South of the Pumphouse (11 page)

“You'd be surprised,” insisted Donny, taking a pull from his beer. “You look like the type of guy that parties every now and then, Ed. What you talkin' shit for?”

“Nothin' wrong with some green bud once in a while. Drop a little acid, 'shrooms, maybe some X.”

“X?” repeated Donny with a puzzled look.

“Ecstasy.”

“Ah, man, I heard that shit's for fags.”

Ed shook his head and leaned back again in his seat. The three sat in silence for a long moment before Donny spoke up. “How 'bout it there, Ed? I'll be honest. I always figured you a queer.” He paused again, looked Ed directly in the eye, and asked, “You ever been with a woman?”

“I'm married.”

“To a woman?”

“Yes!”

“Well, fuck, I don't know. These days. Fuckin' California. Guys gettin' married to guys. Chicks marryin' chicks. Adoptin' babies. Weird shit.” Donny took another swig from his beer and reached for a cigarette from his breast pocket.

“There's nothing wrong with gay couples adopting children.” As soon as the words left his lips, Ed regretted saying anything. Why couldn't he just sit with his mouth shut? Trying to have a debate with a fellow like Donny Vowdy was a pointless endeavor.

“Oh, fuck you, Ed,” barked Donny. “You hear this, Earl?”

“Keep me out of it.” Earl got up to check his bait again.

“Well, fuck you, Ed.”

“Hey, fuck you, Don. Tell me what's wrong with it then.” Ed had pushed a button, and it felt good to be on the offensive with Donny.

“It ain't right.”

“Why?”

“It ain't fuckin' right!” repeated Donny. “Think about that poor kid.”

“Poor kid?” Ed dug in. “Why is it
poor kid?”

“How'd you like to go to school and tell everyone your parents are a couple of fags?” blasted Donny with a glint of fire in his eye. “I'll tell you what, if you did that in my school, you'd have gotten your ass kicked every day.”

“There are plenty of open-minded, liberal environments where people don't think twice about things like that.”

“Yeah, where?”

“Berkeley, San Francisco—”

“Fuckin' freak central,” Donny interrupted.

“There's nothing wrong with two loving parents raising a child together. It doesn't matter whether they're gay or hetero. There are loads of kids who would love to have a house of any kind where there's some sort of stability.”

“Stability? Listen to the fancy college boy. STABILITY.”

“Most gay couples, or most gays in general, tend to be well educated, kind, giving people, from my experience.”

“Yeah, I'll bet you're experienced,” Donny sneered. “Look, it just ain't right.” He turned to Earl for support, but Ed's older brother was doing his best to avoid the entire conversation. Realizing that he was on his own, Donny made his boldest statement on the matter. “What about the AIDS?”

“What about it?”

“Shit, the kids get it from the parents, and then they take it to school and give it to the other kids.”

“Dude, stop. Just stop. You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about.”

“Yeah?” countered Donny.

“Don't even try going there, man. You're just showing your ignorance now.” Ed realized that his brother and his friends weren't the worldliest fellows on the planet, but Donny's current line of thought still surprised him.

“Yeah?” Donny repeated stubbornly.

“Yeah, just stop.”

After a long silence, Donny added, “Well, it ain't right. Says so in the Bible.”

“The Bible! Where?”

“Eh, it's in there somewhere.”

Ed stared at Donny for a moment and then shook his head with a smile. “Whatever you say there, Donny.”

Both Ed and Earl held back sniggers.

Donny noticed that the two brothers were smiling and was irritated by the thought that they were amused at his expense. “Shee-it. Fuck you, Ed.” He took a big swig of his beer and stared off into the distance.

The long silence that followed made Earl feel uneasy. There had certainly been tense moments between Ed and Donny when they were young, but Ed could have never held his ground back then. In those days, whoever was mightier physically was the one who prevailed, no matter what the issue of debate. And being older and bigger, Donny had always been the dominant of the two.

But now Earl noticed, and not without some element of pride, that his younger brother could hold his own. Earl had never felt intimidated by Donny. They had always been pretty evenly matched as boys. On one occasion, Donny had pushed an issue just a bit too far, and Earl had gone berserk. He had actually knocked Donny to the ground, bloodying his nose. From that point on, there had been an unspoken understanding between the two friends that, if necessary, Earl could take Donny down. That didn't stop Donny from tormenting Earl with his smart-ass attitude from time to time, but it did establish a boundary that Donny knew not to cross.

The situation between Donny and Ed was now becoming a little too tense for comfort. Earl decided that it was time to change the subject.

“Hey, Eddy boy, remember that time Pops caught the hundred-pounder?”

Ed's mind quickly flashed to an old photo of himself, Earl, and his father standing before a long sturgeon hanging from a hook attached to a scale, with a reading of just above a hundred pounds.

“Yep, that was a hell of a day,” he muttered.

“Yep,” said Earl, now addressing Donny. “It was Derby Day at the club.”

Donny shot Earl a curious look. “What club?”

“Pops used to belong to the San Pablo Sportsman's Club down there toward Point Richmond. They tore it all out around '84. Howard Hughes used to have some seaplanes stored out there right next to the old Ford plant.”

“Yeah, I remember that!” Ed exclaimed. “I was thinking of that when we left the marina this morning. Whatever happened to those planes?”

“I don't know. They got scrapped out or somethin'. Santa Fe owned that land. When the lease ran out, they shut down the club. That's where they got the new marina now. Anyways, it was Derby Day, and Pops won first prize with that sturgeon. Got him a new Penn spool reel.”

“I just remember it taking
forever
to get that fish in.”

“Well, he always used pretty light gear.”

“Twenty-pound test,” recalled Ed.

“Eighteen-pound test, bro. Eighteen.”

“Bullshit!” shouted Donny in disbelief.

“Whatcha mean,
bullshit
? Hell, that's what's on that pole right there,” said Earl, pointing to his rod.

“Yeah? Well, fuck, I'm glad I'm not using your gear then. You ain't gonna land shit with that.”

“Hundred-pounder, bud.”

“Yeah, you guys tell some pretty tall fuckin' stories. Like that 300-pounder you say your uncle caught.”

“Biggest fish I've ever seen. I remember goin' over to Uncle Pete's. The whole family was there. Shit, the whole neighborhood was there! I was pretty young.” Earl looked at Ed for a moment and then added, “Hell, you were little, bro. I remember Dad carrying you on his shoulders.”

“Yeah, I remember that. I thought it was a whale.”

“Shee-it! Fuckin' whale,” Donny laughed as he rose to check his bait.

“Yep. I remember the tailgate was down and that sturgeon's head was on the edge. Its tail ran all the way up the back of the cab.” Earl stared at Donny to make his point. “And that was in the late '60s, when they made real pickups. Not these midsized, econo-bullshit Japanese trucks.”

“Three hundred pounds?” Donny asked skeptically.

“It was over 290. He was on the news.”

“What's the record for sturgeon?” asked Ed.

“I think it's 500 pounds or somethin' like that. Caught over in Crockett. Right under the Carquinez Bridge. They got it on display there in town at the museum.”

“No shit?”

Donny was now fiddling with his hooks, preparing them for bait. “I seen it,” he interjected. “Looks like a big slug. Sturgeon's an ugly fuckin' fish.”

“I don't know. I think they're kinda cool lookin'. Like an alligator crossed with a catfish or somethin',” mused Ed.

Baiting his hook, Don grunted, “Ugly fuckers.”

“Anyways, that's the big fish of our family,” said Earl. “Can't keep 'em that big anymore.”

“Hell, I would,” insisted Donny.

“Eh, something that big's gotta be so old I'd feel bad about killin' it,” replied Earl. “I'd love to fight one of them big-ass bastards, though. One of these days, I'm gonna lock into one. Got my video camera all set to go.”

Donny finished baiting his hooks and prepared to cast out. “You ain't gonna lock into shit usin' them grass shrimp.”

“You just wait,” said Earl.

“What the fuck's the point if you can't keep 'em?” huffed Donny.

“I been waitin' all my life to fight one of them hogs. Just let me get him to the boat. Get him close enough for a picture.”

“Screw a picture, I'd keep that fucker,” snorted Donny as he hurled his pole forward, casting his tackle into the water.

“Shee-it, game warden would bust yer ass.”

“Shee-it. With all them fuckin' boat people runnin' gill nets everywhere, what the hell's the difference?” Donny set his pole down and took his seat.

“You got gill nets around here?” asked Ed.

“Not supposed to. I got this guy comes into the shop that's a game warden for Contra Costa County, and he says he busts these Orientals with 'em all the time. Says there's not enough manpower to keep up with 'em. They set these nets around, then sneak out there at night and pull 'em. Catch all kinds of shit. Mostly bass. Says it's gotten pretty bad. He says they used to bust these guys and pull their nets, and there'd be a hundred or so stripers in 'em. Now, he says, they pull a net and there's maybe like ten.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. He says there's only a couple of wardens for this whole territory because of cutbacks and such.”

“Fucking Republicans,” muttered Ed.

“Shee-it. Republicans only thing keepin' this country alive,” insisted Donny.

“You a Republican, Don?” Ed chuckled. “Boy, that's sure a surprise.”

“Hell yes, bud,” Donny asserted with confidence. “That Slick Willie, I don't know how the hell that sonsabitch ever got in the White House. He ain't worth dog shit.” He stared directly at Ed, hoping he'd hit a nerve.

“I'm not even gonna start talking politics with you. I can only imagine some of the uniquely warped perspectives you've got in that department.”

“Pussy,” Don replied, leaning back in his chair. “What the hell's that dipshit done for us since he's been in there? Nothin, except maybe wave his crooked pecker at that ugly Paula Jones bitch.”

“Well, what did Bush do for you?”

“Kicked the shit out of them Iranian fuckers in '92.”

“It was Iraq,” countered Ed.

“Same difference,” said Donny, taking another swig of beer.

“Yeah, so now every other country thinks of us as a bunch of fucking war mongers.”

“Hell yeah, bud. US is number one!”

“Whatever, dude,”

“Yeah,
whatever, dude,”
mocked Donny, rising from his seat. “Time for a piss, boys.”

He turned, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate over the side of the boat. Ed could hear the bubbling sound of the piss hitting the water.

“Damn, this water's cold,” cackled Donny with a grin as he looked over his shoulder at the other two men. “Deep too.”

Ed looked at his brother and shook his head. Earl shrugged and returned his attention to the poles.

Still pissing, Donny spoke out toward the open water. “You know, Ed, you may not believe this, but in that last election, I was prayin' them Democrats would nominate ol' Jesse Jackson as their guy.”

Whether he liked it or not, Ed realized that the political conversation was going to continue. He didn't want to interact with Donny any more than he had to, especially on topics that were sure to result in conflict. He just wanted to get back to his mushroom trip. He hated being high and having someone turn heavy on him. Tripping had become more difficult for him these last few years. After some reflection, Ed had come to the realization that hallucinogens had been much easier to take prior to his marriage and subsequent birth of his son. With family came responsibility and all the stress and worry associated with being a parent. The combination of psychedelics with stress and worry almost always resulted in a bad trip. The last thing Ed wanted at this point was to get into a heated debate with Donny over his warped perspective on the political climate.

Ed responded to his statement about Jesse Jackson, albeit halfheartedly, realizing that one of Donny's ludicrous punch lines would surely follow. “I bet you were,” he sighed.

Bladder emptied, Donny zipped up his pants and turned back toward the other men. “You know why, Ed? I was
prayin
' for ol' Jesse! Know why?”

“I have no idea, Don.”

“I'll tell ya why. I wanted them Democrats to nominate Jesse Jackson,” explained Donny, a sadistic smile wrapping around his face. “Cuz there ain't no way America's gonna elect some fuckin' nigger for president.” Donny burst into laughter.

“Don't be too sure, Einstein,” countered Ed.

“C'mon, Ed, you know damn well ol' George Bush would still be in there, kicking ass,” Donny insisted. “Right, Earl?” He turned and slapped Earl on the chest.

“I don't know,” replied Earl, startled by the jolt.

“Earl, c'mon. Would you have voted for a nigger?”

“Leave me out of this.”

“Boy, you're kind of a pussy with your brother around.”