“Who did, Ferris?”
“He didn’t knock or ring the bell, he just walked in.”
“Was the door locked?”
“I don’t know, you went out. Did you lock it? He probably has a key anyway.”
“I was with a guy after that mentioned him. We stopped off, the chief engineer and the captain of the boat we’re working on—both of these guys’ve been on the river over forty years. The captain, he wears a regular suit and tie, took me up to the pilothouse, showed me all the controls. But the way I got chummy with him was through the chief engineer. I was underneath the stern of the boat, in the drydock now, they got the old wheel off that was bent ... The wheel’s the propeller, only it’s a great big goddamn thing, taller’n I am, they cost ten to fifteen thousand each. I’m welding a plate over the piece that holds the wheel to the shaft, the chief engineer says, ‘I got a job you might want to look at.’ ”
Carmen turned and opened the oven. With hot pads she brought out a casserole of pork chops and escalloped potatoes, placed it on top of the stove and didn’t move, standing with her back to Wayne.
“He takes me aboard and down to the engine room, three diesels in there, twelve-hundred horsepower each, and shows me this busted exhaust flex joint.”
Carmen got a head of lettuce from the refrigerator, brought it to the counter next to the sink, still with her back to Wayne, and began tearing it apart to make a salad.
“It’s a waffle-type joint made of stainless steel, the kind of job ordinarily they’d take out the whole section and send it to the shop. Anyway, I put a weld in there, the chief engineer looks at it, he says, ‘We go ashore after work I’m gonna buy you a drink.’ I don’t care that much about welding, but you know what’s the most interesting thing about that operation, seeing how the drydock works. You ever see it?”
Carmen had a chunk of lettuce in her hand. She threw it down on the counter, came over to the table and picked up the can of beer Wayne had opened for her.
“What they do, they fill it with water and the entire dock sinks down in the river. They work the towboat in there between the two sides, pump the water out and the whole thing raises back up with the boat. They took a barge out and put a big goddamn towboat in there in less than an hour.”
Carmen slammed the beer can down on the table.
“The guy walked into our house!”
Wayne looked up at her, startled.
Carmen said, “Am I getting through to you?”
Wayne touched her arm. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?”
“I don’t want to sit down. The guy walked into our house, uninvited. Without knocking or ringing the bell. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“I could have been undressed, I could have been taking a shower. Did you ask anything about that? What I was doing, what I felt, was I afraid? No, you tell me about this wonderful welding job you did and how the fucking drydock works.”
“I was gonna discuss it with you.”
“When?”
“Right now. I was about to tell you about this guy that joined us after.”
“In the bar?”
“Yeah, a place they go.”
“Great. Tell me about the guy you met in a bar.”
“Why don’t you sit down, okay? Take it easy.”
“You want to know something else? The guy who came to our house, Armand Degas?”
“Yeah, the Indian.”
“Not once have you asked me what it was like, what I felt, what was going through my mind. You put your gun by the door, just in case—there, you’ve done your part. Did you think—I’m talking about before now—did you think I might actually have to use it?”
“You did,” Wayne said. “You handled it, you ran the guy off.”
“How do you know? Did you ask me about it?”
“You told me what happened.”
“You know what I mean. Did you think about how scared I must’ve been? You didn’t hold me or say anything. ...I couldn’t sleep after—do you remember that? The FBI man, Scallen, he understood. I told him I hope I never have to do that again and you said—do you know what you said?”
“You mean when Scallen was there?”
“You said, ‘My wife’s a winner. That’s why I married her.’ ”
“Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s like you’re taking credit, because you picked me.”
“I was complimenting you, for Christ sake.”
“No, you weren’t. It’s always what you’re doing that’s important, your job, working on a project— what am I doing, the ironing, I wash your dirty coveralls.”
“You want me to do it,” Wayne said, “when I come home? Tell me what you want. You don’t tell me, how’m I suppose to know? You start crying, I don’t even know most of the time if you’re happy or somebody died or you got a pain, it doesn’t seem to make any fucking difference. What I need is something like your Emotional Expression Chart, a big one I can lay over you and find out what’s going on.”
Carmen picked up her can of beer and started out of the kitchen.
“Wait a minute . . . okay?”
She stopped in the hall doorway.
“You want me to talk to this moron, this asshole marshal? I will, I plan to, don’t worry. He ever walks in this house again I’ll wrap a sleever bar around his head. How’s that?”
Carmen stood there long enough to say, “That’s what you’ll do for him. What will you do for me?”
Every once in a while—like getting ice water thrown in your face—she’d get mad when he didn’t know what she was thinking or how she felt. Then he’d get mad because he didn’t see why he was expected to be able to read her goddamn mind. He had wondered if maybe it had to do with her period, mentioned it one time only and got a can of beer thrown at him. He wiped it up from the kitchen floor after she walked out of the house and across the field all the way to the far edge of woods and stood there till it was dark. They made love that night, saying they would love each other forever and everything was fine after. This evening, Wayne had another beer before going to look for his wife and get things back to normal.
She was in the bedroom. The twin beds had been pushed together and Carmen was sitting on the edge of hers, bent over close to the lamp and her can of beer on the night table. She was leafing through the chamber of commerce booklet on her lap. Or going through the motions. Wayne stood in the doorway. He asked her what she was doing.
“I’m reading.”
He kept quiet, giving her time.
“I’m finding out,” Carmen said, “what a wonderful place this is to live. The Centerre Bank is serving us with three convenient locations. Or we can see Colonial Federal for all our financial needs.”
“Are we gonna have supper?”
“If you want.”
“Carmen, I’ll talk to the guy, okay?”
She didn’t say anything. Wayne took a step into the room. “Listen, I mentioned—I started to tell you about meeting a guy when I was with the captain and the chief engineer?” He paused. If she nodded or said almost anything at all it would mean they were friends again.
She didn’t.
“Anyway, this guy, his name’s Bob Brown, he’s a detective with the Cape Girardeau Police. We’re talking, I tell him why we’re here, he says, ‘Oh, so you know Ferris Britton. What do you think of him?’ I said, ‘You want my honest opinion? I think he’s a moron.’ And Bob Brown, the cop, says, ‘You’re being polite. You want anything fucked up, Ferris is the guy you call.’ ”
Wayne stood there waiting.
Carmen didn’t say anything.
“They know the guy, what he’s like. He ever walks in here again, call Bob Brown. That’s an easy name to remember.”
She still didn’t say anything.