No Country for Old Men

  Chigurh stood at the receptionist's desk dressed in suit and tie. He set the case in the floor at his feet and looked around the office.

  How do you spell that? she said.

  He told her.

  Is he expecting you?

  No. He's not. But he's going to be glad to see me.

  Just a minute.

  She buzzed the inner office. There was a silence. Then she hung the phone up. Go right in, she said.

  He opened the door and walked in and a man at the desk stood up and looked at him. He came around the desk and held out his hand. I know that name, he said.

  They sat on a sofa in the corner of the office and Chigurh set the case on the coffeetable and nodded at it. That's yours, he said.

  What is it?

  It's some money that belongs to you.

  The man sat looking at the case. Then he got up and went over to the desk and leaned and pushed a button. Hold my calls, he said.

  He turned and put his hands on either side of the desk behind him and leaned back and studied Chigurh. How did you find me? he said.

  What difference does it make?

  It makes a difference to me.

  You dont have to worry. Nobody else is coming.

  How do you know?

  Because I'm in charge of who is coming and who is not. I think we need to address the issue here. I dont want to spend a lot of time trying to put your mind at ease. I think it would be both hopeless and thankless. So let's talk about money.

  All right.

  Some of it is missing. About a hundred thousand dollars. Part of that was stolen and part of it went to cover my expenses. I've been at some pains to recover your property so I'd prefer not to be addressed as some sort of bearer of bad news here. There is two point three mil in that case. I'm sorry I couldnt recover it all, but there you are.

  The man hadnt moved. After a while he said: Who the hell are you?

  My name is Anton Chigurh.

  I know that.

  Then why did you ask?

  What do you want. I guess that's my question.

  Well. I'd say that the purpose of my visit is simply to establish my bonafides. As someone who is an expert in a difficult field. As someone who is completely reliable and completely honest. Something like that.

  Someone I might do business with.

  Yes.

  You're serious.

  Completely.

  Chigurh watched him. He watched the dilation in his eyes and the pulse in the artery of his neck. The rate of his breathing. When he'd first put his hands on the desk behind him he had looked somewhat relaxed. He was still standing in the identical attitude but he didnt look that way anymore.

  There's not a bomb in that damn bag is there?

  No. No bombs.

  Chigurh undid the straps and unlatched the brass hasp and opened the leather flap and tipped the case forward.

  Yes, the man said. Put that away.

  Chigurh closed the bag. The man stood up from his leaning against the desk. He wiped his mouth with his foreknuckle.

  I think what you need to consider, Chigurh said, is how you lost this money in the first place. Who you listened to and what happened when you did.

  Yes. We cant talk here.

  I understand. In any case I dont expect you to absorb all of this at one sitting. I'll call you in two days time.

  All right.

  Chigurh rose from the couch. The man nodded toward the case. You could do a lot of business on your own with that, he said.

  Chigurh smiled. We have a lot to talk about, he said. We'll be dealing with new people now. There wont be any more problems.

  What happened to the old people?

  They've moved on to other things. Not everyone is suited to this line of work. The prospect of outsized profits leads people to exaggerate their own capabilities. In their minds. They pretend to themselves that they are in control of events where perhaps they are not. And it is always one's stance upon uncertain ground that invites the attentions of one's enemies. Or discourages it.

  And you? What about your enemies?

  I have no enemies. I dont permit such a thing.

  He looked around the room. Nice office, he said. Low key. He nodded to a painting on the wall. Is that original?

  The man looked at the painting. No, he said. It's not. But I own the original. I keep it in a vault.

  Excellent, said Chigurh.

  The funeral was on a cold and windy day in March. She stood beside her grandmother's sister. The sister's husband sat in front of her in a wheelchair with his chin resting in his hand. The dead woman had more friends than she would have reckoned. She was surprised. They'd come with their faces veiled in black. She put her hand on her uncle's shoulder and he reached up across his chest and patted it. She had thought maybe he was asleep. The whole while that the wind blew and the preacher talked she had the feeling that someone was watching her. Twice she even looked around.

  It was dark when she got home. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on and sat at the kitchen table. She hadnt felt like crying. Now she did. She lowered her face into her folded arms. Oh Mama, she said.

  When she went upstairs and turned on the light in her bedroom Chigurh was sitting at the little desk waiting for her.

  She stood in the doorway, her hand falling slowly away from the wallswitch. He moved not at all. She stood there, holding her hat. Finally she said: I knowed this wasnt done with.

  Smart girl.

  I aint got it.

  Got what?

  I need to set down.

  Chigurh nodded toward the bed. She sat and put her hat on the bed beside her and then picked it up again and held it to her.

  Too late, Chigurh said.

  I know.

  What is it that you havent got?

  I think you know what I'm talkin about.

  How much do you have.

  I dont have none of it. I had about seven thousand dollars all told and I can tell you it's been long gone and they's bills aplenty left to pay yet. I buried my mother today. I aint paid for that neither.

  I wouldnt worry about it.

  She looked at the bedside table.

  It's not there, he said.

  She sat slumped forward, holding her hat in her arms. You've got no cause to hurt me, she said.

  I know. But I gave my word.

  Your word?

  Yes. We're at the mercy of the dead here. In this case your husband.

  That dont make no sense.

  I'm afraid it does.

  I dont have the money. You know I aint got it.

  I know.

  You give your word to my husband to kill me?

  Yes.

  He's dead. My husband is dead.

  Yes. But I'm not.

  You dont owe nothin to dead people.

  Chigurh cocked his head slightly. No? he said.

  How can you?

  How can you not?

  They're dead.

  Yes. But my word is not dead. Nothing can change that.

  You can change it.

  I dont think so. Even a nonbeliever might find it useful to model himself after God. Very useful, in fact.

  You're just a blasphemer.

  Hard words. But what's done cannot be undone. I think you understand that. Your husband, you may be distressed to learn, had the opportunity to remove you from harm's way and he chose not to do so. He was given that option and his answer was no. Otherwise I would not be here now.

  You aim to kill me.

  I'm sorry.

  She put the hat down on the bed and turned and looked out the window. The new green of the trees in the light of the vaporlamp in the yard bending and righting again in the evening wind. I dont know what I ever done, she said. I truly dont.

  Chigurh nodded. Probably you do, he said. There's a reason for everything.

  She shook her head. How many times I've said them very words. I wont again.

  You've suffered a lo
ss of faith.

  I've suffered a loss of everthing I ever had. My husband wanted to kill me?

  Yes. Is there anything that you'd like to say?

  To who?

  I'm the only one here.

  I dont have nothin to say to you.

  You'll be all right. Try not to worry about it.

  What?

  I see your look, he said. It doesn't make any difference what sort of person I am, you know. You shouldnt be more frightened to die because you think I'm a bad person.

  I knowed you was crazy when I seen you settin there, she said. I knowed exactly what was in store for me. Even if I couldnt of said it.

  Chigurh smiled. It's a hard thing to understand, he said. I see people struggle with it. The look they get. They always say the same thing.

  What do they say.

  They say: You dont have to do this.

  You dont.

  It's not any help though, is it?

  No.

  So why do you say it?

  I aint never said it before.

  Any of you.

  There's just me, she said. There aint nobody else.

  Yes. Of course.

  She looked at the gun. She turned away. She sat with her head down, her shoulders shaking. Oh Mama, she said.

  None of this was your fault.

  She shook her head, sobbing.

  You didnt do anything. It was bad luck.

  She nodded.

  He watched her, his chin in his hand. All right, he said. This is the best I can do.

  He straightened out his leg and reached into his pocket and drew out a few coins and took one and held it up. He turned it. For her to see the justice of it. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and weighed it and then flipped it spinning in the air and caught it and slapped it down on his wrist. Call it, he said.

  She looked at him, at his outheld wrist. What? She said.

  Call it.

  I wont do it.

  Yes you will. Call it.

  God would not want me to do that.

  Of course he would. You should try to save yourself. Call it. This is your last chance.

  Heads, she said.

  He lifted his hand away. The coin was tails.

  I'm sorry.

  She didnt answer.

  Maybe it's for the best.

  She looked away. You make it like it was the coin. But you're the one.

  It could have gone either way.

  The coin didnt have no say. It was just you.

  Perhaps. But look at it my way. I got here the same way the coin did.

  She sat sobbing softly. She didnt answer.

  For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.

  Everthing I ever thought has turned out different, she said. There aint the least part of my life I could of guessed. Not this, not none of it.

  I know.

  You wouldnt of let me off noway.

  I had no say in the matter. Every moment in your life is a turning and every one a choosing. Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape is drawn. No line can be erased. I had no belief in your ability to move a coin to your bidding. How could you? A person's path through the world seldom changes and even more seldom will it change abruptly. And the shape of your path was visible from the beginning.

  She sat sobbing. She shook her head.

  Yet even though I could have told you how all of this would end I thought it not too much to ask that you have a final glimpse of hope in the world to lift your heart before the shroud drops, the darkness. Do you see?

  Oh God, she said. Oh God.

  I'm sorry.

  She looked at him a final time. You dont have to, she said. You dont. You dont.

  He shook his head. You're asking that I make myself vulnerable and that I can never do. I have only one way to live. It doesnt allow for special cases. A coin toss perhaps. In this case to small purpose. Most people dont believe that there can be such a person. You can see what a problem that must be for them. How to prevail over that which you refuse to acknowledge the existence of. Do you understand? When I came into your life your life was over. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the end. You can say that things could have turned out differently. That they could have been some other way. But what does that mean? They are not some other way. They are this way. You're asking that I second say the world. Do you see?

  Yes, she said, sobbing. I do. I truly do.

  Good, he said. That's good. Then he shot her.

  The car that hit Chigurh in the intersection three blocks from the house was a ten year old Buick that had run a stopsign. There were no skidmarks at the site and the vehicle had made no attempt to brake. Chigurh never wore a seatbelt driving in the city because of just such hazards and although he saw the vehicle coming and threw himself to the other side of the truck the impact carried the caved-in driver side door to him instantly and broke his arm in two places and broke some ribs and cut his head and his leg. He crawled out of the passenger side door and staggered to the sidewalk and sat in the grass of someone's lawn and looked at his arm. Bone sticking up under the skin. Not good. A woman in a housedress ran out screaming.

  Blood kept running into his eyes and he tried to think. He held the arm and turned it and tried to see how badly it was bleeding. If the median artery were severed. He thought not. His head was ringing. No pain. Not yet.

  Two teenage boys were standing there looking at him.

  Are you all right, mister?

  Yeah, he said. I'm all right. Let me just sit here a minute.

  There's an ambulance comin. Man over yonder went to call one.

  All right.

  You sure you're all right.

  Chigurh looked at them. What will you take for that shirt? he said.

  They looked at each other. What shirt?

  Any damn shirt. How much?

  He straightened out his leg and reached in his pocket and got out his moneyclip. I need something to wrap around my head and I need a sling for this arm.

  One of the boys began to unbutton his shirt. Hell, mister. Why didnt you say so? I'll give you my shirt.

  Chigurh took the shirt and bit into it and ripped it in two down the back. He wrapped his head in a bandanna and he twisted the other half of the shirt into a sling and put his arm in it.

  Tie this for me, he said.

  They looked at each other.

  Just tie it.

  The boy in the T-shirt stepped forward and knelt and knotted the sling. That arm dont look good, he said.

  Chigurh thumbed a bill out of the clip and put the clip back in his pocket and took the bill from between his teeth and got to his feet and held it out.

  Hell, mister. I dont mind helpin somebody out. That's a lot of money.

  Take it. Take it and you dont know what I looked like. You hear?

  The boy took the bill. Yessir, he said.

  They watched him set off up the sidewalk, holding the twist of the bandanna against his head, limping slightly. Part of that's mine, the other boy said.

  You still got your damn shirt.

  That aint what it was for.

  That may be, but I'm still out a shirt.

  They walked out into the street where the vehicles sat steaming. The streetlamps had come on. A pool of green antifreeze was collecting in the gutter. When they passed the open door of Chigurh's truck the one in the T-shirt stopped the other with his hand. You see what I see? he said.

  Shit, the other one said.

  What they saw was Chigurh's pistol lying in the floorboard of the truck. They could already hear the sirens in the distance. Get it, the first one said. Go on.

  Why me?

  I aint got a shirt to cover it with. Go on. Hurry.

  He climbed the three wooden steps to the porch and tapped loosely at the door with the back of his hand. He took off his hat and pressed his shirtsleeve against his forehead an
d put his hat back on again.

  Come in, a voice called.

  He opened the door and stepped into the cool darkness. Ellis?

  I'm back here. Come on back.

  He walked through to the kitchen. The old man was sitting beside the table in his chair. The room smelled of old bacongrease and stale woodsmoke from the stove and over it all lay a faint tang of urine. Like the smell of cats but it wasnt just cats. Bell stood in the doorway and took his hat off. The old man looked up at him. One clouded eye from a cholla spine where a horse had thrown him years ago. Hey, Ed Tom, he said. I didnt know who that was.

  How are you makin it?

  You're lookin at it. You by yourself?

  Yessir.

  Set down. You want some coffee?

  Bell looked at the clutter on the checked oilcloth. Bottles of medicine. Breadcrumbs. Quarterhorse magazines. Thank you no, he said. I appreciate it.

  I had a letter from your wife.

  You can call her Loretta.

  I know I can. Did you know she writes me?

  I guess I knew she'd wrote you a time or two.

  It's more than a time or two. She writes pretty regular. Tells me the family news.

  I didnt know there was any.

  You might be surprised.

  So what was special about this letter then.

  She just told me you was quittin, that's all. Set down.

  The old man didnt watch to see if he would or he wouldnt. He fell to rolling himself a cigarette from a sack of tobacco at his elbow. He twisted the end in his mouth and turned it around and lit it with an old Zippo lighter worn through to the brass. He sat smoking, holding the cigarette pencilwise in his fingers.

  Are you all right? Bell said.

  I'm all right.

  He wheeled the chair slightly sideways and watched Bell through the smoke. I got to say you look older, he said.

  I am older.

  The old man nodded. Bell had pulled out a chair and sat and he put his hat on the table.

  Let me ask you somethin, he said.

  All right.

  What's your biggest regret in life.

  The old man looked at him, gauging the question. I dont know, he said. I aint got all that many regrets. I could imagine lots of things that you might think would make a man happier. I reckon bein able to walk around might be one. You can make up your own list. You might even have one. I think by the time you're grown you're as happy as you're goin to be. You'll have good times and bad times, but in the end you'll be about as happy as you was before. Or as unhappy. I've knowed people that just never did get the hang of it.

  I know what you mean.