. She sighed. Its hard, you know. Where do you start with Mr. Perfect. Sams eyebrows rose, and he had to smile. Mr. Perfect? Thats Sues name for him. He must be more talented than I thought. She was quiet again for a moment, and then she said, thats exactly what he would like people to think. Then it was his turn not to be able to say anything and, at that, Ruth got up and went into the bathroom. He lay stiffly, feeling a sudden wild pain of something he wanted to murder coming up in him. The way she had said it, with a dry humor that twisted itself into a sudden, repressed emotion, had revealed much more to him than she seemed to have wanted. Something that, if it was true what he was thinking, was obviously so, now. For that first painful moment, he became unhappy with it, but finally he could ask himself whether it was really important to him after all. The past was the past. What would be so surprising, or damaging, if it did in fact come to Dans having ... The real problem was not whether she and Dan had ever gone out together, but Dan, himself. What it came down to, he knew, was how there was just something impossible about Dan. He was just so damn much like everything somehow belonged to him, or would eventually. He was also very much like if he had once had it, and had cast it away, then it was not worth having in the first place. To be anywhere near someone like that, posed a problem. Sooner or later, you came up against it with them, and in a way that was to say to their thinking at least you were the one that always lost. It was not easy to be around someone who thought they always had the upper hand, whether they really did or not. As far as Sam was concerned about Ruth, herself, it did not really matter. Although, if it was true that she and Dan had been together, it was also true that for some reason it did matter a great deal to her. Perhaps it was because she knew Dan would cause this sort of reaction in Sam. He found it hard to believe, though, she was that sensitive to how he felt. He held himself still when she came back. So ... Mr. Perfect, he said after a moment. That is exactly the reason theres no truth to the idea that man-talk and woman-talk is the same thing. Oh, yes it is. Do you think that men talk about what their women think of themselves in bed? You worried? Why is he Mr. Perfect? Because hes got to have everything be just right or go the way he thinks it should, or he wont have anything to do with it. At least, not for long.

94 Thats not the worst thing. It isnt so terrible. It is with him. Hes got Sue scared to bat an eye around him. Why? Why do you think? Because she likes to be with him, and she doesnt mind the way he is, likes to think they have a chance. Me, I think its because he represents security, at last. I dont see how that could make her worried about what he thinks of her. Unless she thinks that liking him is something hed consider to be less than perfect. Dont joke. Dans gotten her up on one of his damned pedestals, and its getting so she will hardly be able to move, in the end. The awful thing is that theyve known each other for practically all their lives, and now look what hes doing. Its as if hes ignoring everything about her except what he thinks she should be. Poor guy, praying for something and all the time its right under his nose, and he doesnt know how to take it as it is. Probably never will. What kills me is how if theres one person who shouldnt be going around putting judgments on others, its Dan. Why? Whats he done? Mostly a lot of little things along the way that have just sort of added up. But Sue likes him ... He can be a nice guy. Yes. And he is my friend. Ruth paused, and Sam could see he had angered her. Well then, I wish you could tell your buddy to get his act together before he ruins everything. I dont think thatll happen. I mean, he told me that he may as well be in love with her the way he feels so strongly for her. I dont know, he might have even told her. He paused. No, Im sure of it. Hes told Sue he loved her. You put a lot of stock in that. He told her. He told her something like that the first time he tried to screw her. And that was in high school. If Sue knows so much about Dan and still likes him, whats there to be worried about? I think she can take care of herself. She can. But she cant control how he thinks, and shes afraid that sooner or later hes going to start thinking about her in some strange way, and then do the same thing to her that hes done to ... like what he did to Marilyn. He did not feel surprised. All the signs had been there and, as is often the case with the obvious, he had just been ignoring it. Ruth sighed. I hate the whole thing. I mean, she knows what could happen but cant help herself. Shes a sucker for babies. Sam laughed and she slapped his chest. You know what I meant. You think of Dan as a baby? I think of him as being adolescent. Hes very shortsighted when it comes to things. He seems farsighted enough. Hes got a lot of plans for the farm. Does he? Why are you telling me all this, because you think there are a lot of similarities between Dan and myself? Only in ways that you, not me, think are important. Thats the problem. You ought to know better than Dan. Why me? Because youre different, and you should, and thats all. He laughed at the stubbornness in her voice. But not Dan ... Dans a lost cause. Poor old Dan. Poor old Sue, is more like it, trying to keep herself a little at arms length.

95 The same way you did with me? See? I told you, you were different. Sam smiled, but he was not feeling amused. Without having said much, he felt they had just passed through something which had changed the landscape forever. So, I would guess, he said, that you and Sue arent planning to go to the wedding? Would you think Sue would want to be there to see her boyfriend watching the first big love of his life getting married to his brother? And you? Oh, well, as for me, its just a matter of solidarity. He let that statement sink into the silence for a moment and then said, with who? Sue, or Marilyn? But Ruth did not answer, which was, he realized, the wiser thing. Only a die-hard optimism could want to believe that all things, eventually, can be said or heard. In that way, he knew she was much more the realist than he would ever be, because she knew that sometimes the only medicine capable of healing the deeper truths of experience, is to pretend something that under other circumstances would be considered a lie. Although she made no sound, he felt how she was now crying. He reached towards her, laying his hand on her gently heaving shoulder, not having the slightest thing to say to her, and then her hand came up and lay upon his.

96

Chapter 11

Sam was up. If dazed. He had no idea what time it was until he opened the shades and a brilliant blast of daylight blew open the room. He went down to the restaurant and had a small lunch. With lunch he drank coffee. But no matter what he tried to do, he could not get away from feeling drugged. He was drinking still more coffee afterwards when Dan showed up and took a seat. When the waitress came by Dan pointed at his coffee cup and said, please. For some reason, that turned things for Sam and he actually better. Dan gazed out the window until his coffee came. It looks as though its a nice day out there. Sam looked out the window at the bright sunshine and a busy street with cars and people going past. It was a nice September day out there. A warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, and people were walking around in Spokane just like that was all there was to it. Yep. Did you just get up? Dan seemed tired, too, but somehow steadier. You, too? Almost. Been up and around for a couple hours. Youre kidding. Getting a little rough for you? Sam nodded. Shit, Dan said. Ive even been for a walk ... Good for you. ... over to the park. Youll never guess who I saw. Jesus? Close. Lonni and that girl from St. Pierre. You call that close? Dan shrugged. Now that I think about it, you look more like Jesus this morning ... I mean, the day after. It hurts, Dan. Youre beginning to make me hurt. Anyway, they were over there feeding the ducks. Sounds like Lonni, Sam said half-heartedly. Shed make a good zookeeper. She likes to look after things. Oh, shit. Dont exaggerate, Sam. You werent the only one there. That makes it all right? What the hell did I get into? From Lonnis point of view, not enough. Sam nodded, but not even Dan could have guessed how close things had been. A big tavern, dark, with deep places people went into like hiding. The main thing had been the music, so loud nobody discussed anything, but just did whatever it was they were going to do. For awhile there had been a lot of people Sam and Dan knew who were going to the wedding. Later though, all Sam could remember was himself, off in some small place, partly drowned in beer, partly deaf from the music, partly blind to all the other people in that smoky darkness, and

97 smothered by Lonni. It had damn near been sure except that Dan and some St. Pierre woman had shown up. Even there, the next day, Sam knew it had been close. Dan smiled across the table at him. Motha Hubba, he said. I feel like a fucking Martian or something. He stretched his arms and looked around. Tell me one thing. Whyd you leave? Suffocation isnt my thing. What is this? To fuck or not to fuck, that is the question? I mean, is this ethics, or are you just worried it might get back? Sam felt the anger rise. Well, Dan, that would be one way to fuck things up. Shit. Have your cake and eat it. Sam stared down at the table. Dan leaned towards him. You think everything gets around? Youd be surprised at the things that dont. Do me a favor. Dont tell me any of the things everybody knows, that havent gotten around. Dan stared at him, but Sam could see he was suddenly going somewhere with it, and then Dan shook his head. Ive got to tell you something. With an attitude like that, youre heading for one big crash. Sam stared back, and then said, you might be right. But if thats the truth, then it would probably just be good sense for anyone who knew it, to steer as far away around it as they could. He gave Dan a questioning, but friendly look. Dont you think? The wedding was in the evening at Coeur dAlene. Sam and Dan drove over to Idaho and found Harley and Sallys motel. They stayed there for awhile, playing some cards with Harley, and that was where Sam learned that Marilyn was from Coeur dAlene. It had been her choice to get married there. I dont see why that makes a difference anymore, he said. Its not like its her first time. Its her first time here, Dan said. You think she believes thatll help? Her third time around, I think shed believe in anything. Harley was saying nothing to any of it, dealing the cards out slowly. The farmer was dressed up in a dark blue suit, wearing his best cowboy boots. Sam saw how Harley was mulling things though, and wondered how deep things had gone from the time before, when it had also, almost been Marilyn. But nobody said a word about it even if it seemed the most apparent thing in the air. It was as if they did not want to even think about it, let alone acknowledge it. Did you get the bathroom hooked up? Harley asked Dan. He was talking about an old farmhouse Carl and Marilyn were going to move into. Its all set except for wiring the hot water. Whenre you going to do that? Before they get back, Dan shrugged. Im going to do it tomorrow, or Monday. He glanced over at Sam and gave him a look. It was obvious he was thinking of staying the entire weekend in Spokane. All right, Harley said. We dont want them to be without hot water. No. And did you get the stables fixed? Yeah, and the guy said he could look after her horses, if need be, the whole week. Good. We dont want her horses to starve for a week. I said I was taking care of things. Harley grinned at Sam. I know it, Daniel. Youre the big boss. Big boss?

98 Harley was still looking at Sam with a smile on his face. Harley often had that open sort of expression on his face that seemed to say, with complete conviction, that there was to be no discussion, that everything was all right, there was nothing to worry about, and that everything always worked out for the best in the end. That optimistic expression, though, could sometimes seem a little strained. As it did right then to Sam. Looks that way to me, Harley said. Shit. Carls the oldest. Hes the oldest, Harley now winked at Sam But thats not always the way it goes, is it. Sam smiled, just like he was supposed to. It was all a big joke, or course. Everybody knew how Dan had a tendency to take things over. Actually, in a lot of important ways, Dan was, in fact, the boss. He did a lot of the calculations. He decided what the price of things were. Trouble was, Sam was thinking, Dan could sometimes even seem to put a price on the things he gave away. Dan was very thorough. Which was not helping the wedding atmosphere be any less ironic. If anything could. Dan was very thorough indeed. Just because I want to make sure things are right. Dan shrugged. Just because I make a few suggestions. Harley laughed and looked over at Sam, and Sam smiled again. He would not have smiled before. But now, he could see how incredibly easy it was to do so, once you got past the feeling it was not quite right. A few suggestions. Hell, I wouldnt be surprised if youd chosen the color of dress Marilyn was wearing today. Go ahead and joke. But have I been wrong? No. Youre doing just fine. Thats right, old man. Dan punched Harley on the shoulder. Hey, watch it, Harley grinned. And then everybody grinned. Even Sally, who had been watching television through it all. Sam looked over at her. What do you think of these two? Oh, I dont even try to anymore. She smiled at Sam for a moment before turning back to the television. What do you mean, what do you think of us? Dan punched him. Huh, boy? Who are you calling boy? You, boy. Dan punched him harder. Ill boy you, buddy. Anytime. Sam punched him back. Yeah? Dans eyes suddenly had a gleam, and he reached down and grabbed the leg of the stool Sam was sitting on and pulled up hard, tipping Sam over onto the floor. Sams first reaction was to retaliate, but then he realized there was no real way he could do so. It was suddenly a strange moment, as though something had just focused. But he knew that was ridiculous, of course. It was just a petty anger. Even so, his grin became a bit difficult to maintain as Dan laughed down at him. Say what, boy? Sam had to get to his feet at that, knowing he was going to have to finish at least upright. He looked for a quick way to get Dan back, but there was no way he could do so without sending all the cards and chips between them flying. Dan was ready for him, and Harley was grinning, but Sam finally had to drop his arms to his sides. It was obvious to all that he would just be making a mess, so he did not have to explain. You just wait, boy, he said. Whats the matter? Dan grinned. Havent you learned how to sit yet? Sam picked up his stool and set it straight, but before he could sit down, Dan upended it. Dan laughed as Sam picked it up again. But Dan was too fast, and had it over again. Whats the matter, boy, Dan said.

99 Oh, man. Sam picked the stool up again. That time though, he sat down hard on it before Dan could get a full grip on it. Putting his full weight on it, he made it so Dan would have had to stand up to get it over. At that he gave up. You two are bad enough on the farm, Sally said. Now youre going to wreck the motel room. Dan nodded at Sam. Well, if the boy ever learns how to sit down, well be all right. Sam gave him a look back, but that was all. There really was not enough room there to do anything without knocking things over. He could see how he was going to have to get used to it. Dan did not take many chances with losing, even playing around. At the church, while Dan was back helping Carl get ready, Sam and Harley talked out on the steps. It was not going to be much of a ceremony but there seemed to be a lot of people showing up, and quite a few were from Coeur dAlene. Sam could not shake the feeling that it was all a little morbid. They watched the people going in for awhile, and then Harley suddenly put his hand on Sams shoulder. Ive been forgetting to give this to you all day. Harley dropped his hand down into a pocket and pulled out a check. You better take it now. It was Sams harvest check, and it also covered his wages for the week and a half before harvest. It was a real good check, and he needed it. He had taken what little cash he had out of the bank for the trip over, and he knew he would be spending all of that before the weekend was up. Thanks. Harley nodded. I just remembered that we were going to talk about some things, and that reminded me. Sure, Sam knew the time had come. Weve got a few minutes now, it looks like. Shoot. All I wanted to know was what was going to be going on now that harvest is over. Is there more work for me, or am I going to get kicked loose? Harley already knew what Sam wanted, so he also had his answer. Well, I guess Freds getting near to quitting these days for sure, and were going to need someone to take over. The jobs yours, if you want it. I want it. Good. You know, Tylers been hound-dogging me about it for a week now. Hes a good worker. Oh, Christ, yes. They looked at each other for a moment, but suddenly they did not seem to have anything more to say. It was that simple, and he was hired on for good. He was no longer what he had been, anywhere, before. He could feel how really different that was with nothing more to worry about, and very little more to get straightened out. Everyone seemed to have passed inside, suddenly. For a moment, they were again alone on a porch, that time a little church porch looking out across a sunny back street in Coeur dAlene. No harvest moon hanging above them there, Sam was thinking, and as well, no memories of other times in other places. They were just standing there, waiting for a wedding to begin. Then Sally came out of the church, grabbing Harleys arm and taking him away. Sam waited for a few more minutes and then went in, himself. The pews were almost full. He did not sit down but went in a door on the other side and then down a hallway. In a room off in a corner of the church he found where Carl was waiting. Dan and a few other men were there as well. Dan had a bottle of champagne open and he was filling glasses. As Sam entered he caught a glimpse of Fred Rosenbrauer off to one side. Sam winked at the old man, but before he could go over to him Dan shoved a glass out. Here. Have a glass. Youre celebrating, too. Sure. Dan filled it and then Sam held it up towards Carl. Heres to it. Carl held up his own glass. Thanks, Sam. And heres to yours. Mine?

100 Yeah, yours. Looks like were going to be seeing a lot of you around now. Dan smiled. What did you think I meant when I said you were celebrating, too? I dont know, Sam looked at him. Carls wedding, or something. He looked over at Fred, and Freds big face broke into a grin. Glad to see you could make it. Wouldnt miss it. Dan laughed. Not unless it was on Sunday, that is. Fred shook his head. You watch your goddamn manners, you little shit. Most of the men laughed. Why Sunday, Fred? Sam asked. You going to church steady now? Dan laughed again. Yeah. Beverly sort of is like an old religion. Huh, Fred? Then he looked over at Carl and seeing his glass was empty filled it again. What the hell are you trying to do? Carl said. Im going to hardly be able to stand up in there. You cant go in there sober. Why not? Because Im not. Youre not the one getting married, jerk. What do you mean? Dan smiled around the room. Were all getting married today. That may be. But Im going to be wearing the ring. The two looked at each other for a moment, and then a smile came to Dans face as well. Yeah. In your fucking nose. Carl looked at all the grinning faces. Very original. Sam had downed two glasses quickly, like it was water. He went and got a third one off Dan. Youre going to do all right, Sam said to Carl. Marilyns all right. Carl took his eyes off his brother and turned to look at Sam. Sam nodded for emphasis. As he looked at Carl though, he suddenly saw something he had never seen before. Up until then, he had pretty much considered Carl an easy-going, good old boy. True like a lot of farmers, there was a slightly romantic, chivalric quality Sam had noted before. But that had been the extent of it, and Sam had never expected anything else. Suddenly, Sam could see a flame of defiance. For some reason, he found it embarrassing, and not just because it was a very personal thing in Carl. Sam looked over at Dan, and as he did so could feel something within himself come up. But he knew he had to ignore it. No matter what happened, no matter how much he could sympathize with Carl, he was never going to let himself take sides. Dan shrugged. Sure she is. He took a drink then from his own glass. Well. Carl put his hand on Sams shoulder. You guys dont have to tell me anything. But thanks. He raised up his glass and drank it and then, faster than anyone could have expected, wound up and threw it across the room, smashing it to pieces against a steel coat rack. The effect was perfect, an immediate shock of silence. Then someone laughed. When they all looked back at Carl, he was blushing. Oh, shit, he said. Someone working for the church stuck his head in the door to see what had happened. He saw the broken glass on the floor and the empty champagne bottles and the full one in Dans hand. A little accident, Carl said tightly, his face going even redder. A thin whine came out through Dans nose and someone else coughed. The churchman looked at them for a moment longer, and then just withdrew, closing the door with a careful click. Carl looked straight up at the ceiling. Oh, fuck me, he said and then looked at his brother. Satisfied? Dan nodded. That was pretty good.

101 Before anything else could get started a young minister came in to get Carl and the best man. Sam and Dan went out and found some seats in the back. When Fred came by they offered him a place but he just shook his head and pointed forward, going on to take a seat by some people farther along. Sam was feeling drunk again, and a little warm, but he just settled in and after awhile the organ came to life and the ceremony got under way. It went pretty fast and before long Carl and Marilyn were married and Marilyn was now a legal part of the Petersen clan. Then came the reception, and as usual it was not the wedding which made the difference. For some, Sam was thinking, living with results can be like falling into something and drowning. In this case, it was not Carl and Marilyn who felt like they were drowning. They had already had all the time in the world to get used to how it would be. But for Sam, watching and listening, it really did feel like he had gone in for good he felt he was at the bottom now looking up, and everything, it seemed, would be taken care of from there on out. Everyone now knew Sam had been hired on for good, and everybody had a plan. Sally thought he should move out into the country. There were a lot of unused old houses scattered around the countryside on Harleys land. Some of them were not in that bad a shape, she said. With a little work any of them would be just as good as anywhere else. Dan liked pre-fab houses better. A pre-fab house was easy to put in, and there were plenty of spots on Harleys land where Sam could install one. But regardless of which way he went, one of those old, mouse-ridden homesteads, or a pre-fab, Dan agreed Sam should move out of the hotel. That was just a waste of money. When Sam said he had never considered it a waste of money, and that he sort of liked his room and the balcony, nobody heard him. He had not said it very loud, not wanting to be too vocal about contradicting eminently practical ideas. Even Carl had something to put in, telling Sam of a good deal for a used pickup, and he said he would look into it if he wanted. The way the Petersens went on about him, Sam began to suspect they were just glad to have a non-lethal subject to talk about. After awhile the Petersens broke apart and he found himself alone again. He went to get himself a drink, although he did not really need one. He was standing at the bar, looking over the reception crowd in the rented lodge hall, when Lonni came over to him. What little spirit he had been able to raise in himself, immediately sank. It was their first encounter since the night before, and considering how they had been with each other in that dark booth, the reunion seemed immediately intimate. You been avoiding me? Yes. Whys that, Sam? He smiled at her dark blue suit. You look good in that. What is it? Your going-toweddings dress? I wear it to funerals, too, honey. Practical. Keeps me neutral anymore. You never know how thingsll go. He smiled. All the things he could have said, he did not want to say, because, in truth, he was procrastinating. He looked away from her for a moment, searching out across the room for something non-disastrous he could talk about out there. But he saw nothing. Whyd you run out on me last night? Did I scare you? No. I got too drunk. You sure? Or did you think I was going to take advantage of you and get you pregnant, or something? Abortions arent cheap. She laughed. In my book, the father pays. So you say now. But later ... I dont play that way. Thats exactly what I was thinking.

102 A half-smile came to her lips. Before she could respond, though, a couple of women suddenly appeared to get drinks. Lonni took his arm and pulled him away from the bar. For a guy who was too drunk, you were pretty nice last night. I dont see how. Drunk is drunk. She squeezed his arm. Hell, if thats how you are drunk ... Unable to find a way to change the subject, he pretended that the closest people to them were too close. Oh, I see now, she frowned. So thats the problem. He was caught. In one sense, that was near enough to be the truth. But where he could not talk with her about the finer points of that, and there get into a debate he could not hope to win, he realized he would have to now nullify the whole idea, once and for all. No, its not. And I mean it. She looked at him for a moment, and then her smile came back. He returned the smile. Then Dan showed up. Hey, boy, whatre you doing standing over here? Still havent learned how to sit down anywhere yet? Dan went and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, the hired barman just watching. Dan was not yet staggering, but he was definitely flushed and obviously on his purposeful way. He gave Sam and Lonni another smile, and then winked at Sam. I see you got yourself a date, huh, boy? Lonni patted Dan on the back. Arent you doing fine. Well, I wasnt the best man ... he grinned at her. But then, that must make me the best brother. He put his arm around her waist and almost pulled her off her feet. So that entitles me to a kiss from all the pretty ladies. She smiled, but when she opened her mouth to reply Dan covered it with his own, bending her back under his weight. When he finally let her up she gasped. Oh God, Danny! You taste like every fucking whiskey barrel in Kentucky. Smooth as silk. And even smoother going down. So goes the rumor. I dont spread rumors. No. You start them. Dan looked at Sam and shrugged. Cant hurt to advertise. Id call that false advertising, Lonni said. Any time youd like a demonstration ... She giggled. Ill take youre word for it. Never take a mans word. Just take the money. Dan looked at Sam. Thats all they ever want in the end. From time to time, Lonni said, there are things besides money. Dan was letting himself go within his drink, but as far as Sam was concerned, unfortunately, Dan was not so far gone not to be able to catch the look Lonni was giving Sam. He leaned towards Sam, whispering as loud as any other voice in the room. Like I told you boy, you got no reason to play Mr. Perfect. For all the world, Sam felt as though he had just fielded a line shot, straight at his head. And I remember what you said about it, Dan went on in his stage whisper, but Im going to tell you again because its just the way it is, that I wouldnt make such a big deal about all these things. I just wouldnt do it, boy, if I were you. Dan looked away for a moment with a small frown, and then something caught his eye across the room. Hey, he said as though to no one. Ill be right back. Sam watched him go, feeling as though he was watching the disappearance of a herd of stampeding buffalo.

103 Lonni watched him cross the room as well. She shook her head after a moment. Shit, she said. If hes still walking by midnight, Ill be surprised. Hes just starting to roll. Why not? Its his party, too. Sam looked across at where Dan had crashed his way into another group. Id never have guessed hed be so happy to see Carl married. She laughed, giving him a knowing look. He saw that he had apparently just said something deeply ironic. Yeah, she said. Theres nothing like payday, is there. Funny thing though, I really think it did bother him at the start. Things change. Not this much, usually, she sighed. I dont think even Danny could have dreamed how well this would all work out for him. Maybe, he said for lack of anything better. And maybe not. She looked at him like she was seeing something for the first time, and then she shook her head. I dont think hes that smart. Or that mean. Dans not mean. I didnt say he was. I meant, I dont think he really could have thought it all out. But he sure has now. She took a drink. Boy, what a nice deal for him all the way around. Carl gets the door-prize, and Danny gets the farm, and all by just not going around calling Marilyn the Whore from Coeur dAlene. He could not believe his ears. Marilyns no whore. She snorted. I never said she was. The problem for Danny was always how to get away from feeling guilty about her. And good old Carl just comes along and picks up the pieces. And hes going to pay for it. For sure. It came to him slowly, as though in a dream, but then jagged, and painful. Nothing like getting a door-prize, is there? Lonni nodded as though they were talking about the same thing. Sam looked down at his glass then. You want one? He asked. A double. A double what? Anything. When he returned he found Lonni was talking politely to some women. He nodded at them, handing Lonni her drink. Then he backed straight away, avoiding her eyes, and went off into the crowd. Then suddenly, all he wanted was air. He went towards a side door, and checking to see he was unobserved, slipped out. It was dark and quiet outside and the air was cool on his face. He breathed it in deeply. Alongside the lodge building was a small park. Through the trees, on the other side of the park, was Lake Coeur dAlene, smooth and even darker than the night, house lights glimmering like stars fell to earth along the far shoreline. He was standing there, almost succeeding in not thinking, when someone came out of the lodge behind him. He did not turn around, and then the door-prize, or some damn thing, was suddenly standing next to him. What are you doing out here? Marilyn asked. Giving the dogs some air. Ah ... then youre not leaving. Me? Oh, no. Did you think I would? Yeah. I saw you go out the door like you were ... She paused for a moment. When you did, I thought for sure you were going. He smiled, but only because it was getting to be a habit that day. Smiling at everything, and nodding his head. I must have an interesting way of going out doors.

104 You did just then. What did I look like? He laughed. An escapee? Or a thief. Maybe I am. You want to check my pockets? He held his jacket open. She shook her head. No. I dont have to. Theres nothing in there to steal. I already checked. Sam let his jacket fall closed again. There. You see? How could I be a thief when theres no silver? She nodded. Not much of a detective, am I? Or a thief, either. No, youre not. He looked at her for a moment. But Ill tell you what you are. She watched him. What? Youre the Gem of Coeur dAlene. She continued to smile at him. But then she turned and looked out at the lake, her face calm, and she lifted her chin a little. He looked at her and thought how beautiful she really was. But there was also a sadness in her face, and he felt something in himself go out to her. It was not really sympathy or compassion, but something more; and the thing about it was how he felt like he knew exactly what her thoughts were, like he was some sort of fortune teller. You know, her voice rose then softly into the evening air, I really was at one time, Sam. I wasnt joking. I know you werent. He saw her give a very small sigh. But he shook his head. As far as Im concerned, youre still a gem. One of the few. She turned, her eyes softly looking at his. But where there might have been sadness, or happiness, or anything, he could see no emotion left. And when she smiled, it was with the same lack of expression in her eyes. I guess, then, that makes me the thing worth stealing inside, doesnt it. Yes. And Carl did. He leaned over and kissed her. My wedding contribution. Consider it a gift. Its not much, but you dont have to exchange it, either. Thats what I used to think, she said, and suddenly a real smile appeared. You know something? What? Youre such a fucking little lost sheep. Just like Carl. The only difference is that you were able to make a choice about it, where he never had one to make. She reached up and touched him below the ear. Or maybe, she eyed him, your choice was made for you. If so, she smiled, that would make you more like me. What would that be? He smiled. She laughed. The ex-Gem of Somewhere. Ive never been anything like that. Have you ever been somewhere? Yes. That makes you the ex-Gem of Somewhere, too. Whether you know it or not, yourself She said it with such solemnity that he gave her a frustrated grin. Oh, Christ, Marilyn. Lets not be too drunk and start pretending we know everything about each other, or where weve been. Its enough that we like each other. She gave him back a long, quiet look and then reached out and put her hand on his arm. Dont, Sam, she said. Im not pretending. I really do already know everything about you. You really are one of the few, you know. The few what? The few we can ever really know everything about, without knowing anything at all.

105 He would have liked to answer her. That sort of statement needed an answer. But she stopped him from saying anything, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving him kiss of her own. Then she turned and went back into the lodge, disappearing as though she had never been there at all. He looked down at his glass and saw that all his ice had melted, and he raised it to his lips and drank it off. Then he looked back across the surface of the lake, which reflected steadily those small house lights from the far shore. And as he stood there, staring blankly across the black water that was so still and smooth, not disturbed by any movement of wind and only gently heaving from time to time as though the entire lake were taking a deep, sad breath, he was surprised to find himself blushing. Marilyn rated herself as spoiled goods that no longer held its value, bartered around for so long that its original worth was forgotten. He did not agree with her on that. Hopefully, a new life was now opening up for her which would make her forget the past. But that did not change, at least right then, how she had found something, when looking at him, that was similar to her feelings about herself. And that what had happened to her, was happening to him. Except in his case, it was by choice. What choice? He did not agree with that either. But he was impressed, nonetheless, that she felt she had seen something. One always has to be impressed, he thought, when someone sees something. He frowned hard, pulling himself away from the lakes hypnotic rise and fall, and turned to step back inside the lodge. Reaching the door he hesitated, even though there was not much to hesitate about, having nowhere else to go. Then a dark figure came around the corner of the building, startling him. Oh, hell, Dan said, seeing the door there by Sam. Not really good to piss here, either. Theres always the park. Dan went towards a big tree and straddled the grass next to it. Just like every other dog in town. Then he said over his shoulder, you want to get out of here? Yeah. Me, too. Lets get out of this place and go somewhere better. All right. Dan came back and started to go into the reception. Sam took a step backwards away from the door. Dan looked at him. Whats the matter? Ill wait at the car. Im gone already. Okay. I wont be long. Dan went inside and Sam went around the lodge to the parking lot and found his car. He stood by it in the dark until Dan finally came out. Dan was swinging a bottle by its neck. When he came closer he tossed it to Sam. A sealed bottle of whiskey. A little road fuel. Sam cracked it open. Warm and smooth, there was just a small touch and then the breath afterwards like ice. He handed the bottle to Dan, feeling his throat and stomach go warm. That was one of your better ideas. Yeah. Dan took a drink. Sam watched how it went the same with Dan, and saw the momentary tightening when the whiskey found him. Where to? Sam asked when starting the car. Dont matter. Just go. Sam nodded and that was all he did. The place was not in Coeur dAlene, but west of town, halfway back to the state line. Dan said it was as good a place as any. A big bar, it was all cowboys, and something that looked like cowboys, and there were pool tables, and a loud country-western band playing to a sea of hats below the stage. Making their way in, they ended up in the back by the pool tables. Still wearing suits from the wedding, they had to explain it a dozen times.

106 They were both happy, and pretty drunk. There was a good crowd in there, only a little too loud, and the two of them played pool and looked at women, and drank from the whiskey bottle they had not needed to hide, so many people being crowded in there. Some of the other pool players took some drinks from the bottle, and for the most part they asked. It was all friendly and Sam and Dan did not give a damn about the whiskey. After awhile, when that bottle was gone, someone else discovered a pint of schnapps. The peppermint of it tasted terrible after the whiskey and the beer, but no one cared and gradually the pool tables became the loudest part of the bar, louder even than the band sometimes. But still friendly. There was nothing the band, or the managers, or the bouncers, could do about it since it was friendly. Everybody was just having a good time, and if they got a little loud, it was no sin. They could not kick anyone out for being loud and friendly on a Saturday night. So they kept playing pool, and drinking with all their new friends, and watching the girls walking around. Sometimes the girls would talk to the pool players, but not too much because they were all being just a little too loud and friendly back there. And then someone threw a goddamn punch. If there had been fewer people, or less noise, or if everyone had known each other, it might have been over quickly. But it was a huge, deafening crowd of temporary friendship, and within the space of seconds the whole world fell apart. A sudden swirl started by the pool tables and then a fast movement started towards that place. Too fast though, like an attack, and suddenly everyone was just trying to stay in one piece. Near Sam, two pool players were wrestling, trying to throw each other down. When someone else tried to stop it, all three lost their balance and went tumbling into Sam. Under their weight, he slipped backwards, trying to keep his balance, but something caught him on the legs and he went down. On the floor, a tangle of bodies and legs were trying to unravel themselves, and someone had panicked and was kicking hard with his boots at everything. Sam could see if he did not move he was bound to get kicked in the head. He made a violent effort to get out from under, and he did, but he came up right into something else and an elbow just missed his face. Then another, but he blocked that one and tried to push it out of the way so he could get to a wall, at least get something behind him. It was as he gave the elbow a shove that someone suckered him. Right behind the ear, it felt like he had been hit with brick. More than anything, that was what made him lose his temper, the idea that he had been hit with something other than a hand. It was an irrational loss of temper a fist would not have been any better but it hurt so bad he lost control and swung his right arm, putting all his weight and anger behind it. He was partially hoping it caught whoever had hit him, but mostly, he just wanted to hit anyone. There seemed more than just a barfight going on. Something more deliberate and hateful. He had never been in such a thing in his life, and all he wanted was to find a way out. He lashed, and connected just below a cheek bone and a little on a mouth. A nasty place. But Sam did not see what happened after that because he got shoved into by someone else, propelling him into some others and he tripped there and went down onto the floor again. There, though, things got suddenly better. Nobody was moving fast and there seemed to be breathing room again. Then the bouncers swarmed into it. Beefy ex-jocks, weightlifters, or bikers, they came over the nearby chairs full of either righteous indignation or blood lust. Next thing Sam knew, everything went from being a little better, to much worse. The bouncers grabbed anybody, throwing them as hard as they could against walls and across pool tables. They were obviously loving it way too much and Sam tried to get up out of it, but one pool player, swung around in a half-circle, was thrown onto him. One of the guys feet, scrambling for ground, caught Sam on the head right behind his ear in the same place as he had been hit before. Sam didnt even feel himself collapse. As he came to, he found he was getting tossed out the door. Holding him by the arms, they ran him fast out of there and then threw him straight into the gravel of the parking lot.

107 There were others there, too. Someone next to him put a hand on his shoulder but Sam hit it away and got up and went across the lot. It was black out there in the night, and the lights from cars down on the highway streaked by bright and glaring, backlighting all the cars in the lot. He went across it like it was the sea. On the far side of the lot was a line of cars. Sam went through them, finding some grass on the other side, and he got down onto it. For a time, it seemed like that grass was the whole world, small as it was there below his face and beneath his knees. He saw his hands on it, and then his mouth began to salivate and his stomach went sick. And then he was sick all over his little world, and each time feeling a constriction, like death. When he finished, he felt sore, and still very ill, but not as bad as death and only with the drunken feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach. That gone, his attention could concentrate on something else, and his head went really bad. Pounding, sharp pains. He sat still when it went hard for awhile. After a little longer like that, holding himself like a statue, all he could think of was that he should try to get up and go find his car. It was a long way from down to up, but he was surprised to discover how much steadier he was than he thought he would be. In fact, standing up he felt his head start to clear a little. He walked out between the line of cars and went straight over to his own. Dan was sitting inside. The front doors were both open. Some days are bad, Dan grinned at him, others are worse. Sam sat in on the seat, his back to Dan, his feet outside. He leaned forward, resting with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. It looked far away, the ground, and his feet out there on it. But also, from time to time, it all seemed very clear. It was not very good to have vision like that, so crystalline, and perhaps even worse than the sort of vision the swather accident had brought on. But if the clarity was awful, at least it did not last long. Sam took a deep breath and straightened himself up a little. Didnt I tell you it was a good place? Dan said. Sam took slow breaths. You all right? Dan asked. Not right now, Sams voice felt like it was coming out of somewhere else. Whats the matter? I got hit. Dan made a sort of laugh. Whyd you let that happen to you? Sam looked out across the parking lot, wondering if it was going to be very often that he would be finding himself despising Dans sense of humor. You coming out of it? Im just out of it, period. What do you want to do? Sam knew exactly what he wanted to do. Lets get out of here. I didnt mean that. I meant, do you need someone to look at you, or something? No. Shit, no. Im just a little out of it. Well, Im a little drunk. Im that, too. Okay. Ill drive. Dan got out of the car and went around it. Sam was not the least inclined to argue and pushed himself across to where Dan had been sitting. Little by little he was feeling better, but it was good not to have to drive. Dan got the car going and headed back towards Spokane. How did you get it? Dan asked once they were on the highway. His tone of voice was measured. Sam found himself liking how Dan was being careful. He doubted he would be seeing it much, but it was good to know it was going to be possible to have him that way occasionally. I got kicked. Youre lucky youre not out cold.

108 Maybe. Sam felt better to have some humor coming back. What a crazy place. I didnt even see where it started. Ive never seen anything like it. Anywhere. I saw that. Some guy walked over to another one and punched the guy in the face. After that, you know, everybody had their goddamn little grudge. As usual. You sound like you might expect such a thing. Who wouldnt? Sam didnt think, ever, that he would have expected such a thing. An animal war. But it seemed not a thing to say. So how did you come out of it? That was good. The moment everything started, some guy turned into me and I fell back into the tables. I didnt see you anywhere and so I left when the bouncers went in. You didnt see me because I was on the floor. How did you get out? I got helped. Sam held out his hand towards Dan. It was torn raw from the gravel in the parking lot. Where do they get those guys? Pretty animal, Sam agreed. Yeah. But I suppose its one way to stop things fast. Up came an anger, hot and fast, and Sam shook his head. To hell with that, he said. To hell with them. I mean, fuck them, man. They should be locked up. Fucking strung up, and fucking locked up. That was the end of conversation for quite a while. In Spokane, Dan found an all-night place and Sam bought some aspirin and ice. That last thing was Dans idea, Sam was not sure he was going to use it. When they got to the hotel, Dan wanted to go have a drink in the cocktail lounge, but Sam just went over to the desk for his key. There, the clerk had a note for him. He took it, but did not read it, and then said goodnight to Dan and went up to his room. Inside, he went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His hair was dusty and all over the place, his face was dusty, and his jacket had a big dirty area on the back of his shoulders. He must have been something to see for the all-night store clerk. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, getting the warm water going. Standing there, he felt the beer and whiskey running around inside, but he had gotten rid of a lot of it and he didnt feel too sick. Only his head felt really bad. Getting out of the shower, he dried slowly, carefully working the towel around his head. There was a good-sized swelling behind his ear but the skin was not broken. That was good, he thought. At least he wasnt going to have to bleed. He took four aspirins, swallowing them ahead of a cold glass of water and then, looking for a moment at the ice he had bought, got a towel and wrapped it up and got in bed. With the ice numbing it, he was almost comfortable, and he relaxed his body. He knew he would have no problems getting to sleep once the pain went away. He lay very still for awhile, flat on his back, and then he shifted his legs. Oh, my fucking hell, he said out loud. It only took three quarters of an hour for the aspirin to take hold.

109

Chapter 12

On his way out of the hotel in the morning, he found that Dan had already checked out. When he got to his car he found another note, stuck under one of his windshield wipers. Pulling it from under the blade, he had a momentary urge to just toss it away, but then opened it and read an awkward, feminine handwriting. Dans helping me get my car back. Hope we make it! Hope youre feeling better. See you there and maybe Ill bring you some chicken soup! It was signed with an initial. He crushed it and tossed it under the next parked car. His head was not hurting too much, the swollen lump behind his ear not so tender. He had taken more aspirin that morning. But he did not feel like staying in Spokane for breakfast so he went and got a full tank of gas. At the station he bought a bottle of orange juice and a packaged chicken sandwich. When he got onto the highway, he ripped open the sandwich wrapper. The bread was dry and he could not taste the chicken, but the orange juice helped. With his window down the cool morning air blew in, and he listened to the radio, barely set above the noise of the road. At first he just let it go like that. But as time went by, and as the miles gathered under his tires, he gradually became less numb to his feelings, and he could sense the approaching onslaught of a deadening sort of depression. To some extent he knew he was just feeling sorry for himself concerning small and normal things of no great difference, no great evil. And yet, within such a small and normal world, why did he feel, for lack of any other way to describe it, that he had been condemned? He told himself for awhile that it was just his head, or his stomach, or maybe just fatigue. Fatigue would be the best, all it needed was sleep to cure it. It had been a long weekend, and a long week before that, fishing and partying around. By Monday it would all be better and he would be normal again, working again, and this feeling his body was turning to stone would disappear. He nodded at that thought, and worked on making himself feel that way, and for awhile it almost worked. But at last he could do it no longer, in the same way he had never been able to do that, and it all went away, leaving him flattened and disintegrating before the oncoming prospect of an unpromising highway. The air became progressively cooler as he drove along. It almost looked like he was heading into rain to the west. The countryside seemed lifeless. Along the highway ran the blurred brown of hillsides and flats where harvest fields had been turned under, or else the dirty yellow of dead, cut stubble. In the deeper draws, trees were still full and green, but it was a heavy, tired green, and the weeds beneath the trees had gone to seed and were burned to light browns and yellows by the sun. After almost an hour on the road, he suddenly needed to get something real to eat. A highway sign appeared, and then an off-ramp, and he took it and drove onto a secondary road. He followed it north a few miles, coming at last upon a small town called Carlington. One main street with some side streets where the houses hid beneath the trees, Carlington looked little different from any other farming town humorless and static, with the laconic common sense of those simple houses beneath old, overgrown chestnuts. Two big grain elevators towered at one end of town, and at the other the white steeple of a church punctured the sky. He drove along the main street and found the restaurant and angled in front of it.

110 A small cafe, actually, it advertised its specialty, homemade pies, on its window. As he walked in he saw a couple of employment notices, one for farm labor, the other for a mechanic, taped in one corner of the door. Inside was a long counter with round, swiveling seats, and along the wall were small booths. A few men were drinking coffee at the far end of the counter. He took a seat in a booth close to the front and ordered a cup of coffee, and then, closing the menu unread, asked for ham and eggs with a side order of hash browns. The waitress was a young woman, small and trim, and gave him a cheerful smile as he ordered. It was her smile for strangers. He smiled back and then watched her as she walked away, a loose and friendly bounce animating her skirt. The cafe was quiet and pleasant, and as he drank his coffee and waited for his order, he found he was spending all his time trying to figure out what he was heading for. It all seemed so much like the eleventh hour, and he was not even ready. Whatever his hopes might have been, he realized no one could be blamed for not knowing them, since he had never bothered to mention them to anyone. Now it was too late and he had dreamed them away, letting it go too long. He could not pretend anymore, though, that was certain. Maybe it was impossible to know exactly what it was he wanted to do, but he knew for sure what he did not want. He had been worse places. But the problem was not about whether Gainesville was a good or bad place. The problem was that if he did not now watch himself, he could end up being very little of himself. Or nothing at all. The whole week and the whole weekend, he had practiced being nothing. It had been just like letting go and letting someone else drive, just like falling asleep, but also like falling asleep and having a long nightmare of forgetting. Only, in the end, to be kicked in the head for his troubles. He was staring at his coffee cup when the waitress appeared with his breakfast. She was giving him her friendly smile again as she placed his order down in front of him. There you go, she said. Get you anything else? Just keep the coffee coming. She gave him a quick smile. Well, youre easy to please. Sometimes I manage to be. The waitress now gave him a long, a not-for-strangers look that time, and a different sort of smile came slowly to her lips. She glanced at the other men at the other end of the counter for a second. That would be a change, she said, and looked back at him. You dont sound like you believe it. The smile drifted away from the waitresss face and she looked at him for a second, and then she took a deep breath. I dont get paid for believing anything. Sam watched her go away and saw she was not feeling so friendly toward him anymore. Maybe it was because of some way he was looking that morning. Or maybe she had just had a bad weekend, herself. In either case, he could not blame her. Especially if it was for a bad weekend, even though a bad weekend was not the full extent of what caused his own bad mood. He could have almost wished that was what it was. All he had ever wanted, for as long as he could remember, was to just have something or some place that was his, that reflected himself. And there seemed no way for him to keep anything like himself in Gainesville where his own past, what little there was of it, did not mean a damn. The only thing that mattered was Gainesville. All the rest, one day, would be taken away. If only by just knowing too much about things that were not of himself. All that was bad, but that wasnt what was making him feel so depressed. The problem was Ruth. No matter how cleanly he understood it, she made it impossible to keep things separated into simple blacks and whites. And while he did not want to leave her, he knew that his staying with her, and staying in Gainesville, would change her as well. Because what she was to him, too, would eventually surrender to something else.

111 At that thought, he felt everything drop out from underneath himself. There was no doubt she would understand what he was feeling. But what he did not know, what he could not trust, was what she would make out of it. She might make it some sort of test, and it was exactly the sort of testing he never wanted to happen. He looked at his coffee, staring into it as though into a black sea of weary thoughts, wondering suddenly if the reason he did not want such a confrontation was because he was getting too old to confront anything. Even himself. That would be the end of it, he thought. She had never meant Gainesville to him before, but afterwards, she could mean nothing else. Love was not exterior to place, he felt, but something very much like the landscape it grew out of. He finished his breakfast and then walked out onto the bright, sunlit pavement in front of the cafe. Standing there a moment, looking up and down the street, he tried to fall into the mood for getting back on the road again. But it was difficult. Carlington was a very quiet, very small town, and it was peaceful there on the tar-seamed main street. The perfect place, he thought, to retire to if you were two hundred and twelve years old. The backyard of your dreams. Across on the other side of the street was a small bar. He suddenly thought he could stand a drink. It was Sunday after all, he had nowhere he really had to be, and he found it appealing to waste a little time in a place he had never been in, and would probably never see again. He walked across to it and went inside. The place was dark and deserted. and he took a seat at the bar. The barman pulled him a beer and walked away. Sam sat there and drank his beer in the cool darkness, and it was so bright out on the street he could not help feeling after a time as though he was in a cave, doing something like hiding. There was no one there to talk to, no one there to tell him anything. No one to tell him to just sit down, boy, or to tell him the things he could not know, but would, eventually, inevitably. He glanced out the window at Carlingtons Main Street, knowing suddenly he could have just as easily ended up there, as in Gainesville, depending on what hour he had got out of Montana and at what time he might have felt like getting a hamburger and yet also knowing there was no one in Carlington, either, who could tell him one damn useful thing outside of what he had already heard. All that time gone by, he was thinking, all that time running from place to place, and it had turned out mostly to have just been a waste. Once again, it seemed he had ended up exactly where he had started, which was nowhere. It really felt that way, if Ruth werent counted. Going back over it, and then going back even farther, he started unreeling the miles. First Gainesville went away, and then Bozeman before that, and then Montana, and then all the rest before that until it seemed to him as though the whole country was just like that. All of it different, always so different, and every bit of it exactly the same as he had always known it to be: a life unconnected with anything larger than the surrounding landscape, making its living off that land, numb and blind to anything else. It was true he, himself, had never tried to find another way to live, but at least he had always thought he had the option. It seemed as though it might have been such an easy thing to do, to take the option. As easy as any old dream... A warming morning, a blue sky, and high above, white clouds would be tumbling their way in from the sea. Out from Anacortes, the ferry would go smooth and fast over the dark water, the sluicing froth of its wake the only thing to disturb the flat surface of the strait between the Washington mainland and the San Juan Islands. Out on the water, sailboats would sit here and there and far away on the calm. Like that, there would be barely any wind at all and no one would really be sailing, just sort of drifting on the tide with only an occasional flap from the sails to announce the presence of any breeze at all. Most of the boats would be small, but once in awhile a very big one, with all that white sail hanging from the masts, looking like it could sail away forever with just a little wind. Everywhere else, close to the north, farther away to the south, and directly ahead, would be the islands. Some were small, just big enough for one house, or some not even that, and some then were larger with a few houses along the beaches or up on the hillsides hiding among

112 the dark trees. As the ferry went among them, the steep sided islands, black with their forests, moved past themselves like a crowd always jostling. Following the ferry, seagulls would spin in and away as it rushed along. Out on the calm water, groups of them would sometimes be floating together, forming islands of their own. White and squawking, busily doing nothing, they would ride along, unconscious of the blackness below and unperturbed by the ferry going past. For awhile it would all be the same with the ferry going across the glassy surface, the water reflecting the clouded sky and the islands, and the sailboats moving slowly. Then there would be more boats suddenly and the big ferry would go into the San Juans, entering between Blakely and Decatur, the passage going tighter when the ferry went around Lopez, with Shaw and Orcas pressing down from the north, but it would still be a comfortable avenue of water and the boats speed would not diminish. After a short run along Shaw, skirting around its southern end, the ferry would finally approach San Juan Island itself. The big islands hummocked hills would become a forest of tall trees as the ferry edged closer, and there were steep banks and rock cliffs climbing up out of the water. Then the houses would become visible and a few of them would have a small dock down on the water where sometimes a small sloop, naked of its sails, would be moored. The ferry would begin slowing a little and make a wide turn into the narrow mouth of Friday Harbor. The world would then no longer be the sea and the islands, but just the bustling harbor between the engulfing sides of the island. The forward propellers would reverse, slowing the boat even more, and the ferry would go into the dock slow and heavy with its great mass, and the big, spread pilings, cabled together and sunk deep into the bottom of the harbor, groaning and whining as it momentarily leaned upon them. Then it would be tight in place and the ramp would go down, and the air would go suddenly hot as the breeze of the ferrys run was forgotten. For a moment there would be the exhaust of cars starting up, and then would come the movement and escape out across the ramp and up into Friday Harbor. The crowded little town clung to the hillside, swarming with tourists. Up through the town then, the sun seeming even warmer among the restored buildings, and then out to where the island really began, giving itself over to a countryside of small farms and wooded hills. Winding its way across the island, the road rose and fell among the hills, and always to be seen were the lush green pastures and the small white houses against the woods. It would be almost autumn though, and in that darker green of firs was the occasional blaze of color as an isolated hardwood, turning itself red or gold, revealed itself. For awhile it would be as though it was the mainland, going along that road. But then the road would rise up onto the northern ridge, and where the sky fell down across the distant hills would be the water, and far away would be the other islands, far off and dark in the bright sunshine like old whales resting. As the northern limit of the island approached, the road would make its way through the little valleys past farms, but always descending, until it reached the end and the road made one last, swooping dive down into Roche Harbor. A playground for the weekend wealthy, as well as the real ones, Roche Harbors marina would be jammed with a flotilla of dazzling white hulls, the whole of it blurred over by the hazing effect of countless masts and rigging lines, a giant pin-cushion floating still in the sheltering bay. Nestled among the tall Douglas firs at the deepest part of the harbor were the old factory buildings, converted into restaurants and shops for the tourists. There, also, was the old hotel. Behind it loomed high cliffs, rising as though ramparts against the rest of the island, focusing everything back into the harbor again and making the hidden little bay with its marina and restaurants and hotel as though a small and separate world. A brick terrace spread in front of the hotel, and below the terrace was a small formal garden with trellised roses and sculptured bushes. Around the hotel and back into the trees were clean, bricked paths. Farther back, paths went up into the woods, soft with the short, dry

113 needles of fir. There were ferns along the paths, and salal with its perfect, shiny green leaves where sometimes a rabbit would run out, for just a moment, before vanishing into the foliage again. In the evening, with the sky deepening purple and soft, the paper lanterns strung out along the moorings and up along the paths were lit. Dark-tanned and laughing, the rich from the boats and the honeymooners from the hotel went in beneath the lanterns to the restaurant, and later to the big, glassed gazebo where they could dance. A band inside did old jazz softly, and the couples swayed in deck shoes and sandals, movements dim in red candlelight. After closing, there was then the drive down to the south end of the island where the salt winds were strong and only grass grew, and there, the gravel road to the beach with a sign saying NO, but continuing onward until the road became nothing but a track, bumping around hillocks and dunes until it went no farther, seeming to be, finally, on the very edge of a cliff. There, big rocks were all around, and below was the roar of the surf, crashing and shimmering as the waves came in and then ran away. Only some blankets and an old sleeping bag, but it would be warm and the ground was smooth and somehow even soft. The breeze there at the south end of the island was strong with the smell of the sea. And listening, after awhile, the sound of the water below would go to a murmur in the blackness of the night, and then it would go to nothing. Early morning, the sun not up enough to come over the southern tip of the island, the beach still cold and blue with waves coming in cold and gray and sometimes white, he would be out walking in it. A long curve, the beach went on for miles. Away to the east, at the place where the beach ended at the farthest southern tip of the island, rose a big cliff, but so far away that it was only a misty blue, hovering vaguely above where the beach must have been. He would walk in that direction so he could watch the sunrise, and also because the beach seemed more open and inviting to the east, the island there coming down low and flat, in some ways almost like a prairie. The tide would still be low and the beach was wide and smooth between where the waves hit the shore and where all the high tide debris lay. Even higher on the beach were big pieces of wood carried up by the winter storms, making there an almost solid barrier in some places between the island and its shoreline. Down lower though, the sandy beach would be smooth and uncluttered except for an occasional strand of kelp. A group of seagulls would be accompanying him all the way down the beach. Moving just ahead of him, they would chatter and fight amongst themselves almost as if he was not there, but always they would move ahead at his approach. Sometimes if he got suddenly too close some of them would fly up into the air, but then they would wheel back onto the beach again and continue to walk along there ahead of him, leaving for him to follow hundreds of footprints in the sand. Out on the water already would be a few fishing boats cruising up along the beach. But they would not be stopping, only going their way down to the far west end where a big rock promontory jetted out to sea. He sometimes would watch when a boat would motor past, but for the most part he would ignore them. On the shore he would be all alone with everything so big and strange for him there between sky and sea; and all there was then was that immense long beach stretching for miles ahead. But as he walked along, everything around him slowly changing from blue to pinks and yellows as the day began, feeling the freshness of the air despite the still tired heaviness of morning on his face and the roughness of an unkempt beard, his mind would be in other places. The funny thing would have been how he would have been so right and so wrong at the same time about Gainesville. It had not been the place for him. Even Ruth would say that was true, in the end... For it all to happen, the way he thought it would have gone, seemed almost possible as all dreams seem possible behind the curtains of sleep. The night he would have made his mind up to go, when he had just got back from the wedding, he would have told her how he could not

114 tell anymore in what way he would end up. To start he would tell her about the wedding, and about the night before and the night after, and about the things he did not know, but that he was going to know anyway. At first, when he would have finished, she would not have said anything for a long time. But that time, it would have been so long, in fact, that he would have begun to think she would never speak to him again. But then she would. So thats it? Yeah, he said. She would have looked at him quietly for a moment, and then finally she would have nodded. Well, okay. Thats that then. And your solution then is to leave. Its not a solution. Its never been a solution. How do you know youre not just screwing things up, Sam? I know youve always thought this way, from the beginning. God knows, how do you know you couldnt stay here? It holds up. Like always. Im telling you, I just never saw it so clear how it is with me before. I mean, I dont know what Im going to do, but no matter how much I pretend to be part of this, it really never was much for me. Lucky you to realize this. But if this is so, why arent you happy? There would have been a bit of anger in her voice. You dont look happy to me, and Id have thought it would have been a tremendous relief for you. Im not. Especially at this time. Did you expect me to be? She would sigh. You dont see anything really good coming out of this, do you. No. Thats the difference, then, she would have said. And thats just exactly whats been your problem all the way along. He would have been prepared for something like that. He would have known, sooner or later, that she would have to tell him what his problem had been. But he would have decided it might be best to get it all over with as fast as possible. Which was ...? Oh Christ, Sam! She would have boiled over. Its pretty obvious, isnt it? All the time, youve never really felt like youre a part of it, do you? I mean, not just here but everywhere. He would have nodded, thinking what she said was true, but thinking that way for the wrong reason. Still not having understood the way things were. And the problem is, she would have gone on, you think that makes you odd or something. Oh, yeah? Yeah. And you know what really bugs me about it? He would have shaken his head. You think that since youre so different, that everyone else will automatically feel the opposite way about it. And when I say everyone, I mean me, too. You do think differently than I do. I sure as hell do. And think what that means. He wouldnt have understand any of it right then. He could not have known what she was talking about, or why she was talking about it the way she was. For that matter he would not have understood how she could be so cold-blooded about it. Of all the times that he would have expected her to be upset, it was right then. And yet she would have been analyzing him coldly, as though she did not care. He would have frowned for a moment, but when he looked up at her again she would have probably done the thing that would have made him feel worst of all. Smiling at him with disgust. At that moment, he would have thought that smile to be the worst thing he could have seen. It was even worse than any of the other things he could have imagined. In effect, she would have seemed to be going to laugh him out of her life. Just to finally get it over, he would have asked her what she thought he should do about his problem. If that was what it was going to take to make her feel better, he would have figured

115 he might as well let her have that last bit of it. He certainly did not have anything else to give her. She would have nodded for a moment, trying to find the words. Okay, she would have sighed out finally. For the last time, and I really mean the last time, I just hope now, for your own peace of mind, that you learn how to trust what you want, she would have paused for a moment, looking at him, and then added, for starters. That was where he could begin to see how it came together, and how it worked, and that he did not have to know everything. Then all of what he had been through, he would have finally put miles and miles behind himself. And then there would be the island. The sun would lift itself clean over the point far to the south, and where before there had been cool shades of yellow and pink there would suddenly be gold, and as he went along, the water would begin taking on the brilliant blue of the sky. It would be a beautiful day, he would think, and it was going to be even more beautiful than the day before had been. Out on the water there would be more boats than before, and once, one would come so close to the shore that he could see the face of one of the fishermen. He would see the man take his eyes off the water for a moment to look his way. Sam would wave and the fisherman would wave back. The fisherman would be trolling along the beach, but Sam knew it was not real fishing. The line only out for the trip. The real fishing would begin down off the big rock far to the west; the fisherman probably was not even thinking of fish right then. Sam would watch the boat and the fisherman go away from him until they would get very small and he would turn and continue on down the beach. He would have never been on such a sweep of land and sea before. Even after half an hour the point far to the south would seem just as far away. With the sun getting stronger all the time he would finally turn around and begin making his way back. Breathing in the fresh sea air, he would feel himself expanding out the vastness of the beach. It would be wonderful, and he would feel it was even possible to consider himself fortunate. But even though feeling wonderful would not necessarily be a new thing, feeling fortunate would. And he would be grateful, seeing clearly how there were so few ways for a man like himself to ever be fortunate. Everything else, and himself for that matter, forever being only like the jetsam scattered upon the beach. Whether it was where he went, or what he did. Simply because he would never feel that old aloneness again, the solitude of a small child on the dark porch of a silent night. He would have learned how to simply forget. He would have to wonder about how much of this he had missed by simply not paying attention. How much time he had spent trying to make something work that could never work, mistaking appearances for reality. His best friend had told him, and she had been right, that the world was so full of things. And some of those things were good, but also very small and private and had nothing to do with how you might have been told to look at them, or how you might have thought you wanted them. He would only stop once on the way back to his car, sitting down for a time on a pile of bleached driftwood to stare at the sea. Beneath his feet would lay small wood chips on the sand, flotsam worn light and smooth by its time on the beach, slowly being worn away with each passing season. He would move his feet in it as he sat there, and sometimes pick some of it up, shuffling it in his hands and then letting it drop softly between his feet again. But after awhile he would resume his walk. Standing like a sentinel at the midpoint of that long, barren shoreline would be a lone outcropping of rocks. Down from the higher ground, a single neck of land went out to it, and on that neck was the road he would have driven down blindly in the night; at that time, having seen only what was in his headlights, he would have thought the entire shore had been that way, with big rocks everywhere and a steep cliff below. So strange it would have been to wake up and discover it had not been like that at all. He would go up along the outcropping, climbing over the big slabs of rock up to where his car would have come to rest in a narrow slot between the rocks on top. The sun would have yet

116 made its way high enough to shine down into that place, and still in shadows, the dew of morning would cover his car and the rocks there. He would go around his car to where he had made the bed. It would be a little surprising, considering where he had made it, there among the harshness of its surroundings, to remember how comfortable it had been to sleep there. He would feel his stomach grumble. He would be hungry after all that walking. But he would pause. Below him, under the blankets, the quiet form would lay curled, the mass of soft, wavy hair hiding the face. Ruth would still be sleeping and Sam would not disturb her. He would be thinking how he would have liked it if she had been awake. How he would have liked to share the early morning on the beach with her. But it would not bother him that he had not. There would be plenty of time for things like that, and he could trust her to know what she wanted, too. And right then, all of what she would be seeming to want, would simply be her sleep... Or something, he thought, staring at his beer. It seemed an easy enough thing to picture, and almost believable. He sat there at the bar for awhile lost in a haze of almost being able to imagine it, and it was with a shock when he saw that it was no longer morning, but afternoon. He paid for his beer and went to his car and drove out of town to the highway. High up in the west, clouds had come up, which suited him fine. He was tired of the heat, and the dryness, and the sameness of the sun every day. Maybe it would rain like hell for a week, he thought, and everything would go to mud and be completely impossible. That would be one solution to the immediate problem of going to work or not. There would be so much mud, an ocean of mud, that it would be another week to decide. He reached behind his ear, feeling the tenderness there. A lot could change in a week. Something mindless began on the radio and he reached over and flicked it off. The miles swept beneath him and the fields went past on either side; and the clouds were going higher and higher into the sky all the time, even though the day was hot and the air coming through his window was dry and warm. As the miles went by, and as he felt himself drawing closer to it, he began to picture what was coming. Really picture it, and not just project island fantasies. If he lay it all on the line, there were going to be scenes, big or little, and he could picture what they would be like and all of it was bad. In one, Ruth would look hurt. In another, she would look indifferent. In yet others Ruth slapped him, or else kissed him sadly, or did nothing at all. Then there was just the end, one way or the other, and the road somehow. No matter which way he pictured it, that was always the end. Always. He went through a hundred versions of the same thing, and sometimes felt his heart racing, and sometimes felt it go dead, and sometimes it was her fault; but always in the end it was mostly his. Because he had already chosen, without her. His mind somewhere else, thinking vaguely about whether there ever was such a thing as luck at any time, anywhere, and if something like that ever had anything to do with someone like himself, it was not surprising when he almost drove past Gainesville without recognizing it. It was a very close thing, and he came to his senses just in time to catch the last exit back to town. Having to make that quick adjustment, a momentary flash of action, made him feel better for a moment. But as he drove into town by way of a back road, it all went out of him again. What took its place was the final product of everything a solid and convincing sense of dread, with no escape. It about killed him to realize that being able to share his life with someone, probably the only way he could ever hope to feel somewhere of his own, would never be any other way but the way he had stumbled into it. There were no fairy tales. Even so, it was perhaps also the only thing he might have in any way that could have made him lucky, but it was the only thing he could never manage to produce, himself. A woman might wait for him somewhere. How long, only a matter of conjecture. But she would never follow him when the only place he had to offer was only somewhere else. Because moving around like that had given no one place any more significance than another, and it was only

117 normal for someone to want the serenity of a destination, even if the destination was only to see things match certain desires. But he had no particular desires. He knew he was just one of the last of that movement of people who had thought it might still be different. The childish way it once had been, not so long before where a man felt he could be happier, just by going elsewhere.. At first he did not drive straight back to the hotel, but drove around back streets for awhile, feeling somehow compelled to wander there, looking at houses beneath old trees, feeling as though he was seeing something fleeting, capable of disappearing at any moment without warning. He did not know why he felt that, but he finally tired of it and when he drove to Main Street and went down the length of it. It was like driving past shadows. An orange pickup went past the other way. There was a grin inside and Sam waved at it. Farther along at a corner there were a pair of overalls and he waved back at them, too. Driving on, he suddenly saw the first real thing, Dans pickup, parked in front of Bobs. He looked at the other cars and trucks there and he knew almost to a man who was in the tavern. Pete. Carl. He drove to the hotel and parked his car in back. He went up the steps into the lobby, then up the stairs. Then down the hallway on the thick carpet that was not so thick anymore, and in fact so threadbare that if someone were listening they might have heard the footsteps on it. Before he got to the door Ruth flung it open and stuck her head out. Sam spread his arms. Honey, Im home. She laughed and came flying out at him, jumping on him, and they both went falling down to the floor. His head pounded and he could feel the heavy fatigue of the road in his limbs but neither of those could compete with the other way of how it felt to have contact with her again. She had him pinned to the ground and she was laughing so hard at what she had accomplished that she could not speak. It got him laughing too, and they lay there, the laughter shaking their bodies uncontrollably, letting themselves go to it almost as though making love. Finally though, the wave passed, and they calmed to breathless resting, punctuated by an occasional, weary laugh. Well, he said at last, its good to see you, too. Her face, buried into his neck, rubbed against his throat. Ive been going nuts around here this weekend. Hmm, his hands moved upon her back and shoulders in an absent-minded way. Should I notice a difference? She bounced on him. What was that? He grunted. Nothing. Are you sure? She bounced on him again. I mean, Ive spent most of my weekend right here in this damn room of yours. Never went anywhere, thinking of what was going on over in Spokane. Yes, he said to her bouncing. Yes, yes. But he also thought about a weekend he had once spent without her. They truly were different, he thought. She bounced again. Really? He laughed, but the last bounce was too much and he pushed her over and lay across her, holding her there. Thats not fair. Thats what you get for taking advantage. They looked at each other for a moment, and the she smiled. Is that what I did? Take advantage? I think so. Oh, poor baby. I am. Oh? She smiled. Whats the matter, honey? Someone bumped my head.

118 Oh, no! Not your head! Yep. And Ive got a lump. She made a sympathetic sound, but which almost could have been a giggle. Let me feel. He turned his head and she reached up. He could not see her face, but he could feel her laughing silently beneath him. When she touched the swelling she laughed out loud. Its not funny. It was his turn to bounce a little. She giggled again and he laughed softly as well, lowering his head and pushing his face in beside her neck like she had done. For a moment he held himself there and felt her go quiet, and he felt as her hand went down onto his shoulder, and then her other hand as it came up and held him. He rested there for a little longer, letting himself be held like that, feeling her beneath him. But then he got up, pulling her with him into the room. It was when he closed the door that he suddenly felt awkward. Ooh, boy, he sighed, his voice sounding strange to him. She went up against him and slipped her arms around his waist, staring into his eyes. He did not look back, though, and not wanting to speak, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed, lowering her onto it. He lay down beside her, pulling her close to him again. Whats this? She asked after awhile. Was the weekend all that bad? You couldnt imagine. Dont bet on it. What is that, Sam? He could not imagine how to begin. Something go wrong? There was almost a smile in her voice. Yes. He hesitated for a moment. Im in love with you. She did not change her tone. How terrible. It is for you. She smiled. I suppose now youre going to try to tell me you love me too much. I think it can happen. I have a hard time imagining how it works. And thats whats making it bad. And it could get worse. He looked up at her, but not even her eyes said anything, so he went right to the end of it. What it is, is that if I lost you, I think Id die. For a moment neither one of them spoke. She was looking directly at him, but there was nothing soft in her eyes anymore. He had never seen anything he had dreaded as much in his life as how he dreaded those eyes. He closed his own eyes for one last moment, the final time he would ever be able to be inside himself like that with her, and then he looked at her again. When her voice came, it was soft as a whisper. What are you trying to tell me, Sam? And there he felt it go, all the miles and miles of it, because it just did not matter. It had never mattered. Strangely, he realized he had always known that it could never be different, there or anywhere else, and that it was not meant to be different. He could see she had always known all that and had simply been waiting for him to regain what he had long ago learned, himself. And then let go, or not. She was different so different that she had seen the difference in him he had not wanted to see in her. He was sorry he had left her alone with it for such a long time. But now he had to admit to it, or he would never be able to do it ever again.. Im trying to tell you I feel Im dying right now. She was still looking at him. But that was all. And he knew he was there for good, forever inside and forever out. And almost always wrong.