The Son

  “That is a rather large refreshment,” he said. She noticed that in her absence he had spread the blanket out neatly, and moved it farther into the shade, and she was jittery again.

  “I forgot the cups,” she said. “We will have to share.”

  “I have no objection.”

  “I doubted you would. This is my great-grandfather’s recipe,” she added.

  He took a big sip. “That is a delicious julep.” He coughed. “My Lord. Be careful it doesn’t put hair on your chest.”

  “I have been drinking these since I was a child.” She took a sip, and then another, and felt it go to her head instantly.

  “Oh my,” she said. She lay back.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You look to be in distress.”

  Still, he hesitated. He wasn’t like the others. She felt the annoyance coming back and then she decided she liked it. She took his hand and pulled him over. They kissed for a long time, in what she thought was a very considerate way; he mostly stayed to one side of her. Then she was waiting and wanting for his hands to wander but they didn’t. She began to move her hips and then he stopped kissing her and the feeling of embarrassment came back; she had somehow gone too far again.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “I believe we should continue our search for oil and I also believe that your great-uncle will kill me.”

  He does not mean kill, she thought, he means ruin, and it was depressing to hear people worrying about money; she felt herself get cold inside. She did not want to look at him. She decided that if she never saw him again, she would not mind. Maybe that wasn’t fair. She made herself say, “He won’t hear a word about it.”

  “Thirdly, though it is against my own self-interest to mention this, I can take one look at that house and see I am not right for you.”

  She knew what he meant but she pretended not to. She felt tired, enormously tired, she was tired of these men being nice to her, she wanted him to lift up her dress or push her against a wall, she wanted him to stop asking and stop talking. “Do you have a bad reputation?” she made herself say.

  “I have no reputation. I’ve spent my life chasing oil instead of chasing tail.” Then he added: “Unfortunately, and my dad was more the type to dip me in the water than send me to the whorehouse.”

  “It decreases your risk of a disease.”

  “Yes, though it increases my risk of losing a limb.”

  “Is it really that dangerous?” A stupid thing to say: obviously it was dangerous, he’d just lost his father. But she found she did not care at that minute, she did not want to go in this direction, she did not care about his father or anyone else.

  “It’s getting safer all the time.”

  “You could do anything you wanted,” she said, “it is plain to see just watching you.”

  “I happen to like doing this.”

  It was quiet.

  “Just so you know, my being broke is a temporary situation. Though fortunate for your family.”

  She pulled him over and kissed him again. They stayed like that for a while, but still his hands didn’t wander, it was frustrating, she was ready to give herself to him, she had a feeling she might not ever see him again, she wondered if there was something about her, about her body or about her face or just something else entirely, that men didn’t like.

  Perhaps they sensed her inexperience, perhaps they thought she would not be good at it, or that it would mean too much to her; it means nothing, she wanted to tell him, it feels like a curse to me and I want to be rid of it. Or perhaps they did not think about her that way at all. Perhaps she was simply someone nice to talk to. She began to feel cold again.

  “I guess we have to get back to work?”

  “We should,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said. “Great. That is a great idea.” She sat up and gathered her things quickly and walked to the truck ahead of him. She could feel his eyes on her, he did not know what he’d done wrong, but she didn’t care. She wanted to go home.

  THEY SPENT THE rest of the day driving, stopping every so often so he could make marks on his maps.

  “How do people find their way around here?” he said. “It all looks the same.”

  “It doesn’t look the same at all,” she said.

  “Perhaps I’ll get used to it.”

  “How long will you be down here?” She did not care, she was just asking.

  “If we find oil? It could be years if I am not hanged from that oak tree in front of your house.”

  “That is a cedar elm,” she said.

  “We will see.”

  “Do you always talk so much?” she said.

  He blushed and looked out his window and it got quiet and awkward again. She considered asking to be dropped off at the house but instead she said, “Did you ever go to school?”

  “To a certain extent.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I am a proud graduate of the sixth grade.”

  “I guess it’s better than nothing.”

  “Even that is an exaggeration, unfortunately.”

  “You seem to be able to read and write.”

  “As we say back home, there are coonasses and then there are coonasses. I am the first type.”

  That night they took supper with the vaqueros. Hank spoke to them in Spanish. She could tell they liked him, though they were suspicious, and also, she could see, jealous, which surprised her. Her feelings came back. But when supper was over and all the maids and Flores and Hugo were cleaning up, he excused himself. “We need to get an early start tomorrow,” he told them. “Good night.” Not a word to her. She went to bed furious.

  THE NEXT MORNING they were driving and she ordered him to stop to collect more mint.

  “You are intent on making sure we don’t get any work done, aren’t you?”

  “You’ll be here a year.”

  “If your uncle doesn’t throw me off.”

  “Fine. I don’t care what we do.”

  “Don’t sound disappointed.”

  “Too late,” she said.

  “Are you really?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  This made her furious. “You are quite stupid.”

  He reached over and tried to take her hand. At first she didn’t let him.

  THAT AFTERNOON THEY laid a blanket out in the shade. She encouraged his hands to wander, which they did, but then there was the natural pause and it seemed to not go any further. She felt her interest peak and decline, all the heat seemed to go out of her, as if she were already feeling a disappointment that had not arrived. She decided to think about it mechanically, a problem she might solve, and she made herself sit up and unbutton Hank’s shirt, though she was not sure exactly how to get it off his back, and then she undid his belt and the buttons of his pants. He didn’t stop her but he gave her a questioning look. She nodded. Then he took over and a few seconds later he was entirely naked. And then she was as well. He was suspended in the air over her, looking at her breasts, at the rest of her body, she guessed he was enjoying it but he might also have been judging, either way it was uncomfortable and she pulled him on top of her.

  They lay there, sliding a little, then more, and after a time it was unbearable, she began to push against him much harder, she was not sure how to get what she wanted, she lifted her hips, and then again, and then suddenly he was inside her. It had not hurt at all. In fact it was the opposite. She pulled him closer and then it hurt, though it stopped again immediately. It was like a paper-thin wall between what pinched and what felt exactly as she’d hoped. Then he began to take over and she forgot herself for a moment, then remembered again and began to wonder if the only reason they made such a big deal about the pain was to keep you from doing it every minute of your life.

  She could see the trees above her, then she was not sure, it did not seem like she was any particular place at all, she wondered
if she was bleeding, there will be blood, they said, blood blood blood, as if this were the worst thing on earth, she wanted to laugh, she must not laugh, it would not be taken the right way. She was in and out of her body, in and out of sleep, here and then somewhere else, and then here again. On a blanket with a man on top of her, a rock or stick or something hard in her back. She pulled him tight against her. It went on a long time until he pulled out of her suddenly. She knew why but she was still sorry.

  Then he said, “Sorry,” as well.

  “For what?” She kissed his neck.

  “It’ll be better next time.”

  “I liked it.”

  “It will be better.”

  “Go back in,” she said.

  “Give me a few minutes.” He rolled off and lay next to her with his leg over her.

  She began to move her hips. It felt like she was breaking some rule and she was happy. “Can you use your hand?” She had a feeling she was being greedy, but he happily complied.

  She could feel it building, it was much better than anything she’d tried herself, but before she finished he climbed on top again.

  “Go slower and take longer strokes,” she told him.

  He did and she felt a sort of heat washing over her, like someone had dipped her in a warm bucket (red paint, she thought, it feels red), she could feel it spreading from her waist.

  Later it began to feel very good again and he pulled out of her just as suddenly. She held him so he wouldn’t go away. He tried to lift his head to kiss her neck. She could see he didn’t have the energy. He was like a person drunk or asleep, he moved his mouth from her ear to her shoulder without actually kissing her. He had nice breath. She held him tighter.

  “Did you?” He said, after a minute.

  Had he really not been able to tell? She was hurt and then no, she was just being sensitive. It was likely normal.

  He was talking again, “Do you think . . .”

  “Shhhhhh,” she said. “Shhhhhh shhhhhhhh shhhhhhhh.” She still felt like she was underwater, or in a warm bath. She woke up a short while later, her heart was beating strangely, it was not hers, but his. Blood, she thought again, she found this hilarious, people were stupid, she could not believe it, silly, she thought. She began to stroke his back, she kissed his hair. He sighed but didn’t wake up. There was a breeze and she could hear the trickling of the water from the spring where it ran down the hill past the old church, where her brothers had found the grave, all gone, she thought, all dead, she watched the sun flickering. If I died . . .

  A short while later Hank was inside her again but now her bladder was full. He continued to move but she wanted to get up. She was not exactly sure what to say to him and she began to wonder if she’d given away something valuable, the most valuable thing she had, without asking for a single thing in return, without even asking for a promise. She wanted to stop him and be reassured, but this was not a good idea, he might say anything now.

  As if he’d been reading her thoughts, he seemed to wake up and all his weight came off her.

  “Was I smothering you?”

  “No,” she said.

  He rolled off slightly, she sighed as he came out. They lay together, legs entangled, for a long time, until finally she had to get up or there would be a real accident, there was no getting around it.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need a minute alone,” she said.

  “For what?” Then he realized.

  She slipped her dress on and her shoes and scooted off to the other side of the house.

  When she came back to the blanket he was still naked, lying with the sun spotted all over him. It was nice in the shade. She ran her hands over his chest. It was bony, though he had muscle there, his shoulders were thin as well, though ropy, there was just nothing extra anywhere on his body. She traced the thin line of dark hairs from his belly button down below his waist, his . . . (penis, she thought), there were a variety of words but she was not sure which was correct in this situation, it was lying against his leg, much darker than the rest of him. It was covered with a dried-up film, and there were spots of that on his belly as well. She touched him and he flinched.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Surprised me, is all.”

  It seemed small now. Very small. She nearly said something about this, then decided against it.

  “What do you think Phineas would say?” she asked.

  “That is a very scary thought.”

  “I think he will be happy,” she said.

  “You are probably the only person in Texas who thinks so. But . . .” He shrugged. “I imagine he knew this would happen. Or something like it.”

  “Though maybe not so soon.”

  “I cannot see how he would approve of me for you, but he is no dummy, either. I was surprised when he asked me to drive you home. That did not make sense to me. I took one look at you and thought . . .”

  “What,” she said.

  “I thought you would never speak to me, that’s all.”

  “Why would he have sent us down here together?”

  “I think the main reason was I am willing to work cheap.”

  “He is not stupid,” she said.

  “Oh, he is definitely not stupid. I have no doubt about that.”

  “I mean he likes you. He does not like many people.”

  “Huh.”

  “And maybe because we’re both orphans.”

  “I’d never thought of it that way.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” he said.

  It was quiet.

  “It’s up to you how you’re going to feel about that stuff,” he said. “People have it a lot worse.”

  “You don’t really like me,” she said.

  “You’re right. I can’t tell if I like you or not.”

  She pushed him.

  “You look nice in the sun.”

  “I feel nice,” she said. She had taken her dress off again. The sun was nothing but spots on the other side of her eyelids. “I could lie here forever.”

  THEY MADE LOVE again that night and then went off to their bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. She did not want Flores suspecting anything, though why this concerned her, she wasn’t sure, she lay there and felt slightly guilty, again wondering if she’d made a mistake.

  But when morning came her first thought was of him, of why he was not in bed with her, and she hugged her pillow toward her and lay half on top of it, then kissed it, imagining it was his neck. Then she got a strange feeling. She wondered if she ought to stay home today. To lock herself in her room and not come out . . . it was an extravagance, something she might use up, she should not waste it all at once. Yes, it was certain, she should not see him. It would not do to get used to him.

  Time was passing and she realized that he must be waiting for her downstairs; she got a nervous excited feeling and made herself up quickly and hurried to meet him.

  They ate breakfast slowly, both struggling for things to talk about while staring intensely at Flores’s back and willing her to leave as soon as possible. Finally Jeannie had told her, in what she hoped was an innocent voice (though it was not, it could not be), that she and Hank would clean up.

  When Flores was gone they pulled each other’s clothes off in the pantry, they tried it first standing up, but it was not satisfying and finally she was on the floor, among the bags of beans and flour, she felt a brief cold flash as if her father was seeing and judging her and then she decided she would do as she pleased.

  SIX MONTHS LATER the first drilling rig was up and running. After all the shot testing, Hank decided the best place to start was in one of the old Garcia pastures. He insisted (disgustingly, she thought at first, then endearingly) on putting the samples of rock into his mouth; he plucked them right from the shale shaker. They were starting to taste like oil, he claimed, and if she wanted to learn the business, she would have to learn how it tasted. He offered her a crumbly piece of limestone
from several thousand feet below the earth. It was wet with drilling mud, she smelled it, it was sulfurous and disgusting. She touched it to her tongue and wanted to gag immediately; it did taste like oil, but it tasted like other things as well, like something bitter or rotten, it had been in the damp earth for eighty or a hundred million years.

  Near the end of the day the big Cummins diesel had suddenly changed pitch, the drill string gave a little hop and then dropped into the hole and then the derrick, the entire steel superstructure above them, gave a loud groan as if suddenly burdened.

  “Not good,” Hank said.

  The engine was running with less strain, it was quieter, but the hands were suddenly moving with purpose. There was a movement high in the derrick; the derrickman had come off the monkey board; he was half jumping, half sliding down the ladder. He brushed past her, running down the stairs toward the mud pits; a short time later, the mud motor got louder.

  Nothing seemed to have changed but everyone was running around like a circus. It was amusing. She leaned back against the railing.

  The piperacker and tongman were cutting sacks of yellow barite powder and dumping them into the mud pits; the derrickman was pumping mud from the reserve.

  Now she could see a change: the return mud pipe, which had been flowing smoothly out onto the shale shaker all day, began to burp and sputter. The drilling mud was what kept the drill string in the hole; the drilling mud was the only thing keeping gas from blowing out of the wellbore.

  She began to get nervous. A minute later there was a popping noise and mud blew out over the top of the traveling block. There was a sulfur smell and Hank pointed at her and said: “Get out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re getting kicked.”

  Then he stopped paying attention to her again. She was not sure if he was treating her like a girl. She decided she would not be treated any differently. She stayed where she was. She would never learn this if she went running off every time things got complicated.