Bitter Creek (3 page)

Chapter 5

“THAT GODDAMNED GUINEA PRICK,”
said Booger Tom. The old cowboy's long white mustache twitched with rage.

Du Pré looked at him.

“Water buffalo,” said Booger Tom. “Bart has bought some water buffalo and he is sending them here. I guess them danged yuppies like eatin' water buffaloes along with their mow-ray eels and roots and bark. You ever seen a water buffalo?”

Du Pré nodded.

“One dozen water buffalo arrivin' from Australia,” said Booger Tom. “I was losin' lots of money for him with cattle and horses, which is what he likes the most … for losin' money …”

Du Pré said nothing. He rolled a smoke.

Booger Tom waved a computer-printed picture of a water buffalo. “Christ,” said the old cowboy.

They were standing by the double gate at the bottom of the big pasture. A stock hauler appeared on the horizon, an eighteen-wheeler with a double-deck aluminum trailer.

“I never thought I'd see the damned day …” said Booger Tom. “Hell, we could raise llamas. Or … what are them danged birds everybody's so hot on?”

“Emus,” said Du Pré.

“These little bastards give it up and get to knowin' they are all gonna die one day, maybe the whole country ain't gonna be terrified a … satch-oor-ated fat. …” said Booger Tom.

“You know any place called Bitter Creek?” said Du Pré.

“Not offhand,” said Booger Tom. “I mean, further south, but we don't got alkali here, we got caliche. …”

“There is bad water,” said Du Pré.

“The fartwater you get near the Park,” said Booger Tom, “stinks of sulfur and rotten eggs, but I don't know no Bitter Creek here. Know some in Arizona, New Mexico …”

The stock hauler crested the nearest hill.

“Water buffalo,” said Booger Tom. “Bart buys these things just to piss me off. Place he got 'em from in Australia sent me about half a ream of helpful hints over the computer. …”

Du Pré nodded.

“Might not be the water,” said Booger Tom. “Could be somethin' that happened there, or it could be Bateau Creek, place got a lot of good boatmakin' trees. …”

“The woman wrote the song is French,” said Du Pré.

“Frenchy French or Prairie French like you?” said Booger Tom.

The stock hauler ground up the long drive and stopped. Booger Tom opened the gate and the driver took his rig on through. Booger Tom closed the gate.

Du Pré ruffled through the papers on the clipboard.

“Not much call for you do that anymore,” said Booger Tom.

Du Pré shook his head.

… just big ranches here moving big shipments. None of the little people left … like everything else …

They went through the gate and up to the truck. The driver set the aluminum ramps under the swinging rear doors.

“Go ahead,” said Booger Tom. “Goddanged water buffalo.”

“Tell ya one thing,” said the driver. “Easiest stock I ever hauled. They got off the airplane and went right on the truck, didn't have to use the prod or nothing. They seem smarter than cattle. …”

The driver swung the doors open and a water buffalo peered out at them. The buffalo moved to the ramp, walked down it, and came up to Booger Tom. They stood looking at the old cowboy.

“Whaaah!” yelled Booger Tom.

Other water buffalo came down the ramp and they spread out in a circle around Du Pré and Booger Tom and the driver.

The driver started stowing the ramps. The buffalo moved out of his way. He shut the doors, checked to see that everything was secure, got in the cab, and drove back to the main gate. He got down and opened the gate and drove through and then he got out and closed it.

Du Pré walked over to the fence, and he ducked through it, handing the driver the receipt.

“Like I said,” said the driver, “they are easy to handle.”

“Back off, ya sons of bitches!” yelled Booger Tom.

The water buffalo looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and went to nibbling grass.

The old cowboy strode down to the gate. Du Pré swung it open for him and then closed it and dropped the pin in the brackets.

Du Pré handed Booger Tom his receipt. He put the clipboard in the leather case and he slung the strap over his shoulder.

“I would admire a cup of coffee,” said Booger Tom. “You want one?”

“Sure,” said Du Pré. They went to the old man's cabin, a large one, and Booger Tom set water to heat. He dipped ground coffee out of a rusty Arbuckle's coffee can.

“Ain't made Arbuckle's for years,” he said. “I miss it, like I miss old Nate's biscuits. Best camp cookie ever.” Du Pré nodded.

The water boiled and Booger Tom poured it through the coffee and he waited while the last drops drained into the pot. He filled two cups and he set one in front of Du Pré.

Something heavy stepped on the front porch of the cabin. “Bart?” said Booger Tom. He went to the door and he threw it open. A water buffalo stood there, looking amiably at him. “You leave the danged gate open?” said Booger Tom.

“
Non
,” said Du Pré.

“Jesus,” said Booger Tom.

The water buffalo backed off the porch. He lifted his right front hoof and he tapped it three times on a stone that edged the flower bed.

“Tom!” yelled Pidgeon, Bart's lovely wife. “You have a fax!” Du Pré went out the door.

Pidgeon was grinning. She waved a sheet of fax paper. Booger Tom waited until she got to him. He reached out for the paper.

“You done read it already,” he said.

“Yup,” said Pidgeon. She walked over to the water buffalo. Booger Tom went in the house and found his spectacles.

“Hello, Eustace,” Pidgeon said. She scratched a large ear.

The water buffalo nodded at the sound of his name. “When that dumb guinea yer married to comes back, I think I will kill him,” said Booger Tom.

“Nah,” said Pidgeon, “I'd cry and you can't stand to see a woman cry.”

“She don't play fair,” said Booger Tom, looking mournfully at Du Pré. Booger Tom glared at the sheet of paper. “‘By now you will have met Eustace,'” he read, “‘a good bloke. If he taps three times on the ground, he wants his beer, two gallons, warm.'”

Du Pré laughed. “I got to go,” he said. “We are playing tonight.”

Pidgeon looked at Du Pré.

“A Lieutenant Patchen called and asked me to tell you he is looking hard at army records,” said Pidgeon, “and he will be back. …”

“‘Eustace can open any gate not secured with a padlock,'” yelled Booger Tom. “I am gonna kill him.”

Du Pré walked to his old cruiser and got in. Turning the vehicle around, he drove down to the county road. He stopped at the snowplow turnaround that sat on a bluff, where he could see clear to the line of hills above the Missouri River.

… Bitter Creek … Bateau Creek … or it could be something like Bittner Creek, somebody's name … or it could be something else …

The land rolled away for seventy-five miles, purple and ocher in the distance.

Light glinted on car glass on the highway far below.

… finding Amalie … we go and do that …

Du Pré got out and he sat on the hood. The sky was cloudy and the day cool, and it would rain toward evening. A vulture flapped up from the brush below, head bright red and slick with rotten grease from a deer carcass.

… the soldiers come here, round up the Métis, it is the hard part of the winter … who got them to do that? … why? … there are people buried somewhere out there … little Amalie …

He looked over to his right and saw a good-sized rattlesnake wind out from some stones. The snake was shedding and had ragged strips of old skin hanging here and there from its body. Du Pré watched.

The snake rasped against the rocks. The new skin looked bright, browns and grays and blacks. Du Pré looked out on the land.

… it is very big and I am not so big …

He got back in the cruiser and he drove on.

A huge badger waddled across the road, glanced once at Du Pré's car, dodged into the grass at the roadside.

… lots of secrets …

The air was full of the scent of new-mown grass. A rancher on a tractor pulling a bailer waved and Du Pré waved back.

… lots of blood … land is full of it …

Du Pré got to the Toussaint Saloon just as Bassman and Père Godin were trundling the electronics in.

“You know you got to have a passport to go, Canada, now?” said Père Godin.

Du Pré nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “it has been that way for a while now.”

“Used to be we didn't know where the Medicine Line was,” said Père Godin.

“Yes,” said Du Pré, “but that is where Amalie's people were running to. …”

Chapter 6

DU PRÉ YAWNED
as he passed the welcome sign.

The little Manitoba town was the usual welter of small houses, a couple of streets of slightly larger ones, and some grain silos near the rails.

He stopped at a gas station, filled his cruiser's tank, and got directions from a cheerful young woman.

The little house was set back from the street, some spruces growing close.

Du Pré looked at his watch. Two thirty. He was half an hour early.

The door opened and a heavy woman, white haired, wearing a loose housedress, came out and waved at Du Pré. He got out and walked up the little gravel path to the door. “I am Suzette,” she said. “Old bastard Godin, he was too cowardly to come, I bet.”

“He think your husband kill him,” said Du Pré.

“My husband,” said Suzette, “been dead fifteen years. So you are Du Pré, the fiddler.”

Du Pré nodded. There was fiddle music playing in the house. One of Du Pré's records, a fairly old one.

“You drive a long way, see Amalie,” said Suzette. “We go to her now, you come back and eat, you wish. …” Suzette shut the door behind her. An orange cat came out of the shrubbery, carrying a young robin in its mouth.

Suzette moved surprisingly fast for a woman so bulky. Du Pré opened the car door for her and she slipped in neatly. He got in and started the engine.

“Next town, it is only seven miles,” said Suzette. She pointed the way. The land was flat; some low hills rolled to the north.

They soon came to another little town, and Suzette pointed to the turns and they pulled up in front of a long gray building, single story, with
st
. luke's home
set in block letters on a white sign on the lawn. “Suzette,” said the woman at the front desk, “so you are here and this is that Du Pré.”

“Yes,” said Suzette. “But he is very shy. So we go and talk to Amalie …”

“She was awake not long ago,” said the woman. “But you know she sometimes plays possum, she is awake but she won't let you know that.”

“I stab her with a pin,” said Suzette, “that works good.” They both laughed.

Suzette led Du Pré down the hallway, to a door that stood half open. She went in and then she motioned for Du Pré to come. He followed.

Amalie was sitting in a chair by the window, the sun on her face. She was very old, her skin so wrinkled that her black eyes were almost hidden by old flesh. But the eyes were clear and there was intelligence in them.

“Suzette brings you Du Pré, Granmaman,” said Suzette. “He is a ver' famous fiddler. …”

Amalie looked at her granddaughter and at Du Pré. “He comes to talk to you about your song, ‘Bitter Creek,'” said Suzette.

The old woman flinched as though she had been slapped. “Aieee,” she wailed.

Du Pré pulled up a chair, close, and he reached for her hands, writhing in her lap. “Those people talk to me,” he said. “They want me, find them, help them sleep, been wandering long time, long time gone. …”

Amalie spoke, her voice a whisper, reedy, ancient. “What … you … want … to … know?” she said.

“I want to know what happened,” said Du Pré, “from the beginning, from when you left to go to Canada. …”

Du Pré put a small tape recorder down on the little table by the window.

“For many years I forgot about it,” said Amalie, “but now I think about it, I was so young then and I am so very old now. …” She breathed deeply.

“Suzette,” she whispered, “could I have some tea, little sugar?”

Suzette bustled off.

“… The day before we left it snowed,” said Amalie. “It was very cold, and Papa came and told Maman we had to go, that there were soldiers after the Métis, we were not where most of them were so maybe we could get away. We were living in a lodge. …”

Du Pré nodded.

Amalie put her hand to her face and rubbed her eyes. “I helped, I was seven, I think, and we packed things and Papa put them in our cart, he had a gray horse to pull it and two more to ride. The lodge was big so Papa said we could not take it. We had blankets and some old robes, he wanted to go then, and we left while it was still dark. …”

Suzette brought the tea.

Du Pré waited while she sipped a little.

“Do you remember where you were?” he said.

Amalie shook her head. “I think there was a railroad near,” she said. “I remember the trains, how they sounded. We began to travel, other people joined us, we went away from roads and rails, we went through country that was very beautiful and empty. …”

“Were there trees?” said Du Pré. “What kind of trees?”

Amalie thought. “First night we camped in cottonwoods. It was very cold. My brother coughed badly. …”

Amalie sipped tea.

“When we went on, I remember the land was pale colors, a little snow, we went along not very fast, the carts were noisy, they were worse if you pulled them fast … I got to ride … my brother lay beside me in the blanket and he coughed …

“We were very hungry and one of the men killed a cow, I remember the cow, brown, red-brown, and white, we roasted the meat and it tasted very good, we had full bellies that night, we had more meat in the morning and we went on. …”

Amalie sipped tea.

“It was so long ago … We went past a beautiful butte, I remember, pale red and yellow and white and gray, it was almost perfect, not broken on the sides like they usually are. … We camped and then we crossed a big river on a raft, one of the men rode across it and took a rope with him and the men pulled the raft back and forth. It was cold and the river splashed on me, it burned it was so cold. …”

Amalie sipped tea.

“That was the Missouri,” said Du Pré.

“I think so,” said Amalie. “It was wide and deep, the man who rode his horse across with the rope lost his hat and I watched it go down the river, there was not time to chase the hat. He kept rubbing his ears from the cold, I remember that. …” Amalie stared at her lap.

“We ate another cow the next day and we went on, we had the meat with us, we stopped near a creek. …”

Du Pré bent close. “Lots of willows?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Cut into the land, too, we were camped down on a flat place. Next morning I was just up, rubbing my eyes, when there were sounds of horses, lots of horses, and then …”

Amalie looked at Du Pré.

“Papa grabbed me and threw me down into the willows, told me to hide, and then he … he jerked and fell and a man on a horse rode over him. …”

Du Pré waited.

“I dug into the willows, found a mat of dead ones the stream had piled under the living willows, I crawled as far into that as I could, put my hands over my ears but there were screams. …”

Du Pré waited.

“I saw two men on horses with long knives, the sabers, they rode down to the creek and looked right at me but they didn't see me. …”

“Soldiers?” said Du Pré.

Amalie nodded.

“The soldiers were black men,” she said.

She sipped tea.

“Then it was quiet, I heard two men arguing, they were shouting,” she said.

“What about?” said Du Pré.

“I could not speak English then,” she said. “I remember one word,
cannon,
it might be a name.
…”

She stopped, rubbed her eyes,

“I went to where the camp was and they were all dead and the men on the horses were gone. I found a little food, I looked back the way that we had come and I went the other way. … A few hours later I was walking across a flat place, I saw two horsemen, I ran, they came after and they caught me. …”

“Métis?” said Du Pré.

“No,” said Amalie, “they were whites. They took me to a house and a woman fed me, then they put me in a wagon and took me to Métis, over the border, and I stayed there. …”

“Where did you hear Bitter Creek?” said Du Pré.

“One of the men who caught me said Bitter Creek, that all those who did that would rot in hell. …” said Amalie.

“He called it Bitter Creek?” said Du Pré.

Amalie nodded.

“I didn't know where I was,” she said.