Oh, it was a bad day, all right. I hadn't thought it could get much worse, but now I knew that it could.
Now there was this dead guy out here behind the shed.
I ran back inside the shop. Barney was still banging away under old Mrs. Cassell's Ford, with his legs sticking out over the end of the roller cart. I yelled at him to slide out. He did and I said, "Barney. . . Barney, there's a dead guy out by the parts shed."
He said, "You trying to be funny?"
"No," I said. "No kidding and no lie. He's out there in the grass behind the shed."
"Another of them derelicts come in on the freights, I suppose. You sure he's dead? Maybe he's just passed out."
"Dead, Barney. I know a dead guy when I see one."
He hauled up on his feet. He was a big Swede, five inches and fifty pounds bigger than me, and he had a way of looming over you that made you feel even smaller. He looked down into my face and then scowled and said in a different voice, "Froze to death?"
"No," I said. "He hasn't got a face anymore. His face is all blown away."
"Jesus. Somebody killed him, you mean?"
"Somebody must of. Who'd do a thing like that, Barney? Out behind our shed?"
He shook his head and cracked one of his big gnarly knuckles. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the cold garage. Then, without saying anything else, he swung around and fast-walked out through the rear door.
I didn't go with him. I went over and stood in front of the wall heater. But I still couldn't get warm. My shoulders kept hunching up and down inside my overalls and I couldn't feel my nose or ears or the tips of my fingers, as if they weren't there anymore. When I looked at my hands, they were all red and chapped, like Madge's hands after she's been washing clothes or dishes. They twitched a little, too; the tendons were like worms wiggling under a handkerchief.
Pretty soon Barney came back. He had a funny look on his moon face but it wasn't the same kind he'd had when he went out. He said, "What the hell, Joe? I got no time for games and neither do you."
"Games?"
"There's nobody behind the shed," he said.
I stared at him. Then I said, "In the grass, not ten feet past the far corner."
"I looked in the grass," Barney said. His nose was running from the cold. He wiped it off on the sleeve of his overalls. "I looked all over. There's no dead guy. There's nobody."
"But I saw him. I swear to God."
"Well, he's not there now."
"Somebody must of come and dragged him off, then."
"Who'd do that?"
"Same one who killed him."
"There's no blood or nothing," Barney said. He was back to being grumpy. His voice had that hard edge and his eyes had a squeezed look. "None of the grass is even flattened down. You been seeing things, Joe."
"I tell you, it was the real thing."
"And I tell you, it wasn't. Go out and take another look, see for yourself. Then get that oil pan out of the shed and your ass back to work. I promised old lady Cassell we'd have her car ready by five-thirty."
I went outside again. The wind had picked up a couple of notches, turned even colder; it was like fire against my bare skin. The hills east of town were all shimmery with haze, like in one of those desert mirages. There was a tree smell in the air but it wasn't the usual good pine-and-spruce kind. It was a eucalyptus smell, even though there weren't any eucalyptus trees within two miles of here. It made me think of cat piss.
I put my head down and walked slow over to the parts shed. And stopped just as I reached it to draw in a long breath. And then went on to where I could see past the far corner.
The dead guy was there in the grass. Lying right where I'd seen him before, laid out on his back with one leg drawn up and his face blown away.
The wind gusted just then, and when it did it made sounds like howls and moans. I wanted to cover my ears. Cover my eyes, too, to keep from seeing what was in the grass. But I didn't do either one. All I did was stand there shivering with my eyes wide open, trying to blink away some of the shimmery haze that seemed to have crawled in behind them. Nothing much was clear now, inside or out—nothing except the dead guy.
"Joe!"
Barney, somewhere behind me. I didn't turn around but I did back up a couple of steps. Then I backed up some more, until I was past the corner and couldn't see the dead guy anymore. Then I swung around and ran to where Barney was in the shop doorway.
"He's there, Barney, he's there, he's there—"
He gave me a hard crack on the shoulder. It didn't hurt; only the cold hurt where it touched my face and hands. He said, "Get hold of yourself, man."
"I swear it," I said, "right where I saw him before."
"All right, take it easy."
"I don't know how you missed seeing him," I said. I pulled at his arm. "I'll show you, come on."
I kept tugging on him and finally he came along, grumbling. I led the way out behind the shed. The dead guy was still there, all right. I blew out the breath I'd been holding and said, "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?"
Barney stared down at the dead guy. Then he stared at me with his mouth open a little and his nose dripping snot. He said, "I don't see anything."
"You don't . . . what?"
"Grass, just grass."
"What's the matter with you? You're looking right at him!"
"The hell I am. The only two people out here are you and me?"
I blinked and blinked and shook my head and blinked some more but the dead guy didn't go away. He was there. I started to bend over and touch him, to make absolutely sure, but I couldn't do it. He'd be cold, as cold as the wind—colder. I couldn't stand to touch anything that cold and dead.
"I've had enough of this," Barney said.
I made myself look at him instead of the dead guy. The cat piss smell had gotten so strong I felt like gagging.
"He's there," I said, pleading. "Oh God, Barney, can't you see him?"
"There's nobody there. How many times do I have to say it? You better go on inside, Joe. Both of us better. It's freezing out here." He put a hand on my arm but! shook it off. That made him mad. "All right," he said, "if that's the way you want it. How about if I call Madge? Or maybe Doc Kiley?"
"No," I said.
"Then quit acting like a damn fool. Get a grip on yourself, get back to work. I mean it, Joe. Any more of this crap and you'll regret it."
"No," I said again. "You're lying to me. That's it, isn't it? You're lying to me."
"Why would I lie to you?"
"I don't know, but that's what you're doing. Why don't you want me to believe he's there?"
"Goddamn it, there's nobody there!"
Things just kept happening today—bad things one right after another, things that made no sense. The cold, Madge, Barney, the dead guy, the haze, the cat piss smell, Barney again—and now a cold wind chilling me inside as well as out, as if icy gusts had blown right in through my flesh and were howling and prowling around my heart. I'd never felt like this before. I'd never been this cold or this scared or this frantic.
I pulled away from Barney and ran back into the shop and into the office and unlocked the closet and took out the duck gun he lets me keep in there because Madge don't like guns in the house. When I got back to the shed, Barney was just coming out with a Ford oil pan in his gnarly hands. His mouth pinched up tight and his eyes got squinty when he saw me.