In the City of Shy Hunters (32 page)

All Dodges sound the same when you start them up.

Then: Charlie's got a scar, I said. A big scar. Goes from his forehead through his left eye and down his cheek.

True Shot shut off the van and took off his mirrors, pushed his face right into mine. My God, the color of those eyes, the way they moved.

You never told me that! True Shot said.

My eyes started blinking blinking.

Not yet, I said.

My father, I said, After Bobbie died, I said, Took his bullwhip to Charlie.

True Shot leaned back quick into his seat, put his mirrors back on. He reached up and touched the buckskin bag, held it in the palm of his hand.

I rolled a cigarette, lit the cigarette.

Lots of silence.

True Shot? I said. Are you sure you're OK?

The horrific whisper: Fine, True Shot said. Just fine.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

J
upiter walked into the Residency yard one day, a little black dog with long hair and tail and floppy ears. Bobbie didn't ask Mother or anything, she just scooped the dog up and named it and made the dog hers. Bobbie tied a red bow around Jupiter's neck and an old rhinestone bracelet of Mother's, and the red bow and the shiny bracelet against Jupiter's black hair made him look real pretty, and at night Jupiter running around in the moonlight looked like pictures you saw of fireflies.

Jupiter and Bobbie were always together up in her room, her hair up in rollers, listening to the hi-fi stereo. Jupiter even slept on her bed with her.

The trouble with Jupiter was Father. He didn't allow us any cats or dogs. Said they would interfere with his animals, and his animals was how he made a living, so we never had cats or dogs, let alone a dog in the house, let alone sleeping on the bed.

But it was summer and we never saw Father in the summer, sometimes not till November.

It was a scorcher, and the sun was unrelenting light through my bedroom window. Charlie and I were lying on the bed. Charlie was reading
My Ántonia
, and I was playing Chinese checkers with myself.

The unmistakable sound. I ran to the window. It was hard to see anything with the cottonwood right there, but Charlie and I were scouts and we knew how to look through the leaves down into the shade of the cottonwood lane, and sure enough, from in between the branches and the leaves, there was Father's atom-bomb swimming-pool-blue pickup and matching camper and matching horse trailer, coming up the lane. In August.

There were two things fast we had to do. We had to get to Bobbie so we could figure what to do with the dog, and we had to get Charlie out of the house. The two things were in that order, because Charlie
and I figured Charlie could go out the window and climb down the cottonwood without being seen, no problem, once Father was inside the house.

Charlie stayed in my room and I beat it down to Bobbie's room. When I knocked on Bobbie's door, Jupiter started barking.

I just went ahead and opened the door and Bobbie was painting her toenails coral and listening to “Chances Are” and she was about to lay into me with
What the fuck?
when I said, Father's here. He's pulling in the yard.

Bobbie jumped up fast, which made Jupiter bark all the more.

Oh, shit! Bobbie said.

I said, Give me the dog!

Give you the dog? Bobbie said.

I'll put him in my room, I said.

He can stay in my fucking room, Bobbie said.

No, my room, I said.

Why your room? Bobbie said.

Father doesn't ever come in
my
room, I said.

Bobbie with her shades drawn in the Marilyn Monroe light, and the map of the Known Universe, standing by her perfectly made bed with her coral toenail polish brush in her hand, “Chances Are,” Jupiter running around barking—Bobbie looked at me, and everything that had ever gone on that we never talked about was right there in the room between us.

OK, Bobbie said. Take the dog.

Charlie and I waited till we heard Father, too loud, in the hallway, calling his family to him.

Charlie jumped out the window and scaled down the tree, Jupiter under one arm. I watched Charlie and Jupiter all the way until they crossed Highway 30.

FOR DINNER, MOTHER
got a roast out of the freezer, and we had roast and potatoes and canned beans. She even made a pie. Peach. Mother hadn't made a pie since before the baby girl in her had died. We sat in the dining room, at one of the long tables. Mother at the foot of the table, in her violet dress with the sequined orchid all the way down the front, her hair done up, Orange Exotica lipstick, her nylons with the swooping seams, her high heels with no toes; Bobbie on one side of the table, in her sundress with the yellow daisies on it and her white
Keds, her hair all bouffant. She wasn't tanned at all, from being in her room. I was on the other side of the table, in clean Levi's, boots, my white shirt; Father at the head of the table, behind his Crown Royal and Coke, needing a shave. His Levi's shirt was open a few buttons. He smelled like the inside of his pickup.

Just before we started eating, Father proposed a toast.

To the Pendleton Roundup! Father said, and Bobbie and I raised our milk glasses and mother her iced tea.

Assholes fired me! Father said. Artistic differences.

After dinner, Father did some of his tricks. He pulled a quarter out of Bobbie's ear, made his Crown Royal and Coke disappear, pulled the ace of hearts from the front of Mother's dress. Did his imitation of Al Jolson imitating a black man singing “Mammy.” He was asleep on the green couch in front of the fireplace by eight-thirty.

MOTHER DID PRETTY
well for about a week, fixing her hair and wearing dresses and cooking dinner. Dinners the first week were things like mashed potatoes and gravy and steak, pork chops and french fries, baked trout and potatoes au gratin. The first week, Mother was pretty and she smiled at Father, and when Father said things—like I'll show 'em! I'll take my show to Madison's Square Garden! What the hell does Pendleton, Oregon, know about putting on a show?—Mother would smile and say, Oh, Cotton!

Or Father said, Mother, you're the prettiest girl in Bingham County next to your daughter!

Mother lit a Herbert Tareyton and sucked in hard, the smoke out her nose when she smiled.

Oh, Cotton!

THE SECOND WEEK
it was back to frozen fish sticks and white-trash tartar sauce, and Mother went back to wearing her old yellow terry-cloth bathrobe.

Father said he felt too cooped up in Mother's room and started sleeping out on the porch.

Most nights, Charlie, late, crawled up the cottonwood and came in my window. When Charlie slept over, I always made sure to lock my door. One night, Charlie and I lying next to each other, we heard Father down in Bobbie's room.

We ought to kill that motherfucker, Charlie said.

You can't kill your father, I said.

FATHER PUT HIS
horse Star out in the corral with Chub. That whole month, poor old Chub stood in the corner of the corral. Star wouldn't let Chub eat or drink, so at night I had to sneak out and feed Chub some hay and haul a bucket of water over for him.

Father's German shepherd he called Heap Big Chief was tied to Grandmother Cottonwood in front of the barn. At night, I had to feed Heap Big Chief first, so he wouldn't bark while I was tending to Chub—which wasn't an easy chore because that dog was a mean dog and didn't take to nobody but Father. Even with a piece of steak or roast, sometimes I was sure Heap Big Chief was going to tear my arm off.

The monkey Father named Ricky and the mean goose he named Sea Bass stayed in the horse trailer, and the horse trailer was parked in the backyard, on the smooth concrete, out in the full sun. The monkey was tied up, but the goose was loose in the horse trailer. I never had to go in there to feed the monkey or the goose, thank God, because Father said his animals was his and they had to remember they was his, so he was the one to tend to them. Still, days and days went by sometimes without Father going near the horse trailer. The monkey would start screeching and the goose honking, and still Father didn't feed them. When it got too bad, I'd throw alfalfa in there and sometimes scraps from the table and set a tin can of water through the swimming-pool-blue rungs of the back gate. One night all hell broke loose, the monkey and the goose fighting over the tin can of water. Scared me to death watching those cooped-up animals—a white goose and a dark-brown skinny monkey—animals so different from each other—honking and hissing and screeching and going at each other, feathers and monkey blood flying. Then Heap Big Chief started barking. Such a racket I thought was going to wake the dead. Wake up Father. But Father didn't wake up. That August, with his Crown Royal and Cokes, an earthquake or a house fire wouldn't wake Father.

BOBBIE TOOK ME
in her room and closed the door. Father had bought her two more albums, something by Mitch Miller and one by Pat Boone. Bobbie hated the Mitch Miller, but she was listening to
Love Letters in the Sand
.

Bobbie sat down on her bed. I sat down on her bed too, careful not to mess the covers. Bobbie was wearing her lime-green pedal pushers and Keds and a white blouse. Her hair in her blue curlers. It was a bright summer day and Bobbie had her blinds down and we were sitting in the dark, in the Marilyn Monroe light.

Bobbie didn't say anything for a while. I didn't either. We just sat on her bed listening to Pat Boone.

How's Jupiter? Bobbie asked.

Fine, I said. Charlie made him a muzzle.

Bobbie twisted around quick. The points of the little swords stuck through the blue curlers pushed into the skin of her forehead.

Something about Bobbie so mean and raw when she looked at me that way, something I never did understand.

A muzzle? Bobbie said.

So he can't bark, I said.

Bobbie's hands were spread out wide. The coral fingernail polish on her fingers was drying.

I just have to see Jupiter! Bobbie said.

Bobbie touched me just a little on my knee, careful with the coral polish, then left her hand on my knee.

I put my hand next to Bobbie's hand on my knee.

We can sneak over to Viv's double-wide tonight, I said.

Under the sword points poking into her forehead, Bobbie's bangs were taped down with Scotch tape.

I can't, Bobbie said.

What? I said.

I can't leave, Bobbie said. He'll know.

We'll wait till he's drunk and passed out, I said. Then we'll go over to Viv's.

Bobbie got up, pulled the record arm off
Love Letters in the Sand
, and started the song over again.

Can't, Bobbie said. He'll know.

THAT NIGHT, CHARLIE
brought Jupiter over with him. Charlie and I were lying in bed with Jupiter in between us when the doorknob turned and somebody pushed up against the door. Charlie grabbed his pants and shirt and crawled out the window and sat on the roof beside the dormer. I unlocked the door and opened it. It was Bobbie. She was wearing a
black dress with spaghetti straps and black high heels and black nylons with no seams.

When Jupiter saw Bobbie he started whining and groaning. Bobbie came in, and I closed the door fast.

Where'd you get that dress? I said.

Bobbie had Jupiter in her arms and he was licking her as much as the muzzle would let him and Bobbie was going, There there my little puppy dog, Jupiter baby doll don't cry don't cry, and then she undid the muzzle and Jupiter was licking and licking her and barking.

Bobbie! I said. Father's going to hear!

He's too drunk to hear shit, Bobbie said, and when she spoke, I could smell it on her breath: Crown Royal and Coke.

Bobbie, I said, What, are you drinking with him now too?

Too? Bobbie said.

In the gold flecks in Bobbie's eyes, I saw hate.

Then: Come on, little Jupiter baby, Bobbie said, Let's go downstairs.

Bobbie walked down the stairs to her room, walking the way you do in high heels, the way you do when you've had too much to drink, Jupiter cradled under her arm, his tail wagging.

A couple times that night Charlie and I could hear Jupiter barking.

IN THE MORNING
, at breakfast, I'd set out the cereal boxes and the milk carton and the sugar on the table in the breakfast nook. Bobbie made Father's coffee, and Father was sitting just in his boxer shorts and T-shirt, staring at the table drinking his coffee. No magic tricks in the morning with Father.

Bobbie was eating her Rice Krispies, and I was eating my Corn Flakes, when Mother walked into the kitchen in the black dress Bobbie had been wearing the night before and the high heels, but mother's nylons had seams. Swoops in the seams. Mother was too big around the waist for the black dress and the zipper up the back wasn't zipped up all the way and you could see her brassiere strap. Mother had her face painted on and her hair done up.

Mother walked the way you do in high heels right to the drawer where she hid her Herbert Tareytons, tapped a Herbert Tareyton out of the pack, lit it, got the 30 Club ashtray out of the cupboard, then walked right over to the table and sat down and crossed her legs.

Only silence. In all the world, only silence.

Then Bobbie said: Mother!

Bobbie smiled just with her mouth.

That dress you're wearing! Bobbie said.

Oh, this old thing? Mother said, and swirled her cigarette around like Bette Davis. I found it out on the porch on your father's bed. It's two sizes too small, Mother said, but hell, nothing's perfect.

Mother's Orange Exotica lipstick was on the end of her Herbert Tareyton.

A jealous woman, Mother said, Would think the dress was a gift for some other woman. But that's not the case, Mother said. Is it, Cotton?

In my forearms first, the fear, up to my shoulders, splashed down through my heart, into my stomach.

Mother leaned her elbow on the table, inhaled on the cigarette, and blew smoke across the table right into Father's face.