“He won’t let me talk to people. He’s so possessive. He’d never let me out of his sight. And he’d get so mad at me. You know when we talked last time, you and me, way back then? You know what he did to me afterwards? He raped me.”
Tully turned to the brown eyes, the lids puffy, eyebrows a short stubble under bluish penciled lines.
“He just picked me up and threw me on the bed. Well, don’t look at me like that. I’m not ashamed to say it. I’ve never been ashamed of the act of love. I believe it’s a part of life.”
Tully was regaining his interest. “Sure, why not? I mean, after all, if people like each other.”
“I don’t mean free love. I got no use for that.”
“Well, free, depends what you mean free. If it’s not free can you call it love?”
“I mean real love. I’m talking about love, not just sex. When you’re really in love you marry for life. That’s the only way it can be. I don’t consider my second marriage sanctified. I should of stayed true to Frank.”
“Who’s that?”
“My first husband. He was a full-blooded Cherokee.”
“You married an Indian?”
“What’s wrong with that? You think you’re any better?”
“I’m not knocking it.”
“Just watch what you say. I won’t stand for any insults against Frank. I heard enough smart talk when I married him. My family turned against me, and he was cleaner than any of them. They talk about Indians drinking. I never saw Frank drunk. I said to hell with all of them. He was the handsomest man I’ve ever known. I still wear his wedding ring.”
Tully looked at the gold band. “What happened, you split up?”
“No.”
“But you’re not married any more.”
Oma paused before replying: “I’m a widow.”
He lowered his eyes. “Uh. Too bad. What happened to him?”
“He was shot.”
“No kidding. Who did it?”
“He was a police officer. He was killed in the line of duty. He’d only been on the force two weeks and he didn’t know what they do to you. He was too brave to be careful. A couple of guys were holding up a bar and he was right there, he and another officer. They got the call and they were right there before the men got off the sidewalk, and Frank jumped out of the car first and they killed him.”
“Where was this?”
“Oakland. We moved up there after we got married and Frank worked in the post office, but that didn’t pay enough and he didn’t like it. Then he heard they needed policemen, and he was big. We didn’t even have time to have children. I married white next time and all he was good for was running us off an embankment. Marrying him was the biggest mistake of my life. He had unnatural desires.”
“He did?”
“The white race is in its decline. We started downhill in 1492 when Columbus discovered syphilis.”
“What did he want to do?”
“White men are animals.”
“We’re not so bad.”
“White man is the vermin of the earth!”
“All right, not so loud.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. Who do you think killed the American Indian? I don’t care who hears me. I know I’m making a nuisance of myself to all these goddamn Mexicans sitting here just waiting for me to leave so they can get comfortable without any gringos around. To hell with these greaseballs. They don’t know who their real friends are.”
“What are you going on about? Take it easy.”
“You can just shut your damn mouth. What do you know about it?”
“What did you say to me?”
“I said you can shut up. And keep your hands off me, too.”
“What did you say? Listen, I don’t have to take that. You’re liable to get backhanded right off that stool someday.”
“See if I care one bit. That’s all I need. Go ahead if it’ll make you happy.”
“Forget it. I was kidding.”
“Get it out of your system, go on, if it’ll do you good, if that’s what you need to feel like you’re somebody.”
“Oh, Christ,” said Tully, turning away.
“Knock some teeth out while you’re at it. I still got a few of my own in there the others were nice enough to leave me.”
“God almighty. I wouldn’t hit you.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard. What you waiting for? There’s nothing I can do to stop you. It ought to be a big lift for you. Just the thing you need. Don’t let it worry you. Far be it from me to spoil anybody’s fun. Go on, since you got your mind made up. If that’s how you get your kicks, I guess I’ll do as well as anybody else.”
Groaning, elbows on the bar, he put his face in his hands and for a moment it was as if his wife were again berating him. “Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said into his hands, his one impulse to mollify her, to keep her with him by his penitential pose. “I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry, believe me. Listen, I’m sorry. Will you listen to me? I’m sorry.”
“Well, so what? So you’re sorry.”
Baffled, Tully was in a turmoil. There was nothing he could do. Caught where he had been so many times before, he felt he would slam his hateful head on the bar if she did not forgive him. “I feel I could just break my head,” he said.
“I wouldn’t stop you.”
“I feel like beating my head on the bar,” he warned.
“Go ahead.”
With a loud knock his forehead struck the varnished wood. Her hands were on him then; she held him by the shoulder and under the chin and there was strength in her arms. Taking up his glass he toasted the staring faces. He was feeling good again; he had regained his authority.
“What did you want to do that for?”
“You can count on me right down the line,” he said.
“You want to knock your brains out?”
“You can count on me. Don’t you believe me?”
“I get along all right.”
“Listen, let me tell you something. You can count on me right down the line.”
“I thought you wanted to hit me.”
“Forget that, will you? I never hit a woman in my life. I’m not that kind of lousy bastard. Ask anybody. I won’t let a friend down. Let me buy you a drink. Don’t you think you can count on me?”
“Just don’t bump your head any more.”
“Will you forget that? I asked you a question. Do you think I’d let you down?”
“I don’t know, would you?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t. After all, I mean, how would I know?”
“You can count… on… me,” he declared to emphatic slaps on the bar. “I’m the reliable type. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? You can count me among your friends. Don’t you believe me? Any time you need anything, come see me. You’re all right. I mean that.”
“Well, I like that about you. You know who your friends are.”
“That’s right.”
“These others I wouldn’t ask for the time of day.”
“They wouldn’t give it to you.”
“You’re the only son-of-a-bitch that’s worth a shit in this place.”
“I appreciate that. I mean because there’s something I like about you.” Tully sat with his arm around her neck. The crisis was past, the confusing emotions gone so quickly it was as if that brief desperate turbulence had no significance. He felt loose and supple. His scalp was tingling from a sensation of astonishing intimacy.
When they went out together he was fondling her curly head. And he was in control now, talking rapidly to allow no interruption, trying to circumvent all possible subjects for contention in order to remain in favor. At the door, during a crescendo of trumpets and guitars, he glanced back over his shoulder in leering triumph, but no one was looking at him. A cooling breeze had risen. The sky was clear; the Big Dipper tilted over Center Street. Tully realized how drunk he was when he stopped on the sidewalk for a kiss and, eyes closed, pleased at finding he was the taller, lost his balance. Oma had surged against him, and as they walked on, his arm across her back, hers at his waist, she continued to lean against him, forcing him toward walls and store windows.