Badlands (13 page)

Du Pré looked at him.

“Who is the White Priest?” said Du Pré.

Benetsee looked away for a long time. Then he nodded.

“Why they give that woman a shot, her tongue don’t work?”

“Shit,” said Pelon. He was looking at the ceiling.

Water was dripping from the place it had leaked from before.

Benetsee laughed.

Pelon shrugged.

“I don’t go up there again,” he said.

“You smart,” said Benetsee, “you don’t go up there the first time.”

Pelon nodded.

“I am angry,” he said. “I go up there because I am angry.”

He sipped tea.

“Help me, old man,” said Du Pré.

“Spanish mine,” said Benetsee.

Du Pré looked at him.

“I been there,” said Du Pré.

Benetsee put out his smoke.

“No, you haven’t,” he said. “You go the wrong one.”

“Shit,” said Du Pré, “there are two, them?”

Benetsee nodded.

“H
IM DON’T KNOW,” SAID
Du Pré.

Old man, he knows the riddles but sometimes he doesn’t know the answers.

At least he knows the riddles.

“Benetsee sees farther,” said Madelaine, “things they are not so clear then.”

Du Pré coughed. His mouth still tasted of balsam of Peru.

Catfoot once had a bad cut got infected, he put that balsam of Peru on it, all the proud flesh went away. Like using sugar on a wire cut on a horse or a cow.

Them Spanish miners, they carry it, pack bad wounds with.

Long time gone.

Madelaine ran her fingernail over Du Pré’s chest.

“You pret’ good in bed, an old fart,” she said.

Du Pré snorted.

The window in the bedroom was open and the thick scent of lilacs poured in. There had been a hard frost when they first bloomed, and so they grew and bloomed again.

“Wonder why they do that, that woman’s tongue,” said Madelaine.

“They are mean bastards,” said Du Pré.

“They are
smart
mean bastards,” said Madelaine, “can’t speak can’t yell pret’ well ties you up.”

Du Pré nodded. He yawned and got up and went to take a piss.

When he got back, Madelaine was sitting on the edge of the bed in her flowered robe, combing her long black hair. She had silver streaks in it. Bright silver.

“Ripper he is back today,” said Madelaine.

“Where he go?” said Du Pré.

“California,” said Madelaine. “He tell me let you know but nobody else.”

“So you let me know he is back?” said Du Pré.

“You got other things, your mind,” said Madelaine. “Me, I think you maybe notice he is gone. It is quiet, then, maybe you say, hey, why is it not noisy? Oh, that Ripper is gone, is why.”

Du Pré laughed.

“They got guns,” said Du Pré. “They got them hid someplace.”

“So?” said Madelaine.

“Automatic weapons,” said Du Pré, “military stuff.”

“So do you,” said Madelaine, “so do lots of people. Old Henry Wyrie him got a
cannon.”

Du Pré nodded.

Yeah, old Henry him have a 20mm cannon, rapid-fire. Everybody know that, but no one want to drive up, his house, say, “Old Henry, you are a bad guy, bring out your cannon, we arrest you.” Old Henry, him don’t like nosy people.

“That Waco,” said Madelaine. “There are children, mothers there. It is so dumb, they send in that tank. All they got to do, is wait. Like them dumb Freemen, just wait.”

“Yah,” said Du Pré.

“Ripper,” said Madelaine, “him don’t like to wait.”

“Ripper,” said Du Pré, “he is pretty crazy. Not stupid. Them FBI, Waco, they are stupid, is all.”

“Them children, mothers, people, are dead, is all,” said Madelaine.

“I make us coffee,” said Du Pré.

“I tell you, Du Pré,” said Madelaine, “you don’t get mad this time. You have plenty reason, get mad. But you don’t do it.”

“OK,” said Du Pré.

“Bullshit, OK,” said Madelaine. “You think about that Waco and you don’t be stupid. You are pretty smart, for a man.”

Du Pré laughed. He put on his clothes and boots and walked to the kitchen. He put on water to heat and filled the French press with coffee. He set put two cups and filled the creamer with milk. He put a spoon next to Madelaine’s cup. She liked milk and sugar in her coffee.

The shower went on. It wasn’t on very long. Madelaine had raised four kids in this little house, with one bathroom. She was very clean and very fast at it.

Girl in college in California and all three boys in the military.

They don’t come back much, like my Maria.

Du Pré grinned, thinking of his daughter.

He drank coffee.

“That Maria she is coming, you know,” said Madelaine. “She call, I forget to tell you.”

“Maria,” said Du Pré.

How the hell she know I am thinking of my daughter.

“You get that one smile you are thinking of her,” said Madelaine. “You got another, Jacqueline. One for me, too.”

“That is good,” said Du Pré.

“Yah,” said Madelaine, rubbing her hair with a thick cream towel, “it is ver’ good, that.”

Du Pré laughed.

“That Parker cop, she is fired, pulling a gun,” said Madelaine. “It is fake. She work that out, Pidgeon.”

Du Pré was drinking coffee. He was startled, and some ran down his chin and dripped on the front of his shirt.

“Sorry,” said Madelaine, “I forget you shock so easy.”

“What, this?” said Du Pré.

“Them Host of Yahweh,” said Madelaine, “they can get a cop, join, she is fired, they like that, think they got something.”

“They are pretty smart,” said Du Pré.

“Yeah,” said Madelaine, “they know it, too, makes them foolish. Thing I like about you, Du Pré, is even when you are being smart you don’t piss yourself you are so pleased.”

Du Pré laughed.

“How you figure this all out?”

“Parker, she is five foot, blond, pretty,” said Madelaine. “She got to be one tough smart lady, get to be a Highway patrol officer. No way she is stupid enough, pull a gun got no reason.”

“I am driving too slow,” said Du Pré.

“Cause the Pidgeon she is bitching,” said Madelaine, “she and that Parker, they talk.”

Du Pré mopped the wet spots on his shirt.

“Go and get another shirt,” said Madelaine. “That one, people will think I don’t take good care of you.”

“Coffee stains?” said Du Pré.

“My reputation we are talking, Du Pré,” said Madelaine, “so go.”

Du Pré went to the closet and got out a clean shirt. He put the stained one in the laundry hamper and put the clean shirt on.

Coffee stains.

Du Pré went back down to the kitchen. Madelaine was bent over the sink, rubbing her hair with the herbs she gathered and dried and put in little muslin bags.

Clover, wild thyme, and some Du Pré didn’t know.

“So,” said Madelaine, rubbing, “now you keep your mouth shut, she is going to do ver’ dangerous thing. Don’t tell that damn Ripper. He will charge in there, waving a sword or something.”

Du Pré laughed.

Ripper had gone to arrest some dopers dressed as the Mad Hatter.

Harvey said he had gone into a warehouse after a shooter once in a costume that made him look like the mean creature in
Alien.
The shooter was so stunned he dropped his gun.

Ripper was crazy.

Brave, too.

“Tongue thing it bothers me,” said Madelaine. “They maybe do that to all them women.”

“I heard one speak,” said Du Pré.

Madelaine nodded.

“One,” she said. “One is not a lot.”

Du Pré looked away. He saw the woman who had run into the badlands, backing away from Tate, putting the little pistol to her temple.

Pop, the gun said.

The woman stood still for a moment.

Then she began to tremble all over.

She fell and gasped for a long time.

She died.

Tate’s kids had screamed.

They would remember it even if they were too young to know what it meant.

“You snap your shirt wrong,” said Madelaine.

Du Pré looked down, to see he had.

He pulled the row of snaps apart.

He snapped his snaps in proper order.

“That’s better,” said Madelaine.

“E
VERYBODY GOT THEIR POPCORN
and jujubes?” said Ripper. “Big leaky paper cups of watery pop?” He had picked up a Host of Yahweh recruiting tape on his California trip.

“Put the fucking tape in,” said Harvey. “One more word outta you and you go to your room without any fresh blood for supper.”

Ripper grinned. He stuck the tape in the VCR. A massed chorus sang Handel. The picture was a rapid montage of beautiful sunsets, sunrises, and lots of fat white clouds scooting across a blue sky.

“To be the best that we can be,” said a fat voice, “to the glory of God and to the eternal wisdoms, the Prophets here, now, and among us …”

Flights of flamingoes took off from a marsh. A bald eagle twisted its white head and the camera zoomed in on its yellow eye.

“We wish only to be the best that we can be,” said the fat voice.

A smiling young couple dressed in mountain-climbing gear looked up a sheer rock face. They looked at each other with dripping affection, then started to climb it in the wrong place.

“The clouds, the poultry, the precipice,” said Ripper, in his deepest voice.

“Shaddup,” said Harvey.

“The Host of Yahweh is the fruit of God’s healing,” said the fat voice, “for all of us were once in terrible pain, addicted, isolated, miserable, lost, far from God.”

The young couple in the climbing gear were on the rock face about fifteen feet from the ground, grinning joyously.

“Don’t know fuck-all about it,” said Ripper. “Ah, Hollywood.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” roared Harvey.

Ripper grinned evilly at his boss.

The film changed to a massed chorus of men, women, and children holding hymnals, hands, and massed joyous smiles. The men all wore the old-blood-colored baggy shirts and black pants, the women long gray dresses and bonnets, and the children miniatures of their parents’ costumes.

The picture changed to a city street, where well-dressed people were marching toward some appointment or other. They were passing some ragged beggars, pitiably holding out their hands palms up. Some passersby put coins in the hands.

The beggars were dirty, but the dirt had been painted on. They got up and sneaked off. They bought drugs from a leering dealer. The dealer took one of the women beggars into a room while the others smoked and snorted.

A shot of hands sticking out of the bars of cells.

A shot of prison walls.

The beggars were back at their station, looking beseeching. A beautiful young woman in a long gray dress and bonnet came to them and she smiled winningly.

A light shone down upon her.

The beggars followed her.

They appeared in the middle of the bellowing chorus of costumed people, who smiled benevolently at them and shared their hymnals.

The beggars bellowed, too.

The beautiful young couple grinned down from thirty feet up the rock face.

They had been the beggars. The woman had been taken to the back room by the leering dope dealer.

The dope dealer was singing with the throng, and he was cleaned up and wearing the odd shirt.

“We only wish to be the best that we can,” said the fat voice.

Picture of a schoolroom rich in computers, each with a pair of scrubbed, smiling children in front of the screen.

The teacher was the woman who had been taken by the dope dealer before embarking on the rock face. She smiled radiantly at the children, who smiled back happily.

“Our home schools are the best in America,” said the fat voice.

Picture of Host of Yahweh people picking oranges and handing the fruit down carefully, all the while smiling radiantly.

A Host of Yahweh man sat on a huge tractor, plowing up black earth.

Picture of a burning dump somewhere. Old cars, appliances, bags of trash.

Shot of an oil slick on water.

Shot of a bird covered in oil.

Shot of a huge redwood tree falling.

Shot of power-plant smokestacks belching white streamers.

Shot of a superhighway filled with cars, all crawling at half a mile an hour.

Shot of a small white seal being whacked over the head.

“Our planet, Mother Earth, is ill,” said the fat voice.

Back to the chorus.

Shot of the woman with the fixed smile feeding a baby raccoon.

“The goddamned raccoons where I live steal my
mail,”
said Harvey. “They are about as endangered as goddamned dandelions.”

Shot of happy Host of Yahweh people cleaning debris out of a creek.

Shot of leaping salmon.

“The Host of Yahweh,” said the fat voice, “will heal Mother Earth’s wounds …”

The chorus bellowed.

The woman with the fixed smile waved down from the rock face.

She stuck the nipple of a milk bottle into the mouth of a baby goat.

She grinned wide.

The chorus bellowed.

“We are not alone in this Universe,” said the fat voice.

Shot of the gigantic stone figures built by Indians on the dry Chilean plains.

“The Wise walk among us,” said the fat voice.

Shot of a man in white robes, standing on a rock by the sea. He held his arms out and turned the palms of his hands face up.

“But one must listen …” said the fat voice.

The man in the white robes stood with his head humbly bowed.

Weird electronic music throbbed.

Shot of a starry sky.

“There are so many worlds,” said the fat voice.

“There is the Force of Good,” said the fat voice.

The chorus, the smiling woman feeding the raccoon, the people cleaning out the creek.

“And the Force of Darkness,” said the fat voice.

Belching smokestacks.

An oil slick on the ocean waves.

The man in the white robes turned to the camera, and the sea swelled behind him.

His face was entirely swaddled. There was just a slit in the headdress for his eyes.

“The Wise walk among us,” said the fat voice.