The Woefield Poultry Collective (24 page)

“Good thing there are places like yours for people like that,” said Eustace.

Soda water threatened to burst from my nose and possibly out of my eyes.

“Pardon me?”

“It’s okay. Everyone knows that you’re turning that old place of yours into a treatment center. A few people have complained, but almost everybody knows somebody who should be in a treatment center. Your neighbors will get over it. I think it’s a great thing.”

Before he could continue he was interrupted by a shriek. “That bitch!” Seth’s disembodied voice cried. “He couldn’t rock a decent hairdo never mind a fucking band. That is some lame-ass bullshit right
there. And after what I experienced in our educational system, I think I know about lame.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a potential customer for you, right there,” said Eustace.

I gave him a weak smile.

Me and Earl watched some really good shows on TV. We watched one where a guy trained his mule to pull a plow. He said a mule’s like a horse, only smarter and stronger and better-looking. And Earl said, “Ain’t that the truth.” Then we watched a show where this big man with really blond hair was upset about people’s houses because they weren’t built right, and Earl said, “That’s God’s own truth.” Earl likes TV a lot, even though he calls it an idiot box.

We had pizza with pineapple on it. He pronounced pizza funny, like “pee-ssssah,” and said kids need to eat fruit so they can grow. It was nice of him to think about ways to keep me healthy. I enjoyed eating something that was not casserole. When I get older, I will probably not ever eat casseroles.

It was getting late and everything, like probably 9:00 or so, when Earl got up and went to the john, which is what he calls the bathroom. And I used the remote, which he calls the clicker, to look at some other channels to see what we’d watch next. I stopped on this music channel. There was an old man on there. He had a big gray cowboy hat and a fancy gray suit. He looked really famous because he didn’t show his face or anything. At first he just stood there on the stage with his head down holding his guitar and then after everyone was waiting for him, he started playing and singing. He had a high voice, sort of like a girl or church people. I liked it a lot. It was sort of sad music but also happy. It went pretty fast and my toe started tapping, almost by itself.

I was nearly dancing when Earl came back in the living room. I didn’t see him at first because he stopped at the doorway and stared at the TV. I only noticed him when the song was over and everyone clapped a lot and screamed, even me, and the announcer said that was bluegrass legend Merle Clemente making a rare appearance at the country music awards.

“Turn it off,” said Earl and I was really surprised, because I didn’t know he was standing back there and I thought we were going to watch some more shows about country life.

“But it’s good. Don’t you like music?”

“Not my brother’s,” he said. Then he walked outside. I went and sat on the porch with him and told him how my dad hit my mom with the tuna casserole. He told me some things about when he was a kid and said that families was damned complicated. It was the first time he swore the whole night, which was a sign that he’s trying. I think Earl is one of my best friends that I know.

Goddamn Merle, I thought. How many times does he got to go on TV in one year? Seeing him again so soon made it hard to catch my breath. I had to set down outside to get myself right. The kid came out and set beside me and didn’t say a word for a long time. She’s a funny little thing. Real good company. She never complained about what was on the idiot box. Watched everything like she was studying for a test on it later. A hell of a good personality, you have to admit.

I guess that’s why I told her that Merle was my brother. That and the business with them parents of hers. She just nodded and said it must be strange to know someone on TV and I said she had that right.

After a spell she said she wondered how Bertie was doing over there on my porch.

I told her fine, but it was probably time to change her dressings. I been doing that every day and it’s a bitch of a job for one man. I didn’t say that to the kid, though.

She asked me if I thought Bertie liked living on my porch and I said probably it’s better than nothing, but not much. She said how a sheep should have a proper shelter and other sheep. I said that was probably true.

My breath was coming easier by then. Nights is pretty around the old place. The air is clean and except for when the Riggins boys get to partying and drive their trucks too fast down the road, it’s quiet. A person could close his eyes and imagine he was somewhere else.

The kid said just about what I was thinking, that it was real nice
sitting outside in the dark. The old moon was hanging low over the trees at the far edge of the property and every so often a bat’d fly through the little patch of light from the lamp mounted on a post at the side of the house. I never understood who the hell put that lamp up there. It don’t light up anything anyone’d need to see. Typical of this place. But at least it lets a person see the bats flying.

Kid said, Earl, those are bats, aren’t they?

It was funny the way she was noticing what I was noticing. Maybe all kids can do that. I don’t know.

I told her they were and they were hunting bugs.

She said that was good because bats are natural something or others. The kid wasn’t a bit scared of them bats. That impressed me, I’ll tell you.

I was just getting ready to say it was time to go inside. I was going to tell her to bunk down on the couch. I figured I’d set out on the porch or maybe in the kitchen until Prudence and Chubnuts came home, but then we heard a car pull up. There was some kind of ruckus and afore I knew what was happening, I seen somebody running down toward my cabin.

Goddamn if it wasn’t Chubnuts, drunker than a skunk, no shirt on, skin white as half a moon, running for all he was worth, which wasn’t much, because he fell on his face soon as he made it past where we was sitting.

I told the kid to go inside. She didn’t need to see that.

She asked me if that was Seth and I said it was and she should go inside because he wasn’t feeling good.

Do you mean he’s drunk? she says.

Before I could answer, he was up again and running hell bent for election, yelling his head off about a teacher.

Jesus Christ, I said and took off after him. I’m not going to tell you I went fast, because I don’t move fast no more even in the best part of the day never mind the middle of the goddamn night. I could see the little bastard because he practically glowed. He had a good head start on me when he hit my cabin and damned if he didn’t bust open that
barrier keeping Bertie on the deck. Next thing I know she goes skittering down the stairs like she’s on fire. Poor goddamn sheep never gets a moment’s peace. She ran past me and I made a grab for her, but she was pretty slick since she got sheared and I fell flat on my face.

Then Chubnuts was breathing his beer breath on me and asking if I was okay.

I told him, No thanks to you goddamn it, and Are you trying to kill the goddamn sheep? And he said he wanted her to try out the new corral and that no matter what had happened to Bertie, she needed to be out in the world. And I said, In the middle of the goddamn night? and We haven’t even put a gate on it yet.

But he wasn’t listening no more. He was heading back to the house and yelling for Sara to get the halter. I had no idea where poor old Bertie had got to. I figured if she had half a brain she’d a run away. By the time I picked myself out of the dirt and got back to the house, there was no one there. I walked around back to the parking lot and found the kid standing over Chubnuts. He’d gone down again, face first, and he wasn’t moving.

I asked the kid where the sheep was and she pointed. Bertie was standing in the middle of the driveway. The tape on her belly had come loose and was dangling out behind. There was twigs and grass and all kinds of crap stuck to it. One of her booties was half off. She looked a sight I can tell you. That’s when the truck pulled in.

We nearly got out of the Duck and Bob without incident. After Eustace returned from a trip to the washroom, I told him that I had to get home to deal with an unexpected situation.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

I hated to lie to him, but nor did I want to get into a long explanation that might be misunderstood.

So I told him we had a problem with our septic system. I’d heard they were very tricky and could cause situations. There probably
were
problems with the septic at Woefield. The smell in the neighborhood couldn’t all come from the rendering plant.

“Someone call you?” he asked.

I made a movement with my head that he could interpret in any way he wanted. I wouldn’t say I lied, exactly. It was more of a deflection.

Eustace looked disappointed. Around us people were having a wonderful time. The garden was lit with little electric torches. Under other circumstances it would have been heaven to sit there with a handsome, if unsustainable, man.

Seth’s voice floated out over the noise of the crowd again and I did my best to ignore it, although I was becoming increasingly concerned about him. What had upset him so badly?

“That guy is wasted,” said Eustace.

“Hmmm,” I said.

“He’s crashed a table full of older people who look terrified. He’s
wearing an Anthrax T-shirt and mirrored shades. I give it ten minutes before he gets kicked out.”

“We should go,” I said, standing abruptly.

Eustace turned, ready to walk back through the pub the way we’d come in.

“Let’s leave through the garden. I’d like to see the flower beds,” I said, deciding it was best to make our exit around the side of the building and back to the parking lot.

“I thought you were in a hurry?”

“We’ll look at the flowers quickly. It’s busy in the bar. I don’t like crowds.”

“I wouldn’t expect that from a New York girl.”

“I lived in Brooklyn. It’s quieter.”

Like a competitor in a race walk, I led us through the back garden gate and pulled Eustace around the perimeter of the central garden bed, which twinkled with the tiny lights set amongst the flowers, shrubs and ferns. Very pretty. I elbowed past couples who lingered hand-in-hand and then, letting go of Eustace’s elbow (he’d begun to resist my pushing and pulling), I race-walked toward the side of the pub. Soon I was in the packed parking lot. I found the huge white truck almost immediately and sidled up to the passenger door so I was hidden in the shadows. I waited for Eustace to catch up.

“Hello?” I heard him call out. His voice sounded like it was coming from the middle of the parking lot. “Prudence?”

“Yes?”

“The truck’s over here.”

“Oh.”

I hurried out from my hiding spot and walked down a few more rows until I spotted another enormous white truck. Eustace stood near the bumper and when I reached him, he took my shoulders in his hands. In spite of my rush, I felt myself go limp.

“Is everything okay with you?” he asked, leaning down and staring into my eyes.

I shook my head slightly. He bent to kiss me and his hands slid from my shoulders onto my back.

When we drew apart to take a breath, he said, “You taste good.”

“So do you. In spite of your terrible politics.”

We nearly jumped out of our skins when someone behind us screamed, “POLITICS!”

Seth stood swaying in the road.

“NEVER DISCUSS POLITICS!”

He was being supported by a pair of silver-haired gentlemen who appeared to be in their early seventies. They seemed unconcerned by his severe intoxication. Maybe it’s a generational thing.

“With apologies,” said one of them, suavely.

I waited for Seth to blow my cover by speaking to me directly.

“WOMEN!” bellowed Seth. “YOU CAN’T TRUST THE BITCHES. NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM.”

Eustace reached over and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he said, quietly.

“I loved a bitch once,” Seth slurred, quieter now. He leaned forward so the men had to struggle to keep him up.

“Then she fucked me. Well, not physically. I wanted her to. But she never did. Nobody’s ever really fucked me. I’ve fucked myself plenty, though.”

He sagged to the side, putting an extra burden on the men holding him up.

Headlights appeared and a yellow taxicab pulled up. I was sorry to see that it wasn’t Hugh’s cab.

Seth craned his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, speaking in the general direction of the taxi.

He took two unsteady steps toward the car and propped himself against the hood. He turned back and faced us. I couldn’t tell who he was staring at because it was dark and he still had on his mirrored glasses, which he’d fixed with a lump of duct tape after the episode with Bertie. I moved to put one foot up on the running board of Eustace’s truck.

“You wanna hear a song I wrote? I think you’d get it. You being a woman and all.”

“That’s okay,” said Eustace, stepping to block Seth’s view of me. Firm but polite.

Seth lurched violently and somehow ended up in the backseat of the cab. It moved off and so did Seth’s escorts, after they’d said good night. Eustace and I were left in silence. A duck waddled through the spotlight of an overhead lamp.

Eustace leaned his head back and smoothed his curly hair from his temples. He took a deep breath.

“You ready?”

“I’m sorry?”

“To go.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” I said. There is really nothing I hate more than a messy situation and I was very pleased that one was over.

Eustace and I semi-made out all the way back to Woefield. His hand traveled as he drove. So did mine. The truck had bucket seats or I’d have sat right beside him, like in old movies about small towns.

As the truck drove up our driveway and my hand moved up his leg he made a noise in his throat. Then he gasped, “What the—!” The truck skidded to a stop on the hard-packed dirt road.

I peered out the windshield. In the powerful headlights stood a small, white creature tangled up in some kind of tape. Bertie.