The Man Who Ivented Florida (29 page)

Tucker looked up at him and said just as quietly, "That may be, Ervin T. It may be my brain ain't as healthy as it used to be. But by God, you promised."

Ervin T. Rouse stood in the silence for a while. Finally, he said, "I never pictured you in the water-sellin' business. That flimflam preacher used to take me around, he did a little of that. Called it medicine. I just figured never to go back to it. What he did to us boys ..." The way his voice trailed off, he sounded sad to Joseph. Far away and sad. The only other time he'd heard Ervin sound like that was when his wife died.

"I ain't that preacher, Ervin T."

"True enough. Reckon if you was, I'd kill you. Shoulda done it back then."

Tucker said, "And you ain't no boy no more."

"Nope. I'm sure not no boy." Ervin cleared his throat and put his hands in his pockets, looking around. "Welp, if you're that set on it."

"I am. I plan to get this thing done."

"I see that ... I see that." Then after a long time, as if he was listening to the crickets and the owls, Ervin finally said, "I'll go. But I'll drive my wife's truck, you don't mind. I don't have a horse, and I'm sure not riding that steer."

It
took Ervin a few days messing around Pinecrest to get ready. "I've got affairs to put in order," he said. What he meant was, his fiddle was broken and he had to wait to pick it up at the repair shop in Miami.

That was okay with Tucker and Joseph. Tuck had things to do, and Joseph finally got to watch one of the new Westerns Ervin had described. The women didn't take their clothes off, but the Indians did win, and that was almost as good.

The only thing Tucker wanted to watch was the news. He kept calling the stations from Ervin's wall telephone, but no one wanted to talk to him.

"I don't get it," Tuck kept saying. "They know who I am."

Joseph thought, Yeah, that's the problem, but he kept his mouth shut.

Mostly, Tucker used Ervin's truck and drove different places. "Getting ready," he explained. "I know what we've been doing wrong now."

They never did see themselves on the television.

On a Sunday morning, the first of November, they finally got going. Tuck had Ervin's truck fixed so that there was a flashing orange light on the roof ("Make it easier for the cement trucks to find Buster," he had chided Joseph), and he bolted a big hand-painted sign to the truck's bed. The sign read:

GLADES SPRINGWATER
MANGO FLORIDA
FEEL FLORIDA FRESH

Ervin didn't like it. "That's my wife's truck," he kept saying, talking as if she'd be mad if she found out. But he didn't press the point. Tuck had already confessed that he might be crazy. And he was wearing his pearl-handled pistol right out in the open now. Kept it in a holster belted low on his hip.

With Ervin following in the truck, light flashing, they rode the Loop Road back to Monroe Station, then turned west onto the Tamiami Trail. With the truck to carry the packs, they didn't need Millie anymore, but Tuck had insisted on that, too—taking Millie. "How you going to have a cattle drive without cattle?" he wanted to know.

Joseph just kept quiet and towed the steer, hating the way those cars whistled by. There was always a lot of traffic on the highway, but Sunday was the worst. Even in early November, hurricane season. Once was, the tourists only came to Florida in the winter. But now, judging from the license plates—Ohio, Michigan, New York, Iowa—there was no slow season. All those cars flashing past, throwing a hot wind wake. Some honked. A few cussed them out the window because they had to hang back until it was safe to pass. Most, though, slowed to gawk and take pictures.

People in the cars yelled things, too.

"Hope that water tastes better than the Everglades smell!"

"I bet I know where that water comes from!" Pointing at the steer.

Tucker didn't seem to mind when the drivers said stuff like that. He just grinned. "Advertising," he yelled back to Ervin. "Doesn't matter what they say about you. Just 'long as they say somethin'."

But Joseph cared. He didn't like strangers looking at him. He especially didn't like them taking his picture. He had heard somewhere—maybe his grandfather had told him—that it took a little piece of a man's spirit, having his picture made. His grandfather had been wrong about almost everything else he'd ever said, but the cameras the people used made sharp clicking noises, like the sound of scissors snipping away.

It made Joseph uneasy. He didn't like that sound, and he didn't like all those people staring. He wondered what they thought, seeing them riding along the edge of the road. Probably thought they were old crazy men.

But they didn't. Most didn't, anyway. For the tourists in their station wagons and Toyota vans, seeing men on horseback was a welcome break from the saw-grass monotony of the Everglades. A pleasant diversion from the pressured arguments about routes and vacation schedules. Something to point out to the kids: two old riders wearing western garb—hats and neckerchiefs, even a gun, and that one looked a little bit like an Indian. See how they tipped their hats? See how slowly they went? See how peaceful their smiles were out there beyond the air conditioning, the FM noise, the wrinkled road maps, and the sour cups of 7-Eleven coffee? An orthopedic surgeon from Grand Rapids who, only moments before, had snapped at her husband for some small error in navigation, suddenly turned to him and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry," she said. "For a moment there, I forgot we're on vacation." Her husband watched the riders momentarily and felt the same strange, sweet longing. He smiled back and said, "I wonder where Mango is?" A man from New Jersey who drove as if every car on the road was his private enemy actually slowed and let a Greyhound bus pass him, and a bank president from Omaha gave his road-weary, bedraggled wife a playful pinch on the breast and said, "Ya know, I can't think of a single reason why we have to make it to Disney World tonight. Check the map for that place, Mango. We'll stop and see if there's a motel."

Hundreds of cars passed them; thousands of people saw them but Joseph got no sense of well-being from it. Which was why he didn't protest when Tuck reigned up at an access road with a sign that read:

PALM VALLEY RANCH
A PLANNED MODULAR COMMUNITY
AFFORDABLE LISTINGS!

Tucker considered the sign for a moment, then said, "This might be a good place to stop, rest the horses for a while. What is it, 'bout noon? I bet they got some beans cooking, too. From here, we can go backcountry through the Glades."

Joseph studied the sign for a moment, then said, "It ain't that kinda ranch." He looked back at Ervin, who was getting out of the truck, probably wondering what the holdup was. Joseph called to him, "You ever been in here? What is this, some kind of golf course place?"

Tuck said, "Hell no, it's a ranch. Says so right on the sign." To Ervin, he yelled, "Let's head in here, get some food."

Ervin was nodding his head, unsure of what they were discussing. "A restaurant? Yeah, they probably got a place in there. It's big enough."

Tuck said to Joseph, "See there? A ranch so big, it's got its own restaurant." He touched his heels to Roscoe, talking to the horse. "You're the only one don't argue with me every two minutes. Guess that's 'cause you know me so well. . . ."

The access road wound through a forest of shabby gray melaleuca trees on one side and a massive mown weed field on the other. After half a mile or so, they rounded a bend and saw a whole city of trailers: row after row after row of mobile homes, lined up like cartons that gleamed in the November heat. Each trailer had a neat patch of lawn, a white cement drive, a couple of dwarf palm trees, a citrus tree or two, and a carport. Narrow roads branched off the main road, and all the roads led to a massive circular commons area where there was a swimming pool and a big red aluminum building shaped like a barn. The barn was gated by two rearing plaster horses.

Montana Circle, Nevada Circle, Gold Rush Lane: The streets all had names like that.

"Jesus," said Joseph, "I didn't know there was this many trailers on earth."

Tuck was oddly quiet, riding along, slouched in his saddle. After a while, he said, "I thought it was going to be a goddamn ranch! I mean—I mean, I feel just a little bit stupid. Kinda
dumb.
What the hell kinda world is this when they can tell lies on a big sign that's right out in public?"

Joseph said, "There's some people over there. We can ask them about a restaurant." He motioned with his head, taking no joy in Tucker being proven wrong. It happened so often.

To the right of the aluminum barn, a cluster of people stood near a block of green runways—shuffleboard courts—watching as the riders and the slow truck approached. Retirement-aged men in shorts and sports shirts, their hair combed. Holding long sticks, though they didn't seem to be using them. No one seemed to be playing shuffleboard; the men just standing there talking to three or four ladies who sat on chairs in the shade. A couple of the ladies were pretty good-looking, Joseph noticed. Had button-up blouses and nice skin.

Tuck steered Roscoe toward the group, tipping his hat as he did. Smiling when one of the women said, "You're a day late for Halloween!"

"Miz?"

"Halloween—that was yesterday. We all dressed up like cowboys yesterday. You could have come to the party." The people laughed in a friendly sort of way, as if they were glad for the company. Then the lady said, "You know, you look very familiar somehow. . . . I've seen you... . Have you ever been here before?" Touching her chin, thinking about it as she studied them, then lifting her head a little to look at Ervin just getting out of the truck. "Not him, but I've seen you two somewhere. . . ."

Joseph sat up straight on Buster, trying to look his best. He liked the woman's face. Her bright green eyes and whitish hair piled up on her head, everything nice and neat, like she took good care of herself. Probably had a nice neat trailer, too.

The woman said, "I bet I know where!" Her eyes widened a little. "I'm sure of it....Say, wait right here." Then she jumped up and walked quickly toward a row of trailers.

One of the men said, "What in the world got into Thelma?" The whole group was watching her, interested. The man stood and held out his hand to Tuck, saying, "I'm John Dunn. Is there something we can help you with . . . ?"

"Tuck Gatrell."

"Mr. Gatrell."

Another of the ladies said, "You know, that
does
sound familiar." Now she was searching their faces, thinking about it.

Tucker said, "My friends and me, we just stopped to get a bite to eat and rest our horses. See what kind of ranch you folks had here." Chuckling a little as he said that, as if he'd known all along it wasn't a ranch.

John Dunn said, "If you're interested in a lot . . . or maybe a complete unit?"

"Naw," Tucker said, "a place this nice, we couldn't never afford to live here. Could we, Joe? We got ourselves a run-down little place called Mango. A shack on the water, that's us."

"You might be surprised at how affordable it is," Dunn said. "And the facilities . . . well, they're just great. Aren't they?"

Behind Dunn, heads were nodding up and down. "Just great," the people repeated, but Joseph didn't hear much enthusiasm in their voices.

Tucker said, "We got all the time in the world. Why don't you tell us a little." But Joseph knew he was trying to get them friendly, maybe get some free food.

"About prices? I can take you over and introduce you to—"

"No, 'bout the way things are here. What you do. There're things to keep you busy enough here?"

Dunn said, "Oh, plenty. Here at the ranch? Why, everyone's got a full schedule. The whole thing's planned out. We've got the pool, the clubhouse, parties, shuffleboard, crafts. You name it. Lawn maintenance? They do that, too. And a weekly schedule printed up, so you know what to do and when to do it."

"It goes by streets," one of the ladies said. "People on the same street, we're like a family. This is our shuffleboard time."

"Yeah," said one of the men, a stubby guy with glasses, "we get two hours to play, even if you hate the goddamn game. Which we do." Laughing like it was a joke, only he wasn't joking. Tuck found that interesting. Joseph knew by the look on Tucker's face—a mild expression, but kind of sly, like his brain was going real fast.

"But the other stuff," Tucker said, "I bet you sure love the other stuff."

Joseph thought, Just so long as he doesn't keep them talking too long. I'm hungry, as the others responded, "Of course we do. It's great."

But another man said, "Except for those damn crafts."

"Lloyd, you don't have to do crafts if you don't want."

"What the hell else is there to do?"

Tucker looked at Joseph, then at Ervin, showing that same mild expression. As if to say, "Forget about lunch. Let's listen to them squabble."

"You know what I don't like?" The stubby man was talking again. "I don't like not being able to plant more trees. Two palms, two citrus—what the hell kind of rule is that?"

"You have to have some control—"

"No, I agree with Bill on that one. We should be allowed to plant trees on our own property if we want."

"That's the thing. It's not our property. Sure, we bought our lots, but the Association retains all rights so that—"

"Let people plant trees, next thing you know, they'll be planting tomatoes."

"What's wrong with tomatoes?"

"Nothing's wrong with tomatoes, that's not the point."

"I wanted to build a little place for my orchids, but they told me no."

Another lady said, "You know what I miss? I miss having a cat. I've always loved cats, and just having one nice little cat doesn't seem like it would bother anyone."

"Cats?" Tucker said it so loud, people jumped. "Ma'am, you ever want a cat, you just come on down to Mango. We got about a jillion cats roamin' around. Well, the ones the chickens didn't run off, anyway." To the stubby man, he explained, "The tarpon come onto the flats. By my shack in Mango? They come in and purely tear up the mullet. What the tarpon don't eat washes up on the beach, so cats have an easy time of it. Yes ma'am"—he was speaking to the lady again—"you ever want a cat, just come on down and help yourself. I'll have my dog catch a couple for you."