by Kent Haruf
Who is she?
Her name’s Tammy. She’s new.
Who is she?
Reuben DeBaca’s ex-wife from over by Norka. Look her over. Here she comes.
The barmaid came over to the table. She was blonde and good-looking, with wide hips and long legs. She had on tight faded jeans, a deliberate hole in the front of one thigh showing tanned skin underneath, and she wore a white low-cut blouse. When she bent forward to remove two empty glasses from the table, all the old men sitting there watched her closely. Didn’t you just come in? she said to the old man.
Just now, he said.
Why don’t you take your coat off and make yourself at home? You’re going to get too hot, then you’ll catch cold when you go back out. What can I bring you?
Bring me, the old man said. He looked toward the bar. Bring me some kind of drinking whiskey.
What kind? We have Jack Daniel’s and Old Grand-Dad and Bushmills and Jameson’s.
Which is your bar whiskey?
That’s Old Crow.
It’s cheaper, ain’t it.
Is that what you want?
That’s it.
And what about you? she said to DJ.
He glanced at her. A cup of coffee, please.
You drink coffee?
Yes ma’am.
He does, his grandfather said. I can’t stop him. He’s been drinking it ever since he was little.
All right then. Anything else?
Bring the boy some corn chips, one of the men said.
Coffee, corn chips, whiskey. Is that it?
Could you wipe this off over here? the red-faced man said. There’s a spot over here.
She looked at him and bent over and wiped the table with a wet rag, and they all looked down the front of her blouse. Will that do? she said.
It sure helps, he said.
You old bastard, she said. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Acting that way in front of this boy. She went off to get their drinks.
I believe she’s warming up to me, the red-faced man said.
She’d warm up to your bank account a lot faster, one of the others said.
Maybe she would. But a woman like her, you wouldn’t mind spending a little money on her. You got to.
What about her ex-husband?
That’s what I’m talking about. She’s older now. She’s not going to just fold her hands up and sit at home. She wants something better out of life. She knows there’s something more coming her way than a dryland farm out south of Norka.
And you could give it to her.
Why not.
Well, I kind of remember you complaining just last week about how you couldn’t get something in your undershorts to cooperate no more. After that operation you had, where the doctor cut on you.
Well, yeah, he said. There is that. The men at the table all laughed. But a woman like her, he said, she might put some new life in you. She might even manage to raise the dead.
The man next to him slapped him on the back. You just keep thinking that way.
DJ looked toward the bar where the woman was setting out glasses on a tray. Under the blue lights she appeared tall and pretty.
She brought the coffee and corn chips and the whiskey to the table, and his grandfather reached inside the chest pocket of his overalls and drew out his old soft leather wallet and removed his pension check.
What’s this? she said.
My check. From the railroad.
She turned it over and looked at the other side. You want me to cash this?
That’s the usual custom.
You’ll need to sign it, she said.
She handed him a pen, and the old man leaned over the table and stiffly signed his name and gave the pen back together with the check.
I’ll have to see if they will accept this, she said.
They will. I been cashing checks here for years.
I’ll just see, she said, and walked away toward the bar.
What the hell’s a-wrong with her?
She’s just doing her job, Grandpa, DJ whispered.
The old man lifted his tumbler of whiskey and took a long drink. Drink your coffee there, he said to the boy. It won’t do you no good once it gets cold.
The woman came back with a handful of bills and some change and handed the money to the old man. He drew out a dollar bill and gave it to her. Thank you, she said. I never should of questioned you, should I?
No, ma’am, he said. I’ve been coming in here a long time. Longer than you, I imagine. I plan on coming a while yet too.
And I hope you do, she said. Can I bring you anything else?
You can bring me another one of these after a while.
Of course, she said. DJ watched her walk away to another table.
As the old men around the table began to talk, the boy drank some of his coffee, then set the cup beside his chair on the floor and ate a few of the corn chips and took his math assignment from his coat pocket and got out a pencil and laid the sheets of paper on his lap. One of the old men said: Speaking of people getting cut on, and began to tell a story about a man he knew who couldn’t get his equipment to work anymore, so he and his wife went to the doctor. The doctor examined him and then presented him with a sterile needle and vial of fluid to inject into the skin alongside his business, just before he and his wife tried again, and told them to come back afterwards and say how it all went. The couple came back a week later. How’d it go? the doctor said. The man said: Pretty good, it stayed up for forty-five minutes. So what’d you do, the doctor said, and the man said: Well, we did what you’re suppose to, you know. Then after we was finished I went out to the front room and set down on the couch, watching TV and eating salted popcorn, waiting for it to go down again so I could go to bed. The doctor turned to the man’s wife. That must have been pretty good for you too, he said. Like hell, she said. He only had enough wind for five minutes.
DJ listened until his grandfather began telling the story of the Korean War veteran working on the railroad tracks one winter in the cold country south of Hardin Montana. DJ had already heard this one, and he went to work on the math papers he held in his lap. His grandfather’s story was altogether different from the one he’d just heard, and he wasn’t much interested in hearing about some vet chasing his foreman around with a shovel.
THE BARMAID CAME BACK AFTER A TIME AND BROUGHT another glass of whiskey to his grandfather, then left and came back with another round for the others. After the old men paid her, she leaned close to the boy and said softly: Why don’t you come up here with me?
Up where?
Up to the bar. That way you’ll have a place to work on your papers. You can write better up there.
Okay, he said. He stood up next to his grandfather. I’m going up to the bar, Grandpa.
Where?
To the bar. Where I can do my problems.
You behave yourself up there.
I will.
DJ followed her through the room past the men and women who were all talking and drinking, and at the bar she had him climb onto one of the high stools at the corner and he spread his math assignment out on the polished surface. She set his coffee cup and the corn chips beside him.
The bartender came over. Who’s this we got here?
My friend, she said.
He’s a little young to be drinking at a bar, don’t you think?
You leave him alone.
I’m not bothering him. Why would I bother him? I just don’t want him getting us into trouble.
He won’t get us into any trouble. Who’s going to complain?
They better not. But it’s your responsibility, if they do.
Don’t worry about it.
I ain’t going to worry. They don’t pay me enough to worry about shit like this. The bartender looked at her and moved away.
She smiled at DJ and went around behind the bar and brought a steaming glass coffeepot and refilled his cup. Don’t pay any attention to him, she said. He always has to talk.
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I don’t want you to get in trouble.
This? she said. This isn’t trouble. I could tell you what trouble is. Don’t you want some sugar in your coffee?
No thank you.
No milk either?
No. I like it this way.
Well, I just expect you’re sweet enough. I have a boy myself, only a little younger than you, she said. He’s a sweet thing like you are. I’ll see him tomorrow. She stood across the bar, holding the coffeepot.
Doesn’t he live with you? he said.
He lives with his daddy. It was better that way. You know, until I got settled.
Oh.
But I sure do miss him.
DJ watched her face. She smiled at him.
But now what about you? Where’s your daddy and mama?
I don’t know who my dad is, he said. I never met him.
Didn’t you? What about your mother? Where’s she?
She died a long time ago.
Oh hell, she said. Listen to me. I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I’m sorry I ever said anything.
DJ looked past her into the backbar mirror, where he saw himself reflected above the ranks of bottles, and he saw her blonde head and the back of her white shirt in the mirror. He looked down and picked up his pencil.
You go on and do your schoolwork, she said. You just have to call if you need something. Will you be all right up here, do you think?
Yes, ma’am.
I’ll be right here if you need something.
Thank you.
You’re very welcome. She smiled. You know what? You and me could get to be good friends, do you think we could?
I guess so.
Well, that’s good enough. That’s being honest. She set the coffeepot on the hotplate and moved out from behind the bar again to work among the tables.
LATER A WOMAN WITH SHORT BROWN HAIR AND VERY blue eyes came to the end of the bar and stood beside DJ. Don’t I know you? she said. I’ve been watching you for half an hour.
I don’t know, he said.
Isn’t that your grandfather? Sitting over there with those other men?
Yes.
I took care of him at night. Don’t you remember? I saw you when you came in early before school one time. Before I went off duty.
Maybe so, he said.
Yes, I’m sure I did.
Then while she was standing beside him at the end of the bar, Raymond McPheron came in at the front door of the tavern.
Well, look at that, she said. This must be hospital reunion night. I didn’t think that man ever came out.
RAYMOND STOOD AND TOOK HIS GLOVES OFF AS HE looked around. He was wearing his silver-belly Bailey hat and his heavy canvas winter coat. He moved out of the doorway and stood behind the men sitting on the stools, waiting until the bartender noticed him.
What’s it going to be?
I’m deciding, Raymond said. What have you got on tap?
Coors and Budweiser and Bud Light.
Let me try a Coors.
The bartender drew the beer and handed it to him past a seated man and Raymond reached him a bill. The bartender made change at the cash register below the mirror and brought it back. Raymond took a drink and turned to look at the people sitting at the tables. He drank again and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, then unbuttoned his heavy coat.
The woman who had been standing beside DJ came up and tapped him on the shoulder and Raymond turned to look at her.
There’s room down here, she said. Why don’t you come join us? Raymond took off his hat, holding it in one hand. You remember me, don’t you? She smiled at him and took two little steps, as if she were dancing.
I’m starting to, he said. I’m going to say you must be Linda May from the hospital.
That’s right. You do remember. Come join us down here.
Where?
At the end of the bar. There’s someone else I think you know.
Raymond put his hat back on and followed her along the bar. The men turned on the barstools to look at him as he went by, watching him with the woman. She stopped beside DJ. How about this young man here? she said. Do you remember him?
I believe I do, Raymond said. This must be Walter Kephart’s grandson. I never got his name though.
DJ, the boy said.
How you doing, son?
Pretty good.
Is your grandfather here with you?
DJ pointed to the table against the far wall.
I see him now. How’s he doing? Is he doing pretty good too?
Yes sir. He got over his pneumonia.
Good, Raymond said. He looked at the boy again and noticed his papers on the bartop. Looks like we’re interrupting your schoolwork there. Maybe we better leave you to it.
I’m done. I’m just waiting on Grandpa, till he’s ready to go.
How soon you reckon that’s going to be?
I don’t know. He’s talking.
Old men like to talk, don’t they, Raymond said. He drank from his glass and glanced at the woman standing next to him.
I’m surprised to see you out here, she said. I didn’t think you ever came out at night.
I don’t, Raymond said. I can’t say what I’m doing out here this time.
You need to get out once in a while. Everybody does.
That must be it.
They do. Believe me. It’s good you came out.
Aren’t you working tonight?
No, she said. This is one of my nights off.
Well. That would explain how one of us came to be here anyways.
The boy’s grandfather stepped up to bar next to DJ. You staying out of trouble?
Yes.
It’s about time we get on home.
How you doing there? Raymond said.
Who’s that? Is that you, McPheron?
More or less. Yes sir.
Look who else is here, the old man said, looking at the woman. Aren’t you from the hospital?
That’s right, Linda May said.
Well. Okay then. It’s good to see you. He turned to DJ. Let’s go, boy. Here’s your coat.
DJ stood down from the barstool and put on his coat and stuck his papers in the pocket. I want to tell her good-bye first, he said.
Who?
That lady who was nice to me.
The old man looked into the back. She’s working, he said. She don’t need you bothering her.
I’m not going to bother her.
He walked back toward the pool tables at the rear of the long smoky room where she was talking to some men sitting at a table. They were all laughing and he waited behind her until one of the men said: I believe there’s somebody here wants to say something to you.
The barmaid turned around.
I’m going now, DJ said.
She reached toward him and pulled his coat collar up. You stay warm outside now.
Thank you for all the— He motioned behind himself. For the place to work on my papers.
That’s all right, sweetheart. She smiled at him. I was just glad to see you. Now you come again sometime. Okay? He nodded and went back to his grandfather.
You think you’re ready to go now? the old man said.
Yes.
Let’s go then.
Just a minute, Raymond said. Are you walking?
We walked over here.
You’d better let me drive you home.
You don’t need to do that. We got over here all right.
Sure, but it’s colder now.
Well. The old man glanced toward the door. I don’t like this boy being out like this, I’ll say that.
Linda May looked at Raymond. You haven’t finished your beer. Why don’t you go ahead and run them home and I’ll keep your glass here for you. Then you can come back.
I might, he said.
Do, she said.
They went outside and got into Raymond’s old battered pickup, and he backed away from the curb and turned north up Main Street and followed Walter Kep
hart’s directions across the railroad tracks and then west into the quiet neighborhood, pulling up in front of their house. The old man and the boy got out. We thank you kindly for the ride, the old man said.
Don’t you take no more sickness, Raymond said.
I don’t plan on it.
The old man shut the pickup door and it didn’t catch, so Raymond leaned across and pushed it open, then slammed it hard. When he looked up they were already halfway to the door of the house. He drove to the end of the block and made a U-turn at the intersection and drove back to Main Street and parked down the block from the tavern. For a while he sat in the cold cab looking at the darkened storefront in front of him. What in hell’s sake do I think I’m doing? he said. His breath smoked in the cold air. I don’t have the first idea. But I guess I’m doing it.
He got out and went back into the warmth and noise once more and walked to the end of the bar where Linda May stood. When he came up to her she smiled and held out his beer glass.
Well, here you are, she said. I didn’t know if you’d come back or not.
I said I might, Raymond said.
That doesn’t mean you would. Men say I might, and it doesn’t mean a thing.
I thought it did, he said.
Maybe it does for you.
He took the glass from her hand and drank the rest of the beer. He looked around and all the people nearby appeared to be having a good time.
Let me buy you another beer, she said. This’ll be my round.
Well, no, he said. Ma’am, I don’t believe I could do that. I better buy you one. Wouldn’t you let me do that?
But the next one’s on me. This is a new day, she said.
Ma’am?
I mean women are different now than they used to be. It’s all right for a woman to buy a man a drink in a barroom now.
I wouldn’t know a thing about that, Raymond said. I don’t believe I ever did know anything about women. There was just my mother and then this young girl that lived with us lately.
You mean the girl with the little child I saw visiting you in the hospital.
Yes ma’am. That would be her. That was Victoria Roubideaux. And her little daughter, Katie.
Where are they now? Don’t they still live with you?
No ma’am, not all the time. They’re off at school. In Fort Collins. She’s taking a course of study at college.
Good for her. But don’t you think you could call me something else? Ma’am makes me sound so old.
