The Plenty

  Chapter 29.

  In Immaculate, Ray Marak and Matthew Klein sat on opposing sides of a desk with a document between them. The lawyer, Klein, had a known tendency to ramble and wander in his thoughts when discussing matters with clients, anything but the matter at hand, and the common suspicion of why he did this was to increase his billable hours – but this was a falsity. Klein's thoughts followed no main channel, but circled in the backwaters and eddies of a moment. Adding to his distraction was the arrangement of his office, in a large room filled with tangential décor, Minnesota Twins baseball souvenirs and patriotic colors. All of it led to meandering.

  Ray said, "Renee will get the money and the boys will get the land. That's what this says?" His finger tapped the paper.

  "Yes, Ray, yes, it's in that line there," said the aging Klein, pulling on one of his white tufted sideburns and leaning forward with some effort over his belly to point at the document, a templated will and testament, a document that he knew forward and backward from thirty years of practicing law. "It's all as you said on the phone, Ray, all there in the writing. You know, my father served in World War II. In the mechanized infantry, drove a M3 halftrack. Did you ever run across any of those during your time in service? Probably rust heaps by the sixties, I suppose. But they were strange looking things…"

  Distracted by the day's events, Ray said, "Is the document worded so that the back fifty acres will be split along the tree line? So one of the boys will get thirty acres and the other twenty? That's if the boys decide for some reason to divide the land. Did you include that?" Getting late in the afternoon already, Ray began to worry that Renee would have to call in the cows for milking.

  "Yes," said Klein, "the tree-line stipulation, it's in there, too. Halftracks had many breakdowns. There was always something to fix..."

  "Sounds like you were the one in the war," said Ray, without looking up from the paper, leaning over the words.

  "No, it was my father…"

  "Yes, I heard," said Ray. "But the way you talk, I'd think you were there. With all this POW-MIA shit on the walls, and pictures of tanks and airplanes like some teenager's room covered in swimsuit models. Talk to me about Twins baseball if you need to flap, Matt. I'm trying to think."

  "I'm just proud of my father, Ray. And I fly the POW flag in this office out of respect to you…boy, I still wonder at what you saw…"

  "I'm not here to reminisce," said Ray. "I'm here for lawyering. That's the service I need, not conversation. If I'm short, it's not to be rude, Matt. Had a hell of day and I want to get this document in the books before I have to call the cattle in. Renee already had to milk this morning, and it's not a chore she cares for, and one that I don't care to make her do."

  Klein leaned back and chuckled. "Always the straight shooter. Not many like you, Ray, not in the same way, I mean. I guess that's why myself and Art Schindhelm – and a bunch of others – think you should run for county commissioner in the next election cycle."

  "What?" said Ray, leaning back in his seat.

  "That's right, Ray," said Klein. "Like I said, there's not many who sift the chaff like you do. Plus, you're a veteran. A decorated one. You run a clean farm. You never miss church. By and large, people respect you. And if that weren't enough, you were a sports star in high school and you're tall, which would keep the riff-raff from trying to push you around, since you can look a man in the eye and call him a fraud without blinking." Klein laughed and pulled on his white tufts. "Best of all, you have no tolerance for waste, which is what I value most. When Art and I tried to think of men who should take up the standard, you were the first one we thought of. Now I know you farm, and farmers, I understand, it's not easy to step over to the conservative side of thinking since there are mixed messages out there…"

  Ray said, "Conservation? I'm not that interested in hunting or fishing. Or are you talking about tillable land conservation? Speak English."

  "Not that movement, Ray," said Klein, chuckling and opening a drawer behind him on a wall lined with filing cabinets. "I'm talking about being a fiscal and family conservative – trimming the fat in government, while keeping family ideals sound. Maybe even worse than wasted money are the things that do not have a dollar sign – intangible things, like American values, values that were once built on the farm, church, and family – the pillars that this country's greatness rests upon. That's what you represent, Ray. Now I know, a plump fellow like me, talking about trimming fat, sounds ludicrous – but you know what I mean. There's a lot of waste in government, Ray, a whole lot of waste. And men like you…"

  "Stop," said Ray. "Why don't you just run, Matt? You obviously understand how the county functions better than I do. I hear you meandering toward asking me to run for office, so why don't you just cut to the chase."

  "Because, as I was saying, Ray – men like you are hard to find. Very hard to find any more. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. Sometimes I feel like Diogenes, running through the streets with his lamp, looking for an honest man."

  "Aren't you honest, Matt? I would hope, given the current matter on the table…"

  "I'm not as likable as you, Ray. Or as electable. I wish, I wish…"

  "Not often I'm accused of being likeable. I have my enemies," said Ray.

  Klein pulled a bottle of brandy from the filing cabinet and offered it to Ray, who declined with one shake of his head. "But your enemies, Ray, are the dregs of Immaculate. The bottom-feeders. They don't vote, and they don't matter. You cannot lose if you choose to run. And I'd back you, even run the campaign for you."

  Ray faced Klein's flattery and let it pierce his shell. "Sounds like extra work. And I'm not an office man…"

  "I would gladly act as assistant commissioner. Pro bono publico."

  "I don't know. I have too many irons in the fire now. Does it pay anything?"

  "It pays, of course it pays. Not a ton, but it pays. And I understand, Ray. There is never a good time to start making a difference, never an easy time. Never will there be a perfect time or an easy time. And I'm sure you'll be expanding the farm now, right? Sure, I can understand that. Got things all paid off, probably want to extend the herd. Plant more rows – start getting the bigger margins using better equipment. No reason to live on the skim when you can the cream. That's what I would do if I were you, Ray. I'd start today, if I were you. With the fall of the Soviets, I can't see anything but prosperity ahead for agriculture in this country, but you must grow the operation to enjoy the margins."

  "I wasn't planning on expanding." He paused. "Not yet."

  "I don't want to bear bad news, Ray. But you know the little man is dead, right? I mean, God give 'em back – I'd love to see things like they were in the fifties. But those days are gone. The family farm as you and I knew it, it's done."

  Ray sighed. "I've started to suspect that a bit myself, Matt."

  "This is no time to be shy," said Klein. "And the man who has a foot in the county can also have a say in the business and agriculture community. The way I see it Ray, as I am privy to so much of your personal information – and I thank you for years of choosing me as your legal adviser and sometimes accountant – of all the customers I serve, I envy your position the most. Hell, no one is poised to grow like you are. And with sons to continue the farm, who are willing to stay and continue the name. You deserve to have more, more than you have today, and you should embrace the opportunity and accept what you deserve."

  Klein rambled on, swirling his brandy and petting his sideburns, inflating Ray's self-worth, and the usually compliment-phobic farmer maintained his stoic face while accepting all that was said as truth. Ray did deserve more. His dues, paid. The words of Klein whet Ray's appetites, exciting desires that he kept stifled, inventing other desires that he never knew existed. For another half hour, Ray listened to the ideas concocted and prognosticated by Matt Klein, and grew hungry for th
e benefits that aligning himself with Matt Klein could offer. The campaign for county commissioner became increasingly enticing as Matt painted a picture of the next election. For most of Matt's monologue, Ray nodded along, losing track of time, forgetting about the clock and milking – and in twenty years he had only been late twice, both from wedding receptions when the whiskey-sours flowed too fast.

  At five minutes before six o'clock, he noticed the time and sat up in his chair, saying, "Dog gone it, they'll be sagging and leaking now."

  "Who will?" said Klein.

  "The girls," he replied, and then added. "The cows, Matt. You talk too damn much. Now I gotta get Jacob in here to sign this. Hold on a minute."

  Out the front door, Ray walked down the steps to the flatbed truck and motioned at Jacob to come inside. Jacob struggled to open the door of the truck, and Ray walked over to assist. The anger he felt at the boys upon arriving had suddenly faded, now that Klein had Ray mulling new possibilities. "Here you go," said Ray, taking Jacob's good arm. "Easy now, Jacob. I'll drop you off at Doc Parker's office after this. Just walk easy, the pain won't be so bad."

  "I'm not sure if I can sign my name."

  "You can make an X or something, but you need to sign, son."

  In the office, Jacob sat in the leather chair that Ray had been keeping warm. Klein's fat finger pointed to the page where three lines awaited Jacob's pen: a line for printed name, signature, and date. Beneath the lines where Jacob would sign was another set of lines for Ethan.

  "What happened to you, boy?" said Klein. "Did you get jostled in the game last night?"

  "The bear from Wayne county attacked me," said Jacob.

  "Klein doesn't need any details," said Ray to Jacob. "I'd respect it, Matt, if you didn't ask questions. We'll know soon if he can play football next week. But no one needs to know right now."

  Klein held up his hands and said no more about it. "Sign here, Jacob." The short finger moved from line to line. "Print, sign, date."

  Using both hands, Jacob drew his letters like a kindergartner and when he finished he stood.

  "Congratulations, Jacob," said Klein. "You'll own a farm someday. Say Ray, where's Ethan?"

  "I'll check on him," said Ray, and stepped outside of the lawyer's house once again.

  As Ray descended the three stairs that fronted the house, he took one glance toward main street, where he had sent Ethan to cool off. No sign of him.

  Ray began to wince at the pain in his ankle when he reached the street in front of Klein's house. He leaned on the fire hydrant to remove the weight from his bad ankle. Holding his foot in his hand, he gently rolled the ankle, while making hay of his thoughts. Several cars passed by Klein's house, as he lived on one of the three exiting roads of Immaculate. In the distance, Ray heard a pickup truck with no muffler speeding along, and he immediately recognized the throaty sound to be Judd Blanks' Ram. Hand in the air, Ray waved down Judd, who let off the accelerator but could not slow down in time to stop and had to back up.

  Ray could see that Judd had no intention of getting out of the pickup, so on his bad foot, once again he applied pressure and the therapeutic effect of rolling his ankle disappeared under the hotness of renewed pain. As he opened the door of Judd's truck, Ray noticed Judd hiding something under the seat.

  "Whatcha got there? You hiding something?"

  "No, Ray," said Judd. "What do you need?"

  "Guys don't hide things unless it's a gift or something illegal. Which is it?"

  Judd's chewed his gum like it was cartilage, chomping. His mandible bone moved like a button in his cheek. Judd said, "Then it's a gift."

  "Sure it is. Fine, I'll keep it short. You interested in any overtime today? How about putting the cows in and get started milking? I'll pay you double-time."

  "Not tonight, Ray."

  "No?" said Ray, smiling. "I don't think I've heard you say no to me since we started getting along, Judd."

  "I'm not in the mood, Ray."

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing you need to be concerned about."

  Without asking for permission, Ray reached under the seat and fished his hand around near the spot where he had seen Judd's hand scrambling. Judd pulled Ray's arm away but not before Ray felt the butt and trigger of a handgun. Ray's eyebrows reach his hairline.

  "A gun," said Ray, handling the handgun. "And it's a little one. Little guns mean you ain't up to much good. I'll take that," he said, holding his hand out. "I can see a cloud over your head right now that I ain't seen since Tommy Blanks tried to kill Hank Murphy."

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Who are you going to shoot?"

  "Nobody. Piss off, Ray." Judd slapped the steering wheel and said, "Oh, Jesus, take it." He reached down and pulled the gun out, setting it on the seat. "Josh Werther, that sack of crap…you better take that gun or I'll use it tonight, I'll use it on him. Thought I'd just bring it along for negotiation, but closer I get…"

  "Werther?" said Ray.

  "If I explain it to you, Ray – just take the gun, I'll go get piss-drunk and go to bed. I gambled and lost. Thought I could buy the Boskie farm, but Werther doesn't bluff on some things…"

  Ray blinked and decided that he would buy the farm. He would buy it before anyone else could get it, finding it preposterous that Judd Blanks might have more assets than Ray Marak. He said, "Why Judd, my boy, I'm going to buy that farm. I guess I should have told you that. I've been looking at it for some time now. Unless you want to bid against me?"

  "The hell you are," said Judd, smiling with a sneer. "Since when?"

  Ray nodded. "What are you after? The land, the cattle, or the house?"

  "All three," said Judd.

  Ray picked up the gun and thumbed the grip, then put it into his pocket. "No wonder Werther stonewalled you. Tell you what," said Ray, "if you want the house, after I buy the farm, I'll sell it to you. But I keep the rest. And in the meantime, from now until you decide there's something better, you work for me full-time, year-round, with a salary." Ray waited a moment, and then added, "Deal?"

  Judd sat facing forward and took several glances at Ray.

  Ray said, "It's a better deal than you'll get for killing Josh Werther."

  The door was open again for Judd to escape the object of his desire, like he had done in the past. He felt relieved as the responsibility of changing his life dramatically disappeared in a single offer from Ray. Judd said, "I want another five bucks an hour, or I can't live on what you pay." He already resigned himself to the offer, forgetting about Werther. Most of all, he was ready to tear into a sunrise drunk to celebrate.

  "I'll give you three dollars. We'll start there. Things are going to start happening fast on the Marak properties. You're the first to know, Judd, but you'll want to get on board right now."

  "Marak properties?"

  "That's right. Properties."

  "Werther's probably going to charge me with blackmail."

  "Oh yeah? For what?"

  "Yeah. He's running around with Jack Hoffman's wife."

  Through Judd's windshield, Ray saw Ethan walking down the sidewalk, toward the flatbed. "Well, if you have to do a little time in the slammer, the offer still stands as far as the Boskie house and the job. I'm going to need you, Judd. My kids are getting crazy, and I need a good full-time man, because Marak Farms is about to be the fastest thing moving in this town. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Before Ray could say goodbye, Judd reached across the truck and grabbed Ray's arm. His eyes watery, Judd said, "Jesus, Ray, I really appreciate it. Really been spinnin' my wheels all these years, just never getting anywhere. I'll be there in the morning, you bet your ass. I won't get too drunk tonight." Stopping to catch his emotions, Judd scratched his forehead in an attempt to tickle the tears back from the edge. "Want me to go put those cows in now?"

  "Jesus, now you're crying. You know, if s
omeone told me yesterday the kind of day I'd have today, I'd wouldn't have known whether to shit or go blind. Go home, have a drink, but be there in the morning. Stay away from Werther, that's a dead end. Here's your gun back, as long as you're not going to use it."

  "I won't, Ray. I gotta twelver at home. I'll settle with that for tonight."

  "Twelve gauge or twelve pack?"

  "Pack."

  Ray shut the door of Judd's Dodge Ram and met Ethan at the front of the house, unable to speak to him until the ridiculously loud muffler moved several blocks away from Klein's house.

  "Are you ready to sign?" asked Ray to Ethan. "Did you cool off?"

  "Cooled off as much as I'm going to," said Ethan, a firm defiance in his smoldering face.

  "Let's go sign," said Ray, showing Ethan the way.

  Inside, the voice of Klein rolled, as he explained to Jacob the design and tactical usage of the Northrop P-61 Black Widow airplanes used during World War II. Ray said, "Ethan's here now, we can wrap this up. Matt, show Ethan where to sign the paper."

  "Here's a pen," said Klein, flipping through pages. His finger moved from line to line again, just as he had shown Jacob. "Print on this line, sign here, and date it here. Thirty-one October, 1992."

  Nodding at the orders, Ethan expressed little interest as Klein's finger moved along the lines. Placid outward appearances did not ease the tension in the room between Ethan and Ray. Leaning to sign, Ethan hesitated a moment too long, a hesitation that caused his life to travel a much different track than the rail he expected it to follow.

  "Ethan," said Ray, stopping the pen from touching the paper. "Before you sign, I'd like to hear you take back what you said on the way into town just now."

  "What?" asked Ethan.

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, or rather, elbow to shoulder with the height difference, and did not face each other. Ray said, "That thing you said on the way here. I won't have you on the will unless you take it back. I know you didn't mean what you said. Just take it back before you sign it."

  "And if I don't take it back?" said Ethan, stepping forward and turning toward Ray.

  "Then I'd rather you didn't sign it," said Ray. "Klein, can you step out for a moment."

  The lawyer said, "I'd step out, but I have to witness it, Ray. Do you need a moment?"

  "No," said Ethan, turning to face Ray. "Definitely do not need a moment."

  "Ethan," said Ray. "You have to understand, I won't have an atheist on that paper. You do understand?"

  "I do. I fully understand." Ethan dropped the pen on the desk and exited the door without another word, rejecting his inheritance, leaving Klein stunned.

  Klein said, "Do you want to go reason with him?"

  "No," said Ray. "Leave it as is. He'll come to his senses. Jacob, let's go. Ethan can come back another day and sign it if he straightens up."

  "Dad," said Jacob, "can't you just let Ethan sign it? You know he'll be a better farmer than I ever will. I'll just sell him my half anyway…"

  "That's not the point, Jacob. And you darn well will farm it, because someone is going to when I'm gone. And who are you to be giving advice today, Jacob? Matt, finish up what you have to do, we're all done here." The zeal in Ray hardened, his split decisions solidified. Decisions made in a period of ten minutes became a permanent design.

  Ethan waited outside for Ray and Jacob, with his back facing them. Hearing them on the stoop, he said, "Let me see if I have this right, Dad. I'm out of the will unless I say, yes, there is a God."

  "You got it," said Ray. "Not too difficult to understand, is it? In fact, if you are still of the same mind, then I ain't got much to say to you. Other than that you got something wrong out of your books."

  "Something wrong?"

  Ray shouted, "You don't say to my face there is no God and think it's forgotten and that we'll backslap each other and shake hands. Your spoiled generation got everything so easy you can even deny God without batting an eye. If there's one thing I believe in this world, God is that one thing."

  "You don't know, you just think you know. And I'm not afraid to call bullshit. Not to you or anyone else. But I get punished for being honest."

  "If that's truly the way you feel, Ethan," Ray said, "then you can consider yourself a visitor around the house until you change your mind." Seeing Ethan remain defiant made Ray go a step further. "I don't want to see you again until you mind what you said. Until then, Jacob will get the farm. And that's that."

  "Once again," Ethan said, "Jacob gets what he wants, I get the shaft. Routine."

  "You can ride home with us," said Ray, "and then I want you to go back to school, unless you figure on changing your views between here and home." His final step across the line axed a bond of twenty years. "There's more Werther in you than I thought."

  "I'll find my own ride," said Ethan, incredulous at the words of Ray, shot in the chest by the comment from his Dad, who had never mentioned the name Werther to him in his life. The accusation made him hold his beliefs tighter, as proof – his lack of faith now matching Ray's dogmatic certainty – and Ethan would not give in for the sake of property or family or tradition.

  Jacob and Ray got into the flatbed and drove off. Ethan turned his back to them and began walking toward the other end of Immaculate. Walking to the Masterson fields, where his car was parked.