I'm sick, she groaned. What did you give me in that Coke?
I didn't give you anything, he said, smiling broadly, but I could give you something. If you wanted. If I give a lady something, it's going to be to help her relax. A young lady is always more entertaining when she stops worrying about business. If you're feeling loose, why not go with it? Have some fun with it. You got your horse back, ain't it? You should be feeling good. Don't you think you owe me just a little bit of good feeling? Instead of looking at me all the time with that sad face like your canary bird died.
Cause you got me to come here doesn't mean I'm getting my horse back, Maggie observed with dull logic. It just means I'm an idiot and you're an asshole.
Hey, go ahead and insult me, call me a liar if you want-you can still have your horse. Once you get to the road, it's only three miles to the track, almost all downhill. I'll lend you a shank. I'll even show you which way to walk.
Walk! Maggie said. I can't even stand. I weigh a thousand pounds.
Joe Dale laughed delightedly. Hey, he said, a thousand pounds. Just like a horse. So I guess Biggy got the right bottle, for once. You know Biggy ain't the swiftest.
Maggie stared at him. I believe you're telling me you gave me goddamn acepromazine.
Joe Dale just smiled.
But why? Why would you do a thing like that?
Not that I gave you anything-I ain't owning up to anything like that-but when I entertain a lady I like her to be completely in my hands. If you follow me.
I was already in your hands, Maggie said.
Yeah, but I don't like her to be running off as soon as she gets a little spooked. Until she has a chance to think about everything I can do for her. I want her to say, Joe Dale, I'm glad I hooked up with you whatever happens. Better in than out. Better mine than somebody else's. And I got to tell you the truth, baby, I don't see nobody else out there for you.
What do you have in mind? Maggie said.
Unh, unh, unh, that's just what I don't want-questions. No questions. What I want from you is your okay: whatever happens, Joe Dale. See? You're still in charge. If I was going to harm you, would I ask your permission? You got to show a little faith, baby. I promise you won't get hurt. You got your horse back, ain't it? You're going home in one piece. You're going home as good as you got here. In fact, better. You don't have to tell nobody nothing about what happened over here. All's you have to say is: okay, Joe Dale, I'm with you. And I'm going to make you as happy as you made me.
He crossed his arms and waited.
My name isn't baby.
How can I call you Maggie? he said. Maggie. It sounds like an old bag.
Maggie stopped fighting the urge to flop back in the straw. She lay down and stared up at the rough gray rafters, which were gloomy but thick and tightly joined and not even old. She had been right, the place was solid as a cavalry stockade. But there could be no question of staying here and doing what he wanted. She was quite sure that if she said no, he would hurt her, and if she said yes, he would hurt her very much.
She felt something familiar and pleasant at her knees-Pelter nosing through straw between her sprawled legs. Without having to raise her arm she could press the side of a hand against his nostril and feel its balmy gust.
When do I get the papers on my horse? Maggie asked.
No questions, Joe Dale smiled.
No papers no deal.
This ain't a deal, Joe Dale said. It's a gift. I don't think you get that yet.
No, I don't get it.
Well, I want you to stay here and think about it until you get it. I don't want you to go away and have to remember you blew your luck. I don't want you saying to yourself I could have had my horse back, and I could have had Joe Dale Bigg for a friend, just by putting my trust in him for one cotton-picking day. All I had to do was give my There was a commotion outside-some kind of distant shouting, probably an animal running loose-and Joe Dale, who already had his hand on the latch, went out in no hurry and shut the gate behind him. Maggie heard the outside bolt slide across and, through the crack at the bottom of the gate, watched his feet clap away on the earth floor. The crack was only a crack. On the other hand the high gate had no lock. Joe Dale was that sure she wouldn't even try to get away.
He presumed correctly. She tried to feel angry, for anger might pump up her muscles, but anger seemed to need a body to conceive of itself at all. If she could jimmy herself up the planking inch by inch, she could reach over and unlatch the latch at the top of the gate, but then what? Drag herself out of the barn on her belly? How far would she get like that?
And he had even left her with her horse. He had a nerve to figure her for such a klutz-but he was right, she had never been much of a rider and in all her life had never sat a horse bareback, let alone Pelter, a racehorse, without even reins and a bit in his mouth. Still, think of it: Maggie on Pelter. No, she greatly doubted she could get her body up off the ground and onto the horse, never mind stay on the horse once she got there.
She had to try, of course. Nowadays you couldn't just let some Black Bart tie you to the railroad tracks and walk away and leave you. The age demanded signs of a struggle even from a corpse. And there was another way of looking at this: the drug made gravity her friend, so that all at once the earth and her body loved each other dearly and fought to be together and worked as one against the forces that might part them. She had always thought that if she knew what was worth hanging onto in life, nothing could shake her off. She'd be a saint, or at least a nun, if she knew God. She'd be Griselda if she could find a man she could live with for more than twelve months. But so far she'd been spared any such moorings. Now she had a feeling that if she could once get the horse under her, she would stick to Pelter like a tattoo-nothing could get her off him.
Once in a pet store she had brushed inattentively by a cage and the small monkey inside had snatched her by a shirt button and would not let go. She pulled backwards. The monkey had eyed her with all the grave desperation of his boredom and twisted the button tighter. She pried at the monkey's fingers with her fingers, but it was clear she would have to do him some violence, break his little fingers one by one, to get free. She finally had to rip apart her blouse. She didn't mind. She was moved. She knew she was that monkey.
That was how she dragged herself up the gate, thinking of the monkey. She felt along the rough planks for pits and cracks with her bony prehensile fingers, leaning her bag of bones against them and squeezing herself up. She ended up lying across the top of the gate with one shoe on, one shoe off, her naked foot shakily stuffed in the water bucket. She kissed the air for Pelter and he came over.
She slung an arm and leg over him. He stiffened and danced away a little. Whoa, whoa, she begged him. One hand still clung to the top of the gate while her foot weakly pried at his long back end. The gap widened and she sagged into the hole. Come back, come back, come back, come back. Suddenly, for no reason, he stepped under her. She was on. Okay, papa, here goes. Her hand eased over the far side of the planking, turned the bolt, opened the latch, and the gate swung open.