Get the hell out of here, the bartender said. You’re not coming back in here. Go on. He shoved Hoyt.
Fuck you, Hoyt said. He stood glaring at them, wobbly on his feet. Fuck every last one of you.
The bartender shoved him again and he stumbled backward off the sidewalk and sat down in the gutter. He looked all around, then rose and staggered southward down the middle of Main Street in the midst of Saturday night traffic. The cars veered around him, honking and blaring, the people inside the cars, high-school kids, shouting at him, whistling, jeering, and he cursed them too, cursed them all, gesturing at each car obscenely as it went by. He staggered on. Then he turned off into a side street and stumbled into the back alley. Halfway into the alley he stopped and leaned against the brick wall at the rear of one of the stores. A patrol car drove by out in the street. He squatted down behind a trash barrel. Blood was dripping from his ear, and the side of his face felt raw and numb. He waited, panting, squatted in the dark. He managed to light a cigarette and he cupped it in his hand. Then he stood and pissed against the brick wall of the store and stepped away in the shadows, headed out toward the street. When he saw no patrol car he turned toward Detroit.
INSIDE THE TAVERN THE BARMAID HAD HURRIED BACK TO the rest room holding her blouse together, and the men were tending to the old man, who’d bumped his head on one of the tables and was sitting awkwardly on the floor. There was a knot above his ear and he kept mumbling something. They lifted him to his feet and one of the men patted the boy on the back, congratulating him for what he’d done, but the boy ducked away from under the man’s hand.
Leave us alone! he cried. All of you, leave us alone! He stood facing the ring of men. He was almost in tears. Leave us alone, goddamn you!
Why, what the hell? one of the men said. You little son of a bitch, we were trying to help you.
We don’t want your help. Leave us alone.
He took his grandfather by the arm and led him back to their table. We got to go home, he said. He helped the old man into his coat and put on his own coat and gathered up his homework papers, and they went outside.
They walked down the sidewalk past the darkened storefronts. Cars drove past in the street. Across the tracks they turned in at their quiet neighborhood, and went on toward the little dark house. He put his grandfather to bed in the back room, helping him remove his overalls and workshirt and covering him with blankets. The old man lay back in his long underwear and shut his eyes.
Will you be all right now, Grandpa?
The old man opened one eye and peered at him. Yes. Go on, get to bed.
DJ turned the light off and went to his room. Once he was undressed he began to cry. He lay across the bed, hitting at the pillow in the dark. Goddamn you, he sobbed. Goddamn you.
After a while he got up and dressed once more and went into the other bedroom to check on his grandfather, then he went outside to wander the night streets. He crossed the railroad tracks and walked into the south side of Holt, out along the shadowed dark sidewalks past the silent houses.
40
IT WAS LATE BUT NOT YET MIDNIGHT WHEN RAYMOND walked out of Rose’s house to his pickup. They had gone again to the Wagon Wheel Café for dinner and the café had been even more crowded this time, but it didn’t matter, they were having a good time, and afterward they had gone back to her house and drunk coffee and made love. Now he was going home. It was a fine spring night and he was feeling full of pleasure, fortunate beyond any accounting. He started the pickup and he was thinking warmly about Rose, then he got to the corner and there was a boy about to cross the street. Raymond slowed down and the boy stood under the light waiting for him to pass. He saw who it was and stopped. Son, is that you?
The boy didn’t say anything.
DJ, that’s you, isn’t it?
Yes, it’s me.
He stood at the edge of the street, his hands in his coat pockets.
What are you doing? Raymond said. Are you all right?
I’m all right.
Where you going to?
I’m just out walking.
Well. Raymond sat looking at him. Why don’t you get in and let me drive you home. It’s late out here.
I’m not going home yet.
I see. Raymond studied him. Then why don’t you get in and we’ll just drive a little.
You probably need to be somewhere.
Son, there’s no place else for me to be right now. I’d be glad for the company. Why don’t you come get in.
The boy stood looking at him. He looked away up the street. He stood for some time looking up the street. Raymond waited. Then the boy came around in front of the pickup and got in on the passenger side.
You’re just out walking. Is that it? Taking the night air.
Yes sir.
Well, it’s a nice night for it.
Raymond started the pickup and drove out of the dark neighborhood onto Main Street and turned south among the high-school kids in their cars, past the closed stores and the movie house, which had already let out for the night. When they passed the tavern the boy stared at the front of the building, and then turned sideways to look out the back window. At the highway Raymond headed west and drove out past the Legion and Shattuck’s Café, where people were parked in cars at the drive-up under the long tin canopy roof, and then on out of town.
You want to just drive on a ways? Raymond said. Would that be all right with you?
Yes sir.
I wouldn’t mind it myself. Crank that window down if you want some air.
The boy rolled down his window and they went on. The yardlights of the farms were scattered out beyond the dark open fields and at every mile a graveled section road ran exactly north and south, and all along the new spring weeds were growing up at the roadside. A rabbit darted across the pavement in front of them, heading off into the weeds, its white scut flashing as it zigzagged away.
Raymond glanced at the boy. What you suppose spooked him out on the highway?
I wouldn’t know.
The boy was looking straight ahead.
Son, is there something bothering you? Raymond said. You seem a little upset to me.
Maybe.
You kind of seem like it. Is it something you’d care to talk about?
I don’t know.
Well, I can sure listen anyhow. If you want to try.
The boy turned to look out the side window, the headlights shining ahead on the dark road. Then all at once he began to talk. It came pouring out of him, about the fight at the tavern and about the man hurting the barmaid and his grandfather. And he was crying now. Raymond drove on and the boy kept crying and talking. After a while he stopped, he seemed to have spent himself. He wiped at his face.
Is that pretty much all of it? Raymond said. Was there anything else you wanted to tell?
No.
Did he hurt you?
He was hurting her. And Grandpa.
But they’re all right now. Is that what you think?
I guess so.
What about him? Did he get hurt?
He was bleeding.
From where you hit him with the bottle?
Yes sir.
How bad was it?
I don’t know. His face was pretty cut up.
Well. He’ll probably be all right. Don’t you think?
I don’t know if he will or not.
RAYMOND DROVE ON A WAYS FARTHER, THEN THEY CAME back into town. At Shattuck’s Café he pulled in under the canopy and without asking he ordered them each a hamburger and a black coffee and then turned to look at him.