Eventide

by Kent Haruf

  Luther stood in the doorway wearing sweatpants but no shirt. Is that you, Rose? he said.

  Yes. Weren’t you going to let me in?

  I didn’t hear you knock. He stood back from the door so she could pass inside. Betty ain’t up yet.

  It’s past ten o’clock. I thought you’d both be up by now.

  Betty never slept good last night.

  What’s wrong?

  I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.

  I came to talk to both of you this morning. To see how things are going.

  Things is fine, Rose. I guess we been doing pretty good.

  Why don’t you go put on a shirt and tell Betty to come out. We’ll have a little visit.

  Well, I don’t know if she’ll want to get up.

  Why don’t you ask her.

  He disappeared into the hall and she surveyed the front room and the kitchen. There were dishes and pizza cartons on every flat surface, and the black plastic bag of pop cans leaned against the refrigerator. A morning game show was playing on the television in the corner.

  Luther came out of the hallway in a tee-shirt, with Betty shuffling barefooted behind him, looking tired and haggard in a pink bathrobe. She had brushed her hair and it hung down stiff on both sides of her face. She looked at Rose and looked at the television. Is something wrong, Rose? she said.

  Nothing that I know of. I said before that I’d come by now and then. It’s part of the court order. Don’t you remember?

  I ain’t feeling very good.

  Is it still your stomach?

  My back too. It’s been gripping me bad this past week.

  I’m sorry to hear that.

  I can’t sleep no more. I have to rest during the day.

  Yes, but you know I’m going to visit you at any time, don’t you. You remember we talked about that.

  I know, Betty said. You want to sit down?

  Thank you.

  Rose seated herself on a chair near the door and glanced at the television. Luther, would you turn that off, please?

  He clicked the television off and sat down on the couch close to Betty.

  So. How are things? Rose said. You said they were going fine, Luther.

  Everything’s pretty good, he said. We’re doing okay, I guess.

  How are Joy Rae and Richie?

  Well. Richie he still has him some trouble at school. Like before.

  What kind of trouble?

  It’s hard to say. He don’t talk about it.

  It’s those other kids picking on him all the time, Betty said. They won’t never let him alone.

  Why do you think that is?

  He don’t do nothing to them. Richie’s a good boy. I don’t know what they got against him.

  Have you tried talking to his teacher?

  That wouldn’t do no good.

  But you might at least try. Maybe she knows what’s going on.

  I don’t know.

  What about Joy Rae?

  Oh, now she’s doing real good, Luther said. She can already read better than me.

  Can she?

  Better than Betty too. Can’t she, Betty.

  Betty nodded.

  Better than both of us put together, Luther said.

  I’m glad she’s doing so well, Rose said. She’s a smart girl. Rose looked around the room. Snow was melting outside on the roof, dripping down in front of the window. Now I have to ask you about Hoyt, she said. Has he been over here?

  No ma’am, Luther said. We don’t want him here. He ain’t welcome with us no more.

  You need to insist that he stay away. You understand that, don’t you. He cannot be here.

  We don’t want to have nothing to do with him. We ain’t even seen him. Have we, Betty?

  We seen him that one time in the grocery.

  We seen him that one time in the grocery, but we didn’t talk to him. We never even said how you doing. Just went around the other way, didn’t we?

  And we ain’t never going to talk to him again, Betty said. I don’t care what he calls us.

  Yes, Rose said. That’s right. She studied them both but couldn’t be sure they were telling the truth. Luther’s great red face was damp with sweat, and Betty looked merely dull and sick, her lifeless hair hanging about her face. Rose looked out into the kitchen. That’s fine, she said, I’m glad Hoyt hasn’t been here, but it has to stay that way. Now I want to talk to you about something else. It’s important for you and for your children that you live in a clean and safe environment. You know that. So you need to do a little better in the house here. Things are not as clean and orderly as they might be. You can do better, don’t you think you can?

  I told you I been sick, Rose, Betty said.

  I understand that. But Luther can help too, can’t you, Luther.

  I already been helping, he said.

  You need to do a little more. You can start by keeping the dishes washed. And by emptying the trash. You need to take that bag of pop cans out. They’ll attract bugs.

  In winter? Luther said.

  It’s possible.

  Well somebody might steal my cans if I put them outside.

  You can keep them on the porch.

  I can’t see how they’re going to collect no bugs in winter.

  In any case, they shouldn’t be in your kitchen. They shouldn’t be near where you eat.

  Luther looked at her, and then he and Betty stared out the front window, their faces stony and obstinate.

  Rose watched them. How’re you doing with your money? she said. Are you still separating it into envelopes and paying your bills on time?

  Oh, yes ma’am.

  That’s fine, then. Do you have any questions for me?

  Luther looked at Betty. I don’t have no questions. Do you, dear?

  I don’t, Betty said.

  And I’ve been told you’ve been going to the parenting classes.

  Luther nodded. There’s only two more left, the teacher said.

  Yes. Well, it appears that you’re doing okay. I’m glad to see that. So I think I’ll go now. But I’ll come back again before long.

  Rose slipped her notebook into her purse, and Luther opened the door for her, and outside in the car when she glanced back in the rearview mirror he was still standing barefoot on the porch, watching her drive away, and Betty was out of sight, somewhere in the house.

  30

  IN THE NEW YEAR VICTORIA ROUBIDEAUX RETURNED TO Fort Collins with Katie to begin the second semester of classes, and a week after she left Raymond called Linda May on the telephone in the mid-afternoon. When she answered he said: Are you likely to be home for a hour or so?

  Yes. Why do you ask?

  I wanted to stop by for a minute.

  I’ll be here.

  The address in the phone book says eight thirty-two Cedar.

  Yes. That’s right.

  He hung up and drove in to Holt to the Co-op Implement Store on the highway and went past the racks of tools and the box drawers of nuts and bolts and the spools of electrical wire and on to the back, where the snow shovels were hung from hooks like medieval weapons collected in some castle or armory. He looked among the metal shelves of car batteries, reading the brief tags attached to the sides, and finally selected one and carried it to the cash register. The clerk said: Raymond, this ain’t hardly big enough for your pickup.

  It ain’t for my pickup.

  The man looked at him. Okay then. I didn’t know you had you a car. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong battery and have to come back. You want to charge it or pay cash?

  Put it on the ranch account, Raymond said.

  The man punched in the numbers on the register and stood waiting, looking at nothing, and drew out the receipt when it appeared and spread it forward on the counter. Raymond signed it and folded away his copy, then hefted the battery onto his hip and went outside and pushed the battery across the front seat and got in. At the stoplight where the highway crossed Main Street he looked left towa
rd the Gas and Go at the solitary car parked in front and looked to the right up Main Street, where just a few cars were moving at this time of day. When the light changed he drove ahead three blocks and turned north on Cedar. Her small white frame house was in the middle of the block, and the Ford convertible at the curb was crowded by snow from when the snowplow had gone through. There was more snow piled up along the walkway in mounds that had melted and hardened overnight, with winter grass showing dry and brown along the edges. He went up to her door and knocked. She came out at once, in a bright blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and her short dark hair was combed neatly. I’ve been standing at the window watching for you, she said. You sounded so mysterious on the phone.

  I just brought you something. Could I ask to borrow your car keys?

  What are you going to do?

  I got something for your car.

  Well, come in, she said. The keys are in the house. But I still can’t tell what you’re up to.

  He stood in the front hall as she went back to the bedroom to get her purse. He looked in through the doorway. Above the couch in the living room was a framed print of a hazy lavender garden containing a rock bridge and a mist-shrouded pond of water lilies. It looked green and lush, unlike any place in Holt County. She came out and handed him the keys. It won’t start, she said, if that’s what you’re thinking. I tried it just yesterday.

  He put the keys in his pocket and went outside to her car and reached inside to pop the hood latch. Then he got a screwdriver and a pair of wrenches from the toolbox in his pickup and carried the new battery back to the Ford, balancing it on the fender as he raised the hood. He lifted out the old battery and put in the new one. After cleaning the battery clamps with his pocketknife, he attached the cables to the posts and tightened them down.

  Linda May came out and stood beside him in the street in her coat and scarf. He hadn’t seen her coming and looked up from under the hood.

  Why, what in the world? she said.

  Get in, he said. Give it a try. He held out her keys.

  She took them. You replaced the battery?

  Let’s see if this one works.

  She climbed into the car and Raymond stood beside her, at the open door. The engine ground and turned over and tried to start. She looked up and he nodded. When she tried again it ground and sputtered and popped and finally started, a burst of black smoke blowing out from behind the car.

  Give it a little gas, he said. It needs to idle a while.

  Thank you, she said. Thank you so much. What a nice thing for somebody to do. What do I owe you?

  You don’t owe me a thing.

  Of course I do.

  No, he said. Well, how about just making me a cup of coffee? We’ll call it one of these after-Christmas bargain deals. I just thought you might want to run around town someday. I’ll take this old battery back to the co-op and they’ll get rid of it for you.

  He shut the hood and put the dead battery in the bed of his pickup while she stood in the street watching him.

  Won’t you come in now? she said. It’s cold out here.

  If it isn’t no bother.

  Good Lord. Of course it isn’t.

  They went inside and he followed her into the kitchen where the late afternoon sun was streaming through the back window. He took off his hat and set it on the countertop, then pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. His iron-gray hair was dented at the sides where the hatband had pressed it. She moved to the stove and put the kettle on. Would tea be all right? she said. I only have instant coffee.

  Whatever you got’ll be fine.

  She took down a variety from the cupboard. Red containers and little square boxes decorated with pictures and round canisters of loose tea. What would you care for? she said.

  Oh. Just something regular.

  I’ve got green tea and black tea and all of these herbal kinds.

  It don’t matter. You pick it out.

  But I don’t know what you want. You have to decide.

  Just one of them. I don’t hardly drink much tea.

  I could make you instant coffee.

  No, ma’am, tea’s fine.

  Now don’t start calling me that again, she said.

  The kettle started whistling and she poured boiling water into a large brown mug and put in a bag of black tea. He watched her at the counter, her back to him. She made herself a cup of green tea and put spoons in the mugs and brought them to the table. Do you use sugar?

  I don’t believe so.

  You sound so tentative. She sat down across from him.

  No. I don’t reckon I’m too tentative.

  But is something wrong?

  Raymond looked around and fixed on the window over the sink. I just never been in a woman’s kitchen before. Only my mother’s.

  Haven’t you?

  Not that I can recall. And I believe I’d recall it too.

  Well. You just have to relax. It’s okay, you know. You’ve done me a great favor. This is the least I can do.

  He stirred the tea with his spoon though he had put nothing in it, then put the spoon on the table and sipped at the mug. The tea bag came up and burned his mouth so he fished it out with his spoon and put the spoon back on the table. He sipped again and looked at it and set the mug down.

  She was watching him. You don’t like it, she said.

  No, ma’am, he said. I’m just going to let it cool a little. He looked at the pictures displayed on one of the walls, there was a young girl standing beside an oak tree. Who’s that you got captured in the picture there?

  That one?

  Yes.

  Well, that’s my daughter. Rebecca.

  Oh. I didn’t know. You never mentioned a daughter before.

  Oh yes. That’s one of my favorite photographs of her. It was taken when she was much younger. We don’t talk much anymore. She doesn’t approve of me.

  Doesn’t approve of you. How do you mean?

  Oh, it was something between us back in Cedar Rapids. After her father left.

  Did you two have a fight?

  You mean with Rebecca?

  Yes, ma’am.

  Sort of. Anyway she left the house and wouldn’t come back. That was two years ago. I don’t think about it much lately. She laughed sadly. Not too much anyhow.

  Is that how come you to move out here?

  That, and other things. Are you sure you don’t want me to make some instant coffee? You’re not drinking your tea.

  No. But thanks just the same. This here’s fine. He drank some of the tea and set the mug down and wiped at his mouth. He looked out the window and then at her. I don’t believe Victoria and me’s ever had a fight. I don’t know what we’d have to fight about.

  She’s a lovely girl.

  Yes. She is.

  But you’ve only just gotten started with her, haven’t you.

  How do you mean?

  We’ll, she’s only been with you for a short time, isn’t that right?

  She come out to us two years ago. About two and a half years ago now. We had a little bit of a rough time at first but things have worked out. At least I think so on my side. I can’t speak for her.

  She’s very lucky to have you.

  If she is, Raymond said, it goes both ways.

  She smiled at him, then stood and carried the tea mugs to the sink and dropped the tea bags into the trash.

  I’m afraid I’m keeping you, he said.

  I would offer you supper. But I’ve got to get ready for work.

  This is one of your work nights.

  Yes.

  I better get on towards home anyway.

  He stood and walked to the counter and picked up his hat and looked inside the crown, then glanced at her and started toward the front door. She followed behind. As he passed through he looked about the rooms once more. In the front hall he put on his hat. You want me to shut off your car when I get out there?

  Yes, if you would. I forgot all about it.

&n
bsp; I’ll just leave the keys on the seat.

  Thank you again, she said. Thank you so much.

  Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome.

  He cut off the ignition in the car and set the keys on the seat, then climbed into his pickup and drove around the block onto Date Street and turned south toward the highway. It was growing dark now, the early darkening of a short winter’s day, the sky fading out, the night coming down. The streetlamps had flickered on at the street corners. When he came to the highway he sat for a moment at the stop sign. There was no one behind him. He was trying to decide. He knew what awaited him at home.

  He turned right and drove to Shattuck’s Café at the west edge of Holt and went in and sat at a little table by himself at the window, watching the big grain trucks and the cars going by on US 34, their headlights switched on in the evening dark, the exhaust trailing off in the cold air.

  When the high-school girl came to take his order, he said he’d take a hot roast beef sandwich and mashed potatoes and a cup of black coffee.

  Don’t you want anything else? she said.

  Not that I can get here.

  Pardon?

  Nothing, he said. I was just thinking out loud. Bring me a slice of apple pie. And some ice cream on the side too, vanilla if you got it.

  31

  VALENTINE’S FELL ON A SATURDAY AND HOYT WORKED from six in the morning until six in the evening at the feedlot east of town, riding pens in the blowing dirt and cold and doctoring cattle in the sick pen next to the barn, where a blackbaldy steer with bloody scours kicked him in the knee, then loosed itself on his jeans while he was trying to push it into the chute. At the end of the day he caught a ride into town with Elton Chatfield in Elton’s old pickup.

  They decided to stop for a beer at the Triple M out on the highway to wash the dust out of their throats, and an hour later they were invited to sit in on a game of ten-point pitch at the card table in the back room. In the following two hours the four old men playing at the table managed to take from Hoyt twenty-five dollars and from Elton nearly fifteen, and afterward bought them each a shot of whiskey out of their own money.

  In the meantime Laverne Griffith had been waiting for Hoyt since five-thirty, and she had passed through a number of emotions by the time he arrived at home. She had been sad and blue, and for a while she had worried something might have happened to him, but for much of the time she had simply felt sorry for herself, so by nine o’clock she was mad. She was waiting in the kitchen, drinking gin with the lights off, when she heard him climb the outside stairs and open the front door.