The Sisters Brothers (10 page)

INTERMISSION

I came upon a young girl of seven or eight years old, outfitted in the finest clothing from hat to shoe and standing stiffly before the fenced-in yard of a quaint, freshly painted house. She glared at the property with an intense dislike or malice—her brow was furrowed, her hands clenched, and she was crying, not forcefully, but calmly and without a sound. When I approached her and asked her what was the matter, she told me she had had a bad dream.

‘Just now you had a bad dream?’ I said, for the sun was high in the sky.

‘In the night I had one. But I had forgotten about it until a moment ago, when that dog reminded me.’ She pointed to a fat dog, asleep on the other side of the fence. I was startled when I spied what looked to be the dog’s leg lying independently from the body, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the femur bone of a lamb or calf, this for the dog to chew on. It still had some meat and gristle attached, which gave it a fleshy appearance. I smiled at the girl.

‘I thought it was the dog’s leg,’ I said.

The girl wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘But it
is
the dog’s leg.’

I shook my head and pointed. ‘The dog’s leg is tucked under him, do you see?’

‘You are wrong. Watch.’ She whistled and the dog awoke and stood, and I discovered it truly was missing the leg closest to the bone on the ground, only the skin had long since healed over. It was a years-old wound, and though I was confused, I persevered: ‘That there on the ground is the femur bone of a lamb, and not the dog’s. Don’t you see the animal suffered its loss some time ago and that he is not in pain?’

The statement angered the girl, and now she regarded me with just the same malice with which she had been regarding the house. ‘The dog
is
in pain,’ she insisted. ‘The dog is in no small amount of pain!’

The violence of her words and temper caught me by surprise; I found myself taking a step away from her. ‘You are a peculiar girl,’ I said.

‘It’s a peculiar lifetime on earth,’ she countered. I did not know what to say to that. At any rate it was as truthful a statement as I had come across. The girl continued, her voice now honeyed and innocent: ‘But you did not ask about my dream.’

‘You said it was about this dog.’

‘The dog was but a part of it. It was also about the fence, and the house, and you.’

‘I was in your dream?’

‘A man was in it. A man I did not know or care about.’

‘Was he a good man or a bad man?’

She spoke in a whisper: ‘He was a protected man.’

I thought at once of the gypsy-witch, of the doorway and necklace. ‘How was he protected?’ I asked. ‘Protected from what?’

But she would not answer my question. She said, ‘I was walking here to see this dog, which I hate. And as I slipped it its poison to kill it there appeared in this yard before me a fist-sized, swirling gray-and-black cloud. This grew bigger and was soon a foot across, then two feet, then ten—now it was big as the house. And I felt the wind from its spinning, a cold wind, so cold it burned my face.’ She closed her eyes and tilted her head upward, as though recalling this sensation.

‘What kind of poison did you slip the dog?’ I asked, for I noticed her right hand had a grainy black residue over the knuckles.

‘The cloud became bigger still,’ the terrible girl continued, her volume and agitation increasing, ‘soon lifting me into its center, where I hung in the air, tumbling lightly in circles. I think it might have been calming if the three-legged dog, now dead, was not also spinning within the orb beside me.’

‘That is a distressing dream, girl.’

‘The three-legged dog, now dead, spinning within the orb beside me!’ She clapped once, turned abruptly around, and left me where I stood, dumbfounded and not a little unnerved. I thought, How I long for a reliable companion. The girl had rounded the corner before I looked back at the dog, which was once more lying prone on the ground, foam issuing from his mouth, ribs no longer rising to breathe, dead as dead could be. There was a shift of the curtains in the house and I turned and left just as hastily as the girl had but in the opposite direction, and I did not at any point look back. It was time to say good-bye and good riddance to Mayfield, for now.

END INTERMISSION

Chapter 32

Passing Mayfield’s parlor I peered in and saw both he and the naked woman were gone, and the pelt stand had been righted. Farther down the hall, one of the whores was standing with her head on the door of the room next to mine. Walking toward her, I asked if she had seen Charlie. ‘He just escorted me out.’ Her skin had a greenish tint to it; she was deathly brandy-sick. Belching, she covered her mouth with a balled fist. ‘Oh, God,’ she said. I opened the door to my room and asked her to tell Charlie to hurry along. ‘I will not tell him a thing, sir. I am headed for my own bed to wait out these long hours in private.’ I watched as she walked away, her fist on the wall, unsure in her footsteps. Charlie’s door was locked and when I knocked he made a guttural sound communicating a desire for solitude. When I called to him, he came to the door in the nude and waved me in.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

‘I was walking with the girl from last night.’

‘What girl from last night?’

‘The pretty, thin one.’

‘
Was
there a pretty, thin one?’

‘You were too distracted with your guffawing to notice. Look at how red your head is.’

I could hear Mayfield’s muffled, angry voice emanating from the parlor. I told Charlie about the missing pelt and he stiffened. ‘What do you mean, missing?’ he demanded.

‘Missing. Not there. The stand was toppled and the pelt had been cut away.’

He studied this awhile, then began getting dressed. ‘I will talk to Mayfield about it,’ he said, groaning as he pulled on his pants. ‘We got along very fine last night. Surely the responsible party was one of those filthy trappers he has on the payroll.’

He left and I sat heavily in a low wicker chair. I noticed Charlie’s mattress had been pulled to the floor and shredded with a knife, its stuffing yanked out in shocks. I thought, Will his fondness for senseless carnage ever cease? He and Mayfield were having an argument but I could not understand the words. My body was burning with fatigue and I was halfway asleep when Charlie returned, his face tight, his fists clenched and white at the knuckle. ‘There is a man who knows how to raise his voice,’ he said. ‘What a blusterer.’

‘Does he think we took the pelt?’

‘He most certainly does, and do you know why? One of his trappers claims to have seen you hurrying through the hall with it tucked under your arm. I asked Mayfield to upend our rooms and baggage but he said it was beneath him. He whispered to his whore, and she hurried away. She is searching the trappers out, I’d imagine.’ He moved to the window, gazing down at the main road. ‘It makes me angry to think of them playing such a trick on us. If I wasn’t feeling so low I’d go right after them.’ He looked over at me. ‘What about you, brother? Are you up for a fight?’

‘Hardly.’

Squinting, he asked, ‘What’s that under your coat?’

‘A gift from the girl.’

‘Is there to be a parade?’

‘It’s a simple bit of fabric to recall her by. A
bomboniere,
as Mother would say.’

He sucked his teeth. ‘You should not wear it,’ he said decisively.

‘It’s very expensive material, I think.’

‘The girl has played a joke on you.’

‘She is a serious person.’

‘You look like the prize goose.’

I untied and removed the cloth, folding it into a tidy square. I decided I would keep it with me but regard it only in private. ‘Now who has the red head?’ said Charlie. Turning back to the window, he tapped the pane and said, ‘Aha, here we go.’

I crossed over and saw the whore from the floor of the parlor speaking to the largest trapper. He stood listening, rolling a cigarette, and nodding; when she was through he shared with her some instruction or another, and she returned in the direction of the hotel. I watched her until she was out of sight, then looked again at the trapper, who had located us in the window and was staring from beneath his floppy-brimmed, pointed hat. ‘Where do you even
get
a hat like that?’ Charlie wondered. ‘They must make them themselves.’ The trapper lit his cigarette, exhaled a plume of smoke, and walked in the opposite direction of the hotel. Charlie slapped his leg and spit. ‘I hate to admit it, but we’re beat. Give me your double eagles, and I will hand mine in, also.’

‘Returning the money is just the same as an admission of guilt.’

‘It is our only option other than fighting or running, neither of which we are in any shape to do. Come on now, let’s have it.’ He approached and stood before me with his hand out. I went through the motions of patting my pockets, a sad pantomime that gave me away. Scratching his stubbly neck, he said, ‘You left it for the woman, didn’t you.’

‘That was my own earned money. And what a man does with his earned money is no other man’s business.’ Remembering his whore’s clutched hand as she had covered her mouth, I said, ‘Didn’t you give any of yours away?’

‘You know, I hadn’t thought of that.’ He checked his purse and laughed bitterly. ‘And Mayfield had said it was on the house, too.’

More shouting from the parlor. A bell was rung, a glass broken.

‘I hope you don’t propose to pay the man out of our own pockets,’ I said.

‘No, I am not
that
keen to make friends. Let me gather my things, then we’ll fetch yours. We can exit out your window and hope for an unchecked departure. We will fight if we must but I would prefer to wait for another day, when we are feeling one hundred percent.’ Bag in hand, then, he scanned the room and asked, ‘Have we got everything? Yes? All right. Let us navigate the hall in pure silence.’

Pure silence, I thought as we crept along to my quarters. The words struck me as somehow poetical.

Chapter 33

We climbed out the window of my room and snuck along the overhang that ran the length of the walkway. This proved handy to us, for Tub and Nimble were housed in a stable at the far end of Mayfield, and we covered that entire distance without a soul noticing our travels. At the halfway point, Charlie paused behind a tall sign to watch the largest trapper leaning against a hitching post below us. Now the other three joined him, and the group stood in a loose circle, speaking through their dirty beards. ‘Doubtless they are infamous among the muskrat community hereabouts,’ said Charlie. ‘But these are not killers of men.’ He pointed at the leader. ‘He is the one who stole the pelt, I’m sure of it. If we come up against them, I will take care of him. Watch the rest take flight at the first shot fired.’

The men dispersed and we continued along the overhang to its limit, dropping off and sneaking into the stable, where I found the bucktoothed hand standing next to Tub and Nimble, staring at them dumbly. He jumped at our greeting and was loath to help us with the saddles, which I should have been made suspicious by but was too distracted with thoughts of escape to dissect properly. And so: Charlie and I were tying off our bags when the four trappers stepped noiselessly from the stall behind ours. We did not notice them until it was too late. They had us cold, the barrels of their pistols leveled at our hearts.

‘You are ready to leave Mayfield?’ asked the largest trapper.

‘We are leaving,’ said Charlie. I was not sure how he would play it, but he had a habit of cracking his index fingers with his thumbs just prior to drawing his guns and I kept my ear trained for the noise.

‘You’re not leaving without returning the money you owe Mr. Mayfield.’

‘
Mr.
Mayfield,’ said Charlie. ‘The beloved employer. Tell us, do you make his bed down for him also? Do you warm his feet with your hands on the long winter nights?’

‘One hundred dollars or I will kill you. I will probably kill you anyway. You think I am slow in my furs and leather, but you will find me faster than you had believed. And won’t you be surprised to find my bullets in your body?’

Charlie said, ‘I do think you are slow, trapper, but it is not your clothing that hinders your speed. Your mind is the culprit. For I believe you to be just as stupid as the animals you lurk in the mud and snow to catch.’

The trapper laughed, or pretended to laugh, an imitation of lightness and good nature. He said, ‘I heard you getting drunk last night and thought, I will not drink a drop this evening. I will be rested and quick, just in case I have to kill this man in the morning. And now it is morning, and I ask you this only once more: Will you return the money, or the pelt?’

‘All you will get from me is Death.’ Charlie’s words, spoken just as casual as a man describing the weather, brought the hair on my neck up and my hands began to pulse and throb. He is wonderful in situations like this, clear minded and without a trace of fear. He had always been this way, and though I had seen it many times, every time I did I felt an admiration for him.

‘I am going to shoot you down,’ said the trapper.

‘My brother will count it out,’ said Charlie. ‘When he reaches three, we draw.’

The trapper nodded and returned his pistol to its holster. ‘He can count to one hundred if it suits you,’ he said, opening and closing his hand to stretch it.

Charlie made a sour face. ‘What a stupid thing to say. Think of something else besides that. A man wants his last words to be respectable.’

‘I will be speaking all through this day and into the night. I will tell my grandchildren of the time I killed the famous Sisters brothers.’

‘That at least makes sense. Also it will serve as a humorous footnote.’ To me, Charlie said, ‘He’s going to kill both of us, now, Eli.’

‘I have been happy these days, riding and working with you,’ I told him.

‘But is it time for final good-byes?’ he asked. ‘If you look closely at the man you can see his heart is not in it. Notice how slick his flesh has become. Somewhere in his being there is a voice informing him of his mistake.’

‘Count it out, goddamnit,’ said the trapper.

‘We will put
that
on your tombstone,’ Charlie said, and he loudly cracked his fingers. ‘Count three, brother. Slow and even.’

‘You are both ready, now?’ I asked.

‘I am ready,’ said the trapper.

‘Ready,’ Charlie said.

‘One,’ I said—and Charlie and I both let loose with our pistols, four bullets fired simultaneously, with each finding its target, skull shots every one. The trappers dropped to the ground from which none of them would rise again. It was an immaculate bit of killing, the slickest and most efficient I could recall, and no sooner had they fallen than Charlie began laughing, as did I, though more out of relief than anything, whereas Charlie I believe was genuinely tickled. It isn’t enough to be lucky, I thought. A man has to be balanced in his mind, to remain calm, when your average man is anything but. The trapper with the blue-black beard was still gasping, and I crossed over to look upon him. He was confused, his eyes darting every which way.

‘What was that noise?’ he asked.

‘That was a bullet going into you.’

‘A bullet going into me where?’

‘Into your head.’

‘I can’t feel it. And I can’t hardly hear anything. Where’s the others?’

‘They’re lying next to you. Their heads have bullets, also.’

‘They do? Are they talking? I can’t hear them.’

‘No, they’re dead.’

‘But I’m not dead?’

‘Not yet you’re not.’

‘Ch,’
he said. His eyes closed and his head became still. I was stepping away when he shuddered and opened his eyes. ‘Jim was the one who wanted to come after you two. I didn’t want to.’

‘Okay.’

‘He thinks because he’s big, he’s got to do big things.’

‘He’s dead, now.’

‘He was talking about it all night. They would write books about us, he said. He didn’t like you all making fun of our clothes, was what it was.’

‘It doesn’t matter, now. Close your eyes.’

‘Hello?’ said the trapper. ‘Hello?’ He was looking at me but I do not think he could see me.

‘Close your eyes. It’s all right.’

‘I didn’t want to do this,’ he complained. ‘Jim thought he could lick you boys, and that he’d be able to tell everyone about it.’

‘You should close your eyes and rest,’ I said.

‘Ch. Ch, ch.’
Then the life hopped out of him and he died, and I returned to Tub, and the saddle. This ‘counting to three’ business was an old trick of ours. It was something we were neither ashamed nor proud of; suffice to say it was only employed in the direst situations, and it saved our lives more than once.

Charlie and I were set to leave when we heard a boot scrape in the loft above us. The hand had not left, but hidden away to witness the fight; sadly for him he had also witnessed our numbers trick, and we climbed the ladder to find him. This took some time as there were many tall towers of stacked hay bales in the loft, which made for excellent covering. ‘Come out, boy,’ I called. ‘We are all through here, and we promise not to hurt you.’ A pause, and we heard a scurrying in the far corner. I fired at the sound but the bales swallowed the bullet. Another pause, and more scurrying. Charlie said, ‘Boy, come out here. We’re going to kill you, and there is no chance for escape. Let’s be sensible about it.’

‘Boo-hoo-hoo,’ said the hand.

‘You are only wasting our time. And we have no more time to waste.’

‘Boo-hoo-hoo.’