Something in My Eye: Stories (6 page)

knuckles around the steering wheel as he told me that words are infernal things that should never, under any circumstance he said, be used loosely. Then I would start to laugh, because my brother was always so serious and because I knew that laughter didn't constitute language, and then he would tell me to stop even that, because laughter is derisive and there is always a target of your laughter, even if it's only yourself, and that is terrible. I started walking toward downtown with my suitcase in my hand, and I felt so terrible that I didn't even bother to put up my free hand. After about an hour I came to a park, which was not locked, and although it was pretty cold, I thought it might be a decent place to spend the night. Before I could even select a bench a group of about seventeen men dressed in rags and some old tattered flags came out from behind the trees and surrounded me and told me they had a proposition for me. They said: “You see, one of our boys is losing his will and is growing demented in his old age. No one has suffered more than this man, and so we, being his friends, wish to help ease his pain. Several weeks ago, when you arrived in town, our boy saw you walking near the hospital with your arms up in hopefulness, and he smiled at you for a while, but in that smile lurked a terrible knowledge because he recognized your face from a picture your brother used to carry in his wallet when they were deployed together in the same squadron. This was before our boy shot him by accident, and although many years in the past, the memory is deforming him, and he'd now like nothing better than to have a duel with you. Don't ask us the reason, it's just what he wants.” I did try and make a run for it at this point, but they circled in closer around me and kicked me with their boots. They told me that if I managed to get away, they would hunt me until the day I died, no matter the town I decided to settle in. “Just as we have made it impossible for you in this town in terms of employment,” they said, “so it will be in any future town if you do not comply.” Then they lifted the man from behind the bushes, who smiled at me, but not in a sweet way. The bandanna he wore was all sooty and crusted
with old blood. He handed me a silver pistol and told me to stow it away in my pants and he showed me that he had already done the same. Then we squared away at thirty paces, and one of the seventeen shouted, “Draw.” It seemed like he didn't even try to unholster his pistol before I got him in the shoulder and he kind of crumpled to the ground. I felt bad about this, so I ran over to where he was and tried to staunch his wound with a piece of my dress shirt that I'd torn off. The seventeen all gathered around me, whispering to one another. Then they closed in and wrapped their fingers around my hand that held the pistol and helped me level it at his head. I pulled the trigger and it was done. They all thanked me individually, each shaking my hand and bowing, and told me I was in no danger and free to leave. Once their man stopped twitching on the ground, they pulled him away, his heels dragging along the concrete. I looked around for some warm things to cover myself, and found a couple newspapers and some cardboard. I lay down in the middle of the park, feeling not so good. I awoke as the sun rose, my feet numb from where the cardboard hadn't been long enough to cover, and I stretched and did a little jog around the park to warm up. I saw a man walking a tiny dog, and I approached them and acted like I was going to pet the dog, but instead I picked it up and draped it across my shoulders like a mink and I sang my brother's song to him in the voice of my brother, and then I lied and told him that the song was mine. He took off one of his walking shoes and shook out several hundred dollars, and I went directly to the bus station and took the first bus here, to this town. I have a lot of applications out, and the people at the mission are pretty good about delivering messages, so who knows. The public library has been kind about letting me use their computers. I have a long list of e-mail addresses that I've found just poking around on the web, which I'm going to send my story to, and tell them to pass it along to whoever might be interested. My father, when he was home and I was sitting on his knee in the kitchen, once asked me to fill him in on an adventure I had had while he was away. I started to tell
him about something important from my life but he stopped me in the middle of the story and told me that I was a bad teller, and that I should probably just go ahead and join the military so I could be useful, which I didn't want to do because I didn't want to die. He said I hobbled around in the silly parts and didn't get around to telling the real stuff, which he thought was in the violence. His death was not peaceful, so I do hope it was at least interesting for him. One last thing: if we should ever meet, maybe you might take me in for a short while, help me get established in your town. I promise to be a gentleman and not try anything funny. I can keep myself entertained—you won't even know I'm there.

O
nce, on payday, a young man named Pate and a young man named Larsen sat on the edge of Pate's unmade bed, eating dinner in Pate's apartment. Neither of the men were handsome, though Larsen was the cleaner of the two.

“This food is pitiful and nasty,” said Pate.

“I like spending time with you, Pate,” said Larsen. He stopped eating and put his food box down on the bed.

Pate lifted his food box and tilted the rest of its contents into his mouth. “Sometimes you make me feel like a rose bouquet,” he said. “But that being said, I will never fuck you.”

“I know,” said Larsen.

“The very thought sends me wriggling.”

“You don't have to explain.”

“If you woke up tomorrow with the body of a woman, but somehow kept your winning personality during the transformation, we might be able to work something out. But as it stands now, no way no how.”

“We don't need to sleep together to have a good time.”

“Good,” said Pate. “So what the fuck are we going to do tonight?”

Larsen stood up from the bed and sat down on the floor, next
to Pate's legs. “Well,” he said, “There's the bar. We could start there, have a few drinks, figure out where to go next.”

“But we were there last night, and the night before. The whole place is one big shit smear, if you ask me. It's payday, for God sakes. I want to whoop it up.”

“We could go see a movie. There are a couple playing right now that I would consider seeing.”

“Movies put a hole in your head. Jerk your emotions around.”

“We could go have coffee at a coffee shop,” said Larsen.

“If we go to the coffee shop,” said Pate, “we might as well go to the god-damned bar. At least at the bar we can whoop it up and nobody will look askance.”

“Or, we could stay right here and talk,” said Larsen.

“Talk about what?” said Pate.

“We could reminisce,” said Larsen.

“Fuck that,” said Pate. “Let's focus on the present.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I say we go a-whoring,” said Pate.

“Couldn't we just go to the bar? You could find a girl to hook up with there.”

“There's a god-damned difference,” said Pate, “between hooking up and a-whoring. You don't go to the bar with the intention of hooking up. You go with the intention to get yourself drunk and be among the community. The hooking-up occurs on account of lonesomeness. Now, when you go a-whoring, you go to the whorehouse with the express intention of sleeping with whores. If you get a little tipsy while you're there, well, that's just a little sideline bonus. No way you've forgotten the feeling of walking into a whorehouse, seeing them whores all in a row: like eating cake, for breakfast.”

“It sure has been a long time since we went a-whoring.”

“Haven't been a-whoring since Sonny got himself a girlfriend,” said Pate. “Those were the good old days. Me, you, and Sonny, a-whoring till dawn.”

“I miss Sonny,” Larsen said. “The old Sonny, I mean.”

Sonny had met Bessy at the bar and had fallen in love. He refused to see either Pate or Larsen now apart from her. At the bar, he and Bessy sat in a booth. They drank the same drink out of the same glass with two straws.

Pate rose from the bed and took off all of his work clothes, then walked naked into his closet. Several minutes later he walked out in casual clothes. “I'll bet we can rouse Sonny,” he said. “Sonny has whores in his future.”

Pate drove them in his car to Bessy's house. She lived several miles outside of town in a cabin paid for by her brother, who was very rich. Pate and Larsen got out of the car and walked to the cabin. They stopped under the window, where the blinds were raised a crack. They could see part of the bed and part of the floor, and a leg that dangled off the bed but did not touch the floor.

“Makes me sick,” said Pate. “Probably spooning.”

“Whose leg is that?” said Larsen.

“Fuck does it matter?” said Pate. “Either it's a leg belonging to a man that's about to go a-whoring or it isn't.”

“How do we get him out here?” said Larsen.

Pate thought for a moment. “We talk to Bessy first.”

“Why?”

“We convince her that Sonny needs to go a-whoring to get it out of his system, then she goes inside and prods Sonny for us. We talk to Sonny first and he'll refuse outright, on principle. Then we'll have a real scene on our hands. Now what would make a lady come outside before a man?”

“A baby crying?” said Larsen.

“That's it,” said Pate. “Make that baby cry noise you do so well.”

Larsen began to whimper, then lifted his voice into pealing cries. They watched the leg right itself on the floor. Then another leg came down to meet it, and the legs walked themselves to the door.

“Keep it up,” said Pate.

They heard the screen door open and close, and Bessy appeared before them under the window. She wore a thong and carried a bottle of milk. She was beautiful.

“You always greet crying babies with thongs?” said Pate.

“Hi, Pate,” said Bessy. “Hi, Larsen. I heard a baby crying out here, where is he or she?”

“Just us babies,” said Pate. He and Larsen laughed. Larsen made the crying noise again.

“I've heard Larsen's impression before,” said Bessy. “This was different.” She poked around in the weeds and in the ditch, looking for the baby.

“We wanted to ask if Sonny could come out with us tonight?” said Larsen.

“Sonny's no prisoner,” said Bessy. “Where are you going?”

“A-whoring,” said Pate. “I believe in honesty first.”

“You boys use protection when you go a-whoring?” said Bessy.

“Of course,” said Larsen.

“Always,” said Pate.

“Well,” said Bessy. “Seeing as a-whoring is just about the only thing Sonny and I can't do together, it'll make it all that more special for him.”

“Can you go inside and prod him?” said Pate.

“Sonny doesn't like it when we prod him,” said Larsen.

“I'll prod him and send him along,” said Bessy. “You boys have fun tonight.”

Pate and Larsen said goodbye to Bessy and walked to the car. Pate told Larsen to sit in the backseat. They sat in the car together with the heater on, waiting for Sonny.

“Bessy is really considerate,” said Larsen.

“Immodest, though,” said Pate. He honked the horn.

After a while, Sonny appeared in the headlights. He wore a fur coat, and was slightly better-looking than his friends. He sat down in the passenger seat.

“Howdy, stranger,” said Pate. He started to drive to the whorehouse.

“Hello, Sonny,” said Larsen.

“Bessy tells me we're going a-whoring,” said Sonny.

“Sure are,” said Pate. “You know what day it is, don't you?”

“Bessy has me all turned around,” said Sonny.

“It's Friday, for your information,” said Pate. “Friday and payday. What kind of shit coat is that?”

“It was a gift from Bessy,” said Sonny. “I like it.”

“I guess it's good to have you back,” said Pate.

“It's good to be back,” said Sonny, yawning.

“Are you too tired to go a-whoring?” said Larsen.

“Oh, no,” said Sonny. “I'm just waking up from nap. How are the both of you?”

“Same old,” said Pate.

“You been going a-whoring without me lately?”

“No,” said Pate. “Hasn't been the same.”

“How's your life, Sonny?” said Larsen.

“All in all,” said Sonny, “pretty terrific. Bessy and I are very happy. We're even thinking about getting married.”

“You do that,” said Pate, “and you say goodbye to a-whoring forever.”

“I don't know,” said Sonny. “Bessy is very open-minded.”

“Once that ring's slipped on,” said Pate “the gloves come flying off. Ask Larsen.”

“There's a good chance she'll restrict you,” said Larsen.

“What makes you and Larsen authorities on women's ways?” said Sonny.

“Because me and Larsen are smart,” said Pate. “What the hell do you think they pay us at work for, anyway? They don't pay us to stay ignorant, that's for sure.”

“Well,” said Sonny, “if you really think Bessy will lock the gate on me, I won't wear protection tonight.”

“Not even the thin ones?” said Pate.

“Just me and the whores,” said Sonny, “close as can be. It'll be a proper farewell.”

“Aren't you getting your share of intimacy with Bessy?” said Larsen.

“Certainly,” said Sonny. “We're as intimate as a whisper. But we certainly aren't close.”