Full dark,no stars (2 page)

But what about us, Poppa? Wouldnt we go to Hell?

I gestured to the fields, brave with new growth. How can you say so, when you see Heaven all around us? Yet she means to drive us away from it as surely as the angel with the flaming sword drove Adam and Eve from the Garden.

He gazed at me, troubled. Dark. I hated to darken my son in such a way, yet part of me believed then and believes still that it was not I who did it to him, but she.

And think, I said. If she goes to Omaha, shell dig herself an even deeper pit in Sheol. If she takes you, youll become a city boy-

I never will! He cried this so loudly that crows took wing from the fenceline and swirled away into the blue sky like charred paper.

Youre young and you will, I said. Youll forget all this youll learn city ways and begin digging your own pit.

If he had returned by saying that murderers had no hope of joining their victims in Heaven, I might have been stumped. But either his theology did not stretch so far or he didnt want to consider such things. And is there Hell, or do we make our own on earth? When I consider the last eight years of my life, I plump for the latter.

How? he asked. When?

I told him.

And we can go on living here after?

I said we could.

And it wont hurt her?

No, I said. It will be quick.

He seemed satisfied. And still it might not have happened, if not for Arlette herself.

We settled on a Saturday night about halfway through a June that was as fine as any I can remember. Arlette sometimes took a glass of wine on Summer evenings, although rarely more. There was good reason for this. She was one of those people who can never take two glasses without taking four, then six, then the whole bottle. And another bottle, if there is another. I have to be very careful, Wilf. I like it too much. Luckily for me, my willpower is strong.

That night we sat on the porch, watching the late light linger over the fields, listening to the somnolent reeeeee of the crickets. Henry was in his room. He had hardly touched his supper, and as Arlette and I sat on the porch in our matching rockers with the MA and PA seat-cushions, I thought I heard a faint sound that could have been retching. I remember thinking that when the moment came, he would not be able to go through with it. His mother would wake up bad-tempered the following morning with a hang-over and no knowledge of how close she had come to never seeing another Nebraska dawn. Yet I moved forward with the plan. Because I was like one of those Russian nesting dolls? Perhaps. Perhaps every man is like that. Inside me was the Conniving Man, but inside the Conniving Man was a Hopeful Man. That fellow died sometime between 1922 and 1930. The Conniving Man, having done his damage, disappeared. Without his schemes and ambitions, life has been a hollow place.

I brought the bottle out to the porch with me, but when I tried to fill her empty glass, she covered it with her hand. You neednt get me drunk to get what you want. I want it, too. Ive got an itch. She spread her legs and put her hand on her crotch to show where the itch was. There was a Vulgar Woman inside her-perhaps even a Harlot-and the wine always let her loose.

Have another glass anyway, I said. Weve something to celebrate.

She looked at me warily. Even a single glass of wine made her eyes wet (as if part of her was weeping for all the wine it wanted and could not have), and in the sunset light they looked orange, like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern with a candle inside it.

There will be no suit, I told her, and there will be no divorce. If the Farrington Company can afford to pay us for my 80 as well as your fathers 100, our argument is over.

For the first and only time in our troubled marriage, she actually gaped. What are you saying? Is it what I think youre saying? Dont fool with me, Wilf!

Im not, said the Conniving Man. He spoke with hearty sincerity. Henry and I have had many conversations about this-

Youve been thick as thieves, thats true, she said. She had taken her hand from the top of her glass and I took the opportunity to fill it. Always in the hay-mow or sitting on the woodpile or with your heads together in the back field. I thought it was about Shannon Cotterie. A sniff and a head-toss. But I thought she looked a little wistful, as well. She sipped at her second glass of wine. Two sips of a second glass and she could still put the glass down and go to bed. Four and I might as well hand her the bottle. Not to mention the other two I had standing by.

No, I said. We havent been talking about Shannon. Although I had seen Henry holding her hand on occasion as they walked the two miles to the Hemingford Home schoolhouse. Weve been talking about Omaha. He wants to go, I guess. It wouldnt do to lay it on too thick, not after a single glass of wine and two sips of another. She was suspicious by nature, was my Arlette, always looking for a deeper motive. And of course in this case I had one. At least to try it on for size. And Omahas not that far from Hemingford

No. It isnt. As Ive told you both a thousand times. She sipped her wine, and instead of putting the glass down as she had before, she held it. The orange light above the western horizon was deepening to an otherworldly green-purple that seemed to burn in the glass.

If it were St. Louis, that would be a different thing.

Ive given that idea up, she said. Which meant, of course, that she had investigated the possibility and found it problematic. Behind my back, of course. All of it behind my back except for the company lawyer. And she would have done that behind my back as well, if she hadnt wanted to use it as a club to beat me with.

Will they buy the whole piece, do you think? I asked. All 180 acres?

How would I know? Sipping. The second glass half-empty. If I told her now that shed had enough and tried to take it away from her, shed refuse to give it up.

You do, I have no doubt, I said. That 180 acres is like St. Louis. Youve investigated.

She gave me a shrewd sidelong look then burst into harsh laughter. Praps I have.

I suppose we could hunt for a house on the outskirts of town, I said. Where theres at least a field or two to look at.

Where youd sit on your ass in a porch-rocker all day, letting your wife do the work for a change? Here, fill this up. If were celebrating, lets celebrate.

I filled both. It only took a splash in mine, as Id taken but a single swallow.

I thought I might look for work as a mechanic. Cars and trucks, but mostly farm machinery. If I can keep that old Farmall running-I gestured with my glass toward the dark hulk of the tractor standing beside the barn-then I guess I can keep anything running.

And Henry talked you into this.

He convinced me it would be better to take a chance at being happy in town than to stay here on my own in what would be sure misery.

The boy shows sense and the man listens! At long last! Hallelujah! She drained her glass and held it out for more. She grasped my arm and leaned close enough for me to smell sour grapes on her breath. You may get that thing you like tonight, Wilf. She touched her purple-stained tongue to the middle of her upper lip. That nasty thing.

Ill look forward to that, I said. If I had my way, an even nastier thing was going to happen that night in the bed we had shared for 15 years.

Lets have Henry down, she said. She had begun to slur her words. I want to congratulate him on finally seeing the light. (Have I mentioned that the verb to thank was not in my wifes vocabulary? Perhaps not. Perhaps by now I dont need to.) Her eyes lit up as a thought occurred to her. Well give im a glass of wine! Hes old enough! She elbowed me like one of the old men you see sitting on the benches that flank the courthouse steps, telling each other dirty jokes. If we loosen his tongue a little, we may even find out if hes made any time with Shannon Cotterie lil baggage, but shes got pretty hair, Ill give er that.

Have another glass of wine first, said the Conniving Man.

She had another two, and that emptied the bottle. (The first one.) By then she was singing Avalon in her best minstrel voice, and doing her best minstrel eye-rolls. It was painful to see and even more painful to hear.

I went into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine, and judged the time was right to call Henry. Although, as Ive said, I was not in great hopes. I could only do it if he were my willing accomplice, and in my heart I believed that he would shy from the deed when the talk ran out and the time actually came. If so, we would simply put her to bed. In the morning I would tell her Id changed my mind about selling my fathers land.

Henry came, and nothing in his white, woeful face offered any encouragement for success. Poppa, I dont think I can, he whispered. Its Mama.

If you cant, you cant, I said, and there was nothing of the Conniving Man in that. I was resigned; what would be would be. In any case, shes happy for the first time in months. Drunk, but happy.

Not just squiffy? Shes drunk?

Dont be surprised; getting her own way is the only thing that ever makes her happy. Surely 14 years with her is long enough to have taught you that.

Frowning, he cocked an ear to the porch as the woman whod given him birth launched into a jarring but word-for-word rendition of Dirty McGee. Henry frowned at this barrelhouse ballad, perhaps because of the chorus (She was willin to help him stick it in / For it was Dirty McGee again), more likely at the way she was slurring the words. Henry had taken the Pledge at a Methodist Youth Fellowship Camp-Out on Labor Day weekend of the year before. I rather enjoyed his shock. When teenagers arent turning like weathervanes in a high wind, theyre as stiff as Puritans.

She wants you to join us and have a glass of wine.

Poppa, you know I promised the Lord I would never drink.

Youll have to take that up with her. She wants to have a celebration. Were selling up and moving to Omaha.

No!

Well well see. Its really up to you, Son. Come out on the porch.

His mother rose tipsily to her feet when she saw him, wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her body rather too tightly against his, and covered his face with extravagant kisses. Unpleasantly smelly ones, from the way he grimaced. The Conniving Man, meanwhile, filled up her glass, which was empty again.

Finally were all together! My men see sense! She raised her glass in a toast, and slopped a goodly portion of it onto her bosom. She laughed and gave me a wink. If youre good, Wilf, you can suck it out of the cloth later on.

Henry looked at her with confused distaste as she plopped back down in her rocker, raised her skirts, and tucked them between her legs. She saw the look and laughed.

No need to be so prissy. Ive seen you with Shannon Cotterie. Lil baggage, but shes got pretty hair and a nice little figger. She drank off the rest of her wine and belched. If youre not getting a touch of that, youre a fool. Only youd better be careful. Fourteens not too young to marry. Out here in the middle, fourteens not too young to marry your cousin. She laughed some more and held out her glass. I filled it from the second bottle.

Poppa, shes had enough, Henry said, as disapproving as a parson. Above us, the first stars were winking into view above that vast flat emptiness I have loved all my life.

Oh, I dont know, I said. In vino veritas, thats what Pliny the Elder said in one of those books your mothers always sneering about.

Hand on the plow all day, nose in a book all night, Arlette said. Except when hes got something else in me.

Mama!

Mama! she mocked, then raised her glass in the direction of Harlan Cotteries farm, although it was too far for us to see the lights. We couldnt have seen them even if it had been a mile closer, now that the corn was high. When summer comes to Nebraska, each farmhouse is a ship sailing a vast green ocean. Heres to Shannon Cotterie and her brand-new bubbies, and if my son dont know the color of her nipples, hes a slowpoke.

My son made no reply to this, but what I could see of his shadowed face made the Conniving Man rejoice.

She turned to Henry, grasped his arm, and spilled wine on his wrist. Ignoring his little mew of distaste, looking into his face with sudden grimness, she said: Just make sure that when youre lying down with her in the corn or behind the barn, youre a no -poke. She made her free hand into a fist, poked out the middle finger, then used it to tap a circle around her crotch: left thigh, right thigh, right belly, navel, left belly, back again to the left thigh. Explore all you like, and rub around it with your Johnny Mac until he feels good and spits up, but stay out of the home place lest you find yourself locked in for life, just like your mummer and daddy.

He got up and left, still without a word, and I dont blame him. Even for Arlette, this was a performance of extreme vulgarity. He must have seen her change before his eyes from his mother-a difficult woman but sometimes loving-to a smelly whorehouse madam instructing a green young customer. All bad enough, but he was sweet on the Cotterie girl, and that made it worse. Very young men cannot help but put their first loves on pedestals, and should someone come along and spit on the paragon even if it happens to be ones mother

Faintly, I heard his door slam. And faint but audible sobbing.

Youve hurt his feelings, I said.

She expressed the opinion that feelings, like fairness, were also the last resort of weaklings. Then she held out her glass. I filled it, knowing she would remember none of what shed said in the morning (always supposing she was still there to greet the morning), and would deny it-vehemently-if I told her. I had seen her in this state of drunkenness before, but not for years.

We finished the second bottle (she did) and half of the third before her chin dropped onto her wine-stained bosom and she began to snore. Coming through her thus constricted throat, those snores sounded like the growling of an ill-tempered dog.