Castleview (3 page)
Authors: Gene Wolfe
CARS AND HORSES
THE DEALERSHIP was downtown, as old dealerships in small towns often are, its lot sprawling across most of a block that would make someone a great building site, when and if the town began to grow. It had entered into Shields’s calculations, with many other things; late at night, as he lay in bed beside a snoring Ann, he imagined Chicago inching toward Castleview, closer and closer, until at last it had become a remote suburb.
Awake, he knew it would not happen—not in his lifetime and not in the lifetimes of Mercedes’s children; the distance was too great.
There were a couple of parking spaces under the overhang at the front of the building, but Shields pulled around to the back and dashed through the rain to let himself in by way of the rear door. Better to leave those dry front spots for customers. The back, the service area, was closed; the mechanics went home at five. Two cars awaited their return on the lifts: a three-year-old and a four-year-old model, Shields noted, both nearly ready for replacement.
His salesmen were sitting in the showroom drinking coffee. There were no lookers, and certainly no buyers (thus the vacant spaces); still, the salesmen were honor-bound to remain at their posts until the stroke of nine. It was Friday night, after all—the
big shopping night in Castleview. Speaking as one, they said, “Evenin’, Mr. Shields.”
big shopping night in Castleview. Speaking as one, they said, “Evenin’, Mr. Shields.”
He answered, “Good evening, boys,” and smiled, though in truth he was pleased with neither.
The younger one, Teddy, said, “Not much action on the new models tonight.”
There was an implication that this was Shields’s fault, and as it happened it was one with which Shields agreed. “We’ll be kicking off our winter ads soon.”
Teddy shook his head. He was going bald, and the movement caused the showroom lights to play across the bare spot as if it were polished glass. “Winter’s the worst season there is.”
“That’s why we need an advertising campaign then.”
Bob Roberts, the older salesman, said, “Mr. Hotchkiss used to close for January. He’d always go to Fort Lauderdale.”
And you got a month’s vacation, Shields thought. Aloud he said, “I might do that too—if November and December sales are good enough.” Roberts was the better of the two, he felt sure, but Roberts was old, over sixty-five.
Teddy asked, “What’s the winter angle?”
“Wait until you see it.” Shields winked; if he told Teddy about the price cuts, Teddy might advise his favorite customers to wait until they were in effect.
Roberts was at the coffee machine. “Like some coffee, Mr. Shields?”
“Sure.” One of the salesmen would not be replaced, Shields decided. He would fill that slot himself, and replace the other with a woman. Women bought cars nearly as often as men did, and women liked to deal with a woman.
The telephone rang. Teddy answered it with alacrity: “View Motors, Ted Camberwell. How can we help you? … Yes, he’s right here.” He held the handset out to Shields, saying, “Your wife,” under his breath.
“Ann?”
“It’s me, Willie. Willie, I just had an idea. Now you don’t
have
to do this, all right? It’s just a thought.”
have
to do this, all right? It’s just a thought.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to lend me a car. You’ve got a bunch of used ones, so couldn’t you have that salesman drive one out here for me? Then I’d bring him back. It would save paying for the cab—we may not be able to get one anyway—and then I’d have a car to run errands and things while you were there.”
Shields nodded to himself. “I’ve got a better idea than that. I’ll have him bring our car to you. I can take one of the trade-ins when we close.”
“Oh, Willie, would you?”
“Sure. He’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Willie, I love you very, very much.”
There was a click. Shields hung up, handed Teddy his car keys, and explained what he was to do.
“There’s some real nice machines out there,” Roberts told him after Teddy had gone. Shields nodded, noticed the coffee Roberts had set before him, and stirred in powdered whitener. “It’s your agency,” Roberts said. “You might as well get the good out of it.”
Shields shook his head. “Mostly the bank’s, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, if they want a car I’ll let them have a loaner.”
Shields chuckled appreciatively. “Bob, could you tell me where the County Museum is?”
“The Castle County Historical Society Museum? Sure can.” Roberts pointed. “Willow Avenue, three and a half blocks down. You can’t miss it—a big two-story brick with a red, black, and white sign out front. I painted that sign myself.”
“I didn’t know you were a sign painter,” Shields said.
“Sarah paints a little. Pictures, you know, and she got me to dabbing in it. I’ve done a few posters for the agency, not printed-up posters, just one-of-a-kind things to stick in the window. So when they decided they needed a sign, I said I’d do it. I’m a trustee, and I feel obliged to save our money when I can.”
“I don’t suppose it’s open now?”
Roberts shook his head. “Thursdays and Sunday afternoons
is all. We have trouble getting somebody to come in and look after things. Usually you sit there for your hours and nobody comes. Were you wanting to go tonight? I could take you.”
is all. We have trouble getting somebody to come in and look after things. Usually you sit there for your hours and nobody comes. Were you wanting to go tonight? I could take you.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Shields said. “I really would.”
“Be glad to do it.”
Shields was in the little office going over the books when he heard the Buick splash up outside. Through the window, he saw Teddy jump out and run for the door. Shields waved to Ann, and was rewarded with a smile and a blown kiss as she drove off.
From the rear of the building, Shields and Roberts looked out across the brightly illuminated lot. “Since you haven’t got a coat,” Roberts suggested, “maybe you could just tell me which one you want. I’ll get the keys and drive it around.” Roberts himself wore the black oilskins favored by farmers.
“Okay.” Shields nodded.
“The blue and cream Linc’s real nice.”
Shields shook his head. “It’s too nice, let’s keep it here and sell it. What’s that sticking up at the far end?”
“Eighty-six Cherokee. The outside’s pretty beat up, but she runs good. Got four-wheel when you want it.”
“I’ll take that.” Suddenly conscience-stricken, he added, “If you don’t mind walking—”
Roberts grinned, showing perfect teeth Shields felt certain were false. “I won’t melt, and this slicker’s about new anyway. Hold on a second.” He vanished into the building.
Alone at the edge of the rain, Shields tried to recall the attic of the Howard house, the window, the driving rain that had sometimes spattered its glass, and what he had seen through it. I’m chasing a phantom, he thought, an illusion. I may need that four-wheel drive.
Roberts reappeared and hurried off into the rain, moving among motionless vehicles with white-numbered prices on their windshields and in their windows: $12,999; $9800; $8750; $6900. After a minute or so, Shields heard the engine of the Cherokee start, cough, die, and start again.
There was a pause as Roberts let it warm up, a long pause in which Shields could not be certain it had not died a second time. At last it roared forward, headlights glaring, out onto Dixon—hurried down Dixon, and turned the corner to Main.
In a moment more it was braking in front of him, Roberts having circled the building so that the passenger’s door was before Shields. Shields opened it and climbed in.
“Figured I might as well drive,” Roberts said. “I know where it is.”
“Sure,” Shields told him. They pulled away; and suddenly, insanely, Shields felt that he had been standing before the gate of a fortress. This gray-haired man—an old squire or a master-at-arms, perhaps a master-of-horse—had just led up the charger he was to ride.
And it was not young and elegant, or even very clean, but a big, rough, rust-colored stallion with flashing eyes.
The next question, Ann felt, was whether to take Mercedes. She would have liked her company, but Mercedes would not want to come, and would not understand in the least why Ann herself was going.
Would not, that is, unless Ann explained, which she had no intention of doing. She drove past the motel without stopping, forcing herself, actually, to slow down to take the mileage at the sign. Five miles, Emily had said, by road. What was it called? Meadow Gold? That sounded like butter.
An antlered buck stepped daintily onto the road and halted, spellbound by her headlights. Icy-footed mice scampered up and down her spine as she stopped. Not only because she might have hit the buck (though that would have been horrible) but because for a fleeting instant the graceful buck had seemed an object of supernatural dread.
Like the horse and its rider.
She blew the horn, and the buck bounded away—no more than a common deer, a deer to be shot in all probability on the first or second day of hunting season. Or had hunting season
already begun? Perhaps it was over already. Who would want to hunt in this rain?
already begun? Perhaps it was over already. Who would want to hunt in this rain?
She had started forward again when she saw a dark something in the rearview mirror. It swelled and roared around her, tires screaming and throwing up combs of rainwater, a rusted-out sedan without lights. Already it was gone, leaving Old Penton Road as dark and silent as before.
According to the odometer, she had gone exactly three and three-tenths miles since passing the motel. Five miles by road, Emily had said. Abruptly, the road dipped. A sign: TRUCKS USE LOW GEAR. Not a bad idea for her either, Ann decided, shifting the transmission into second. What had the sedan done? It must have been going eighty when it hit this section.
Around every bend, Ann expected to see the orange flames of its demise.
She wished—very much—that she had brought Mercedes after all. Any companionship would be welcome, even that of a sulky sixteen-year-old. And Mercedes would—The radio! How could she have forgotten?
She switched it on. “—
all along Old Penton Road. Flash floods may also
—”
all along Old Penton Road. Flash floods may also
—”
Off again. What was the good of a radio if it just scared you? What had Goethe said? Willie would know. “Nature reacts not only to physical disease, but to moral weakness: when danger increases, she gives courage.” Something like that. Well, come on, Nature, get busy.
Cooking with Goethe.
Cooking for Nature.
An infant waterfall appeared out of the darkness far above her, tumbling down onto the already-drowned asphalt. Ann gunned the Buick and crashed through it. This road must have dropped several hundred feet in the last quarter mile, she thought. Or was it a quarter mile in the last several hundred feet?
The engine sputtered, caught again. Something inside had
gotten wet; Ann knew that much about engines. It had dried out again because the engine was good and hot. Willie had told her, and Willie used to race—Willie should know. If it stopped, she would be stuck here until the police came, or the rain stopped, too. Maybe all night. Damn!
gotten wet; Ann knew that much about engines. It had dried out again because the engine was good and hot. Willie had told her, and Willie used to race—Willie should know. If it stopped, she would be stuck here until the police came, or the rain stopped, too. Maybe all night. Damn!
Meadow Grass—that was it. And there was the sign, big but old, flaking a little now.
Ann stopped the Buick, got a flashlight out of the map box, and lowered the window half way. MEADOW GRASS SUMMER CAMP, with a picture of a cowboy—no, a girl—on horseback. A girls’ camp, then; she should have guessed. Nobody would call a boys’ camp Meadow Grass.
“When they’re supposed to be asleep,” Emily had said, “a kid will sneak out and get a horse and ride into town.” Girls for sure. Boys would ride at night, but not into town. Boys would jump fences or something.
Hearing the thud of hooves, Ann redirected her flashlight. Someone was riding toward her, galloping down the curving road on the other side of the gate. Through silver rain, the light glinted on the oiled barrel of a rifle.
Mercedes had decided to get a shower two minutes before the knock. Hurriedly she hooked her bra again and slipped back into the pink sweater she had taken off. “Coming! Just a minute.”
When she opened the door, Seth was standing outside in the rain. “Oh,” she said. “Come on in. Get out of that.”
“Thanks.” He shook himself (rather like a wet dog) before stepping inside.
“You can hang your jacket in the closet here.” Tentatively she extended one of the motel’s plastic hangers.
“Where’s your mom and dad?”
“Gone off someplace. Mom’ll be back pretty soon.”
“Too good.” He was wearing a Castleview High letter jacket. The blue wool showed indigo spots where drops of rain had
soaked the fabric; others rose in crystalline warts from the nearly new green leather sleeves. He unzipped it and hung it up.
soaked the fabric; others rose in crystalline warts from the nearly new green leather sleeves. He unzipped it and hung it up.
“Listen,” Mercedes said, “I’m really terribly sorry about what happened to your dad.”
A sudden spasm twisted Seth’s features. “So’m I.”
“How’s your mom taking it?”
He shrugged. “Not so good, I guess.”
“He’s dead, right?”
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