Wounded (7 page)

“He was dumber than a bucket of hair,” I said. “Still, I can’t imagine his doing such a thing. Hell, I can’t imagine anybody doing it.”

“We put up with people like that all the time.” Robert’s tone was only slightly strident.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Then it was as if Robert realized for the first time or again that Gus and I were black. He fell back into himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Robert,” I said. “Nobody’s got the hate market cornered in this country.”

“Yeah,” said Gus. “There’s plenty of hate for everybody. Rally round the flag, boys.”

Robert smiled weakly, then turned his attention to a down-filled parka with purple pockets.

“Now that will keep you warm,” I said.

“It had better,” Gus sneered. “As ugly as that thing is.”

I walked to the window and peered out. Just as I had predicted, counter to my prediction the wind was really blowing and the snow was really falling. “It’s an official mess out there,” I said. “I hope you boys don’t mind staying the night. I’d rather not risk your lives and mine on that road in this storm in the dark.”

Robert gave David an uneasy look, but David didn’t notice or simply didn’t respond.

David said, “That’s fine.” When David did look at Robert, Robert looked away. “Robert?”

“Sounds okay. Thanks, John.”

“You bet.”

While Gus prepared the meal, I took David and Robert, in their new coats, out to see the barns and horses. We wandered through the long barn and out the other end. The friendly horses shoved their heads out into the alley, looking for treats or just a rub on the nose.

“How many do you have?” David asked.

“Twenty-five,” I said. “A nice even odd number. But they’re not all mine. Several I’m training for other people. When winter comes, I’ll take the shoes off most of my guys and turn them out.”

“When winter comes?” Robert laughed.

“Son, this ain’t winter,” I said in my cowboy voice. “This here is sun-bathing weather.”

“This must be a lot of work,” David said. We were in the small barn now. The wind was spinning the vents above us.

“Nobody ever drowned in his own sweat,” I said. I led them to the end of the middle barn. “And this is Felony.” The horse pushed out his head. I was a little surprised by it. I stroked his nose. “He belongs to a neighbor.”

“Felon?” David asked.

“Felony,” I said. “Which of course is a much nicer name than Felon. The man’s daughter named him. He’s been a bit of a problem for them. He’s a looker though. And he’s coming along.”

“That’s what you do, train horses?” Robert asked.

There was a coolness between Robert and me that I didn’t like. But also, I didn’t much care, so I let it stand. “Now and again,” I said.

“What’s Felony’s problem?” David asked. He reached out and rubbed the horse’s nose.

“Basically, he’s a nut. It’s not so much that he thinks he’s a person as he doesn’t know that people aren’t horses. That’s a bad thing. Like I said, he’s making progress. Or I’m making progress, I should say.”

“You and Gus take care of this whole place?” David asked.

“Mostly. I hire a hand from time to time. They come and go. How’d you like a job?”

Robert laughed.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t want me,” David said. “I don’t know how to do anything.”

“You can learn,” I said. “Are you boys cold?”

“I’m fine,” David said.

“Well, I’m cold,” I said. “Let’s get inside and grab some grub. How’s that for authentic regional yak?”

In the kitchen, Gus had the table set. I could smell the chili. Zoe was in the corner lying on her bed, curled around the coyote pup. The pup pushed and whined, trying to get purchase on one of Zoe’s dry teats.

“I see you moved our little patient,” I said, stomping my boots clean in the mud room.

“More light in here,” Gus said. He looked out the window over the sink. “The snow’s not going to be all that bad. It’s tapering off a little already.”

“All I know is it’s cold out there,” I said.

Gus turned to David and Robert who were sitting at the table. “The coldest I’ve ever been was thirty-three in Phoenix. Not even a freeze and I thought I might cry, I was so cold.” He pulled a ladle from the drawer and dropped it in the pot. “Come and sit down, ugly.” This was to me.

“That coyote is really cute,” David said as I sat.

“She’s something, all right.”

“How did you find her?” David watched Zoe with the pup.

“Some idiot torched her den and killed her mother,” I said. “Her little brother didn’t make it.”

“Beautiful people,” Robert said.

I nodded.

Robert put his hand on top of David’s on the table.

“I didn’t make the chili super hot,” Gus said. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. There’s Tabasco if anyone needs it.”

“It smells great,” David said.

“Gus can actually cook,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” Gus said.

“Well, to look at you, one wouldn’t, well, never mind.”

“You’re lucky you’re getting to eat at all,” the old man said. Gus didn’t take chili, but filled his bowl with salad.

“Aren’t you having any chili?” David asked.

“Stuff gives me heartburn,” Gus said.

“Since when?” I asked.

“Everybody eat up,” he said. “I’m happy with leaves and bread. The bread’s not great. I’m still working on that.”

We ate for a while in silence. I tore off a piece of the crusty bread and studied the sleeping puppy. “You know, Gus, I think you’re right. That little girl is going to pull through.”

“Tough,” Gus said.

“Did you want to call either of your parents?” I asked David.

“Certainly not my father,” he said. “My mother’s away on business.”

“These things happen,” Gus said. “People live, people die, people split up, people stay together and make each other miserable. Me, I’ve got ugly and he gets to live with me.”

Robert laughed.

“Your mother’s a special person,” I said to David.

“Not special enough, I guess,” David said. He poked at his chili with his spoon. “Why does my father hate me? He hates homosexuals. I’m a homosexual. It follows that he hates me. That’s logic, right?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I think the leg is going to fall off,” Gus said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“The coyote. I was looking at it and I think it has to fall off. Do you think we should cut it off?”

“Maybe, but not in the middle of a meal,” I said.

“I didn’t mean right now.”

“All right, let’s take a look at it later tonight. We might have to perform a little surgery.”

We ate for a while.

“So, your being a homosexual’s not a problem for your mother?” Gus asked, slapping butter on his bread. Gus had a way of cutting right to the chase.

“She’s cool with it,” David said.

“She says,” Robert added.

“I believe she is.” David put down his fork. “She’s got her own stuff right now. Do you know why they broke up?”

I shook my head. “All of this is brand new to me.”

“Well, I don’t know either. I don’t think my mother knows. That’s what’s so hard about all of this.”

“Sounds hard,” I said. I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. “Well, now that I’ve eaten, I think I’ll go out and shovel the shit of large animals.” I snapped my fingers for Zoe to come.

“I hope that’s not a crack,” Gus said.

David laughed.

“You guys want to join me in the freezing cold or stay in here where it’s nice and toasty and have hot chocolate? You’re not obliged to help.”

“I’ll help,” David said.

“I think I’ll sit in the other room with the fire,” Robert said. “I have a bit of a headache.”

“You want some aspirin or ibuprofen?” Gus asked.

“No, thanks.”

Outside, Zoe led the way to the barn. The snow had all but stopped falling. That silence that snow brings had fallen.

“What kind of dog is Zoe?” David asked.

“She’s a heeler. Some people call them Australian cattle dogs.” I whistled and Zoe looked back. “Zoe, go find a rope, girl.” Zoe trotted off into the barn, then came back with a lead rope in her mouth. “Good girl.” I took the rope and gave her head a rub.

“That’s pretty good,” David said.

“I’d like to say I’m a great trainer, but Zoe’s a genius.”

I piled a deep cart with flakes of hay and asked David to push it down the aisle and put two flakes in each metal feeder. I checked the mule’s gate and caught up to the cart. Once we had the hay tossed I started mucking out.

“I can help with that,” David said.

“That’s great. Grab a silage fork from over there and a bucket. Do the bay’s stall.”

“I thought you were married,” David said.

“I was. My wife died.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I knew that.”

I waved him off. “You were a kid. Anyway, Gus came to live with me about six years ago. He’s a big help.”

“Gus is cool,” David said.

“He is that.” I rubbed at a stiffness in my neck. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings earlier. You know, about your parents and all.”

“The bad feelings aren’t too far below the surface, I’m afraid.” David paused to look in at Felony, the big palomino. “That’s a big horse.”

“An enormous baby,” I said. “David, I don’t know your mother very well at all. But I do know, or at least I used to know your father. He can be pretty rigid in his thinking.”

“You got that right.”

“I’m not just saying this to get on your good side, but sometimes it helps to hear that somebody else sees the same things you’re seeing. Your father is a good person, but on occasion he can be a selfish—” I looked for a word.

“Jerk,” David said.

“Not a word I would have used,” I said. I looked up and down the aisle, as if afraid Howard might appear. “I lived with him. He’s my friend, but he’s sometimes clumsy when it comes to other people’s feelings.”

“And he’s not tolerant of other people’s ways,” David said.

I nodded.

David looked at my eyes for a second, then we both laughed. “Well, you did get on my good side,” he said.

“That wasn’t my aim.”

“So, why are you so tolerant?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I like to think I am. I’d like to think that if you were my son I’d behave differently from your father. But I can’t honestly say that. You’re not my son. I don’t have a son.”

“That’s pretty honest,” he said.

“Hey, I’m trying,” I said.

“You know, my dad used to talk about you all the time like you were a god or something.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t have much respect for gods.”

“He used to say you could do anything, fix anything.”

I looked at Felony, reached out and scratched his big nose. “Well, that’s real flattering. It’s not true, but it’s flattering. Hey, it’s getting cold out here. We’d better finish up and get back in that house before those two suck up all the heat.”

Back in the house, Gus told us that Robert had decided to turn in for the night. David said he’d better go check on him.

Gus had scooped up the coyote puppy and had it lying on a nest of towels on the kitchen table. “That David’s a nice man,” he said.

“He is,” I agreed.

“Robert’s having a tough time.” That was like Gus. He was generous of spirit. He wouldn’t settle on thinking Robert was a jerk or an asshole, Gus just thought that this was difficult for him.

“Seems so,” I said. I leaned over and examined the puppy. “So, you think we should just take that leg off.”

“I think so. What do you think?”

“Well, it won’t heal and become a leg she can use, that’s for sure.” The tissue was thin and dark and the remaining piece looked as if it might fall off.

“Want me to go get your kit?”

“No, that’s okay.” I got a sharp knife from the drawer and went to the stove where I held the blade over a flame. I came back and sliced through the tissue. It was the smallest cut, but the largest as well. There would be no putting the leg back on. That was it. The slightest slash and now this animal had three legs instead of four.

“That’s it?” Gus asked.

I looked for bleeding. There was none. “That’s it.”

“I could have done that,” the old man said.

“We can all do a lot things,” I said, “but we won’t.”

“I don’t think she felt it.”

“I doubt she did,” I said. “But who knows. Not that it matters now anyway. Let’s try to get her through this alive.” As I stood there watching Gus stroke the little head on the three-legged body, I realized that if the animal lived, she was a fixture. I couldn’t very well put her into the wild. But she was wild. I’d have to find a way to socialize her and even then I knew I’d have to kennel her when new people came around. I got way ahead of myself in my thinking and tried to shake my head clear.

“What is it?” Gus asked.

“Nothing. You know, I think the little girl is going to make it.”

“What’s going on?” from David in the doorway.

“We just made a tripod,” Gus said. “We cut off her leg. Well, John did, but hell I could have done it.”

“Really?” David came over for a better look. “What will you do with the leg?”

Gus looked at me.

I’d intended to toss it into the garbage can beneath the sink, but now that suddenly seemed unceremonious. “I don’t know,” I said. “What does one do with a dead leg? I mean, it’s not an animal.”

“You weren’t just going to toss it in the trash, were you?” Gus asked.

“What, do you want me to mount it on a plaque?” I looked at David and Gus looking at me. “I suppose I could bury it.”

“That sounds right,” Gus said.

“To me, too,” David said.

“I suppose you expect me to say a few words over it as well. I mean, we’re not having a funeral for a leg.”

“No, of course not,” Gus said.

“Give me that damn thing.” I picked up the leg between my fingers and walked out of the kitchen. I was going to dig a little hole and drop it in.

And that’s what I did, but before I tossed any dirt in on top of it, I said, “Well, little leg, I hope you’re the last death the little girl has to see for a while.” So, the leg had its funeral anyway.