All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers: A Novel (30 page)

“Naw, I ain’t,” Luther said. “He ain’t from Texas, that’s for sure.”

“I
am
from Texas,” I said. “I’ve lived here all my life. What did we do?”

“The Meskin’s carryin’ dope,” the first Ranger said. “I don’t know what you done. Me and Luther been trying to
imagine ever since we passed you the first time. We just thought we’d stop and ask you point-blank.”

I was beginning to understand. My appearance displeased the Texas Rangers. I was too scared of them and too worried about the mess I had got Petey in to be at all belligerent. I was very humble pie.

“I write books,” I said meekly.

“Fuck books?” Luther said. “I bet he writes them fuck books, E. Paul.”

“Just novels,” I said.

“You put that hair in curlers at night?” E. Paul asked. He smiled a half-smile. I was not sure I liked him any better than I liked Luther.

“No,” I said.

“Why not?” he said. “Don’t it get mussed up, during the day?”

“I try to keep it combed,” I said.

There seemed to be no cars on the road. We were nowhere, faced with two enemies. I felt scared and responsible both. Petey might go to jail. I should have left him to his pinball and his fourteen-year-olds. The Rangers were focused on me, though.

“We’re real curious,” E. Paul said. “Did your momma get mixed up and raise you to be a girl, or what?”

“No,” I said.

“How come you got hair like a girl’s, then?” Luther asked. Now and then he flicked the shotgun from side to side, as if he were doing wrist exercises.

“I’ve been very busy,” I said. “I forget to get it cut.”

“If we was to drive you into Falfurrias and take you to a barbershop would you get it cut?”

Despite being scared I felt a little resistance.

“Is there a law against hair in Texas?” I asked.

The tiny twist of humor went out of E. Paul’s face at
once. He stepped closer to me. I felt violence very close to me. He jabbed my stomach with one finger.

“Right here on this road there’s a law against anything me and Luther don’t like,” he said. “And me and Luther don’t like you asking questions. You just answer questions if you don’t want your goddamn head punched.”

“What about that haircut we offered you?” Luther asked.

“I guess I’d take it.”

“You guess.”

“I’d take it,” I said. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I just don’t go to the barbershop very often.”

“Ain’t you what they call a fairy?” E. Paul said. “Me and Luther ain’t never seen a real fairy—why we asked. Ain’t you a fairy? Don’t you suck dicks?”

“No,” I said. “I’m married and have a child.”

E. Paul didn’t move. “I’s hoping you was a fairy,” he said. “I ain’t never seen one, for sure. Maybe you are one and just ain’t figured it out yet. I been told that happens. Maybe if you was ever to suck a dick you’d find out you’s a little old fairy. Might divorce your wife, break up your happy home. I bet that’d be a nice change for your old lady.”

I stood. Petey stood. Luther exercised his wrist. No cars passed. E. Paul looked down on us from beneath his Stetson.

“Maybe you ought to find out, before you get your hair cut,” he said. “You keep that hair you might find some other little fairy and you two’d be just as happy as shit. We could take this Mexican over behind one of them piles of prickly pear and you could suck his dick for a while, to see if you liked it. Then you’d know if gettin’ a haircut’d be the right thang to do.”

I was silent. I knew bad things were coming. I wasn’t going to hurry them.

“How about that? You like that idea? Answer up.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

“You’d do it though, wouldn’t you?” E. Paul said. “You’d do it if me and Luther told you to. You wouldn’t be wanting to defy the law, would you?”

I didn’t answer. I was not too proud to eat shit, exactly, but I knew that was the piece not to eat. He meant it. Not one car came along. I continued not to answer.

“Answer up,” Luther said.

“No sir,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Sure you would,” E. Paul said. “You’d probably take right to it. Once a dog starts sucking eggs they don’t never stop.”

“How long you been a fairy?” Luther asked, boring at me with his stony gray eyes.

“I’m not homosexual,” I said.

“You’d do it though, if we was to tell you to, wouldn’t you?” E. Paul said.

I was silent.

“Hey you. Meskin,” Luther said. “How long’s it been since you fucked your little sister?”

Petey looked down at his feet. For some reason they shifted focus. The focus had been on me. It became on Petey. They both looked at him.

Petey shook his head. “I don’ do that,” he said.

“Aw hell, you ought to,” E. Paul said. “Your sister’s probably dying for a little fuckee fuckee.”

Luther came closer. I have heard nitroglycerine is jelly. What I felt was that such a jelly was in front of us. It quivered. Any shock could set it off. Or no shock. Violence rippled and quivered around us. I didn’t know what would set it off, but I saw it in their jaws and hands. Petey and I were helpless.

Then Luther reached out with his right hand and caught Petey by one of his ears. Petey was white. I didn’t know what was happening. Neither did Petey. Then Luther lifted
him a foot off the ground and held him there, by his ear. Petey’s face contorted. Luther held him off the ground by his ear. Luther wasn’t straining and he was only using one hand. Tears ran down Petey’s face. It looked like his skin would tear.

“When’d you say you fucked your sister?” Luther said. “Answer up.” Luther gave him a little shake, and Petey screamed out. Luther shook him again.

“No, don’, don’!” Petey said. “Tonight. Last night.”

Luther dropped him and as he came down swung the shotgun against Petey’s ribs. It didn’t seem to hit hard, but Petey rolled when he hit. Luther sat the gun against my car. He picked Petey up by his collar and his belt and carried him to the patrol car. He dropped him, opened the rear door, then picked Petey up and threw him bodily in. The car shook when Petey hit the opposite door. Luther closed the door and came back. Despite his bullethead he had long legs. He was back in two seconds. They both stood in front of me. Violence still rippled. Petey was gone. Four stone eyes looked at me. I was backed against my car.

“Are you sure you’re even a boy?” E. Paul asked.

I could almost feel Luther’s iron knuckles closing on my ear.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” I said. “You don’t have to play games. If you’re going to beat me just do it.”

“We ain’t got much to do,” E. Paul said. “Don’t nothing that looks like you drive into our part of the country ever’ day. We got to make the most out of it. We ain’t gonna take no fairy like you to one of these here nice jails we got in South Texas. We got decent criminals in our jails. We ain’t gonna put no pervert in with ’em. You do suck dicks, don’t you?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes you do,” Luther said.

I felt sick and nervous and strangely passive. They were going to hit me sooner or later, no matter what I said. There was no backing any farther than I had already backed. I didn’t want to, anyway. Hatred of them was in me. It wasn’t dominant. Fear was dominant. But hatred was there.

“No, I don’t suck dicks,” I said. “I never even heard of such a thing. How’d you officers happen to hear about it?”

E. Paul stiffened. “He’s shittin’ us, Luther,” he said.

“He ain’t gonna shit me,” Luther said. “I’ll ream out his goddamn ass for him.”

Luther moved. I started to duck, but instead of grabbing my ear he hit me with the shotgun. Not on the head, on my leg, right at the thigh. It went numb. I saw the gun swinging again and I was down. I could see under El Chevy. Oil was dripping onto the short grass of the shoulder. Then hands grabbed my hair, hands grabbed my feet. I was wrenched, I thought my neck would twist off. I was lifted. Luther had my hair, E. Paul had my feet. I tried to grab Luther’s wrist but he hit my hand. He only had one hand in my hair. They were carrying me. My eyes flooded. My scalp was tearing. The sky swung above me. We were in a ditch. They began to swing me. My neck wrenched again. I was swinging. Then flying. I had no idea what to do. My wrist hit something. I was over a fence. I hit the earth and rolled. A huge prickly pear bush was over me. I hit it and stopped. Guns went off. Chunks of prickly pear flew over me. Thorns flew. The Rangers were shooting up the prickly pear. The shots were horribly loud and bullets hit right above me. I was squeezed against the thorns. I looked and saw Luther leveling the shotgun. Whow Whow Whow! Prickly pear flew, showering down. I cowered under the bush. I heard loud laughter. The two Rangers were leaning on the barbed-wire fence. E. Paul had a pistol in his hand. Luther ejected a shell from the shotgun. I was trembling
terribly. They were laughing. I saw them stroll to the patrol car, perfectly cheerful and casual and happy, like athletes who have just won a game. They chatted. E. Paul holstered his pistol. They got in the car, turned, drove away. Petey wasn’t even visible.

A thorn had gone deep into my elbow. I had hundreds of little fuzz thorns in my neck and they were stinging. The fuzz thorns were all over me. I got up and limped to the fence. I noticed a gash in one arm. It was bleeding a lot. My arm must have hit the fence when they slung me over it. One of my legs would barely work. I got through the fence and across the road. I remembered Petey’s face, when it had looked like his skin would rip. Now his life was ripped, because of me. He might be years seeing another fourteen-year-old. It was sickening, the hurts I had caused accidentally, but I was too tired to be sick or even to cry. I drove. My left leg was too sore even to work the brake. I drove with one foot. I couldn’t begin to get the thorns out of my arms and neck. They were tiny thorns, and I was shaking. I drove and drove, feeling like a coward. Waves of hatred and regret swept over me. The encounter had taken me by surprise, but even if I had had days to prepare for it I don’t know how much more courage I could have managed. I drove. I went past orange groves. I was in the Valley. The sun was lower. In McAllen I stopped and asked an old man about a hospital. He told me where to go and I found it. The Rio Grande was only six miles away. It was a white hospital. The nurse at the desk looked at me as if I was crazy. I think I was, a little. Fortunately she was a kindly nurse.

“Well, we’re gonna get the stickers out of you and fix that cut,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I said. I followed the nurse down a hall.
There was a room with several nurses in it. They looked shocked to see me.

“What’d you do, fall right in the middle of a patch of prickly pear?” one asked.

“No ma’am. Some Texas Rangers threw me in it, because of my hair.”

“My lord,” she said. “Stretch out here on this table.” She looked at my arm and clicked her tongue.

“How long since you had a tetanus shot?” she asked. I had no idea. I shut my eyes. It was a great relief to find someone with a sense of what to do. My own had left me.

“No need to ask him,” an old nurse said. “He can’t make good sense, he’s too tuckered out. Just give him one.”

“Thank you,” I said. It seemed like a great blessing, not having to try and talk, or remember, or explain. Hands moved my arm, a palm felt my forehead, but I didn’t open my eyes. The nurses knew what to do. I left the world for the darkness behind my eyelids. All I heard was the murmurings of nurses. I didn’t have to worry. The thorns were being drawn from me. “Don’t them Rangers beat anything?” a voice said. I didn’t care. I didn’t have to think. I stayed behind my eyelids, in a deep deep peace.

THE PEACE
didn’t last long. A nurse woke me up to ask me if I could afford a room, or what kind. They had the thorns out and my arm bandaged. It wasn’t the nurse’s fault about the peace. It hadn’t lasted anyway. I began to remember Petey, and to feel worried and nervous. Images flickered in the darkness. I was just as glad to be awakened. Sleep was knotting me up again. I sat up. I didn’t want to stay in the hospital. I couldn’t really imagine being stopped all night.

When I paid the nurses for what they had done, I noticed my money. I really had plenty. I also had thousands in San Francisco. Money was worth something. Before I left the hospital I went to a pay phone and called Godwin.

“Why Danny,” he said. “Nice to hear you, my boy. How is Sally?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I need your help.”

I told him about Petey. Godwin listened. It seemed to me he would be the best person to help. He had more know-how than Flap or Jenny or anybody I knew.

“I’ll send you five thousand dollars,” I said. “Do you think
you can get him off for that? If not, I’ll send you ten thousand.”

“Hum,” Godwin said. He seemed very calm.

“How’s Geoffrey?” I asked.

“You broke his hip,” Godwin said. “He swears vengeance. I’ve had a delicious time nursing him, though. I’ve an idea you oughtn’t to come to Austin.”

“I hadn’t planned to,” I said. “Will you try to help Petey?”

“Of course,” he said. “What jail is it? Kingsville?”

“Kingsville.”

“Where will you be?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have no plans.”

“I do sympathize,” Godwin said. “For years I led a planless life.”

He wished me good luck. The Valley sky was deep purple. I went to a drugstore and bought some envelopes and stamps and mailed Godwin a check for five thousand dollars. I didn’t want to get tired and forget it.

But I had stopped being tired. When I walked back to El Chevy after mailing the letter I wasn’t very tired at all. I was more lonely. The Valley night was soft and warm, warmer than the Austin night. I would have liked to be walking in it, with somebody. There just wasn’t any prospect of anybody, up any of the roads I might drive. I sat in the car on the street of McAllen, watching the other cars go by. I didn’t know why I was so alone. I had never really felt quite so alone. The one hope in all the world was Jill, and she was hard to predict. Conceivably she might want to see me. If she did I could start looking for an airplane. I would have somewhere to go.