Troy didnt answer.
He pulled the shiftlever in the floor down into first and let the clutch out. They moved down the highway. He could see pretty well. He could lean over and see through the glass on the other side of the division bar. Are you all right? he said. What is it?
Troy sat looking out the window at the passing darkness. Just everthing, he said. Just ever goddamned thing. Hell. Dont pay no attention to me. I ought not to drink whiskey in the first place.
They drove on to Van Horn and stopped for gas and coffee and by then the country that Troy'd grown up in and that he thought he might go back to and where his dead brother was buried was all behind them and it was two oclock in the morning.
Mac will have a few things to say when he sees the truck.
Billy nodded. I might be able to run into town and get it fixed in the mornin.
What do you reckon it'll cost?
I dont know.
You want to just split it?
That would suit me.
All right.
You sure you're okay?
Yeah. I'm all right. I just get to thinkin about things is all.
Yeah.
It dont help none though, does it?
Nope.
They sat drinking their coffee. Troy shook out a cigarette and lit it and put his cigarettes and his Zippo lighter on the table. How come you had to stop back there?
I just did.
You said you had to.
Yeah.
What is it? Some sort of religious thing?
No. It aint nothin like that. It's just that the worst day of my life was one time when I was seventeen years old and me and my budmy brotherwe was on the run and he was hurt and there was a truckload of Mexicans just about like them back yonder appeared out of nowhere and pulled our bacon out of the fire. I wasnt even sure their old truck could outrun a horse, but it did. They didnt have no reason to stop for us. But they did. I dont guess it would of even occurred to em not to. That's all.
Troy sat looking out the window. Well, he said. That's a pretty good reason.
Well. It was all the one I needed anyways. You ready?
Yeah. He drained his cup. I'm ready.
HE PAID HIS TWO PENNIES at the gate and pushed through the turnstile and went on across the bridge. On the banks of the river under the bridge small boys held up tin buckets nailed to the ends of poles and called out for money. He crossed the bridge into a sea of waiting vendors hustling cheap jewelry, leather goods, blankets. They followed him along for a distance and were spelled by others in a relay of huckstering down Ju++rez Avenue and up Ignacio Mej'a to Santos Degollado where they fell away and watched him go.
He stood at the end of the bar and ordered a whiskey and propped his foot on the rail and looked across the room at the whores.
D-nde est++n sus compa-eros? said the barman.
He raised the glass of whiskey and turned it in his hand. En el cameo, he said. He drank.
He stood there for two hours. The whores came across the room one by one to solicit him and one by one returned. He didnt ask about her. When he left he'd had five whiskies and he paid for them with a dollar and put another dollar on top of it for the barman. He crossed Ju++rez Avenue and went limping up Mej'a to the Napole-n and took a seat in front of the cafe and ordered a steak. He sat and drank coffee while he waited and he watched the life in the streets. A man came to the door and tried to sell him cigarettes. A man tried to sell him a Madonna made of painted celluloid. A man with a strange device with dials and levers asked him if he wished to electrocute himself. After a while the steak arrived.
He went again the following night. There were half a dozen soldiers from Fort Bliss there, young recruits, their heads all but shaved. They eyed him drunkenly, they looked at his boots. He stood at the bar and drank three whiskies slowly. She did not appear.
He walked up Ju++rez Avenue through the hucksters and pimps. He saw a boy selling stuffed armadillos. He saw a tourist drunk laboring up the sidewalk carrying a full suit of armor. He saw a beautiful young woman vomit in the street. Dogs turned at the sound and ran toward her.
He walked up Tlaxcala and up Mariscal and entered another such place and sat at the bar. The whores came to tug at his arm. He said that he was waiting for someone. After a while he left and walked back to the bridge.
HE'D PROMISED MAC he wouldnt ride the horse again until his ankle was better. Sunday after breakfast he worked the animal in the corral and in the afternoon he saddled Bird and rode up into the Jarillas. Atop a raw rock bluff he sat the horse and studied the country. The flooded saltflats shining in the evening sun seventy miles to the east. The peak of El Capitan beyond. All the high mountains of New Mexico paling away to the north beyond the red plains, the ancient creosote. In the steeply canted light the laddered shadows of the fences looked like railtracks running up the country and doves were crossing below him toward a watertank on the McNew spread. He could see no cattle anywhere in that cowtrodden scrubland. The doves called everywhere and there was no wind.
When he got back to the house it was dark and by the time he'd unsaddled the horse and put it up and gone to the kitchen Socorro had already cleared away and was washing the dishes. He got a cup of coffee and sat down and she brought him his supper and while he was eating Mac came and stood in the hallway door and lit a cigar.
You about ready? he said.
Yessir.
Take your time. Take your time.
He walked back up the hallway. Socorro brought the pot from the stove and spooned the last of the caldillo onto his plate. She brought him more coffee and poured a cup for Mac and left it steaming on the far side of the table. When he was done eating he rose and carried his plate and cup to the sink and he poured more coffee and then went to the old cherrywood press hauled overland in a wagon from Kentucky eighty years ago and opened the door and took out the chess set from among the old cattleman's journals and the halfbound ledgers and leather daybooks and the old green Remington boxes of shotgun shells and rifle cartridges. On the upper shelf a dovetailed wooden box that held brass scaleweights. A leather folder of drawing instruments. A glass horsecarriage that once held candy for a Christmas in the long ago. He shut the door and carried the board and the wooden box to the table and unfolded the board and slid back the lid of the box and spilled out the pieces, carved walnut, carved holly, and set them up. Then he sat drinking his coffee.
Mac came out and pulled back the chair opposite and sat and dragged the heavy glass ashtray forward from among the bottles of ketchup and hotsauce and laid his cigar in the ashtray and took a sip of the coffee. He nodded toward John Grady's left hand. John Grady opened his hand, he set the pawns on the board.
I'm white again, said Mac.
Yessir.
He moved his pawn forward.
JC came in and got a cup of coffee from the stove and came to the table and stood.
Set down, said Mac. You're makin the room untidy.
That's all right. I aint stayin.
Better set down, said John Grady. He needs all his powers of concentration.
You got that right, said Mac.
JC sat down. Mac studied the board. JC glanced at the pile of white chesspieces at John Grady's elbow.
Son, you better cut the old man some slack. You might could be replaced with somebody that cowboys better and plays chess worse.
Mac reached and moved his remaining bishop. John Grady moved his knight. Mac took up his cigar and sat puffing quietly.
He moved his queen. John Grady moved his other knight and sat back. Check, he said.
Mac sat studying the board. Damn, he said. After a while he looked up. He turned to JC. You want to play him?
No sir. He's done made a believer out of me.
I know the feelin. He's beat me like a rented mule.