Texasville (52 page)

They were in the Dairy Queen, talking the situation over. Certain amends had already been made. Sonny owned four smallish rent houses in Thalia. He had offered to give the Stauffers one of them in settlement for the damages done to their home.

The Stauffers had quickly accepted. They were beginning to adapt to their own celebrity. Lots of people, already grown bored with the more historical aspects of the centennial, had straggled over to see the house that had been nailed by a Plymouth and then pulled off its foundation by a tow truck. Some took snapshots of it. Josie Stauffer, more resilient than her husband, had already begun to look on it as a lucky day. Both her daughters were alive, and she had just been given a new and larger house.

Ed Stauffer, more pessimistic, continued to sit in his lawn chair, wondering what would happen next.

“I expect a bolt of lightning will come down from the sky before the day’s over,” he said, several times.

Jacy had had an attack of revulsion at the thought of seeing Sonny and had gone back to Los Dolores.

“I just don’t want to see him,” she said. “Something about him makes my skin crawl. It happened the day I married him, too. My skin started crawling. That’s why we never fucked.”

“Was it because he just had one eye?” Duane asked.

“Naw, that didn’t bother me,” Jacy said. “It’s his willingness to be unhappy, or something. It gave me the creeps then, and it gives me the creeps now.”

Sonny knew that his car wreck had deeply depressed Duane and Karla. He thought his decision to live in the jail might please them, but as soon as he said it he saw that it didn’t.

“It would actually improve the quality of life in the jail if I stayed there,” he said. “I’m a pretty good cook. Besides, the deputies get lonesome sitting there night after night by themselves. I could play cards with them. I might cheer them up.”

“What did you see in your head, when you ran into the house?” Karla asked.

“I didn’t see the house,” Sonny explained patiently. “There used to be a carport there. Ruth and I parked in it hundreds of times when I took her home. I just turned into it exactly like I used to.”

“It’s just lucky those little girls were outside,” Duane said, remembering the crushed bed.

“Maybe you better come and live at our house,” Karla said. “Sitting in the hot tub’s real good therapy. At least it works for me.”

Duane didn’t say anything, but he felt uneasy at the thought of Sonny living with them. They had two grandchildren at home, after all. It was not likely that he would do anything to harm them, but then it had not seemed likely that he would try to drive through a house, either.

“Oh, no,” Sonny said. “I don’t think I could live in a house where there’s lots of people.”

“I think you better see another doctor,” Duane said. “Whatever that first one gave you isn’t getting the job done.”

“There’s really nothing wrong with living in a jail,” Sonny
said. “I’d pay a reasonable rent. It would save the county money.”

“It’s not a hospital, though,” Duane said. “We’d like to see you cured, and you won’t get cured sitting in that old jail.”

“What if I’m never cured?” Sonny said, in a different tone. He sounded almost belligerent, for a moment.

“You’ve just been to one doctor,” Karla pointed out. “There’s lots of doctors. The next one might cure you in no time.”

Sonny shook his head. His brief anger, if it had been anger, had passed, and a flat, sad look came on his face.

“The jail’s the best solution,” he said. “I’ll keep it clean and help with the cooking. I’ll even give up my driver’s license, if that would help. That way I couldn’t possibly hurt anybody. I don’t need to drive. All my businesses are here. If I did need to go to Wichita Falls I could just hitchhike.”

“We’ve got a lot of room in that big house,” Karla said. “Junior Nolan lived with us and we never even noticed him.”

But she said it hopelessly. She seemed about to cry.

Various survivors of the first night of the centennial sat in the Dairy Queen, several of them so hung over that it seemed a second night might kill them.

Sonny got up, scattered some change on the table and went out. Through the window they could see him walk slowly up the hot street.

Karla was tearing her napkin into little pieces. It was a habit Duane hated. Partly he hated it because he just hated it, and partly he hated it because she only did it when she was very angry or very sad.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

Karla continued to tear the napkin into minute squares.

“I hate this place,” she said. “Why won’t he live in our house?”

“You’re going to Italy,” he reminded her. “What would I do with him while you’re gone?”

“He could just watch TV with Minerva,” Karla said. “He could if he wasn’t so stubborn. I don’t want him to go away to some hospital. He’s lived here all his life. It wouldn’t be the same town without him.”

Duane watched her tear the napkin into small bits. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I know you don’t want him living with us,” Karla said. “You didn’t back me up one bit.”

“It would just be one more person to watch,” Duane said. “You might decide you like Europe and stay for months. I can’t watch everybody.”

“I don’t want him to go away,” Karla said. “I’ll build him a house out by us. That way he won’t get on your nerves.”

“He’s already gone away, honey,” Duane said. “He’s just gone away to the past.”

Karla finished tearing up the napkin.

“I don’t care,” she said. “It’s not as bad as thinking about him living in a hospital among strangers.”

She got up and hurried outside to cry in the car. Duane decided to give her five minutes. He sipped his cold coffee. Buster Lickle came clipping down the road in a buggy, ready to give people buggy rides from the Dairy Queen to Old Texasville, on the courthouse lawn.

Several customers stared at the buggy malevolently, as if it were responsible for their headaches. No one went out to take a ride, although Buster, dressed as a riverboat gambler, sat waiting hopefully.

CHAPTER 78

“O
KAY, LET HIM LIVE HERE,”
D
UANE SAID, FINALLY.
“I’ll be bankrupt and won’t have anything to do anyway. I can sit around all day and watch him and Barbette and Little Mike.”

After her cry, Karla descended into a cold silence. They drove home in silence. At home they tried to take a nap but neither could sleep. Karla hadn’t uttered a sound for twenty minutes. They both lay on their backs on the waterbed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.

Duane wished she would say something, even something bitter and horrible. She didn’t. Eventually he decided that having Sonny live with them would be less nerve-wracking than trying to endure even two more minutes of Karla’s silence.

On the way home they had stopped to get the mail. The only interesting thing in it was a short letter from C. L. Sime, of Odessa, Texas.

Duane read the letter while stopped at the red light:

D
EAR
D
UANE,

As we have done business several times I hope you will not mind if I address you by your first name.

I have read your well-typed proposition. It is a fair proposition but I am going to say no. The reason is, I try not to encumber myself with rigs or other hardware.

There’s good production in Norway. It’s a chilly place, tho not as bad as Amarillo.

Politely yours,
C. L. S
IME

“The light’s green,” Karla said, her last words for twenty minutes.

Duane tucked the letter in his pocket. He could not remember why he had ever supposed his proposition would really interest C. L. Sime.

“At least I had a little vacation from thinking about bankruptcy,” he said.

Karla said nothing.

“I think our sex life’s over,” she said, resuming the conversation only after he had broken down and offered to let Sonny come and live with them.

“You’ve said that before and been wrong,” he reminded her.

“Sonny’s your oldest friend,” Karla said.

“What’s that got to do with our sex life?” Duane asked.

“Plenty,” Karla said, although she didn’t expand on the comment.

“I said he could stay,” Duane said.

“Yeah, an hour late,” Karla said. “If you’d backed me up at the Dairy Queen we could have already had him moved in.”

“It still doesn’t have anything to do with our sex life,” Duane said.

“Yeah, it does,” Karla said. “You weren’t loyal to your oldest friend, so we aren’t going to have one anymore. Not that we were having one anyway. It was just within the realm of possibility then, and now it’s not.”

“Oldest friend doesn’t mean best friend,” Duane pointed out. “You can wear a friendship out.”

“That’s right,” Karla said. “Just like a sex life.”

Duane gave up and went to town. Karla’s colder angers could last for days. He felt that he had tried his best—his efforts had just failed.

As he passed the square he noticed that the baseball throw had drawn a huge crowd. Lester Marlow sat on a plank above a tank of water. At least twenty people were lined up waiting their chance to throw balls at the bull’s-eye and duck Lester. Someone had evidently already hit the bull’s-eye, because Lester was soaking wet.

Duane started to stop at his office. He wanted to talk to Ruth. But after a moment’s hesitation, he decided that he wanted, even more, to see Suzie Nolan. Probably Dickie would be there, but there was always the chance that he wouldn’t.

To his relief, no Porsche was in the driveway. Suzie was in her den, watching a soap opera.

“Did you really buy Dickie that Porsche?” Duane asked.

“Oh, I just put my name on the note,” Suzie said. She wrinkled her nose at him good-humoredly, as if to indicate that it wasn’t any of his business.

“Why?” Duane asked.

Suzie laughed.

“You’d know why if you’d ever been to bed with him,” Suzie said. “That little rat’s just a prize.”

Duane decided he should have settled for a talk with Ruth. Suzie’s preference for Dickie was so obvious that it made him feel out of place. His spirits, low already, slipped a little lower.

“Duane,” Suzie said, “can I give you a hug?”

“A hug?” he asked. “Why?”

“Because I just want to,” Suzie said. “You’re a real sweet man and you look sad enough to die.”

Duane stretched out on the couch in her arms. They were very comfortable arms. Somehow he had never been able to lie down comfortably with Janine. They endlessly adjusted their limbs, posture, heads. But with Suzie he felt immediately comfortable, however he happened to fall.

Lulled by the comfort, he soon dozed off. He dreamed he was in Odessa, talking with C. L. Sime. It was a pleasant conversation. Duane had the blissful sense that Mr. Sime was going to buy his rigs.

When he awoke the blissful sense vanished. He felt he had slept much too long. Outside the sky was white, meaning the sun was blazing straight down. It must be almost noon. He started to rise, but he was still enfolded in Suzie Nolan’s arms, and they held him no less comfortably than they had when he lay down. Suzie just tightened them a little when he tried to sit up.

“Lay still,” she said. “You’re just the jumpiest man.”

Duane accepted her mild command. She smoothed his hair, arranging it around his ears in a way that pleased her. Her touch felt easy and relaxing, but not just relaxing. He felt sleepy and excited both. Once in a while Suzie slipped her hand inside his shirt and caressed him. Duane liked the combination of relaxation and excitement so much that for a moment he felt like marrying her. It was the first time the notion of marrying someone had crossed his mind for twenty-two years. He dimly remembered how desperate he had been to marry Karla. He had felt that he might as well die if she refused him. Without her there could be no happiness in life.

Fortunately Karla had married him, and life had been exciting and lucky. Now it felt neither exciting nor lucky. He still loved Karla, but he couldn’t imagine lying in her arms for two hours. He couldn’t imagine being either very excited or very relaxed by her touch. Perhaps the two of them should just let one another go.

“Would you ever marry me?” he asked.

Suzie laughed. “What’s Karla gonna do, die?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” Duane said. “Karla’s gonna go on being Karla.”

“Then nobody’s gonna marry you,” Suzie said.

“Karla and I have been happy for a long time,” Duane said. “But we might be losing our happiness.”

“You just need a little pussy, sweetie,” Suzie said.

“No, I need a different life,” he said.

Suzie shrugged her gown off her shoulders. “Pussy is a different life,” she said. “At least it is if it’s mine you’re getting.”

Duane felt an awkward confusion of feelings. The casualness of her sexual preparations aroused him and yet her calm also reminded him of Junior’s tension. He realized that he was not doing much better in relation to Karla than Junior had in relation to Suzie. It made him sad that his wife had to wear suggestive
T-shirts—sad and guilty. But the low truth was that he was capable of ignoring his own beautiful, vivacious wife but incapable of ignoring Suzie, who was already moving over him, inexorably arranging him to her liking.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, after Suzie had proceeded to prove her point.

“What question?” Suzie asked, yawning.

“Would you marry me?”

“I might under certain conditions,” Suzie said.

Pleasure changed her eyes. They remained large and brown, but a keenness came into them after sex. At such moments, looking into her eyes, he felt that he was probably underestimating her, neglecting to credit her with her full intelligence.

She was unusually comfortable with herself, and because she was he slipped into the habit of thinking of her as a dreamy, unambitious woman, with nothing to distinguish her except an unusual sexual responsiveness. But the way she looked at him after lovemaking made him feel shallow. He came to her because it was easy, uncomplicated and very exciting. But her eyes convinced him that the uncomplicated part could easily change.