Eventide (23 page)

39

T
HE FIRST SATURDAY NIGHT OF APRIL. AND DJ AND HIS
grandfather were at the tavern on Main Street and it was not yet late, only about eight-thirty. The old man’s pension check had come and he wanted his monthly night out.

They had been at the tavern for an hour sitting at the table near the wall with the other old men. DJ was seated behind his grandfather, watching the blonde barmaid as she moved around in the crowded smoky room. She had not asked him to come up to the bar and do his homework as she had before, though he had brought his school papers specially with that in mind. She seemed indifferent to him this night and had done no more than smile at him when she’d brought his cup of black coffee. He sat and watched her, while he listened to the old men’s stories.

She was not wearing the low-cut blouse this time. Instead she had on a long-sleeved black blouse that came up to her neck. She was wearing the same pair of tight blue jeans though, with the deliberate hole in the thigh that revealed that much of her tanned skin. While he watched her he noticed that every time she passed along the bar a man turned on his barstool to look at her and say something. DJ had only a vague idea what a grown man like that one would be saying to her. He had seen the man before around town on the streets, but didn’t know anything about him, not even his name. He seemed to be upsetting her. The blonde woman looked tired and unhappy, and appeared to be much bothered by whatever he was saying, and she gave him no response of any kind after the first two times she passed by, but just went on working in the loud crowded room.

A
T THE TABLE ONE OF THE OLD MEN BEGAN TO TELL A
story about a lawyer living across the state line in Gilbert Nebraska who had recently disappeared. He owed the bank two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on bad loans, and two weeks ago he went home for lunch and took a single bite out of a meatloaf sandwich his wife had set on his plate, then stood up and walked out the door with his wife in tow and disappeared, leaving the house unlocked and the rest of the sandwich uneaten. The coffeepot was still plugged in and the chair was pushed back from the table, as if they’d decided to leave all at once and couldn’t wait a minute longer. The whole town was surprised. Except the bankers, perhaps. Nobody in Gilbert Nebraska had seen or heard from either one of them since.

I bet they disappeared in Denver, one of the old men said.

Maybe. But they looked for them in Denver. They looked all over. They looked in Omaha.

They probably escaped down south somewhere then. He’s probably one of these front-door people-greeters at Wal-Mart someplace. Was he a old man?

Pretty old.

A old lawyer would do that. That’d be just right for a old lawyer. They should look for him down south in Wal-Mart.

T
HE OLD MEN WENT ON TALKING AND A HALF HOUR LATER
DJ stood up and walked back through the tables to the rest room at the rear of the tavern, past the pool tables and the crowded booths. He went into one of the stalls and read the graffiti and used the toilet. Afterward he was washing his hands at the sink when the man from the bar came in. He was glassy-eyed and weaving. What you doing in here, you little shit?

Washing my hands.

Can’t you read that sign on the door? This is for men, not little kids. Get the fuck out of here.

DJ looked at him and went back out and sat down behind his grandfather. His face was hot and red. He looked for the blonde woman. She was out in the room waiting on a table, standing with her back to him, her blonde hair bright against her black blouse. He opened his papers and did a page of homework. His face was burning and he kept thinking what he should have said or done in the rest room.

When he looked up fifteen minutes later he saw the man was bothering the barmaid again. Without considering what he might do, he stood up from his chair and walked to where they stood at the bar. The man had her by the wrist and was talking in a low mean voice.

Don’t, DJ said. You’re going to hurt her.

What? the man said. Why you little son of a bitch. He slapped DJ across the eyes and nose, knocking him into a table behind him, scattering glasses and ashtrays across the floor.

Well, what in the hell, one of the men at the table said. Hoyt, what you think you’re doing?

The boy straightened himself and ran at him with his head down, but again the man slapped him away and he fell against an empty chair and crashed over with it.

Here, the bartender yelled. Raines, goddamn it, quit that.

The boy’s grandfather came hurrying over and grabbed Hoyt by the shirt. I know how to deal with pups like you, he said.

I’m going to knock the shit out of you, Hoyt Raines said. Let go of me.

They commenced to fight. Hoyt slapped at the old man’s white head and they whirled around and suddenly from behind them the blonde barmaid reached in and grabbed a fistful of Hoyt’s hair. Hoyt’s head jerked backward and his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he swung about with the old man still hanging on to him and grabbed the woman by the throat and hurled her against the bar. Her blouse tore open, uncovering her breasts in the skimpy pink brassiere, and she let go and clutched at her blouse. Then the boy grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed Hoyt Raines across the face with it. The bottle broke on his temple and tore his ear and he fell sideways, his knees buckling, and he righted himself and bent forward, bleeding from the side of the face onto the barroom floor. The boy waited to see what else he would do. He held the jagged bottle as if he’d stab him with it if he tried anything.

But the bartender had rushed out from behind the bar, and now he and two other men dragged Hoyt by the arms out the front door onto the sidewalk. When he turned and tried to push past them to come back inside, they shoved him violently away and he fell across the hood of one of the parked cars at the curb and lay sprawled. His face was cut and he was bleeding from the ear, the blood streamed down his neck. He rose gasping, weaving. He began to curse them.

Get the hell out of here, the bartender said. You’re not coming back in here. Go on. He shoved Hoyt.

Fuck you, Hoyt said. He stood glaring at them, wobbly on his feet. Fuck every last one of you.

The bartender shoved him again and he stumbled backward off the sidewalk and sat down in the gutter. He looked all around, then rose and staggered southward down the middle of Main Street in the midst of Saturday night traffic. The cars veered around him, honking and blaring, the people inside the cars, high-school kids, shouting at him, whistling, jeering, and he cursed them too, cursed them all, gesturing at each car obscenely as it went by. He staggered on. Then he turned off into a side street and stumbled into the back alley. Halfway into the alley he stopped and leaned against the brick wall at the rear of one of the stores. A patrol car drove by out in the street. He squatted down behind a trash barrel. Blood was dripping from his ear, and the side of his face felt raw and numb. He waited, panting, squatted in the dark. He managed to light a cigarette and he cupped it in his hand. Then he stood and pissed against the brick wall of the store and stepped away in the shadows, headed out toward the street. When he saw no patrol car he turned toward Detroit.

I
NSIDE THE TAVERN THE BARMAID HAD HURRIED BACK TO
the rest room holding her blouse together, and the men were tending to the old man, who’d bumped his head on one of the tables and was sitting awkwardly on the floor. There was a knot above his ear and he kept mumbling something. They lifted him to his feet and one of the men patted the boy on the back, congratulating him for what he’d done, but the boy ducked away from under the man’s hand.

Leave us alone! he cried. All of you, leave us alone! He stood facing the ring of men. He was almost in tears. Leave us alone, goddamn you!

Why, what the hell? one of the men said. You little son of a bitch, we were trying to help you.

We don’t want your help. Leave us alone.

He took his grandfather by the arm and led him back to their table. We got to go home, he said. He helped the old man into his coat and put on his own coat and gathered up his homework papers, and they went outside.

They walked down the sidewalk past the darkened storefronts. Cars drove past in the street. Across the tracks they turned in at their quiet neighborhood, and went on toward the little dark house. He put his grandfather to bed in the back room, helping him remove his overalls and workshirt and covering him with blankets. The old man lay back in his long underwear and shut his eyes.

Will you be all right now, Grandpa?

The old man opened one eye and peered at him. Yes. Go on, get to bed.

DJ turned the light off and went to his room. Once he was undressed he began to cry. He lay across the bed, hitting at the pillow in the dark. Goddamn you, he sobbed. Goddamn you.

After a while he got up and dressed once more and went into the other bedroom to check on his grandfather, then he went outside to wander the night streets. He crossed the railroad tracks and walked into the south side of Holt, out along the shadowed dark sidewalks past the silent houses.

40

I
T WAS LATE BUT NOT YET MIDNIGHT WHEN RAYMOND
walked out of Rose’s house to his pickup. They had gone again to the Wagon Wheel Café for dinner and the café had been even more crowded this time, but it didn’t matter, they were having a good time, and afterward they had gone back to her house and drunk coffee and made love. Now he was going home. It was a fine spring night and he was feeling full of pleasure, fortunate beyond any accounting. He started the pickup and he was thinking warmly about Rose, then he got to the corner and there was a boy about to cross the street. Raymond slowed down and the boy stood under the light waiting for him to pass. He saw who it was and stopped. Son, is that you?

The boy didn’t say anything.

DJ, that’s you, isn’t it?

Yes, it’s me.

He stood at the edge of the street, his hands in his coat pockets.

What are you doing? Raymond said. Are you all right?

I’m all right.

Where you going to?

I’m just out walking.

Well. Raymond sat looking at him. Why don’t you get in and let me drive you home. It’s late out here.

I’m not going home yet.

I see. Raymond studied him. Then why don’t you get in and we’ll just drive a little.

You probably need to be somewhere.

Son, there’s no place else for me to be right now. I’d be glad for the company. Why don’t you come get in.

The boy stood looking at him. He looked away up the street. He stood for some time looking up the street. Raymond waited. Then the boy came around in front of the pickup and got in on the passenger side.

You’re just out walking. Is that it? Taking the night air.

Yes sir.

Well, it’s a nice night for it.

Raymond started the pickup and drove out of the dark neighborhood onto Main Street and turned south among the high-school kids in their cars, past the closed stores and the movie house, which had already let out for the night. When they passed the tavern the boy stared at the front of the building, and then turned sideways to look out the back window. At the highway Raymond headed west and drove out past the Legion and Shattuck’s Café, where people were parked in cars at the drive-up under the long tin canopy roof, and then on out of town.

You want to just drive on a ways? Raymond said. Would that be all right with you?

Yes sir.

I wouldn’t mind it myself. Crank that window down if you want some air.

The boy rolled down his window and they went on. The yardlights of the farms were scattered out beyond the dark open fields and at every mile a graveled section road ran exactly north and south, and all along the new spring weeds were growing up at the roadside. A rabbit darted across the pavement in front of them, heading off into the weeds, its white scut flashing as it zigzagged away.

Raymond glanced at the boy. What you suppose spooked him out on the highway?

I wouldn’t know.

The boy was looking straight ahead.

Son, is there something bothering you? Raymond said. You seem a little upset to me.

Maybe.

You kind of seem like it. Is it something you’d care to talk about?

I don’t know.

Well, I can sure listen anyhow. If you want to try.

The boy turned to look out the side window, the headlights shining ahead on the dark road. Then all at once he began to talk. It came pouring out of him, about the fight at the tavern and about the man hurting the barmaid and his grandfather. And he was crying now. Raymond drove on and the boy kept crying and talking. After a while he stopped, he seemed to have spent himself. He wiped at his face.

Is that pretty much all of it? Raymond said. Was there anything else you wanted to tell?

No.

Did he hurt you?

He was hurting her. And Grandpa.

But they’re all right now. Is that what you think?

I guess so.

What about him? Did he get hurt?

He was bleeding.

From where you hit him with the bottle?

Yes sir.

How bad was it?

I don’t know. His face was pretty cut up.

Well. He’ll probably be all right. Don’t you think?

I don’t know if he will or not.

R
AYMOND DROVE ON A WAYS FARTHER, THEN THEY CAME
back into town. At Shattuck’s Café he pulled in under the canopy and without asking he ordered them each a hamburger and a black coffee and then turned to look at him.

Do you reckon he’d do anything else to you or your grandfather?

I don’t even know who he is.

What did he look like?

He was kind of tall. With dark hair.

That could be any number of people.

They called him Hoyt something.

Oh, Raymond said. Hoyt Raines then. I know who he is. Well, you stay clear of him.

I don’t want him to hurt that woman.

I doubt if he’d try again. Did they kick him out?

Yes.

Then he probably won’t be allowed to go back in there. But you let me know if he bothers you again. Will you promise me to do that?

Yes sir.

All right then.

They finished their hamburgers and coffee and the girl came and took away their tray.

You think you’re about ready to go home now?

Yes.

Raymond backed out onto the highway and drove up through town and stopped at the little house where he’d let the boy and his grandfather out months ago. The boy started to get out.

Son, Raymond said. I’m just wondering here, but do you think you would want to help me some? I could use a hand on the weekends.

Doing what?

Doing whatever needs doing. Working around the ranch.

I guess I could.

I’ll give you a call. How about next weekend? How would next Saturday suit you?

It’d suit me fine.

You’d have to get up early.

What time?

Five-thirty. You think you could do that?

Yes sir. I always get up early.

All right. You take care now. Get yourself some sleep. I’ll give you a call next week.

The boy got out and went up to the house. Raymond sat watching him until the door closed, then drove home. He drove out south and by the time he turned off the highway onto the gravel road he was thinking again about Rose Tyler.