McMurtry, Larry - Novel 05 (16 page)

 
          
 
"I’m Jack," I said.

 
          
 
The girls giggled, exchanging glances again.

 
          
 
At this point Jean got out of her side of the
van. Then she and Jimmy walked right in front of the van and my car and on down
the sidewalk, past the pet store. They didn't notice that their daughters were
leaning out the window of the van having a conversation with me. In fact, they
didn't notice me, my car, the sluggish hamsters, or anything. They were deeply
awash in their marriage, intent on desires and resentments known only to them,
and apparently too swollen with difficult feelings to be able to say a word.
They just walked off, in a silent dialogue, down the sidewalk through the seedy
shopping center.

 
          
 
The girls and I watched them go with
dispassion. If anything, the girls’ dispassion was greater than my own.

 
          
 
"Where are they going?" I asked,
feeling some reference should be made to this somber departure.

 
          
 
The little girls were not in the least
concerned about the matter. They were more interested in me than in the fact
that their parents were slowly receding down a cracked sidewalk.

 
          
 
"Oh, just talking," the older girl
said, with a dismissive flip of her hand.

 
          
 
"Tell me your names," I demanded.

 
          
 
They were delighted to be asked.

 
          
 
"Beverly Arber," the older one said
crisply.

 
          
 
"B'linda Arber," the younger one
said, not quite so crisply.

 
          
 
"Belinda,"
Beverly
corrected, shouting it into her sister's
ear.

 
          
 
Belinda was undaunted. She looked at me
closely, to see if I was willing to accept her at face value.

 
          
 
"Don't you know what a vowel is?"
Beverly
asked, trying to squeeze her little sister
out of the window.

 
          
 
Belinda fought silently but grimly to hold her
position, clinging with one tiny hand to the little knob that locks the door.

 
          
 
"She doesn't know what a vowel is,"
Beverly
said, using that slim pretext to try and
push her sister out of the van and into the crater.

 
          
 
I got a little worried. I could imagine
decades of guilt for Jean and Jimmy if they came back and found their youngest
daughter with a concussion.

 
          
 
"Hey," I said. "Would you girls
like to get in my car?"

 
          
 
The struggle stopped at once. Two little faces
looked at me solemnly; four blue eyes tried to gauge my intentions.

 
          
 
"What did you say your name was?"
Beverly
asked.

 
          
 
"Jack," I said.

 
          
 
"I want to," Belinda concluded,
proceeding at once to try and climb out the window. Her decision caught her
sister off guard. Before she could react Belinda somehow managed to turn around
and pop her ass out the window. In a trice she was dangling by her hands and
attempting to look over her shoulder to judge the drop.

 
          
 
Unfortunately her puffy red coat was in the
way. She couldn't see over her shoulder. Besides the coat she had on blue
corduroys and little red sneakers.

 
          
 
Beverly
was outraged at such a breach of authority.

 
          
 
"Who told you you could?" she
yelled, right into her sister's face.

 
          
 
Belinda didn't answer. Belinda simply hung.
All I could see was her parka and her curls.

 
          
 
Then she dropped, landing right in the crater,
which fortunately was only about two inches deep. In a trice she was up and
scrambling into my arms, running from her sister, who had managed to open the
door of the van and was scrambling out, ready to mete out punishment.

 
          
 
Unfortunately, she was the one who fell,
misjudging the steps and thumping down harder than her sister. Thanks to the
parka she wasn't really hurt, but she got a harder lick than her sister, and
when she looked up and saw Belinda smiling and unscathed, in my arms, the
injustice of it overcame her and she burst into tears.

 
          
 
Sometimes it's not fun being the oldest.

 
          
 
I scooped her up in my other arm.

 
          
 
Belinda offered no sympathy—her coolness was
too much for
Beverly
.

 
          
 
"Your fault!" she said, attempting
to strike her sister.

 
          
 
Belinda ducked,
grinning
a big grin. "I jumpt," she said happily, infuriating
Beverly
even more.

 
          
 
"How would you girls like a duck?" I
asked
,
to change the subject.

 
          
 
"I would," the uncritical Belinda
said. "Where is it?"

 
          
 
Beverly
stopped crying but continued to gulp. I sat
them both on the hood of my car for a moment.

 
          
 
"Is it alive?"
Beverly
asked.

 
          
 
"What color is it?" Belinda
inquired.

 
          
 
"One duck,"
Beverly
said. "Or two ducks?"

 
          
 
"Oh, two ducks," I said.
"One for you and one for her."

 
          
 
"They're mostly blue," I said to
Belinda.
"Brown and blue."

 
          
 
That was not good enough.

 
          
 
"Jist the feathers part is blue?"
Belinda asked, trying to get a workable picture of the duck.

 
          
 
"Don’t you know anything?"
Beverly
said, punching her. "A duck is all
feathers."

 
          
 
"Jist the feathers
part?"
Belinda asked again, ignoring her sister.

 
          
 
I caught them by the hands and swung them
down. Compared to me, kids are astonishingly short, a fact I always forget
until I come up against some. Two very short people in red sneakers and red parkas
followed me around to the rear of my car, in the luggage compartment of which
was a bag full of blue pottery ducks I had bought in
McAllen
,
Texas
, nearly a year ago.

 
          
 
Now and again a scout will buy something he
has no earthly business with, and such was the case with the ducks. I had been
in the mood to buy something and the ducks, though just cheap pottery, were
innocent and bright, so I bought them.

 
          
 
Probably I just bought them out of an impulse
to pass money, that being the basic act around which my life is organized. I
had stuck the ducks behind my spare tire and had forgotten about them, but the
minute I found myself with two little girls on my hands they popped into my
mind like a long-forgotten name.

 
          
 
Of course my luggage compartment contained
everything but luggage. It was filled with such things as brass candlesticks,
Hopi baskets, a big abacus that was possibly Turkish, and various other goods.

 
          
 
It also contained Valentino's hubcaps, four
silver cobras with ruby eyes.

 
          
 
I swung the girls up and sat them on a Navaho
blanket, next to the hubcaps.

 
          
 
"You've got snakes in here,"
Beverly
said.

 
          
 
"Not real snakes," Belinda said, and
then immediately repeated the remark. Except for her tongue, she might have
been paralyzed.

 
          
 
"Not real snakes," she insisted,
looking at me rather than the hubcaps, in case the snakes were more real than
she thought.

 
          
 
"Not real snakes," I assured her.

 
          
 
Reassured, the girls looked at the hubcaps
solemnly, so impressed they could scarcely breathe.

 
          
 
"The eyes parts are red," Belinda
said, reaching out a finger to touch an eye part. With her other hand she
retained a hold on my thumb, just in case.

 
          
 
When I gave them each a blue duck they took
them without comment, not quite able to focus on such modest objects with the
silver cobras only a foot away.

 
          
 
Once I got them safely ensconced in the front
seat they regained their critical faculties and gave the ducks an intense
scrutiny for about ten seconds, before turning their attention to the wonders
of my car.

 
          
 
"Will these ducks float in the
bathtub?"
Beverly
asked.

 
          
 
Belinda clutched her duck by the throat while
rubbing her hand over the soft velour of my seats.

 
          
 
"Why is your car soft?" she asked.

 
          
 
"You girls ask a lot of questions,"
I said. "You must work in a question factory."

 
          
 
Beverly
looked at Belinda and they both shrugged little
nonchalant shrugs.

 
          
 
"We do,"
Beverly
said.

 
          
 
A nonsensical question was not going to fool
them.

 
          
 
Then the car telephone rang. Belinda grabbed
it as if she were used to answering telephones in cars every day.

 
          
 
"I’ll get it," she said, dropping
her duck and grabbing it with both hands.

 
          
 
"Hello," she said, into the ear of
the startled mobile operator, who promptly broke the connection.