Texasville (44 page)

A big sign with an arrow had been erected beside the road. It read:
ORIGINAL SITE OF TEXASVILLE, FIRST TOWN IN HARDTOP COUNTY, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YARDS DUE NORTH
. The arrow pointed to an empty pasture, but Buster Lickle was already there, showing two or three astonished farmers the authentic boards he had kicked up.

Ruth Popper stood by the side of the road, doing stretching exercises. She had equipped herself with goggles for the event, a wise move. The south wind had become brisker, moving a good deal of grit across the road.

Lester, an occasional runner, had also entered the mini-marathon. He was jogging around and around Aunt Jimmie’s Lounge, watched by Janine, who sat in the car with the windows rolled up. Janine had never liked the dust.

John Cecil, who was likely to be Ruth’s only serious competition, looked natty in a blue running suit. He was doing exercises. Karla waved and he gave her a quick smile.

“I feel sorry for John,” she said. “I don’t think Thalia’s a good town to be gay in. I wish he could find a steady boyfriend.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want one,” Duane suggested.

Karla thought it over. “Well, he might like a nice little person to come home to,” she said. “Somebody to watch TV with at night.”

“We could lend him Minerva,” Duane said.

“Not unless we lent him the dish too,” Karla said. “Minerva really would get a brain tumor if she had to watch normal TV.”

They followed the line of cars and pickups into Thalia. The square was already packed with people.

“I guess they came to hear the Governor,” Duane said. The Governor was due to arrive shortly after lunch to congratulate the county on its one hundredth birthday.

“No, they probably heard you were giving away beer,” Karla said. “You shouldn’t have let G.G. back you down, Duane. You should have sold the beer, and if he didn’t like it, tough shit.”

“He didn’t back me down,” Duane said. “I just got tired of arguing about it.”

“Wore you down then,” Karla said. “It makes me jealous. He can wear you down and I can’t.”

“What did you want to wear me down on now?” Duane asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Karla said. “We drove all the way to Fort Worth to talk about it and all that happened was that a Mexican psychiatrist tore up his own office. I’ll just give up and do exactly as I please from now on.”

“I thought you were already doing exactly as you pleased,” Duane said.

“Why did you grow that beard, Duane?” she asked. They were inching toward the crowd, hoping to spot a place to park.

“You know perfectly well why I grew it,” he said. “I grew it because of this centennial that we’re in a traffic jam in.”

“Jacy says you’re not very self-aware,” Karla said. She was smiling and waving at various people they knew.

Duane waved too, but he had a sinking heart.

“I guess all you and Jacy have to do is talk about me,” he said. He was hoping she would deny it and describe what the two of them did do, but Karla acted as if she hadn’t heard him.

“I grew this goddamn beard because of the centennial,” he said, but he no longer expected anyone, even Karla, to believe him.

They found a parking place three blocks from the square. Karla had her cowgirl clothes in the car. She was supposed to ride into town with the centennial wagon train, which had been straggling across the county for the past two days and was supposed to arrive in Thalia in time to lead the parade that afternoon. The wagon train consisted of five or six wagons and anyone with a horse who wanted to ride along.

The sight of all the people caused Karla’s spirits to rise.

“I’m getting excited,” she said. “This is a lot more people than show up for a rodeo. It’s nice to see people all over the streets.”

The minute he parked she grabbed her cowgirl clothes and walked into the nearest house to put them on. Duane was shocked. The nearest house happened to belong to a strange couple who took walks in the middle of the night with their fat dog. Karla didn’t know them very well, nor did anyone else.

Three minutes later Karla popped out. She pitched her other clothes in the back seat.

“Those people might not want you just walking into their house,” Duane said.

“I looked at their wedding pictures,” Karla said.

“Why?” he asked. “How can you just walk into somebody’s house and look at their wedding pictures?”

“It was my only chance,” Karla said. “It looks like they had a real nice wedding.”

Duane had bought a cowboy hat, which was all he intended to do in the way of costuming, but Karla had got him a velvet vest of the kind riverboat gamblers were supposed to wear. Duane thought he looked silly in it and had refused to bring it.

“You couldn’t get a riverboat within a thousand miles of here,” he had pointed out that morning, when Karla was badgering him to bring the vest.

As they were walking toward the courthouse she returned to the subject.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to wear that nice vest I bought you, at least on the first day,” she said. “You could have gone along with the centennial spirit at least that much.”

“I’m not putting on any velvet vests,” Duane said, more angrily than he meant to.

“Why not?” Karla asked.

“There’s no reason,” Duane said. “I’m just not putting on that vest. Do we have to argue about it?”

“Duane, there’s a reason for every single thing you do,” she said. “The reason in this case is that you just don’t want to do anything I ask you to, or else you don’t think you look macho enough in velvet.”

“I don’t think I look macho enough in velvet,” Duane said. “That’s the reason. Now are you happy?”

“I think Richie did a real nice job of building Old Texasville,” Karla said.

CHAPTER 65

U
NDER HEAVY PRESSURE FROM DUANE, BOBBY LEE
and Eddie Belt had agreed to represent the founders of the county, Mr. Brown and Mr. Brown. The roles required them to sit in front of the replica of Texasville all day, dispensing the free beer Duane had ordered. If there was an assault from the Byelo-Baptists, they would be the ones to receive it.

Bobby and Eddie both had cups of beer in their hands, but no Byelo-Baptists were assaulting. The largest crowd was over in one corner of the square.

“Howdy,” Duane said. “Had any trouble with G.G.?”

“Nope,” Bobby Lee said. “He’s got worse sinners than us to worry about.”

“If you’re the bartender, make me a red dog,” Karla said.

“I can’t unless you brought some tomato juice,” Bobby Lee said. “They didn’t carry tomato juice in the Texasville days.”

Old Man Balt, in his honored position as the county’s oldest citizen, sat under the best shade tree on the lawn. He wore a crisp white shirt and a ten-gallon hat. Several people with cameras were squatting to take his picture.

“What’s the crowd in the corner doing?” Duane inquired.

“They’re looking at Junior and Billie Anne,” Bobby Lee said. “They’re gonna starve themselves to death unless they get what they want.”

“What do they want?” Karla asked.

“I don’t know if they even know themselves,” Bobby Lee said.

“Sure they do,” Eddie Belt said. “He’s fasting for an oil embargo and Billie Anne’s fasting for no-fault divorce.”

Duane edged through the crowd. Junior and Billie Anne had erected a small tent and were sitting outside it in lawn chairs, holding hands for all to see. G. G. Rawley was glaring at them.

“These sinners have a mattress in that tent,” G.G. said, spotting Duane. “Who said they could put up a tent and put a mattress in it?”

“Not me,” Duane said.

“We’re on a fast,” Junior said. “We just brought the mattress for when we get too weak to sit up.”

Billie Anne was glaring at G.G. She didn’t appear to be entirely sober.

“You old bully,” she said. “Just leave us alone so we can starve in peace.”

G.G. turned his glare on Duane.

“Make ’em take down this filthy tent,” he said.

“Go away or I’ll shoot you,” Billie Anne said. “I’ve shot two people already and you’ll make three.”

Like many people, she was taking advantage of the historical nature of the celebration to wear holsters with pistols in them. They didn’t look like cap pistols, either.

“In the old days people that behaved like you two would be stoned with rocks,” G.G. said. He looked as if he would enjoy stoning them with rocks.

Duane stepped back. He decided he would pretend he was a simple visitor to the events. It might be fun to wander around, drink beer and strike up conversations with residents of remote areas of the county—people seldom seen in town.

On the south side of the square, several carnival workers, all of them sickly-looking, were putting up a small Ferris wheel and one or two other rides. The barbecue caterers were setting
up long tables on which to serve the first of many barbecues. The wind had increased, and many men wearing new Stetsons had them suddenly blow off and sail through the air. Men who rarely chased anything were chasing new hats across the courthouse lawn.

Normally no one paid much attention to wind in Thalia. It was usually blowing and, like tap water, was either hot or cold depending on the season. But the present wind seemed unusually stiff. The tent Junior and Billie Anne had put up for their fast began to flap. It was not very securely pegged and the wind seemed capable of blowing it away. In fact, the wind was so strong that it threatened to blow the crowd away. People were beginning to drift to the north side of the courthouse seeking shelter from it.

Bobby Lee and Eddie Belt began to experience troubles, too. The wind suddenly blew several huge stacks of beer cups off the tables. Beer cups rolled everywhere. Stacks broke up and clumps of beer cups flew into the street. Bobby Lee and Eddie Belt, working frantically, caught a few of them, but many escaped.

Duane stooped to catch a stack of cups just blowing past him and happened to notice a large tumbleweed blowing down the main street. It was nearly the size of a Volkswagen and it tumbled at a good pace right through town.

Tumbleweeds were common enough. They blew off the cracked fields and parched pastures south of town. South winds were not uncommon, particularly in August—they were hot winds, and unwelcome. But this particular south wind seemed to be getting out of hand. Men were holding their hats, women their skirts. The wind was becoming a gale.

Duane looked to the sky, thinking perhaps they were in the path of a late-summer tornado. There was a dull coloring of dust in the lower reaches, but otherwise the sky was clear.

The big tumbleweed rumbled under the red light and rolled on toward Wichita Falls. Bobby Lee, his arms full of beer cups, stood watching it with a certain awe. The sight of the tumble-weed had raised his spirits.

“Where’s Toots?” he yelled. “Where’s the Highway Patrol?”

“Why do you want ’em?” Duane asked.

“I want them to give that tumbleweed a ticket,” Bobby Lee said. “It’s exceeding the speed limit and besides that it ran a red light.”

Then his sombrero blew off. It soared over the crowd like a bird. Bobby still held the beer cups. At first he merely watched his sombrero go. Then he began to run after it, dropping beer cups as he ran. By then the hat had a big lead. It landed thirty yards down the street, but then the wind lifted it again and it sailed on in the wake of the tumbleweed. It flew about waist-high, reminding Duane of Briscoe the roadrunner. Duane’s new hat blew off too. He grabbed for it but missed, and since he really didn’t like cowboy hats, let it go.

He looked around in time to see the tent jerk loose from its pegs and slide into the street. It smacked up against the fire truck, which had been parked close by in case of emergencies. Junior and Billie Anne continued to sit in their lawn chairs, holding hands.

The wind, hot as the exhaust of a truck, was increasing in force. Eddie Belt struggled against it, trying to reach Duane’s side. He had a happy look on his face—like many Texans he was cheered by extremes of weather.

“Oh, boy,” he yelled. “It’s really starting to blow now. Just feel this wind.”

“I feel it but I wish it would stop,” Duane said. “It’s almost time for the Governor to show up.”

CHAPTER 66

D
UANE BEGAN TO LOOK FOR KARLA. HE ARRIVED AT
the barbecue tables just in time to see all the paper plates blow away in a whoosh of wind. The caterers, trying to keep the barbecue itself secure, could only watch things go.

Virtually the whole crowd was now huddled on the north side of the courthouse, trying to keep from blowing away themselves. Karla wasn’t there, nor was she in the courthouse—probably she had already left to join the wagon train. Duane had no real need to find her—he just wanted to. He felt that she was in a strange mood, and experience had taught him that it was better to try and keep her in sight at such times.

It wasn’t a catastrophic mood, in his view, but it was not exactly a good mood either, and the knowledge that Karla was in it made him feel tense.

So it had been all through their marriage. In order to relax, himself, he had to know that Karla was no longer in a bad mood. Since he had to greet the Governor of the state in a few minutes, he needed to be as relaxed as possible, and it wasn’t possible to be very relaxed in a towering gale when he didn’t know what state Karla might be in.

In the courthouse he ran into Sonny. As mayor of the town, Sonny also had to greet the Governor. Sonny looked silly. He had bought a cowboy hat for the centennial, but, being frugal, had only spent twelve dollars on it. Duane didn’t have the heart to tell him that a twelve-dollar cowboy hat looked worse than no cowboy hat at all. Sonny had also bought a cheap string tie with a piece of fake turquoise as a knot. It was the sort of tie sold in truck stops all over the west. The tie and hat made Sonny look like a tourist—in the town he had lived in all his life.

“We better go out,” Sonny said. “The marathoners should be here in five or ten minutes. We’re supposed to hold the finish line.”

They looked out the door and saw several more tumble-weeds blowing across the lawn and down the street. They were not as big as the first tumbleweeds, but they were zipping along.