CHAPTER 20: Swapping Lies with Charles
It's midnight and I'm sitting under a bridge with Charles. A train's going by overhead, and the clatter is so loud we can't talk right now. We have a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and when we finish a bottle, we throw it into the cement embankment so that it shatters. Charles has his pistol, the shiny one he says belonged to Lenny. He tries to shoot the bottles before they hit the cement. The road's not far away, so I'm afraid someone in a passing car will hear the shots, and we'll get into trouble. He missed the last one I threw, just made a thud on the cement and fell into the stream. The bullet ricocheted and hit just to my right. I hear a bullfrog with what sounds like a rubber throat start croaking. I look in the dark shadows of some tules, but I don't see him. I sit back down. The caboose rattles off the bridge, so Charles starts in on me again about him and Trish not being any of my business.
"Look, Bobby, I like Trish. What I do with her is my business. What Trish does with me is her business. She is not you. If she has a problem, she can come to me or she can go to her parents, to you or anybody else. I may not like it but she can do it. She's free to do whatever she wants." He throws an empty bottle awkward like with his left hand and shoots it with that pistol before it gets to the embankment. Dark ripples spread from all the pieces of glass that hit the water.
"But she's under age."
"Here you sit drinking beer I bought and paid for with my own hard-earned money, you who live at home with everything paid for and don't know the value of a dollar, you only seventeen when the drinking age is twenty-one, you getting all the benefits of running around with someone that's a little older and you sit here telling me why it's wrong for someone else to do the same thing."
"But she's a kid, Charles. Damn!" I would have stopped myself if I could, but I've already jumped up off the ground. "And she's a girl. Charles, she's so plain and skinny like a broom handle. Just a freshman. Just fourteen."
"Ya? Well, sit down, Bobby. I didn't say I punched her. We had a good conversation the other night. I know you like those girls with all the makeup and tight skirts. But some girls have something that shows through clothes, no matter what they have on.
"You better stay away from her, Charles. I'm warning you."
"What?" And now I've got his interest. "What did you say? I want to make sure I heard you right. You're doing what to me?"
I didn't notice the bullfrog had quit but now he starts up again.
"Don't mess around with her. She's too young."
"Now you're coming back to your senses. And I suppose there's some truth to what you're saying. She's more grownup in a lot of ways than you. Look, if you're jealous, I can understand. Some boys have a thing for their sister."
"Ah, shutup, Charles. You're warped."
"What!" And he gets up and kicks me on the leg and it hurts. "Wait a minute," he says and walks away from me. "Goddamn wait a minute! I don't talk to you like that. Why are you talking to me like that? That's not something you get away with." Him and his words are going away from me, and then he turns around, comes back, grabs me by the shirt collar, stands me up.
He's going to hit me.
"Goddamn, you're going to be so good at what I've got planned." He turns me loose so that I fall to the ground. "Oh, christ!" And he turns his back on me, walks away again. "Come on bullfrog. Come to Charlie." It's as if he's a little kid now. "Come to Charlie, little bullfrog," and then he starts shooting that pistol into the tules. I count five, maybe six shots into the dark water, him just slinging bullets out the end of that pistol barrel, every shot spitting a little fire. "Ah-ha. Ah-ha," he says, staring into that dark water like it's a deep well. Then he takes a long stick, starts raking in the water. When he comes back out of the darkness, he's holding up that bullfrog by a toe, it spread-eagled against the stars, a little quiver running through it.
"You like frog legs?" he asks. "When you peel the green skin off, they look like a baby's legs. Put a little salt on them and they'll be nervous all night." Then he sits down, starts talking about the stunt we're setting up to scare a bunch of kids. It's like we never argued.
"Have a seat, over here," says Charles, patting the ground beside him. He tells me about an old house he's staked out not far from here, vacated recently so it still looks lived in. I'm supposed to tell the kids at school that there's a woman living there who'll give it to anybody. She's young and the most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen, blond hair, blue eyes, big tits. The works. She had an old man but he ran off and left her, so there's no one else home, nothing to be afraid of. To make it believable, we need two groups of kids. One group that knows that it's a joke, and one that wants to get laid. The group that knows is to say they got laid last weekend, and she was the best they ever had. Her name will be Mary.
I have on my heavy coat. Even though it's cold and getting a little foggy, I lay back on the grassy bank and use the church key to pop the top on another Pabst Blue Ribbon. I wipe the moisture from the cold bottle on my pant leg. I have this image of Mary wearing a white blouse and yellow skirt with a black belt cinched tight around her waist. Even though Charles didn't say so, I know her long blond hair is parted in the middle and hangs down around her shoulders in big curls. I think she smiles a lot too. The only problems she has are caused by her no-account husband leaving her. I'm wishing she was for real because she sure sounds good to me. Charles keeps telling me to emphasize that there's nothing to be afraid of.
He stops talking for a while. "Do you like to lie, Bobby?"
"Don't guess so," I answer real quick. "Sometimes it's hard enough trying to tell the truth without making things up."
"Well, I like to lie," he says.
Now I feel a little silly because I didn't understand what he was talking about.
"I like to make up lies, sort of storytelling really. That's what this stunt is we're pulling, just a lie being acted out. It's almost like a play except that the actors don't know it's just a play. But nobody gets hurt, and you won't believe the thrill. You're going to talk about this till the day you die. But the others, the ones that don't know that it's a trick, they'll get the biggest thrill. This is really for them. They're going to see people die all around them. They'll know they're going to die too. And after it's over, all the kids that died will come back to life. Just like you would want it to be."
I'm thinking that seeing people die is not exactly my kind of thrill, but after him explaining it that way, it doesn't seem so bad.
Charles starts telling lies.
"I'm the reincarnation of William H. Bonney, alias Billy the Kid."
I feel a chill go up my spine, and it's not the cold ground either.
"I've killed twenty-one men, one for every year since I was born. Rustled more cattle than they have in the state of Texas. This time I've come to Chowchilla because it's a place to hide. I came to kidnap and rape women. Came looking for niggers and Fairmead is close by. I've changed from killing white men to niggers. From rustling cows to rustling nigger women. I really like niggers. They're just like toy people. You can fight them. You can shoot them. They'll work for you for damn near nothing. You can cuss them right to their face. Niggers don't have a soul. I like what you can do with niggers. Take a nigger girl for instance." Then he stops for a minute. "Your turn, Bobby. Keep the story going."
"But I don't know anything about Billy the Kid."
"This is a lie. Just speak like him. Everyone has voices inside them. You can speak with the voice of anyone who's ever lived. Adolph Hitler, if you want. Maybe even people yet to be born. Lenny was really good at this."
So I try to think some mean thoughts while I down the rest of my beer and open another bottle, lean back and stare up at the stars overhead. After a little bit, I feel the sweat pop out on my forehead.
"I'm sitting on a grave," and then I have to stop to take another swig of beer because my throat is dry. "Nothing but sage brush and tombstones as far as I can see. I killed all the men in this cemetery. My perso
nal cemetery. I killed the man that's six feet under me. Only he wasn't really a man yet. Wasn't twenty-one. The only one I feel bad about." I saw a picture of Billy the Kid once, still remember that rumpled hat and the rifle standing at his side, so this is getting easier. "He did something to me. I don't even remember what. But I got him. Killed his parents, maybe. He was leaving the bunk house. Just got on his horse and was riding away. I shot him in the back. Oh, shit!" And I jump and run a little bit. Before I know it I've taken two steps out in the river.
"What the hell are you doing?" Charles wants to know.
"I saw something."
"Well quit crying and get out of the water."
"I'm not crying."
"You are too." And he has to laugh at a little. "Get a hold on yourself. What was it?"
"I shot somebody. I've really shot someone."
"God. You have the highest guilt level of anybody I know. You haven't shot anybody. You just met Billy the Kid. Now get back over here."
So now he has me calmed down a little but my feet are all wet and getting real cold.
"Billy the Kid is powerful stuff for you. Maybe we better back off a little, pick another subject. How about Jack the Ripper. That one ought to carry you a ways. You might jump all the way to Sacramento."
"Come on, Charles. Quit laughing at me. I'm through lying."
"Tell me some lies about all the girls you've laid," he says.
So here I go again. I tell a couple of lies about some girls I've seen but don't even know and throw Brenda in the middle. He tells me that all those girls are ugly.
"I like to screw virgins," says Charles. "They're my specialty. You always get a little blood. How about Bev?" he wants to know because I left her out. I was impressed with her on Halloween night," he says. "She has spunk."
I can tell my face is flushing here in the dark and I hope the moon isn't so bright that he can see, but I'm going to tell the truth about her. Well, maybe not the whole truth.
"No," I say, "Not that I didn't try. But I don't even think she's physically equipped for it." And I try to laugh a little about it, but it doesn't sound right.
Charles doesn't have any trouble laughing. "Physically equipped? Where did you get words like that? You respond well under pressure. You just doubled your vocabulary with one sentence." He laughs again. "You can always tell when a guy's lying," he says. "I bet you got her every night you went with her."
"So tell me about you and Trish." I figure as long as we're by a stream, I might as well fish a little.
"Goddamn, you are really pushy, aren't you? Why can't you leave that alone? We're going to come to blows over her yet. I told you, Trish is a good-looking girl. Brothers never know what their sisters look like. I never thought Lenny would have gone for my sister, Gretta, the way he did either."
"What are you talking about, Charles?" This is really getting disgusting.
"Didn't you know? Gretta and Lenny had a thing for each other."
"But he already had a girlfriend. Helen."
He's real quiet for bit and I think maybe he's had enough of this lying.
"You know about Helen, do you," he says finally.
"I know about the two of them. She's Brenda McCallum's cousin."
"Well, that's another one of the lies people tell. Helen wasn't Lenny's girl. She was mine."
I don't know quite what to say about that.
"I hate to tell you this," he says, "but Lenny had a mean streak. Some of the things he liked belonged to other people. Helen was my girl before she was Lenny's."
"So what's this about Gretta?"
"He fucked my sister. Got her pregnant."
"What?"
"That daughter she's got? Belongs to Lenny."
"You're making this up. This is just a lie."
"Of course, I'm lying. But it's a good lie. Cause everybody knows it's true. Everybody but you."
I throw my bottle up against the cement so quick Charles can't shoot and grab another one while he's talking. I can't even see him now, it's so dark with the moon behind a cloud.
"Lenny wasn't all some people think he was," Charles says. "You don't remember how he treated you, do you? It's been long enough you forgot."
I just get quiet and start choking down my beer. "What's the little girl's name?" I ask.
"Samantha Blake. Four years old. Just started kindergarten at Stephens School."
"That's the same kindergarten I went to. But if she's just four, she's not old enough to be in kindergarten."
"He was always bragging about having laid Gretta. Lenny was an antagonistic sonofabitch," he adds. "Claimed there wasn't a girl in the world he couldn't screw."
I'm thinking that sounds like Lenny all right.
"After that, I guess I came to believe him myself." Charles sounds far away like he's talking to himself.
"I don't believe this, Charles. And I don't like you talking about Lenny that way."
"Lies hurt as much as the truth, don't they? But that's why I kicked his ass. He wasn't as tough as everyone thought either. But he was mean. So I put him in the ground."
"You've gone plumb crazy."
"Something else you don't know." And now his tone has changed, like he's having fun again. "Your mama's not your real mama. And she's a killer. That woman you think is your mama had my mother killed."
"Come on, Charles. Get off it." He doesn't have any reason to start talking about Mama.
He laughs. "Sure. It's true, Bobby. The woman you think is your mother, is your father's second wife. Your fake mother is a murderer. Actually, I even heard once that you're adopted."
"Damn you." I figure two can play this game. I change the subject. "You think that's something. You got shot and killed at Lenny's funeral."
"I what?" he says.
"You're a dead man, Charles. Papa shot you right there by Lenny's casket. I don't know exactly what happened. Aunt Loretta told me Papa shot you right out there on the Cemetery grass and they buried you with Lenny to cut expenses."
"Good god, Bobby. How did you come up with something like that?" But he's tickled to death about it.
"You're not the only one that can tell good lies."
"But they buried me with Lenny?"
"Sure. They opened that casket right up, put Lenny at the head and you at the foot. Just like it was a bunk bed. I tell you, you're a dead man, Charles. No sense talking to you cause you're just a ghost."
"Well you've got part of it right anyway. Lenny's funeral was something else."
"But now I hear that you did all the shooting. You shot Lenny's dog?"
"Rascal? Sure, I shot Rascal. That mangy sonofabitch. But I didn't intend to use the pistol on him. He wasn't to blame for everything."
"Who did you take the pistol for?"
"I'm not telling you that. You're not ready for that one."
"Another thing, I could never figure out why Helen slapped you."
He turns toward me and his face has changed, points his pistol at me this time. The full moon shining off that barrel.
"You shut the hell up. You're asking too many questions," he says.
It gets real quiet for a minute except for another bullfrog that's started sending out its message. I guess I've gone too far. But I turn up my beer, as if him pointing the pistol at me doesn't mean anything.
"I'm not talking about Helen anymore," he says, then lowers the pistol. His face is all scrunched up like it's going to burst and he just shudders all. Then it passes, as if he just had a bad chill. And then he does the strangest thing, like something out of a storybook. And after he has done it, I think maybe it didn't even happen. Like somehow I just dreamed it. But he grabs me and kisses me on the cheek. A quick hard kiss like he's trying to hurt me and doesn't know how. Then he walks away. He stands with his back to me. Takes a pee.
I wipe his slobbers off my face. "This isn't funny anymore, Charles. Let's quit." I wish I could wash my face. I don't like his stuff on me.
"You ever play Russian
roulette?"
"What!"
"Don't worry. Jesus, Bobby. It doesn't work with an automatic pistol. You need a revolver."
He's real quiet now, and a long time before he says anything. "You're right, Bobby." And his voice has changed again. "We've got to quit this. Sometimes I get started lying and just can't stop. Just want to tear apart the entire world." He takes a big breath, sighs. "But I like you, Bobby. You know that? You are a challenge. I like being out with you." Then he changes the subject. "Let's go look at that vacant house."
*
We pull up to a stucco house out in the middle of nowhere. Off to the right is a new barbed wire fence that stands about shoulder high. The wires shine like silver in the moonlight. On the other side of the fence is a peach orchard that looks like it goes on forever. The railroad track is only a hundred yards away and I hear the rhythm of another train on it.
On the way over, I asked Charles about the plan, the one about mining California's gold. "If I'm not leaving Chowchilla after I graduate, I need to know what you have in mind."
"I've put you on hold for a while," he says. "I'm not as sure as I was about you. But it's still gathering steam. You can depend on that."
Charles works the latch on the door with his pocket knife then pushes it open. I look past him as he shines the flashlight around the empty living room. I smell garbage. The linoleum creaks under our feet, and now I hear an owl hooting in the trees. Seems even colder in the house than outside.
"You'll leave the other kids in the car and come in by yourself first," he tells me. "I'll be in here with a flashlight shining on a curtain because the electricity is off." An old refrigerator with the door open stands against the wall in the kitchen. "You and I'll talk for ten minutes, then you go back outside and tell the others that the coast is clear." I see a short hall and the open doors to two bedrooms. "Tell them that you already had your turn and that Mary was even tighter than you remembered."
I feel like we're planning a murder.
He walks into one of the bedrooms. He backs up against me and points with the flashlight. "Look at that," he says, sighting down his arm. And here it's again. Another strange thing from him that I don't know what to do about. He's pointing at the only thing in the room, an old pogo stick standing in the corner, but he has backed up against me and put his hand on my crotch. "I'd like to make some use of that thing," he says.