“No, I let a drunk man feel my tittie for it.”
Clyde gave her a shocked look, and she laughed, told him how she had come by the car, telling it while she sat with her hands on the wheel, her head against the seat, turned slightly so she could speak to Clyde, doing it that way so she could feel her car.
“Hell, you can fire me now you got a ride.”
Sunset climbed out of the car and closed the door. “Don’t be silly, Clyde. I couldn’t do without you. You’re my right-hand man. And speaking of my left-hand man, where is he?”
Karen came out of the tent. Her hair was combed and she looked way too neat and clean for just getting up. She said, “Whose car?”
“Ours. Courtesy of your grandma.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Oh, heavens,” Karen said. “Our very own car.”
Karen came over to look at the car and Sunset went to the water pump and washed the dust off of her sweaty face. She pulled her hair back to do it, and when she turned her head to let the water run over her face, she saw Clyde looking at her, and the way he looked, it was so sweet, and she thought, Oh, hell, don’t fall for me, Clyde, because I can’t do it, and then she turned her head the other way to wash that side of her face, and she saw Hillbilly coming down the road, walking in that cool, collected way he had, and she thought it odd he seemed free of sweat and dust, and the way the sun hit his cap, it looked like some kind of dark halo.
In that moment, a heat like she had felt driving the car, maybe even hotter, rose up in her, but it wasn’t just her face this time, it was her loins as well.
“Hi, Hillbilly,” Karen said.
“Hi, darlin’,” he said.
17
Lee, dreaming he was Tarzan asleep in a tree with Jane in his arms, awoke to the sound of a moan.
For a moment, upon realizing he was not Tarzan, he was confused, had no idea where he was, and when he looked above and saw the limbs of the tree, he decided maybe he was in fact Tarzan, and that the moan belonged to Jane. Since no Jane was present and he was fully dressed, he determined it was not a moan of ecstasy or even a moan connected to backache, but it was a moan, perhaps from falling from the tree, because trees, for all their romance, really weren’t that good to sleep in unless you were a monkey.
Then he came full awake. He was in a tree, but not in Africa, and below him lay Goose.
He rolled over and looked down. Goose was sitting up with his back against the tree. Goose said, “Goddamn it. I done been snakebit.”
“What?”
“Snakebit. Copperhead.”
“You sure?”
“Course I’m sure. Woke up when it bit me. It weren’t no chicken snake. I know them copperhead sonsabitches are poison. I know that much. Saw it crawl in the leaves there. Got me on the hand. It was a little one. Don’t hurt much.”
“Where exactly did the snake go?”
“Well, he didn’t tell me where he was planning on finishing out,” Goose said. “But in them leaves, over there.”
Goose pointed.
Lee dropped down from his limb and looked around and found a heavy stick.
“He done bit me,” Goose said. “I ain’t gonna get better cause you hit him with a stick.”
Lee tossed the stick down. “You’re right. We got to get you to a doctor. Can you walk?”
“Bit me on the hand, not the leg.”
“Thing to do is to walk slow and careful, not hurry. Poison gets het up and runs right through you that way.”
“Am I gonna be okay?”
“Sure. But we got to get you to a doctor.”
They went out on the road and started walking. It was good and morning now, already starting to turn hot. Lee hoped Camp Rapture was not too far away, and that a doctor was there, and that they wouldn’t be too late. He looked about, hoping to remember the place better, get some idea of where they were, but he might as well have been in Romania.
As they walked, Goose said, “Hand’s starting to hurt like fire now, and get heavy.”
Lee looked at the boy’s hand. It was swollen up huge and turning dark.
“Put it inside your shirt. Unbutton a couple buttons. Put it in there Napoleon style, so you don’t let it dangle by your side.”
“Oh, Jesus. It hurts.”
“I know, son. Just keep going.”
They went a ways, then Goose fell to his knees. “My head’s all whirly. I’m hotter in the head than a jacked-off mad dog.”
“It’ll be all right.”
Goose hit face forward in the dust.
Lee picked him up and carried him in his arms. This was hard work and he didn’t get too far before he had to put the boy down. He picked him up again, but this time he threw him over his shoulder. This was hard, but not as hard as carrying him in his arms. He went twice as far this time, stopped, and with great difficulty, shifted the boy to his other shoulder.
Goose wasn’t talking anymore. He wasn’t making a sound. He felt hot to the touch. Nonetheless, Lee talked to him. “We’re gonna make it, son. Can’t be that damn far. I been here before, long time ago, and it don’t seem it’s that far.”
But they walked on and the road kept stretching. Lee wanted to stop, lie down. He was exhausted with the weight and the heat, but he kept plodding. He thought: I’m damn glad Goose ain’t a fat boy or I’d go straight down and never get up. But then, if he was a fat boy, he probably wouldn’t run like a goose and the name Goose wouldn’t fit him. They’d call him Pig, something like that.
His legs grew heavy and his arms grew tired, but he tried to focus on the road ahead, thinking that around each far ahead curve he would see Camp Rapture. He wondered what Camp Rapture was like now. When he left it, it had just become a camp and it had the name all fresh and new and it wasn’t much to see. Goddamn. How long ago was that? Thirty? Thirty-three years? He couldn’t really remember. He was in his early twenties then. He was in his early fifties now. No. What was he thinking? Time had slipped by him. He was fifty-four. Was that early or middle fifties? Oh, Christ, this boy is heavy. And it’s hot, so goddamn hot, and the boy is hot. So hot.
Lee stumbled, went down. The boy slipped off his shoulder and struck the road.
“Jesus, son, I’m sorry,” Lee said. But the boy was unaware of the fall or the fact that he was being spoken to.
With the effort of Atlas lifting the world, Lee managed the boy up again, switching this time to holding one leg and one arm and slinging the boy across his back. This was better for a while, but soon his arm ached and his leg ached and he thought: I must lay down a while. But no. Can’t do that. Every second counts. He glanced at the boy’s hand, which was now dangling. It was black and large and didn’t look like a hand at all. It looked like some kind of creature.
“We’ll make it, Goose,” he said, and wondered if they would or even if the boy was still alive. As he plodded on, he relaxed, tried to feel the boy breathing, and could. Could feel the slight and strained movement of the boy’s body as his lungs labored.
“For God sakes, Jesus,” Lee said. “I know I done some wrong. But don’t take it out on this boy. Help me help him.”
Jesus didn’t reach out of the heavens to offer a hand.
God didn’t provide a chariot or a doctor.
The Holy Ghost didn’t cheer him on.
Lee pushed on, stumbled, went to a knee, got up, kept going, said to God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost, “You sonsofbitches. All three of you.”
Then he heard the sound.
He turned, almost falling as he did.
Coming down the road was a truck with side boards. Lee stepped to the center of the road.The truck swerved and pulled to the left side of the road, something clattered in the truck bed as it came to a stop. A woman was driving. She looked about his age. Nice looking with a gray stripe down the center of her hair. She had eyes like icy blue fire. She reached over and rolled down the window.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Boy got snakebit.”
“Poisonous snake?”