Father and Son (13 page)

“But you wouldn't be happy.”

“No.”

“What would make you happy, Ed?”

Ed turned and looked at him like he was crazy.

“Why goddamn, that's simple. Have my boy back.”

Bobby drew hard on his cigarette and rested the hand that held it on the steering wheel. A lot of people were still standing around in the yard, some watching them.

“Come on, Ed, be reasonable. You're not gonna get your little boy back.”

“Right, because that drunk son of a bitch runs loose and the damn law won't do nothing to him.”

“He was shut up for three years.”

“My boy's dead.”

“I had a talk with him.”

“I'm gonna have a talk with him.”

It got quiet in the car.

“You better not do nothing stupid.”

“If the goddamn law won't take up for me I'll take up for myself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Ed flipped his cigarette out the window and opened his door, but he stared at Bobby for just a moment before he got out.

“I guess it means blood's thicker than water,” he said, and then he was out and the door had slammed and he was walking away without looking back.

What was it Glen had said? Take that badge off for five minutes? He just wished he could.

Glen was on the road again. The cartoons had only lasted a few more minutes but he'd gotten bored with watching them before then anyway. There were a few clothes in the backseat and he was trying to decide what to do next. He didn't want to go back to his house because there was nothing there for him and the weather was too nice to stay inside. He had all this freedom now. He didn't want to waste any of it.

His stomach said it was time to eat but they had taken his wristwatch away from him at Parchman and had given him one back that wasn't his and was broken. He complained but it didn't do any good. The only thing a complaint would get you down there was a good ass-whipping, and he never did ask for another one.

He thought about heading to the store for some cigarettes, but the old man had said he was going over there, and he didn't want to run into him again this soon. He'd driven by Puppy's trailer but his car wasn't there.

His own car wasn't running too good. It missed a little when he pressed hard on the gas and Puppy was probably right about the points and plugs. He never had learned to work on one the way Puppy had, didn't like all that grease under his fingernails and having to mess with all those nuts and bolts, bust your knuckles on something. Long as they got him where he was going he was satisfied.

He drove past his house and glanced at the yard. The doors of the car shed were still standing open and he could see where he and Puppy had trampled the grass in the yard the day before. He wondered if Puppy had a lawn mower that was running. It was mighty hot to get out there and cut it, though. What he needed worse than anything was some money. He frowned, thinking about a job. There was always the stove factory and he figured he could probably get on out there again. Stand out there and put screws in holes or something. The work wasn't hard but it was eight hours on your feet and a concrete floor. Puppy might know if there was anything. The money he had wasn't going to last long, and he needed to get the lights turned on in his house and buy some groceries. He guessed he could eat at the cafe for a few days, or maybe even over at Jewel's if he could get over there after her kid was in bed. He didn't like looking at him.

There wasn't much traffic on the road. Once in a while he'd meet a car and raise a languid hand. He wondered how long it would take him to run into Ed Hall somewhere. And what would happen when he did. He still remembered him yelling in the courtroom when they were leading him out after the sentencing. Deputies holding Ed back. He'd probably have to be dealt with sooner or later, but Glen hoped it would be later. He needed to lay low now, be sitting there in the probation office in the morning right on time, yessir and nosir the whole time. Show them that he'd learned his lesson. He hated to be under their thumb but it was a lot better than staying down at Parchman. The days were long down there when you had a hoe in your hands. All he had to do was be careful. All he had to do was not get caught doing anything wrong for a while and then they'd let him off probation. It wouldn't be that hard a thing to do.

He finished the cigarette and flipped the butt out the window. The gas gauge showed half full. He could do some riding around this afternoon, find something to eat, maybe head down to the VFW and see if it was
open. He could always ride across the river and get a six-pack, maybe drop by Jewel's later. The more he thought about her, the more he wanted to do that, but there was the kid to deal with. She'd probably want him to play with him or something, and he didn't want to do that. He was a little troubled to know that she'd been over to see Virgil, and had taken the boy, too. He hoped Virgil wasn't trying to act like some grandfather or something. That could come to a screeching halt. Virgil didn't have any business coming between them. There wasn't any need for him to poke his nose in it.

But it probably wouldn't hurt anything to just go by there for a little while. He didn't have to go in. He could just get her to come out to the car for a while. She'd probably do that. It had been a long time. He just didn't want to have to talk to her about the kid right now. He didn't want her to start making him feel bad about it again. It wasn't all his fault anyway. It took two to tango.

It was easy to get careless after you went with a woman for a while. He'd never liked rubbers anyway. It didn't feel as good. She'd always tried to get him to use the damn things, kept them, even, who knows where she'd gotten them. A single woman in this town didn't just walk into the drugstore and buy a pack of rubbers. Maybe her doctor got them for her. Maybe they had rubber machines in the women's bathrooms in the gas stations and beer joints. He didn't know. Maybe she drove up to Memphis and bought them where nobody knew her. He could remember them arguing about it, all that crying she'd do amid declarations of love. But then she'd get hot and forget about it when he promised not to leave it inside her. But then it would get to feeling so good … it was just a mistake. Just one of those things. There wasn't anything he could do about it now.

He drifted along and eyed the countryside and wondered if she'd fucked anybody while he was in the pen. She might have, the way she
was. No telling how many times she'd been propositioned right there in the cafe while he was gone. It was natural. She was a pretty woman. Men were attracted to her. But he didn't want to marry her. He didn't know why he'd ever married Melba anyway. She said he drank too much and ran around all the time but he'd done all that before they got married so she should have known that he wasn't going to change his life for her. He didn't know what women expected you to do anyway. Work like a dog forty hours a week stay home on Saturday night go to church on Sunday and give them all your money he guessed. Not even go out and drink a beer? To hell with that. He was glad she was gone and he hoped he never saw her again. The few times he'd hit her she'd been asking for it anyway.
Where you been, who you been out with, what's that on you
? He got tired of listening to that shit. If Jewel wanted him to keep coming around she could take him the way he was. If she didn't like it she wasn't the only woman around.

Erline Price had sure grown up. He wondered just how grown-up she was. Maybe he'd see.

He drove into the city limits and pulled up to the stop sign. The heat was bad coming off the sidewalks and the street. Nobody much stirring. He went on through the stop sign and tooled up the street looking to see what was open. The gas stations would be, some of the little stores or maybe a hamburger joint. It was past time to find something to eat. Where a big restaurant had once stood there was a paved parking lot and he didn't know what had happened there. Fire maybe. So many things would have changed in three years. There was probably lots of news he'd missed. Old folks he'd known now dead. He felt a twinge of sadness for what he'd lost and would never know. He still had all the letters from his mother. She'd written every week but he knew she couldn't have told him everything in her world. Never spoke of her hurts, was always cheerful for him. She'd sent cookies, cakes, at Christmas little packages of gifts,
small wrapped presents, the fried apple pies he'd always loved. And she had gotten sicker and sicker with the cancer and the letters had slowed down coming and then one day a guard came in and told him she was dead.

But they wouldn't let you out for that. Even if your mother died they wouldn't let you go bury her. When he got some money he'd go find a flower shop and buy some and take them out there. He had to see about that headstone. There was a lot to do.

He went on up the street and drove through the light just as it turned green. Just a few cars were parked around the square. Some kids in a convertible were talking to some more kids in another car. A truck that was still sitting where it had been yesterday. The benches under the oaks were empty but for a few pigeons perched there or pecking along the ground. The water fountains marked
COLORED
and
WHITE
. A slow and sleepy Sunday afternoon. Folks resting on their beds after big dinners, sitting on front porches, company pulling up. He could remember when it was like that at his house. Long years ago. Before everything went bad and he found out how the world really was, how it was unforgiving and cruel to children and adults alike, that you couldn't count on anything being the way it was supposed to be, that grown people made mistakes just like everybody else, and how some of those mistakes were forever lasting and would follow you to your grave. There was no use thinking of how things could have turned out. They had turned out the way they had, like the dead old history he had studied in those battered books in Mary Blanchard's classroom all those years ago.

He had slowed down way below the speed limit and somebody blew a horn behind him. He glanced up quickly into the rearview mirror, hot words ready or the middle digit of his unbandaged hand, but he saw a face and glasses behind a steering wheel, a hand waving, and he smiled, waved back, started looking for a place to pull over and talk to Erline.

She was driving a little green Mercury Comet and she followed him into the parking spaces in front of the bank. She pulled up next to him against the curb. He was going to talk to her from where he was but she got out of her car and into his.

“What are you doing all by yourself on a Sunday afternoon?” she said.

“Lookin for you.”

“I thought you already had a girlfriend.”

She was a little on the skinny side but she was cute. He liked the way her arms and legs looked, solid and browned. While he'd toiled chopping at his endless cotton patch with armed riders watching him she'd probably lain on a beach towel in her father's yard, her skin glistening with sweat and baby oil, the radio playing surfing songs.

“She's in church.”

“And you ain't.”

“That's right. Where can you get something to eat around here today?”

“That depends on what you want to eat.”

She took him to a place about five miles out of town, a rib shack that sold beer. There was a jukebox blaring inside and some college students were shooting pool on some battered tables in a room off to the side. Business was kind of slow. He put a few quarters into the box and got a pair of beers. Leaning on the long bar he studied a menu written in chalk on the wall and ordered a side of ribs with slaw and loaf bread. The sullen counterman who took his order scratched figures with a pencil nub on a small yellow tablet. The beer was cold and dripping. With a gentle hand on a tiny waist he steered her into a booth and then stretched out with his back propped comfortably. He offered her a cigarette but she had some of her own. She didn't know how to inhale and she laughed too much and too loud at his stories of drinking and driving fast, the thrills of his youth. She wasn't used to drinking either and by the time
he'd gnawed all the bones clean she was downright silly from two more beers. He bought some cigarettes and got her back in the car. She seemed to be feeling pretty good and sat close to him in the seat. A little kiss on his ear, the tracings of cool nails on the black hairs of his arm.

“What's your daddy gonna say when you come in like this?”

“I guess I better sober up fore I go home.”

“I guess you better.”

She didn't know what was happening even after he got her inside his house, having been lulled with the lie of stopping for a clean shirt and the promise of letting her use the bathroom. He didn't change shirts but he did take off the one he was wearing. She stayed in the bathroom for a long time. There was some of the whiskey left and he sipped it lying on his bed, which smelled to him just like the one at his father's house. Half reclining there among the peeling walls in the dusty house, sipping slowly and smoking a cigarette and silently stoking his anger, eyeing the closed bathroom door. He wondered if she'd tell anybody. Her father's wrath, her mother's shame, the pain of their knowledge, all things to be weighed and considered gravely in the dark of her bedroom where maybe later the nightmares would come, raving black horses with foam blowing from their mouths and their withers slathered with flecks of slobber. How hard a story to tell, how even to begin to recant her guilt, that the secret flower which must be kept safe and sacred now lay drowned in a sea of swimming sperm, their little mustard-seed heads and their tails lashing for the moat that guards the cell. Daddy I got fucked and he just got out of the pen.

She came out of the bathroom slowly, a little woozy, maybe a little apprehensive. Maybe she'd thought everything over in there. Where she was and what was going on here. He patted the side of the bed for her, his smile frozen and his eyes glazed, but not with whiskey.