Cities of the Plain (13 page)

The tourists sat in chairs with operaglasses hanging from their necks while waiters took
their orders for drinks. When the lights dimmed the master of ceremonies strode onto the
boards and doffed his hat and bowed and smiled and held up his whitegloved hands. In the
wings the alcahuete stood smoking and behind him milled a great confusion of obscene
carnival folk, painted whores with their breasts exposed, a fat woman in black leather
with a whip, a pair of youths in ecclesiastical robes. A priest, a procurers, a goat with
gilded horns and hooves who wore a ruff of purple crepe. Pale young debauchees with rouged
cheeks and blackened eyes who carried candles. A trio of women holding hands, gaunt and
thin as the inmates of a spitalhouse and attired the three alike in the same cheap finery,
their faces daubed in fard and pale as death. At the center of all a young girl in a white
gauze dress who lay upon a palletboard like a sacrificial virgin. Arranged about her are
artificial flowers that appear in their varied pale and pastel colors to be faded from the
sun. As if perhaps replevined from some desert grave. Music has begun. Some ancient
rondel, faintly martial. There is a periodic click in the piece from a scratch in the
black bakelite plate turning under a stylus somewhere behind the curtains. The houselights
dim till just the stage is lit. Chairs shuffle. A few coughs. The music fades until only
the whisper of the stylus remains, the periodic click like a misset metronome, a clock, a
portent. A measure of something periodic and otherwise silent and vastly patient which
only darkness could accommodate.

When he woke it was not from this dream but from another and the pathway from dream to
dream was lost to him. He was alone in some bleak landscape where the wind blew without
abatement and where the presence of those who had gone before still lingered on in the
darkness about. Their voices carried back to him, or perhaps the echo of those voices. He
lay listening. It was the old man wandering the yard in his nightclothes and John Grady
swung his legs over the side of the bunk and reached and got his trousers and pulled them
on and stood and buckled his belt and reached and got his boots. When he went out Billy
was standing in the doorway in his shorts.

I'll get him, said John Grady.

That's pitiful, Billy said.

He caught him going past the corner of the barn and on to God knows where. He had on his
hat and his boots and dressed in these and his long white unionsuit he looked like the
ghost of some ancient waddy wandering there.

John Grady took him by the arm and they started for the house. Come on, Mr Johnson, he
said. You dont need to be out here.

The light had come on in the kitchen and Socorro was standing in the door in her robe. The
old man stopped again in the yard and turned and looked again toward the darkness. John
Grady stood holding his elbow. Then they went on to the house.

Socorro swung the screendoor wide. She looked at John Grady. The old man steadied himself
with one hand against the doorjamb and entered the kitchen. He asked Socorro if she had
any coffee. As if that was what he'd been in search o£

Yes, she said. I fix some coffee.

He's all right, said John Grady.

Quieres un cafecito?

No gracias.

P‡sale, she said. P‡sale. Puedes encontrar sus pantalones?

S’. S’.

He helped the old man to a chair at the table and went on down the hallway. Mac's light
was on and he was standing in the door.

Is he all right?

Yessir. He's all right.

He went on to the end of the hall and entered the room on the left and got the old man's
britches off the bedpost where he'd hung them. The pockets were weighted with change, with
a pocketknife, a billfold. With a ring of keys to doors long since forgotten. He came back
down the hallway holding them by the belt. Mac was still standing in the doorway. He was
smoking a cigarette.

He aint got any clothes on?

Just his longjohns.

He'll take off out of here one of these nights naked as a jaybird. Socorro'll quit us for
sure.

She wont quit.

I know it.

What time is it, Sir?

It's after five. Damn near time to get up anyways.

Yessir.

Would you mind settin with him a bit?

No Sir.

Make him feel better about it. Like he was gettin up anyways.

Yessir. I will.

You didnt know you'd hired on at a loonyfarm, did you?

He aint loony. He's just old.

I know it. Go on. Fore he catches cold. Them old dropseats he wears are probably drafty to
set around in.

Yessir.

He sat with the old man and drank coffee until Oren came in. Oren looked at them but he
didnt say anything. Socorro fixed breakfast and brought the eggs and biscuits and chorizo
sausage and they ate. When John Grady took his plate to the sideboard and went out it was
just breaking day. The old man was still sitting at the table in his hat. He'd been born
in east Texas in eighteen sixtyseven and come out to this country as a young man. In his
time the country had gone from the oil lamp and the horse and buggy to jet planes and the
atomic bomb but that wasnt what confused him. It was the fact that his daughter was dead
that he couldnt get the hang of.

THEY SAT IN THE FRONT ROW Of the bleachers near the auctioneer's table and Oren leaned
forward from time to time to spit carefully over the top boards into the dust of the
arena. Mac had a small notebook in his shirtpocket and he took it out and consulted his
notes and put it back again and then he took it out and sat holding it in his hand.

Did we look at this little horse? he said.

Yessir, said John Grady.

He studied his notebook again.

He said it was Davis but it aint.

1 107

No Sir.

Bean, said Oren. It's a Bean horse.

I know what horse it is, said Mac.

The auctioneer blew into the microphone. The speakers were hung from the lightstandards at
the far end of the arena and his voice quavered and echoed high in the auction barn.

Ladies and gentlemen a correction on that. This horse is entered by Mr Ryle Bean.

The bidding was started at five hundred. Someone at the far side of the arena touched the
brim of his hat and the spotter raised one hand and turned and the auctioneer said now six
now six I have six who'll give me seven seven seven. Seven now.

Oren leaned and spat thoughtfully into the dust. Over yonder's your buddy, he said.

I see him, said John Grady.

Who's that? said Mac.

Wolfenbarger.

Does he see us?

Yeah, said Oren. He sees us.

Did you know who that was, John Grady?

Yessir. He come out one afternoon.

I thought you wouldnt talk to him.

I didnt.

Just pretend like he aint even here.

Yessir.

When was he out?

Last week. I dont know. Wednesday maybe.

Just dont pay no attention to him.

Yessir. I aint.

I got more to do than worry about him.

Yessir.

Eighty, seveneighty, called the auctioneer. Will you do it. The man wont take less.

The rider rode the horse around the arena. He crossed diagonally and stopped and backed.

That's a good usin horse and a good ropin horse, the auc?tioneer said. The horse is worth
a thousand dollars. All right now. I've got eight got eight got eight. Eight and a half
now. Eightfifty eightfifty eightfifty.

The horse sold for eight and a quarter and they brought in an Arabian mare that sold for
seventeen. Mac watched them lead her back out again.

I wouldnt have that crazy bitch on the place, he said.

They auctioned off a flashy palomino gelding that brought thirteen hundred dollars. Mac
looked up from his notes. Where the hell do people get that kind of money? he said.

Oren shook his head.

Did Wolfenbarger bid on him?

You said not to look over there.

I know it. Did he?

Yep.

He didnt buy him though, did he.

No.

I thought you wasnt goin to look over there.

I didnt have to. He was wavin his hand like the place had caught fire.

Mac shook his head and sat looking at his notes.

They're fixin to run that rough string in here in a minute, Oren said.

What kind of money you think we're talkin about?

I would expect a man could buy them horses for a hundred dollars a head.

What would you do with the other three, run em back through?

Run em back through. Or you might do better to sell em off out at the place.

Mac nodded. Might, he said. He glanced across the stands. I hate that sumbuck goin to
school on me.

I know it.

He lit a cigarette. They watched the stableboy bring in the next horse.

I'd say he's come to buy, said Oren.

I'd say he has too.

He'll bid on ever one of them horses of Red's. See if he dont. I know it. We ought to
shill him just a little bit.

Oren didnt answer.

A fool and his money, said Mac. John Grady what's wrong with that horse?

Not a thing that I know of.

I thought you said it was some kind of a mongrel outcross. A Martian horse or somethin.

Horse might be a little coldblooded.

Oren spat over the boards and grinned.

Coldblooded? said Mac.

Yessir.

The horse was bid in at three hundred dollars.

How old was that thing. You remember?

It was eleven.

Yeah, said Oren. About six years ago it was.

The bidding went to four and a half. Mac tugged at his ear. I'm just a horsetradin fool,
he said. The spotter pointed to the auctioneer.

I got five got five got five got five now, called the auctioneer. I thought you didnt like
to do that, said Oren.

Do what? said Mac.

The bidding went to six and then six and a half.

He's not opened that mouth or shook his head or done nothin, the auctioneer said. Horse
worth a little more money than that, folks.

The horse was sold at seven hundred. Wolfenbarger never bid. Oren glanced at Mac.

Cute sumbuck, aint he? Mac said.

You care if I say somethin.

Say it.

Why dont we do what we said and just trade like he wasnt here.

Damn if you aint awful hard on a man. Callin on him to fol?low his own advice.

It's hell, aint it.

You're probably right. Be the best strategy anyway for a ned like him.

The stableboy brought out the roan four year old from McKinney and they bid the horse in
at six hundred.

Where's that string at? said Mac.

I dont know.

Well, we're fixin to get down to the nutcuttin.

He put one finger to his ear. The spotter raised his hand. The auctioneer's voice clapped
back from the high speakers. I got six got six got six. Do we hear seven. Who'll give me
seven. Seven now. Seven seven seven.

Yonder he goes with that hand.

I see him.

The horse went to seven and seven and a half and eight. The horse went to eight and a half.

Bidders all over the barn, aint they? said Oren.

All over the barn.

Well there aint nothin you can do about it. What's this horse worth?

I dont know. Whatever it sells for. John Grady?

I liked the horse.

I wish they'd of run that string through first.

I know you got a figure in mind.

I did have.

It's the same horse out here that it was in the paddock.

Spoke like a gentleman.

The bidding was stalled at eight and a half. The auctioneer took a drink of water. This is
a nice horse, boys, he said. You're way off on this one.

The rider rode the horse down and turned it and came back. He rode it with no bridle but
only a rope looped around its neck and he turned and sat the horse. I'll tell you what
now, he called. I dont own a hair on him but this is a gaited horse.

It'll cost you a thousand dollars to breed to his mama, said the auctioneer. What do you
say boys?

The spotter raised his hand.

I got nine got nine got nine. Now half half half. Nine and a half. Now half. Niner and now
half.

Can I say somethin, said John Grady.

I wish you would.

You aint buyin him to sell, are you?

No, I aint.

Well then I think you ought to get the horse you want.

You think a lot of him.

Yessir.

Oren shook his head and leaned and spat. Mac sat looking in his book.

He's goin to cost me no matter what I do, one way of lookin at it.

The horse?

No, not the damn horse.

The bidding went to nine and a half and then a thousand.

John Grady looked at Mac and then looked out at the arena. I know that old boy up yonder
in the checked shirt, said Mac. I do too, said Oren.

I'd like to see em buy back their own horse.

I would too.

Mac bought the horse for eleven hundred dollars. Put me in the damn poorhouse, he said.

That's a good horse, said John Grady.

I know how good a horse it is. Dont go tryin to make me feel better.

Dont pay no attention to him, son, said Oren. He wants you to brag on his horse only he's
just a little backwards about it is all.

What do you think old highpockets cost me on that trade?

Probably didnt cost you nothin on that one, Oren said. He might be fixin to cost you on
the next one though.

The groom was wetting down the dust in the barn with a waterhose. They brought in the
fourhorse string and Mac bought them too.

Like a thief in the dark, called the auctioneer. Number one of four. Sold at five and a
quarter.

That could of been more painful than what it was I reckon, Mac said.

Skippin through the raindrops.

Yep.

He watched the groom lead the next horse out.

You remember this horse, John Grady.

Yessir. I remember all of em.

Mac thumbed his notes. You get in the habit of writin everthing down and after a while you
cant remember nothin.