“Uh-uh,” Beverly said. “You had your ration last night. Right now I want breakfast.”
“No more itch?” I asked.
“No more itch.” She smiled. “Unless being hungry is an itch. I don’t eat, I get mean.”
This was true.
We went down and ate breakfast and I got a few dollars for gas and emergencies and made ready to drive over to Tyler to see my mother.
“Give her my best,” Beverly said. “We’d go, but I’d rather the kids slept late today. They’re driving me crazy, and the idea of being trapped in the van with them all the way over there isn’t all that appealing. We’ll go over with you next weekend. Tell Carolyn that, and give her our love.”
“I will,” I said. “Call the main stores, would you? Check and see if there are any problems. If there are, I’ll see if I can fix them when I get back. I’ll check on the out of town stores tomorrow.”
We kissed and I poured a large cup of coffee and started for Tyler.
When I got to my mother’s place a couple hours later, my mind wandered enough that she thought I was sick, the way mothers will do. I assured her I was not, took her out to lunch, had a pleasant visit, drove her home, gave her a little money, and started back.
This time, I didn’t try to fool myself into thinking I was going anywhere but Arnold’s, and I knew too, this time, I was going for the gold.
· · ·
As is common for East Texas, the day had gone through numerous weather changes. From a cold, somewhat misty morning, to a warmish midday, and now to a cool, but not uncomfortable afternoon.
The sky was clear and white clouds churned across it. There was a lazy wind and it moved the leaves and made the branches of the trees along the blacktop that led out to Arnold’s quiver.
I passed where I had parked last time, went on around the curve a bit, turned down the somewhat muddy drive, and on up into Arnold’s yard.
I parked near the flagstone walk, got out, and listened to the gentle whistle of the wind in the bottle tree, as I had come to think of it. While I was getting up my nerve to go to the door, the big, yellow dog came out from under the steps and leaped through the lawn mower handle and barked at me.
I’d forgotten about him.
I got in the truck and closed the door. The dog ran up and jumped against it and barked at me through the window. I honked the horn a few times and the dog barked more fiercely.
After a moment, the double-wide’s door opened and Arnold came out. He stood in the doorway staring at me. He was wearing a grey, long-john shirt with an open red and black plaid shirt pulled over i pu cht. He had on long-john bottoms and thick grey socks with faded red toe tips. His formerly red hair was shot with grey and so was his thick beard. He had grown even heavier than I remembered, but his gut looked hard as an iron wash pot and his love handles seemed solid as a truck tire. His chest was like a barrel, and his legs were thick and slightly bowed. He towered well over six feet. He looked like a Viking elder ought to look. He turned his head and spat a stream of dark tobacco on the ground.
I rolled down my window a couple inches, and the dog jumped up and barked and slung slobber through the crack above the glass and onto my shoulder.
I leaned close to the crack and yelled, “Arnold, it’s me, Hank.”
A dog snout full of teeth flashed by and made me jerk back. I watched through the windshield as Arnold stepped onto the steps and called back to me. “I know who the hell you are. I know that truck better’n you. You selling something?”
“No… Course not. Could you call the dog off?”
“You gonna want to come in?”
“If I could.”
He thought about that a moment, fingered his chew out of his cheek and flicked it onto the ground and yelled at his dog. “Butch! Git under the goddamn house!”
Butch didn’t get under the goddamn house. He proved to be no better behaved than my children. He kept barking and jumping and flicking slobber on my window.
“Goddamnit,” Arnold said, coming down to the bottom step. “Git on back here. Butch! Git on back!”
Butch quit rearing up on the truck and throwing saliva. He growled and barked a time or two, and finally got under the house. He didn’t do it happily. He stuck his head out of the opening and barked some more dog words at me and Arnold slammed the palm of his hand against the double-wide and yelled, “Git on!”
Butch went silent.
Arnold lifted a hand and waved me toward him. “Well, come on.”
I got out of the truck carefully and walked toward the house. Arnold said, “You look older.”
“You look older too.”
The wind picked up and the bottle trees hooted. I turned and looked at the tree, then back to Arnold.
“Don’t pay that no mind,” he said. “Come on in.”
Inside the trailer was a mixture of what I expected, and a lot of what I didn’t expect. It was fairly neat, with old furniture that hadn’t come with the joint, and there was a new TV on the far side of the living room wall. Against another section of wall hung a huge black velvet cloth painting of Elvis holding a microphone to his mouth. There was a tacky silver tear dripping out of one of his eyes. Next to Elvis was a cheap particleboard bookcase. It was full of paperback books. I could see a few of the titles, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Zen to Go, Zen and the Art of Archery, a fistful of Western and detective novels, most of which looked pretty old.
“I got some photographs of the place, you want ’em,” Arnold said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Just haven’t been here in a while.”
“Let’s see,” Arnold said. “You were here once before. About ten years ago, give or take a month or six. As I remember, last time you stopped by was a few days after Billy’s mother died. What the hell was her name, anyway?”
“Fran.”
“That sounds right. I had quite a bit of hooch that day, puked on one of our cousins. Let’s see. After the funeral I came back here and was moving a new chair inside when you came up. That right?”
“I don’t recall exactly.”
And I didn’t. I thought the funeral had been the last time I had seen him, but now it came back to me. I had totally blotted that event out, probably due to its awkwardness.
“Well,” Arnold said, “as I recall, you were here maybe thirty seconds. Told me you were sorry about Billy’s mom, and I said I was sorry about her too, though I didn’t know her from dick and you said, I got to go, and I believe that was about it.”
“You were pretty drunk, Arnold.”
“You did help me get the chair inside. Right inside the door, anyway. I pushed it from there. I don’t have that chair anymore. Some mice took up inside it and I had to burn it. I let the mice loose first. I’ll poison the little bastards, but I won’t burn them.”
“Arnold, I don’t know what to say.”
“What’s to say about mice?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Arnold went over and got behind the counter and sat on a bar stool. He put his big hands flat on the bar in front of him, and after a moment they crawled together. “Now you’re here, maybe it doesn’t mean a thing you’ve finally come around. I get this urge like I want to beat your ass, or hug you. I don’t know. I figure you’re here ’cause of something doesn’t have anything to do with me. I figure it has to do with you. You were always good for you.”
“That’s not true, Arnold.”
“In my case it’s true.”
“All right,” I said, “in your case it’s true. At least one time it was true.”
“That was one big time, little brother. Listen here. I’m going to do a little fishing. I was putting on some warm stuff when you came up. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m still gonna do a little fishing. I’ve planned it all week. Just an hour or two, but I’m gonna do it. I go back to work tomorrow wrecking out a car for parts a fella needs, and I want to feel like I did what I told myself I’d do. I’m trying to do more for myself these days. I read about that in some books.”