Page 16 of Bad Dirt


  Cheri pointed at Rase. “Important ame . This is just the worse place I ever lived.” She glared at him and he fired up.

  “Worse place? How about that dump you was brought up in? And I’d like to see how you save up enough money for a house in town by passin out hot dogs at a school cafeteria one day a week. You think you got it bad, but this isthe best I can do . I been workin since I was seventeen, supportin this family. You’re dissatisfied with everthing, but you ever think a that, ever think I might a wanted a go into a different line a work than what I do? I wanted a be a high school coach, but you got a go to college for that and I been hustlin miserable jobs foryears so I could afford a buy this goddamn trailer you piss on, support you and all these goddamnkids . You don’tget it that the bad comes with the good. You don’t take notice that there’s a lot a guys would a walked, you bein so fuckin fat and always knocked up.”

  “You don’t like your kids you shouldn’t a made so many a them. Use a rubber once in a while and you’d have the money— and no family.”

  “Whyn’t you get on the pill? You take the fuckin housekeepin money and buy them goddamn dumb magazines you always get. You could get birth control pills instead and not jump onme about kids.”

  At this point Buddy decided to go back to his own place and said goodbye to Graig. Rase heard him and spun around hotly.

  “What the hell you doin here anyway? Come for the free dinner?” he sneered. “The dinner in the dirt? Come to mess with that fat bitch I married? Come to complain about my dogs? You keep garbage in a open vehicle you deserve dogs. You deserve a punch-out, complain about it. Go get your fightin clothes on and I’ll show you what you get.”

  “I thought you invited me. But I’ll sure as hell go.” And he turned and started walking back to his trailer. He heard footsteps behind him. It was Graig.

  “Shit, Buddy, don’t go off mad. I am about to cook them steaks and theywill be good. Beer’ll clean them off good.”

  He stopped and looked at the self-described mountain man. “It’s not that. I lost my appetite. Some other time when Rase isn’t so hot for a fight.”

  “Hell, he just flares up ever now and then. Ten minutes from now he’ll be in a good mood, laugh and hug old Cheri. He just likes a little bit of a fight—gives him a appetite.”

  “There’s some fights you don’t take. I had my fight with Rase about ten years ago.”

  He had been fourteen, a strong-enough kid, sturdied up by chores, but Rase already had a man’s construction, big muscled shoulders, hard arms and hands like a stonemason’s. What started as a shoving scuffle became a snorting, choking fight that ended with Rase repeatedly slamming Buddy’s face onto the cement sidewalk. That night, after one look at his damaged features, his father had taken him to Doc String, who said he had a broken nose and broken cheekbone. The bones in both hands were broken as well. His father wanted to call the sheriff, but Buddy pleaded nasally against this as he knew Rase would follow up with a fresh assault.

  Graig was still walking beside him. “I didn’t know you knowed him that long.”

  “We was in grade school.” Buddy didn’t want to talk about the Rase Wham of yesteryear.

  There was a distant howl and then another from a different direction. Graig snatched at his sleeve and breathed heavily— bourbon, beer, and bad teeth. His face was golden in the late light.

  “You hear that?” said Graig. “That, my friend, was awolf . And it weren’t so goddamn far away, neither. I never knew them to be down this far, but I sure as hell know one when I hear one. There’s wolves in the Red Desert, gettin a bead on Wamsutter. We just heard the livin proof.”

  Buddy doubted that.

  Back in his trailer he realized he had left the precious bottle of bourbon on the Whams’ picnic table. There was nothing he wanted more at the moment than to get stinking drunk and pass out in his bed. Cursing, he decided to drive into town and get another, and because he didn’t want to pass the Whams’ trailer, where billowing clouds of smoke now rose from the barbecue, he decided to cut cross-lots over the desert, past the old pack rat trailer. He planned to circle around, pick up the new methane gas road that shot in a straight line to the county road. He figured it was about three miles cross-country to the gas road. It could be a little tricky, but he was full of adrenaline and welcomed the difficulty. There was still enough light to see what he needed to see.

  Driving unknown desert terrain was dangerous, even in daylight, and with twilight close he might have trouble. Chains, a shovel, several planks, a come-along, and assorted tools, including his .30-06, were already in the back of the Jeep. He threw his heavy jacket, a gallon of water, the second pie, and a package of pork chops onto the backseat. In the glove compartment were matches and candles. If he got stranded he’d be all right. He might just park out in the desert and do his drinking there.

  A few hundred yards beyond the ruined pack rat trailer he was surprised to find the faintest of trails, the barest suggestion of narrow-set wheel ruts. He thought he might be on part of the old Overland Trail or one of its many side shoots. It was almost full dusk but his headlights picked out the ghostly ruts and for now they headed in the direction he wanted. But after half a mile the ephemeral track disappeared into a deep and brushy draw and he turned north, looking for level ground. By the time he cleared the draw it was dark but a hundred yards away he could see the lights of a truck on the gas road. In ten minutes he was in Wamsutter.

  The Whams’ trailer was dark when he drove past it but he caught a glimpse of Graig’s Power Wagon. Climbing the steps of his own place he yawned hugely, opened the door. He knew instantly something was different. There was a certain faint smell, and then a child’s low whimper. He switched on the light. Vernon Clarence lay on one end of the sofa, and a blanketed lump he assumed was Lye on the other end, and on the floor, wrapped in the blankets from his bed, lay Cheri and Barbette.

  “Cheri? What the hell is going on?” he said.

  The woman sat up, her red hair mashed flat on one side.

  “It’s Rase. He got real drunk and mean like he does sometime. He hit Vernon Clarence pretty bad. I think his little arm might be broke. So Graig said he would quiet Rase down, we should come over here and wait for you. I took the blankets off your bed but you can have em back now.”

  “Jesus,” said Buddy, sitting in a chair. He looked at his watch. Eleven forty-five. Hours to go before daylight. “You want a take Vernon Clarence to the emergency room in Rawlins? Have him looked at?”

  “I don’t know. He’s asleep now, but he been cryin bad and he won’t let me touch his arm. It does look kind a funny the way he holds it. He just cried his little self to sleep.”

  As if in confirmation the child whimpered again and turned his head from the light. Buddy looked at him. The boy’s nose was swollen and he could see dried blood on his upper lip. He could not see the arm because the child was covered by one of his jackets. It was cold in the trailer and Cheri had helped herself to whatever coverings she could find. He lifted the jacket slowly, and the child woke, screaming. Vernon Clarence’s lower left arm seemed to have an extra elbow.

  “O.K.,” he said. “This is not good. I’m goin a drive you to Rawlins and while they take care a the kid I’ll get you all a motel room. He’s hurt and this is not a good place for you to be. Rase could come over here easy and start up again. And as soon as Graig leaves I bet you that’s what happens. Come on, Cheri, let’s go, get the kid to a doctor.” He wished now he had a cell phone.

  The trip to the hospital was a nightmare, all three children crying, Cheri chain-smoking, his head ringing with bourbon and fatigue. Barbette had sat on the package of pork chops, and the cold, wet meat had set her off.

  At the hospital Vernon Clarence was carried into a curtained cubicle by a tall, foreign-looking nurse. He heard Cheri tell her that Vernon Clarence had fallen down the trailer steps. There was a lot going on in the emergency room and every cubicle was full, people rushing back and forth. There were
deputies and troopers leaning over people. He understood there had been a major accident on I-80. Cheri came out, and while she sat in the crowded waiting room under the pitiless glare of lights, surrounded by signs that saidNO SMOKING , he went to find a motel room that could accommodate the four Whams.

  At the first motel he got the details. East of Rawlins a semi had jackknifed and caused a chain reaction involving more than thirty vehicles. The highway was closed and every motel room in town was occupied. There was nothing left, and people were knocking on residents’ doors asking for shelter. He would have to take Cheri and her kids back out to his trailer. He was involved in something ugly and made up his mind to move to Alaska as soon as he could get out of it.

  Back at the hospital he found her standing outside the doors, smoking.

  “They’re not done with him. Been some kind a accident on the interstate so everthing is takin forever. They got a lot a hurt people here. Lye’s fell asleep on that couch thing and Barbette too. It could be a while.”

  “I got bad news, too. There’s no motel rooms because a the accident so I guess I will have to take you back to my place. You better be thinkin what you want a do in the mornin—I can take you to a shelter if they got that kind a thing here.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a do that. Rase will be O.K. in the morning. He gets bad sometimes when he is drinkin, but you’ll see, Graig will talk him out a the meanness and he’ll be just as sweet as pie in the morning, all sorry and nice.”

  “Cheri, I don’t want a tell you how to run your life but you got a think about the kids. He could really hurt them. Hell, he could kill them. He could kill you. He’s a strong guy and drunk strong guys are dangerous.”

  “I guess I know Rase pretty good, better’n you, anyway. He’ll be O.K. It’s happened before. And Graig can handle him. He’s probly got him calmed down right now.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “So do you want me to take you back to your place?” He had the worst headache of his life and it wasn’t all from bourbon.

  A nurse’s aide came out the door and said, “Mrs. Wham? The doctor wants a talk to you.”

  “I’ll wait here,” said Buddy as Cheri threw her cigarette down and went inside.

  Cheri came out pulling her big sweater around her breasts.

  “They are goin a keep him tonight. They are writin up a report says it was a possible child abuse. The cops are goin a pick Rase up and question him. I had a tell them he hit Vernon Clarence. They didn’t believe he fell down the steps. Rase will be real, real mad. So I can’t go back there tonight.”

  “When are the cops goin a pick him up?”

  “Right away, maybe. Or in the mornin. They got such a lot happenin right now.”

  He looked at his watch. It was past one and by the time they got back to his place it would be pushing three. It looked like he was in for it.

  There was only Rase’s truck and Graig’s old wagon in the Whams’ yard.

  They put Lye and Barbette on the couch. He gave Cheri his own bed, rolled up in his sleeping bag near the door, and was asleep in minutes. He was dreaming of the waitress at the café where he’d been drinking, dreaming that she flashed different colors from a kaleidoscope of whirling cop car lights, and that she was stroking his penis, her enameled nails just tickling his pubic hair, when he felt the stroking was real and could smell Cheri, a mixture of burned meat, baby shit, and sweat. She pulled him on top of her. He wanted desperately to stop, and tried, but it had been too long, the dream was strong and his traitorous body went for the jackpot.

  The sharp wind wedging under the door and some slight noise woke him. He was stiff with cold, his face pressed against the door, and for a moment did not recognize where he was until he rolled over and saw Barbette on the sofa staring at him. He sat up, the terrible night returning in big, indigestible lumps.

  “Mama can’t find the Sugar Puffs,” the child said.

  “Don’t have Sugar Puffs,” he croaked. His head was swimming.

  “Mama, he don’t have no Sugar Puffs!”the outraged girl shouted, kicking the sofa and rousing Lye, who began to cry.

  He saw Cheri then, fiddling with his coffeemaker, stymied by the unfamiliar gadget. He got up, conscious of his stained, bagging underwear, which seemed made of transparent plastic wrap, seized his jeans and shirt from the floor, and went into the bathroom. As he passed her he told Cheri to leave the coffee alone, that he would make it in a minute.

  The shower was a sometime thing, but he had to get the smell of the night’s horrors off and was grateful for the sputtering trickle, even when the water went cold and left him gasping and shaking. He urinated in the drain.

  Dressed, he went straight to the coffeemaker. Cheri was sitting at the table smoking a cigarette and drinking a soda she had found in the refrigerator.

  He looked out the tiny window. There was a tumbled mass of indigo and salmon cloud in the east. The faded rabbitbrush lashed in the blustery wind and a streak of color showed where the sun would soon rise. There was no sign that the police were coming for Rase. Graig’s old Power Wagon stood in its usual place. The first flakes of snow shot through the fierce air. The coffeepot quit mumbling, and he poured himself a cup of strong black, then another for Cheri. He wanted to get her moving.

  “Thanks, honey,” she said in an artificially sweet voice that he interpreted to mean she thought she now had some claim on him.

  “Cheri,” he said, “look, last night was nothin. It was a mistake. Tell the truth, you kind a raped me. Sooner you get goin the better.”

  She pouted for a minute, then said, “But we got a go get Vernon Clarence. They said he could be picked up any time after nine.”

  “Yeah? Well I suggest you go get Rase’s truck and drive up to Rawlins yourself. And I sure don’t see any cruisers comin for Rase.”

  Cheri slurped at her coffee and looked at him from under her eyelashes as though measuring. “I just said that about them pickin him up. I knew you wanted a do it with me and I did too so I just said it.”

  “But you told me they didn’t believe you about Vernon Clarence falling down the stairs.”

  “Yeah, they did. They just said they’d keep him overnight and us come pick him up this mornin.”

  “Cheri, let’s get something straight. Ididn’t want a do it with you. It was against my will.” Yet he knew there had been a measure of vigorous participation motivated by vengeance against Rase.

  “Could a fooled me,” she said and gave him a horrible smile.

  He was beginning to guess that she might be picking him to replace Rase. He literally felt his neck hair bristle.

  “I want Sugar Puffs,” whined Barbette.

  “Then why the hell don’t you go on home and get some,” he snapped.

  “Can I, Mama?”

  “Sure. Go on over.”

  The child was out the door, slamming it behind her, but the catch failed and the door began to boom and swing in the wind. He got up and closed it, poured himself another cup of coffee. Out the window he could see Barbette scampering up the Wham steps just as Graig came to the door, fumbling at his crotch. The girl disappeared inside and the mountain man pissed on the ground, turned, and went back into the trailer. He was replaced by Rase, who apparently preferred fresh air to his own diaper-flavored bathroom.

  “They’re up over there. I think you better go home and get things back on track.”

  She leaned back in her chair and shot a stream of cigarette smoke at the ceiling. “He ain’t goin a like it that you fucked me.”

  “He’s not the only one don’t like it,” said Buddy. “Besides, you’d be dumb to say anything about that. He’s got a temper— which you know. Think a your kid with the busted arm. Could be you next time. Probly will be you.” He wanted nothing so much as to throw his gear in the back of the Jeep and take off for Alaska. The problem there was that his mother had not forwarded his checks amounting to several thousands and he had less than fifty dollars in his wallet and a credit card close
to its maximum. He was in a bind. It was Sunday but he would drive to town, call his mother and see what was holding up the checks. First, he had to get Cheri out of here and on her way back to Rase.