The Death of Jim Loney, page 7
“That’s where I live. I live way out there.” He thought for a moment. “Do you know where I live?”
20
Amos After Buffalo stood with the sack of groceries in his arms and watched the man walk away from him. The man cradled the dog the way Amos carried firewood. But today was Thanksgiving and he didn’t have to carry logs or anything if he didn’t want. He was visiting his aunt and uncle in town and his aunt was cooking a big venison roast. Amos didn’t understand Thanksgiving. It was a holiday, but it wasn’t like Christmas or Easter or the Fourth of July. It was a time to eat. He wished they had a turkey. A turkey seemed more like a holiday. He had never eaten turkey, but he thought it might be sweet.
Amos After Buffalo watched the man turn the corner at the end of the street. Then he set the groceries down and started to run home. He ran and he thought it was funny that the man didn’t seem to be sad about his dog. He had wanted to watch the man bury the dog. But he remembered that his aunt had made a roast and he had been gone for a long time. He would have to break his old record to get home in time.
21
Loney stood behind the old woman and the girl. They were looking out the large windows at the airplane about to land. It came in so slowly and quietly that it seemed to be gliding. Loney could read the letters on the fusilage above the windows—FRONTIER—and he felt a kind of panicky excitement.
The right wheel touched the ground first, sending up a spray of blue smoke; then the left wheel touched, and finally the nose wheel settled on the runway. Suddenly the roar of the engines shook the windows of the little terminal and the old woman took a step back, almost bumping into Loney. She wore an old cloth coat and a black silk scarf and moccasins and leggings. Loney guessed that she was from Rocky Boy, because the old women still dressed that way out there. The girl was wearing a blue parka and checkered slacks and white sneakers. She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. She stared with awe at the airplane, which was taxiing toward the gate. She hadn’t noticed that her grandmother was now standing directly behind her, between her and Loney. The grandmother was frightened at the sight of the large plane bearing down on the terminal, but she didn’t show it. She seemed impassive, and as Loney looked down at her shoulders and her silver, yellowing hair, he thought, That’s the way old Indian women get; they’ve seen so much in their years, so many of these winters… .
The left engine came to a stop and a door behind the cockpit opened. Metal stairs slowly unfolded and lowered to the pavement.
Loney patted his hair down. He had got it cut that morning in Harlem and it felt slick and neat. He had also shaved and put on his best white shirt. He was excited because he knew that Kate would be perfect. He always loved to look at her and her beauty always affected him and he knew it was because he hadn’t seen much of her since he was ten and she was fifteen. Now she was like a beautiful stranger to him until they got reacquainted. He had seen her only four or five times, all in the last ten years, since they parted as children. He had last seen her three years ago and he remembered how she looked—tall, willowy, maybe a little skinny, but no skinnier than some of the magazine models Loney had looked at. And he remembered the high wide cheekbones, which gave her face a soft diamond shape that he found lovely and strong.
Again he wondered why she had never married. He wondered that a lot, at odd moments. Sometimes he thought it was because of her job: she was just too busy flying around the country, telling people what to do and how to do it. At other times he thought it was because she was too strong. He couldn’t imagine any man being equal to her. He smiled because he had been dreading this moment all morning for just that reason. But now he was excited. He knew that they would get reacquainted and everything would be fine. She would be his sister again.
A man carrying a briefcase emerged first, hurrying down the stairs without looking up, as though he expected to be taken for a celebrity. An elderly couple followed him, waving toward the terminal, but as far as Loney could tell, only he and the old woman and the girl were waiting. Then a young Indian in a green army uniform got off. His hat was back on his head and his tie was loose. He looked as if he had been traveling for days. The girl said something in Cree to the old woman and they moved toward the boarding area. Loney continued to stare at the door behind the cockpit. Nobody appeared for a few moments. Then a stewardess emerged from the darkness and descended the stairs. She was carrying a clipboard, holding it up to shield her hair from the slight wind. Loney could see a gold bracelet on her slender wrist.
He waited a while longer. Then he walked over to the Frontier counter, but there was no one around. He read the schedule board: FLIGHT 71, 11:43 A.M. The clock at the far end of the building said 11:48. It had to be the right plane.
The stewardess had walked up to the counter and was writing something on the clipboard.
“Excuse me,” said Loney. “Did everybody who was supposed to get off that plane get off?”
The stewardess glanced out the window at the plane. Then she looked at her clipboard. “Four passengers … Um hum, yes.”
“But my sister …”
“Was she by any chance coming from the south?”
“Arizona.”
“Okay, um hum, I understand. It’s been happening all day. Sir, the Denver airport has been closed because of blizzard conditions. I assume she would have had to change planes in Denver. But she was probably rerouted to Salt Lake, in which case”—she squinted at the schedule board—“she’ll probably catch a later flight to Billings and connect up with our flight forty-three, which comes in here at five-thirty.”
“You mean she’ll be here later today?”
“Unless her plane landed in Denver. Some planes landed there earlier this morning. But all traffic is grounded now and likely will be for the rest of the day. I wouldn’t worry. She probably went on to Salt Lake. You just be here at five-thirty.” She smiled and walked briskly toward the boarding gate.
Loney watched her until she passed the soldier and the girl and the old woman. Then he watched them. They had their arms around each other; rather, the soldier had his arms around them and the girl had her arms around him. They both had their heads bowed as though they were saying a prayer. The old woman had her arms at her sides, accepting the soldier’s hug. She was thinking that it was a bad world when her grandson comes home to her on a machine that flies. Later, when he told her stories of where he had been and what he had seen, she would realize that she had lost him. She sensed this now and it filled her with sadness, for she knew that what he had gained would never make up for what he had lost. She had seen the other boys come home. And she stared past her soldier at Loney’s wolfish face and she thought, That’s one of them.
22
Loney sat in his car in the parking lot all afternoon. The morning clouds had dissipated and the sky was a brilliant blue and the sun warmed the car. The car was a ’64 Chevy and it had started that morning without hesitation, much to Loney’s surprise. Having forgotten almost everything of small consequence, he couldn’t remember when he had driven it last. He had put a blanket over the seat to hide the holes that mice had chewed in the fabric.
The sun came through the windshield and it made him drowsy and he dozed off, but he didn’t know for how long. Once he started the car and began to drive toward town for a bite to eat, or a bottle of wine, or just the drive—he didn’t know which—but he had turned around and driven back to the airport. He didn’t like Havre and he knew he had better not drink. Thinking of Kate, he grew excited again.
She was not on the five-thirty plane. The man behind the counter was no help. He thought maybe the Salt Lake City airport had been closed too, but he didn’t know. He just knew there was a blizzard in the southern Rockies. He began to switch off the lights.
Loney thought of calling Rhea because she would know what to do, she was good that way, but he thought better of it. There was a chance that she might bring up the Seattle business and he couldn’t handle it. He wasn’t ready. And for the time being, Kate was the only important woman in his life. He didn’t have enough of himself to give to both of them.
He felt weak. He knew he should eat, but the only thing he wanted was a bottle of wine. And some cigarettes. In truth he desired neither, but he thought he did, and the thought was enough. He started the car and drove down to the main highway that would take him into Havre, and he hoped to some sort of controlled oblivion, if such a state existed.
PART 2
Painter Barthelme stepped between the two Indians and pushed the smaller one back over a stool. The stool fell and the man fell with it, hitting his head hard on the floor. He moaned and rolled over and held the back of his head. The fight had gone out of him for the moment.
Painter turned to the other man and said, “Now what the hell is this all about?”
“He attacked me,” said the other man. He was big and drunk, but not drunk enough to take chances with.
Painter kept his hand on his holster and tried to gauge the man’s eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Tell it to me straight.”
“I mean it. Pepion tried to kill me,” said the big Indian. “Jesus, two drinks and he turns into Superman. Look at the bastard.”
Pepion was pulling himself up by the rungs of a bar stool. Painter grabbed him by the arm and jerked him to his feet. “Are you all right?” he said.
“Where is that fucker?” said Pepion. His right eye had closed and his face was red and puffy. His lip was split right under his nose.
Painter turned to the big Indian. “Did you do this?” It was a silly question and Painter almost sighed.
“He came after me. I don’t know what the hell came over him. I was just sitting here with Waker. He’ll tell you. Ain’t it, Waker?”
Waker laughed. “We was just sitting here.” Waker was still sitting there. “We was just talking about our careers.”
“That’s right, officer. We’ve been thinking of starting up our own bowling alley. We’d just got to the part about the cocktail lounge—see, we want to have our own cocktail lounge right in the bowling alley—and this damn Pepion goes berserk.”
“Any idea why?”
“We was just saying that we didn’t think we should allow Indians in. High-class, you see.” Waker winked at the big Indian.
“It’s not that we’re prejudiced,” said the big Indian. He turned to the bar and reached for his bottle of beer, but it lay on its side, its contents still moving like lava down the bar.
“Goddamn you, Pepion,” said the big Indian. He made a fist and stepped forward.
Pepion fell backward over the stool that lay on the floor. This time he grabbed his left elbow and moaned as though his heart would break.
“Now look at that! You saw it—I didn’t touch him. Ain’t it, Waker? See what I mean?”
Painter again helped Pepion to his feet. He held him up and turned to the big Indian. “That’s enough. Now get the hell out of here. Take that other ignorant bastard with you.”
“But it’s a free country,” protested Waker.
“Not for you it isn’t. Now go on. You’ve got five seconds before I run you across the street. Goddamn your hides.”
Painter watched them hurry out the door. He knew it wasn’t because they were afraid of him. It was Friday afternoon and they wanted to remain free men for the night ahead. He would probably see them again. He turned to Pepion. “I’d better get you over to the agency hospital. Get that lip sewed up.”
“Look at my fingers.” Pepion held out his hand. “I can’t even move ’em. I’m gonna sue those fuckers.”
Painter helped Pepion out the door and into his cruiser. He closed the door and looked at his watch. Jesus, two o’clock and I’ve already got my first casualty. What a country. He walked around the car and got in. Pepion was already nodding off. “Now don’t go to sleep on me, Pepion. I thought you were going to sue those fuckers.” But Pepion’s head jerked and hit the window. He slumped down in the seat and was gone.
Just like a baby, thought Painter. Goddamn country. He should have stayed in California … he shouldn’t have let that woman run him out. It was always women with him. He watched his face in the rear-view mirror as he clasped his shoulder harness. It was a handsome face, a real California-rugged cowboy face with crow squints and droopy mustache. He smiled and shook his head. His face always made him feel better. He started the car and backed out onto the street.
2
Kate Loney walked briskly across the tarmac apron toward the terminal. She strode past the other passengers, each of whom turned to look at her with upstaged curiosity, but she seemed unaware of them. In her thick-soled boots she was six feet tall, lean and striking as a dark cat. Her black hair was pulled back from her face and clasped neatly behind her head with a beaded roach. Her necklace was squash blossom, turquoise and silver, and her earrings were silver hoops. She wore a turquoise blouse and a black skirt that came halfway down her calves, and over that, a sheepskin jacket. She looked as if she couldn’t decide what to wear and so she wore a bit of everything. And in truth, she had been a little deliberate about choosing each piece of clothing. She didn’t want to intimidate her brother with one of her city outfits, so she had bought the sheepskin jacket in a Western boutique in Phoenix. She was a little disgusted with herself for that move, but the squash blossom was authentic, right from the heart of Navaho country. She had bought it directly from the woman who made it. She was the only woman silversmith in the Canyon de Chelly area. No middleman. Kate felt righteous about that one.
She was a day late and she hoped her brother knew about the snowstorm in Denver. The plane from Phoenix had been able to land but no flights got off the ground after that, so she had spent the night in a Ramada Inn next to the airport. She had been annoyed at first, but after she got settled in she had found herself enjoying the night’s isolation. It always surprised her, when she was on the road, how pleasant it could be without people, to lie half naked on a queen-size bed and watch a couple of hours of silly shows on the television. It seemed to her at those moments that her life had been drained from her body, and last night it was all she could do to turn back the sheet and crawl into bed. She had poured a glass of Scotch from her traveling flask, but she hadn’t the energy to drink it. Usually a Scotch revived her, but last night it didn’t have a chance.
As she strode toward the terminal she felt good, renewed, joyful and annoyed. She loved her brother more than anything, but she had gotten used to hiding this feeling, not out of awkwardness or reserve, but because it almost broke her heart to think of him. And thinking this, she was annoyed because she knew from past experience that he wouldn’t be there.
She looked at the terminal window for the first time and felt her heart lift as she looked into her brother’s wolfish face, so hungry and shy that she became giddy.
And as she hugged his thin body, she breathed in the sour, smoky odor of bars and booze and she didn’t care. She heard him say, “I waited for you,” and she said, “Yes, you did, didn’t you?”
And he said, “I thought about going home but I waited for you.”
When he said it a third time, she realized that he was absolutely smashed, but she didn’t even mind that much. She was here and she knew what to do. She sat him down and put her leather briefcase on his lap. Then she walked over to the car rental counter. She didn’t bother to ask him if he had brought his. She handed the girl her American Express card and she looked out toward the airplane which was taxiing toward the runway and she thought, Perhaps by this time next week both of us … But she didn’t allow herself to complete her thought. Bad luck; she didn’t need it.
3
“What shall we do today?”
Kate watched the soapy water swirl down the drain. The breakfast dishes glistened in a rack beside her. She was happy and at peace with this small world. It seemed so simple and logical—no planes, no appointments, no calls to return, no stacks of paper. It was just this—breakfast dishes and a free day. She looked out the window to the yard next door and she smiled. I’m the one who’s supposed to convince him that he should come back to Washington with me, and all I can think of is how peaceful his life is.
And it had been a perfect three days. The morning after their drive down from Havre, Loney had got up and gone to the store for groceries. By the time Kate staggered into the kitchen, still exhausted from the accumulation of her life, he had cleaned it and was starting breakfast. He hadn’t seemed to be hung over at all. He had been fresh, and a little apologetic. Until she hugged him.
Now she looked at the frozen clothes on the line next door and she wished they could both have a life like this, but she knew they couldn’t. She needed her work and he needed something. He would start drinking again as soon as she left, and so it was important that she keep her goal fixed.
But she was happy and she felt her brother’s eyes on her, and she knew that for a change a man, a young man, was watching her without a trace of desire or lust or whatever. He was simply watching her. She had become used to the men in Washington and the men she met on the road. Most of them were business associates in one way or another, but when the business was done and the inevitable cocktails flowed, they became randy and full of themselves. The men on the road were the worst. They seemed to think of her as a sex-starved gypsy and imagined they were there to satisfy her as no other man could. She had become an expert at recognizing that precise moment when the good fellowship ended and the lust began. And she knew that she was asking for it, not by innuendo or suggestion but by the nature of things, a woman in a man’s world and so on and on. If you were the least bit attractive you became the object of their fuck game. And you became cynical.
