The Sisters Brothers (9 page)

Chapter 29

Charlie had drunk three glasses of brandy and his face was turning the familiar scarlet color that indicated the onset of sloven drunkenness. He began asking Mayfield questions about his business and successes, these put to the man in a deferential tone in which I did not like to hear my brother speak. Mayfield responded to the queries vaguely but I deduced he had hit a lucky strike and was now spending his golden winnings as fast as he was able. I grew tired of their strained banter and became quietly drunk. The women continued to visit and tease me, sitting on my lap until my organ became engorged, then laughing at me or it and moving on to my brother or Mayfield. I recall standing to correct and retuck the bloated appendage and noticing that both my brother and Mayfield were likewise engorged. Just your everyday grouping of civilized gentlemen, sitting in a round robin to discuss the events of the day with quivering erections. As the brandy took hold of my mind, I could not seem to place one particular girl; their cackles and perfumes blurred together in a garish bouquet that I found at once enticing and stomach turning. Mayfield and Charlie were ostensibly involved in a conversation, but really they were speaking to themselves and wished only to hear their own words and voices: Charlie made fun of my toothbrush; Mayfield debunked the myth of the divining rod. On and on like this until I despised them both. I thought, When a man is properly drunk it is as though he is in a room by himself—there is a physical, impenetrable separation between him and his fellows.

Another brandy, then another, when I noticed a new woman in the far corner of the parlor standing by herself at a window. She was paler and not so meaty as the others, her eyes ringed with worry or lack of sleep. Despite her sickliness, she was a true beauty, with jade-colored eyes and golden hair running to the small of her back. Emboldened with brandy and its attendant stupidity, I watched her alone until she could not help but return my attentions, when she offered me a pitying smile. I winked at her and her pity doubled. Now she crossed the parlor to leave, but with every step her eyes remained fixed upon me. She exited the room and I stared awhile at the door, which she had left ajar.

‘Who was that?’ I asked Mayfield.

‘Who was who?’ he said.

‘Who-be-do?’ said Charlie, and the whores all laughed.

I left the parlor and found the woman smoking a cigarette in the hall. She was not surprised I had followed her out, which is not to say she was happy about it. It was likely that each time she left a room, some man or another followed after her, and over time she had become accustomed to it. I reached up to remove my hat but it was not on my head. I told her, ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of that room.’ She said nothing. ‘My brother and I sold Mayfield a pelt. Now we are obliged to sit and listen to his boasts and lies.’ She continued only to stare, smoke draining from her mouth, a smile lingering on her lips, and I could not decipher her thoughts. ‘What is your business here?’ I asked.

‘I live here. I’m Mr. Mayfield’s bookkeeper.’

‘Are your quarters a hotel room, or somehow different?’ I thought, Here is precisely the wrong kind of question to ask, and I am asking it because of the brandy. I thought, Stop drinking brandy! Happily, the woman was not small about it. ‘My room’s a regular hotel room. But sometimes I’ll sleep in a vacant room, just for the fun of it.’

‘How is it fun?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t they all the same?’

‘They are the same on the surface. But the differences in actuality are significant.’

I did not know what to say in response but the brandy implored me to blather on, and I was opening my jaws to do just this when some deeper reasoning took hold and I closed my mouth, maintaining my silence. I was congratulating myself inwardly when the woman began casting around for somewhere to put her cigarette. I volunteered to dispose of it and she dropped the smoldering lump into my outstretched palm. I pinched its light shut between my fingers while staring coolly at the woman, hoping, I suppose, to display my threshold for pain, which has always been abnormally high: Stop drinking brandy! I put the ash and charred paper into my pocket. The woman’s attentions remained foreign, separate. I said, ‘I can’t tell about you, ma’am.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can’t tell if you’re happy or sad or mad or what you are.’

‘I am sick.’

‘How are you sick?’

She produced from her dress pocket a handkerchief with dried bloodstains on it, flaunting this with a ghoulish amusement. But I did not take it lightly, and in fact was outraged by the sight of the stains. Mindlessly then, I asked if she was dying. Her expression was downcast and I sputtered my apologies: ‘Don’t answer that. I have had too much to drink. Will you forgive me? Please, say you will.’

She did not, but neither did she appear to be holding a grudge, and I decided to carry on just as if I had not made the blunder. As casually as I could manage, I said, ‘Where are you going now, can I ask?’

‘I have no place in mind. There is no other place than this hotel, at night.’

‘Well,’ I said, clucking my tongue, ‘it seems that you were waiting for me out here.’

‘I was not.’

‘You left the door open, that I might follow after you.’

‘I did not.’

‘I think you probably did.’

I heard a creaking down the hall; the woman and I turned to find one of the trappers standing at the top of the stairway. He had been eavesdropping, and his face was unsmiling. ‘You should get to your room now,’ he said to her.

‘How is that your concern?’ she asked.

‘Don’t I work for the man?’

‘Don’t I? I am speaking to a guest of his.’

‘There will be problems if you keep it up.’

‘Problems with whom?’

‘You know. Him.’

‘You,’ I said to the trapper.

‘What?’

‘Go right away from here.’

The man paused, then plunged a hand in his blue-black beard, itching at his cheek and jaw. He turned and walked back down the stairs and the woman told me, ‘He follows me around the hotel. I have to keep my door locked at night.’

‘Mayfield is your man, is that it?’

She pointed to the whore-filled parlor. ‘He has no one woman.’ At my sunken expression, for this answer was suspiciously incomplete, she added, ‘But no, we are not connected. Once, perhaps, in a way.’

From behind the doors I could hear my brother’s high-volume laughter. Charlie has an unintelligent-sounding laugh. It is braying, is what it is. ‘This town is leaving a poor impression on me,’ I said.

The woman took a step toward me. Was she leaning in for a kiss? But no, she only had a secret to tell me: ‘I heard that trapper and the others talking about you and your brother. They have some plan against you. I couldn’t understand, exactly, but every other night they are drinking, and tonight they are not. You should be careful.’

‘I have had too much brandy to be careful.’

‘Then you had better return to your party. To stay close to Mayfield would be best, I think.’

‘No, I can’t stay another minute in there. I only want to sleep.’

‘Where has Mayfield put you?’

‘He hasn’t put me anywhere.’

‘I will find you a safe place,’ she said, and led me away to the far end of the hall, where she opened a door with a key from her pocket. She did this with care not to make a sound, and I found myself mimicking her cautious steps. We entered the darkened room and she closed the door behind us. She stood me against a wall and told me to stay still while she searched out a candle. I could not see her but listened to her movements—her footsteps, her hands rooting through drawers and over tabletops; I found this endearing, her nearness to me, her busyness, and my not knowing just what she was doing. I decided I liked her then; I was flattered she was devoting her time and concerns to me and I thought, I do not need much at all, to make me feel contented.

She lit a candle and drew open the curtains to let in the light of the moon. It was a hotel room just like any other, only there was a dust and staleness on the air, and she explained to me, ‘This is always vacant because the key was misplaced, and Mayfield’s too lazy to bring in a locksmith. Except the key wasn’t misplaced, I took it. I come here sometimes, when I want to be alone.’

Nodding politely, I said, ‘Yes, well, it is fairly obvious that you are in love with me!’

‘No,’ she said, coloring. ‘Not that.’

‘I can see it. Hopelessly in love, powerless to guard against it. You shouldn’t feel too badly about it, it has happened before. It seems that every time I walk down the road there comes a woman in my direction, her eyes filled up with passion and longing.’ I flopped onto the small bed, rolling around on the mattress. The woman was amused by me but not so much that she wished to stay any longer, and she returned to the door to leave. I jostled back and forth and the bed issued its plaintive squeaks and she told me, ‘You should stop that rolling on the bed. The trappers’ quarters are just beneath us.’

‘Oh, stop talking about them already. I don’t care about it, and there isn’t anything they can do to me.’

‘But they are killers,’ she whispered.

‘So am I!’ I whispered back.

‘What do you mean?’

There was something about the look on her face, her paleness and unsureness, it made me wild, and I was seized by a kind of cruelty or animal-mindedness. Standing, I shouted out: ‘Death stalks all of us upon this earth!’ These words came from I knew not where, and they inspired me terribly; I lurched away from the bed, taking up my pistol and firing a shot into the floorboards. The report was terrifically loud; it doubled off the walls and the room filled with smoke and the horrified woman spun on her heels and left me, locking the door with her key. I crossed over and unlocked it, opening it wide and sitting back on the tormented bed, my pistols drawn, cocked, and leveled. My heart was thudding and I was looking forward to an end-of-all-time fight, but after five minutes my eyes began growing heavy. After ten minutes I decided the trappers had not heard the shot. They were not in their room, or I had fired into a room that was not theirs. I gave up my adventure for dead. I brushed my teeth and went to sleep.

Chapter 30

It was sunny in the morning, and the open window carried cool air over my face as I lay in the bed. I was fully clothed and the door was closed and bolted. Had the bookkeeper returned in the night to protect me? I heard a key in the lock and she entered, sitting on the edge of the mattress and smiling. I asked after Charlie and she said he was fine. She invited me to go walking with her, and though she still looked only half living she was a sweet-smelling, powdered beauty, and appeared not unhappy to be visiting. Pulling myself up from the bed, I stepped to the window and propped myself against its frame, looking down over the road beneath the hotel. Men and women passed this way and that, saying their good mornings, bowing and tipping their hats. The woman cleared her throat and said, ‘Last night you said you couldn’t tell about me. Now I find myself thinking the same thing about you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘For one, why in the world did you shoot your pistol into the floor?’

‘I am embarrassed by that,’ I admitted. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you.’

‘But why would you do it?’

‘Sometimes, if I drink too much, and I’m feeling low, a part of me wants to die.’ I thought, Who is showing whom their bloody rag now?

‘Why were you feeling low?’

‘Why does anyone? It creeps up on you from time to time.’

‘But you were glad the one moment, then suddenly not.’

I shrugged. In the road I saw a man who was familiar to me, but I could not determine his position in my past. His carriage was heavy and dazed, his gait aimless, as though he did not have any one destination in mind. ‘I know that person,’ I said, pointing. The woman stood beside me to look but the man had moved out of sight. Straightening her dress, she asked, ‘Will you come walking with me or not?’

I ate some tooth powder and she led me down the hall by my arm. As we passed the open door to Mayfield’s parlor I saw the boss man sleeping facedown at his desk, head and arms resting amid the upset of bottles and cigar ash, the three toppled bells. There was a large whore, stark naked and flat on her back on the floor beside him. Her face was turned away and I paused to watch her dozing body, breasts and stomach rising and falling with her breath. Here was the picture of moral negligence, and I found myself startled by the sight of her genitals, the hair matted and stamped upon. I noticed my hat was hanging from the antler of a buck on the far wall and I crossed the great room to retrieve it. Achieving this, I was doubling back, dusting ash from the hat’s brim when I tripped and fell onto the floor. I had been caught up on the fur stretching rack, which I now saw was without the red pelt. This had not been untied, but quickly and indelicately cut away. I looked back at the bookkeeper standing under the jamb; her eyes were closed and she was rolling her head in slow circles and I thought, She is stuck fast under the weight of her burdens.

Chapter 31

The road had turned to mud and deep puddles, and to cross we were forced to hobble over a series of wooden planks. The woman enjoyed this and her laughter was clear and rich in the morning. Her laughter and this cold, fresh air, I thought. They are just the same welcome and cleansing thing to me. It is odd to think this struck me as an adventure, I who had had so many truly dangerous adventures already, but there I was, holding her hand and pointing the way along the rocking boards; nausea was ever looming but this only made the event that much more comical, and therefore merry. By the time we arrived on the far side of the road my boots were mud covered but hers had not a blemish upon them and for this she said the words, ‘Thank you.’ Safely installed on the dry wooden walkway, she held her grip on my arm for a half-dozen paces, then broke off to pat and refashion her hair. I do not think there was any precise need for her to have broken away, that it was done in the name of good taste and principles. I believe she enjoyed the feel of my arm and wished to grip it longer. This at any rate was my hopeful impression.

I asked, ‘How is it working for Mayfield?’

‘He pays me well enough, but he is hard to be around, always wanting to show he is the right one. He was a good man, before he hit his strike.’

‘He looks to be spending it quickly enough. Perhaps he will change back to the first man once it’s all gone.’

‘He will change, but not back to the first man. He will become a third man, and I think the third will be even less pleasant than the second.’ I remained quiet and she added, ‘Yes, there isn’t anything to say about it.’ A moment passed and she reached up to grip my arm again. I felt proud, and my legs were sure and confident beneath me. I said, ‘How is it that my door was locked this morning? Did you return later in the night to visit me?’

‘You don’t remember?’ she asked.

‘I am sorry to say I don’t.’

‘That makes me feel just wretched.’

‘Will you explain what happened?’

She considered this, and said, ‘If you really want to know, you will recall it by your own force of mind.’ Thinking of something, she laughed once more, and the sound was bright and diamond shaped.

‘Your laughter is like cool water to me,’ I said. I felt my heart sob at these words, and it would not have been hard to summon tears: Strange.

‘You are so serious all of a sudden,’ she told me.

‘I am not any one thing,’ I said.

Reaching the edge of town, we crossed another line of planks and returned in the direction of the hotel. I thought of my room, of the bed I had slept in; I imagined my shape indented over the blankets. Remembering, then, I said, ‘He is the weeping man!’

‘Who is?’ asked the woman. ‘The what, now?’

‘The person I saw from the window that I said was familiar to me? I met him in Oregon Territory some weeks ago. My brother and I were riding out of Oregon City and came across a lone man leading a horse on foot. He was in great distress but would not accept our help. His grief ran deep and made him unreasonable.’

‘Had his luck changed at all, did you notice?’

‘It did not appear to have, no.’

‘Poor soul.’

‘He makes good time for a hysterical man on foot.’

A pause, and she let go of my arm.

‘Last night you spoke of some pressing business in San Francisco,’ she said.

I nodded. ‘We are after a man called Hermann Warm who is said to be living there.’

‘What does that mean? After him?’

‘He has done something incorrect and we have been hired to bring him to justice.’

‘But you are not lawmen?’

‘We are the opposite of lawmen.’

Her face became pensive. ‘Is this Warm a very bad man?’

‘I don’t know. That is an unclear question. They say he is a thief.’

‘What did he steal?’

‘Whatever people normally steal. Money, probably.’ This lying made me feel ugly, and I searched around for something to look at and find distraction in but could not locate anything suitable. ‘Honestly, actually, he probably didn’t steal a penny.’ Her eyes dropped and I laughed a little. I said, ‘It would not surprise me in the least if he was perfectly innocent.’

‘And do you typically go after men you think are innocent?’

‘There is nothing typical about my profession.’ Suddenly I did not want to talk about it any longer. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any longer.’

Ignoring this statement, she asked, ‘Do you enjoy this work?’

‘Each job is different. Some I have seen as singular escapades. Others have been like a hell.’ I shrugged. ‘You put a wage behind something, it gives the act a sort of respectability. In a way, I suppose it feels significant to have something as large as a man’s life entrusted to me.’

‘A man’s death,’ she corrected.

I had not been certain she understood what my position consisted of. I was relieved to know she did—that I did not have to tell her precisely. ‘However you wish to phrase it,’ I said.

‘Haven’t you ever thought to stop?’

‘I have wanted to,’ I admitted.

She took up my arm again. ‘What about after you deal with this man, Warm? What will you do then?’

I told her, ‘I have a small home outside of Oregon City that I share with my brother. The land is pretty but the house is cramped and drafty. I would like to move but can’t seem to find time to search out another spot. Charlie has many unsavory acquaintances. They have no respect for the traditional hours of sleep.’ But the woman was made restless by my answer and I said, ‘What is it that you are asking me?’

‘My hope is that I will see you again.’

My chest swelled like an aching bruise and I thought, I am a perfect ass. ‘Your hope will be fulfilled,’ I promised.

‘If you leave I don’t think I will see you anymore.’

‘I will be back, I give you my word.’ The woman did not believe me, however, or she only partially believed me. Looking up at my face she asked me to take off my coat, which I did, and she pulled a length of bright blue silk from her layers. She tied the sash over my shoulder, fastening it with a snug knot and afterward stepping back to look at me. She was very sad, and beautiful, her eyes damp and heavy with their powders and ancient spells. I placed my hands on the material but could think of nothing to say about it.

She told me, ‘You should always wear it just like that, and when you see it, you will remember me, and remember your promise to return here.’ Stroking the fabric, she smiled. ‘Will it make your brother very jealous?’

‘I think he will want to know all about it.’

‘Isn’t it a fine piece, though?’

‘It is very shiny.’

I buttoned my coat to cover it. She came forward and put her arms around me, resting the side of her face over my heart, listening to the organ’s mad jumping. After this she said her good-byes, then turned and disappeared into the hotel, but not before I had slipped Mayfield’s forty dollars in her petticoat pocket. I called out that I would see her on my return, but she did not respond and I stood alone, my thoughts dipping and shooting away, dipping and dying. I did not wish to be indoors, but to continue circulating in the open. I spied a row of houses off from the main road and walked in their direction.