Beast Of The Heartland And Other Stories Part 10

One night Brad and I climbed up to the top of the north wall. He was a lanky kid of thirteen and favored Kiri some, having her black hair and thin, hawkish face. We staked ourselves out behind a pile of loose rocks, rested our rifles across our knees and sat back to enjoy the night air. The weather had warmed a little; the sky was clear, and the stars were winking with such intensity they looked to bejumping from place to place. It was so quiet, the silence had a hum. There were fires on the south wall, but no apes in sight, and we got to talking about this and that. I could tell there was something weighing on his mind, but he couldn't seem to spit it out. Finally, though, he screwed up his courage and told me what was troubling him.

"Y'know Hazel Aldred?" he said.

"Big ol' girl?" I said. "Kinda pretty, but on the heavy side?"

"Yeah." He dug his heel into some loose gravel and set to carving out a trench.

"Well, what about her?"

"Nothin'," he said after a bit; he stared off toward the south wall.

I studied him and made a guess. "Don't tell me you been gettin' p.r.o.ne and lowdown with ol' Hazel?"

"How'd you know?" He pushed hair back from his eyes and stared at me fiercely. "Who told you?"

"It don't take no genius to figure it out." I aimed at a distant fire and squeezed off an imaginary round.

"So what about it?"

"Well..." More digging with his heel.

"Didn't go so hot... That it?"

He ducked his eyes and mumbled. "Uh-huh."

I waited for him to say more, and when he kept quiet, I said, "Am I gonna have to tell this story?"

Silence.

"Lookit, Bradley," I said. "I been gettin' my share for a long time now, and I'm here to tell you, it don't always work out so hot, no matter how many times you done it."

"That ain't what Clay says."

"s.h.i.+t! Clay! You believe everything he tells you?"

"Naw, but..."

"You're goin' on like you do!"

On the south wall a solitary ape capered for a moment in front of a fire, looking like a spirit or a devil dancing inside the flame. To ease the pressure on Brad, I took aim and sent a round in the ape's direction.

"Dija get him?"

"Don't see him," I said. "But I think he just went to ground."

Wind sprayed grit into our faces.

"Anyway," I went on. "I can't tell you the times it's gone bad for me with the ladies. Mostly the limps, y'know. Too much drinkin', or just a case of nerves. That what happened to you?"

"Naw." Bradley trained his rifle on the south wall, but had no target; his mouth was set grim.

"Guess I can't think of but one other thing that coulda happened," I said. "Maybe you was a little too excited to begin with."

"Yeah," he said sharply.

"And how'd she take that?"

He worried his lower lip. "She told me to clean off her dress," he said finally. "And everybody laughed."

"Everybody?"

"Clay and the rest."

"d.a.m.n, Bradley," I said. "I ain't gonna tell you not to go down with a crowd. I mean it happens that way sometimes. But it sure is a lot nicer to do it with just you and whoever."

"I ain't never gonna do it again," he said sullenly.

"Now I doubt that."

"I ain't!" He fired a round into nowhere and pretended to watch it travel.

"Why you feel that way?"

"I dunno."

"Talk to me, boy."

"I just don't know what to do," he said in a rush. "I mean I seen it, I seen guys hop on and it's overreal quick, and the girl she acts like ain't nothin' happened. So what's the d.a.m.n point?"

He fired a couple of more rounds. Some apes were dancing around a fire near the canyon mouth, but he hadn't been aiming that way.

"Listen up, son," I said. "Like I said, I ain't gonna tell you not to do what you been doin'. But I am gonna give you some advice. You listenin'?"

"Yes, sir." He rested the rifle across his knees and met my eyes in that steady, sober way of his mother's.

"All right." I leaned my rifle against my shoulder. "You find yourself a girl who wants to be with you, just you and n.o.body watchin', and then you take her somewhere nice, maybe up to that storage shack near Hobson's by the rear wall. Got a coupla boards missin', and if you look out, you can see the waterfall."

"Yeah, I know."

"All right. If you start gettin' too excited, you try to think 'bout somethin' else. Think 'bout your mama's duel or somethin' that don't have nothin' to do with the subject at hand. And then, when the time comes and she wants you in her, you go in slow, don't just jab it home, y'know. And when you're there, when you're in all the way, don't go crazy all at once. Just move your hips the tiniest bit, so little you barely feel you're movin', and then pull out maybe an inch and hold there, and then sink back in and pin her, grind into her, like all you want is to be right where you are or maybe more so. And y'know what that'll do?"

He was all eyes. "Un-uh?"

"No matter what happens after that," I told him, "like as not, you'll have been the first one to treat that little girl like you wanted to be all through her. Most guys, y'see, once they get in the saddle they don't think about what the girl's hopin' to feel. You do what I say, chances are she's gonna think you 'bout the best thing to come along since berries and cream."

"You swear?"

"You're hearin' the voice of experience," I said. "So take it to heart."

He mulled it over. "Y'know Sara Lee Hinton?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said. "Now that's the kinda girl you wanna be dealin' with, not an ol' plowhorse like Hazel." I mussed his hair. "But you ain't got a chance with Sara Lee."

"I do, too!" he said defiantly. "She told me so."

"Well, go to it then," I said. "And remember what I told you. You got it in mind?"

"Yeah," he said, and grinned.

I gave him a shove. "Let's do some shootin'."

Before long, the apes came out in force and took to dancing around their fires like black paper dolls brought to life. We fired round after round with no measurable result. Then as Brad fired, one of the apes did a dive and roll, and went out of sight. I'd seen that move many times; it was a part of their normal style of dancing. But I figured the boy could use another boost in confidence, and I gave him a hug and shouted, "G.o.dd.a.m.n! I believe you got him!"

It was three nights later that Clay Fornoff turned Bad Man. Everyone had been expecting it since his trouble with Cindy Aldred, Hazel's big sister. Clay had been sweet-talking her, trying to persuade her to go out onto the flats with him... not that she needed much persuasion. Cindy's reputation was no better than her sister's. But even a girl like Cindy likes a little sweet talk, and she was playing hard to get when Clay lost his patience. He slapped her silly, dragged her into the bushes and had her rough and mean.

The next day Cindy accused him, and he made no bones that he had done it. He could have sufferedplenty, but Cindy must have been soft on him, or else he had something on her that stayed her anger. She asked for mercy, and so Clay was put on warning, which meant that we would all be watching him, that one more slip would buy him a one-way ticket onto the flats.

That night there was a full moon, a monstrous golden round that looked to be hovering just out of reach, and whose light made the canyon walls glow like they were made of light themselves. I was ambling along with Brad past Fornoff's, which had closed down a couple of hours earlier, taking the air, talking, when I heard something crash inside the store. In the corral a few doors down, the horses were milling, pus.h.i.+ng against the fence. I shoved Brad behind me and eased around the corner of the store, holding my rifle at the ready. A shadow sprinted from the rear of the store and crossed the street to the corral, then ducked down so as to hide in the shadows. I aimed, held my breath, but before I could fire, Brad knocked the barrel offline.

"It's Clay," he whispered.

"How the h.e.l.l you know?"

"I just can tell!"

"That makes it worse. Stealin' from his daddy's store." I brought the rifle up again, but Brad caught hold of it and begged me to hold back.

The shadow was duck-walking along beside the corral, and the horses, their eyes charged with moonlight, were moving in tight circles, bunched together, like eddies in a stream.

"Let go," I said to Brad. "I won't hurt him."

The shadow flattened against the wall of the dress shop next to the corral. I pushed Bradley back around the corner, aimed at the shadow, and called out in a soft voice, "Don't you move now, Clay Fornoff!"

Clay didn't make a sound.

"Get out in the light where I can see you," I told him. "Or I'll kill you quick!"

After a second he did as I'd said. He was a muscular blond kid some five or six years older than Brad, and he was wearing a sheepskin coat that his daddy had bought him up in Windbroken. His mouth was full and petulant, his eyes set wide apart in a handsome face, and in his hands were a shotgun and several boxes of sh.e.l.ls. The wind lifted his long hair, drifted it across his eyes.

"What you plannin' to do with all the firepower?" I asked, walking out into the middle of the street.

He gave no reply, but stared daggers at Brad.

"I 'spect you oughta throw down the gun," I said.

He heaved it toward me.

"Sh.e.l.ls, too. Just drop 'em, don't throw 'em."

When he had done what I asked, I walked over and gave him a cold eye. "I turn you in," I said, "they'll have you walkin' west without boots or blankets. And if you stick around, I'm bound to turn you in."

He wasn't afraid, I give him credit; he just stared at me.

"Lemme take a horse," he said.

I thought about that. If I were to tell old Fornoff what had happened, I figured he'd be glad to pay the price of the horse. "All right," I said. "Go ahead. And take the gun, too. Your daddy would want that.

But I see you back here, I ain't gonna think twice 'bout how to handle it. Understand?"

All he did by way of thanking me was to grunt.

I kept him covered while he cut out a bay and saddled it. Brad hung back, acting like he was having no part of the matter, but saying nothing. I didn't blame him for not facing up to Clay; I would probably have done the same at his age.

Clay mounted up, pulled hard on the reins, causing the horse to rear. His head flew back, his hair whipping in the breeze, and the moon struck him full in the eyes, making it seem that wicked fires had suddenly been kindled there. For that split second I could feel how it would be to give up on the law, to turn Bad Man, to take a long ride west of anywhere and hope you come to something, and if you didn't... Well, for the length of the ride at least you lived as wild and strong and uncaring as a tiger. ButClay spoiled the moment by cursing Brad. He wheeled the bay around, then, and spanked it into a gallop west, and in a second he was gone, with only a few puffs of frozen dust settling on the street to show he'd ever been.

Brad's chin was trembling. G.o.d only knows what part of life he had just watched riding out of sight. I patted him on the shoulder, but most of my thoughts were arrowing toward the next morning. It wasn't going to be easy to tell old Fornoff that his son had gone to the Devil for a shotgun and a couple of boxes of sh.e.l.ls.

The night before Kiri left for Windbroken and her duel, a couple of months after Clay Fornoff had gone Bad, I tried to talk to her about the future, about when she planned to quit fighting, but she wouldn't have any part of it, and instead of gentling her as I'd intended, I just made her mad. We went to bed strangers, and the next morning she gave me a cold peck on the cheek and a perfunctory wave, and stalked out the door. I can't say I was angry at her... more frustrated. Sooner or later, I knew, she was going to be in for a bad time, and that meant bad times for me as well. And perhaps it was my frustration with this sense of imminent trouble that led me to seek out trouble on my own.

That same afternoon I dropped into Fornoff's to buy some seed. Fornoff and his wife were off somewhere, and Callie was the only one on duty. There were a few other customers, and she couldn't leave the counter to go in the back where the seed was stored, so I told her to send it over to the hydroponics building when she had time. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter; her s.h.i.+rt belled, exposing the slopes of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s; every little move she made caused them to sway and signal that they were sweet and easy and free for the evening.

"What time you want 'em?" she asked.

"Any ol' time's fine," I said. "Whenever's convenient."

"Well, when do you need 'em?" She laid heavy emphasis on the word "need."

"Ain't nothin' urgent," I said. "But I would like 'em by tomorrow."

"Oh, we can manage that," said Callie, straightening. "I don't get 'round to it 'fore evenin', I'll walk 'em over myself after work."

"Whatever," I said, pretending that I hadn't picked up on the none-too-subtle undertone of the conversation; even after I had left the store, I kept up the pretense and pushed the matter from mind.

The main hydroponics shed was set directly behind the hospital, a long, low building of tin and structural plastic, so low that if you were standing up by my house, the hospital and a low ridge would have blocked it from view, even though it enclosed nearly a dozen acres. Inside, there was corn and tomatoes and lettuce and at the rear, next to the office -- a little room with tin walls and a couple of pictures, a desk, and a cot where I slept whenever Kiri was away -- I'd erected some trellises and was growing grapes. I enjoyed the peace of the place and liked to walk up and down the aisles, checking the nutrients in the tanks, squeezing the tomatoes, petting the corn, generally just feeling at home and master of it all. The greenness of the leaves colored the air, creating a green shade under the ultraviolets, and the muted vibration of the generator created the rumor of a breeze that made all the plants whisper together.

I spent a lot of time in the office reading, and that evening I was sitting at my desk with my feet up, reading a book called The Black Garden written by a man from Windbroken, a fantasy about the world that used to be. I'd read it before, more than once, as had most other readers in the town. Books were expensive to make, and there weren't many of them. Most pretended to be histories, recounting the innumerable slaughters and betrayals and horrors that supposedly comprised our past, but this one was a refres.h.i.+ng change, featuring a number of color ill.u.s.trations, several depicting a vast underground chamber floored with exotic plants and trees, threaded by canopied pathways, and the strange dark area that laybeyond it, a lightless cavern choked with black bushes and rife with secret doors that opened into little golden rooms where the inhabitants of the place explored the limits of pleasure. Their idea of pleasure, according to the author, was kind of nasty, but still it beat all to h.e.l.l the stories of ma.s.sacres and ma.s.s torture that you usually ran across in books. Anyway, I was leafing through the pages, wondering if what the author had written bore any relation to the truth and marveling once again at the detail of the ill.u.s.trations, when Callie poked her head in through the office door.