Eventide

by Kent Haruf

  I knew Victoria’s mother, Rose said. She came in to Social Services one time, but she wasn’t eligible.

  Well, she come out to the house one time too, Raymond said, not long after Katie was born. Showed up at the house one afternoon kind of unexpected. I think she had in mind to get close to Victoria again, but her and Victoria didn’t get along. Victoria didn’t want anything to do with her. I didn’t say nothing about it myself, it was up to her to decide. Anyway, I think her mother went off to Pueblo where she come from originally. I ain’t saying anything against the woman. But it was kind of miserable for a while there.

  THEY FINISHED THEIR DINNER AND RAYMOND GOT THE check from the waitress and paid it.

  Let me leave the tip, Rose said.

  You don’t need to.

  I know. But I want to.

  They went outside to his pickup. The parking lot was half empty now and a soft breeze was blowing. Raymond opened the door for her and she got in.

  Would you care to drive out in the country a little ways? she said. It’s such a nice night.

  If you’d care to.

  Rose rolled the window down and Raymond drove them out east on the highway in the dark night, the fresh air blowing in on them through the opened windows. They drove about ten miles and then he stopped, backed up and turned around and came back. In town the lights of Main Street seemed very bright after the dark on the highway in the flat country. He pulled up to her house and stopped.

  Will you come in? she said.

  Ma’am, I don’t know. I’m not much good in other people’s houses.

  Come in. Let me make you some coffee.

  He shut off the engine and came around and opened her door and they walked up to her house. While she went back to the kitchen, he sat down in a large upholstered chair in the front room and looked around at her pictures, everything so clean and carefully arranged and put in order. Rose stepped into the room and said: Do you want sugar and milk with your coffee?

  No thank you, ma’am. Just black.

  She brought the cups in and handed him one. She took a seat on the couch across from him.

  You have a beautiful place here, he said.

  Thank you.

  They drank their coffee and talked a little more. Finally Raymond had a last sip and stood up. I think it’s time for me to get on home, he said.

  You don’t have to go yet.

  I better, he said.

  She put her cup down and walked over to him. She took his hand. I would like to kiss you, she said. Would you allow me to do that?

  Now ma’am, I —

  You’ll have to bend down. I’m not very tall.

  He bent his head and she took his face in her hands and kissed him thoroughly on the mouth. He held his arms straight at his sides. After she’d kissed him he reached up and touched at his mouth with his fingers.

  Wouldn’t you like to come back to the bedroom? she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. Ma’am, he said. I’m a old man.

  I know how old you are.

  I doubt if I could do you any good.

  Let’s just see.

  She led him back to her bedroom and turned on a low lamp beside the bed. Then she stood in front of him and unbuttoned his blue wool shirt and drew it off his shoulders. He was lean and stringy, with a growth of white hair spread over his chest.

  Now will you unbutton me? she said. She turned around.

  I don’t know about this.

  Yes, you do. I know you know how to undo buttons.

  Not on a woman’s dress.

  Try.

  Well, he said. I suppose it’s kind of like counting out the steps in a waltz dance, ain’t it.

  She laughed. You see. It’s not so bad. You’ve made a joke.

  A awful little one, he said.

  He began awkwardly to unbutton her peach dress. She waited. It took him a long time. But she didn’t say anything, and when he was finished she slipped out of the dress and laid it over the back of a chair and turned to face him. Her slip was peach-colored too, and she looked very pretty in the slip. Her round shoulders were freckled and she had full breasts and wide hips. What would you think of getting out of your pants and boots now? she said.

  I’ve come this far.

  That’s right. You can’t turn back now.

  They finished undressing and got into bed.

  In bed Raymond was amazed at how it felt to be next to her. It was past all his experience, to be lying next to a woman, both of them unclothed, her body so smooth and warm and full-fleshed, and she herself so good-hearted. She lay facing him with her arms around him, and he slid his hand across the smooth point of her hip, feeling along the upper reaches of her leg. She leaned close and kissed him. Shut your eyes, she said. Try kissing me with your eyes shut.

  Yes ma’am.

  She kissed him again. Wasn’t that better?

  I like looking at your face too, though. At all of you.

  Oh my, she said. Aren’t you a nice man. Aren’t we going to have us some fun together.

  I’m having a pretty good time already, Raymond said.

  Are you?

  Yes ma’am. I am.

  There’s more, she said.

  LATER SHE LAY WITH HER HEAD ON HIS ARM AND HE SAID: Rose. You’re awful good for a old man like me.

  You’re not so old, she said. We’ve just had evidence of that.

  You’re going to embarrass me now.

  There’s no reason for embarrassment. You’re just a healthy man. And you’re good for me too. There aren’t many men like you available in Holt. I know, I’ve looked.

  HE LEFT HER HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT AND DROVE HOME IN the dark on the narrow blacktop highway. Out in the flat treeless country he counted himself more than lucky. Victoria and Katie in his life, and now to have whatever was starting with this generous woman, Rose Tyler. He drove with the windows rolled down, and the night air came in and brought with it the smell of green grass and sage.

  39

  THE FIRST SATURDAY NIGHT OF APRIL. AND DJ AND HIS grandfather were at the tavern on Main Street and it was not yet late, only about eight-thirty. The old man’s pension check had come and he wanted his monthly night out.

  They had been at the tavern for an hour sitting at the table near the wall with the other old men. DJ was seated behind his grandfather, watching the blonde barmaid as she moved around in the crowded smoky room. She had not asked him to come up to the bar and do his homework as she had before, though he had brought his school papers specially with that in mind. She seemed indifferent to him this night and had done no more than smile at him when she’d brought his cup of black coffee. He sat and watched her, while he listened to the old men’s stories.

  She was not wearing the low-cut blouse this time. Instead she had on a long-sleeved black blouse that came up to her neck. She was wearing the same pair of tight blue jeans though, with the deliberate hole in the thigh that revealed that much of her tanned skin. While he watched her he noticed that every time she passed along the bar a man turned on his barstool to look at her and say something. DJ had only a vague idea what a grown man like that one would be saying to her. He had seen the man before around town on the streets, but didn’t know anything about him, not even his name. He seemed to be upsetting her. The blonde woman looked tired and unhappy, and appeared to be much bothered by whatever he was saying, and she gave him no response of any kind after the first two times she passed by, but just went on working in the loud crowded room.

  AT THE TABLE ONE OF THE OLD MEN BEGAN TO TELL A story about a lawyer living across the state line in Gilbert Nebraska who had recently disappeared. He owed the bank two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on bad loans, and two weeks ago he went home for lunch and took a single bite out of a meatloaf sandwich his wife had set on his plate, then stood up and walked out the door with his wife in tow and disappeared, leaving the house unlocked and the rest of the sandwich uneaten. The coffeepot was still plugged in and the chair was pushe
d back from the table, as if they’d decided to leave all at once and couldn’t wait a minute longer. The whole town was surprised. Except the bankers, perhaps. Nobody in Gilbert Nebraska had seen or heard from either one of them since.

  I bet they disappeared in Denver, one of the old men said.

  Maybe. But they looked for them in Denver. They looked all over. They looked in Omaha.

  They probably escaped down south somewhere then. He’s probably one of these front-door people-greeters at Wal-Mart someplace. Was he a old man?

  Pretty old.

  A old lawyer would do that. That’d be just right for a old lawyer. They should look for him down south in Wal-Mart.

  THE OLD MEN WENT ON TALKING AND A HALF HOUR LATER DJ stood up and walked back through the tables to the rest room at the rear of the tavern, past the pool tables and the crowded booths. He went into one of the stalls and read the graffiti and used the toilet. Afterward he was washing his hands at the sink when the man from the bar came in. He was glassy-eyed and weaving. What you doing in here, you little shit?

  Washing my hands.

  Can’t you read that sign on the door? This is for men, not little kids. Get the fuck out of here.

  DJ looked at him and went back out and sat down behind his grandfather. His face was hot and red. He looked for the blonde woman. She was out in the room waiting on a table, standing with her back to him, her blonde hair bright against her black blouse. He opened his papers and did a page of homework. His face was burning and he kept thinking what he should have said or done in the rest room.

  When he looked up fifteen minutes later he saw the man was bothering the barmaid again. Without considering what he might do, he stood up from his chair and walked to where they stood at the bar. The man had her by the wrist and was talking in a low mean voice.

  Don’t, DJ said. You’re going to hurt her.

  What? the man said. Why you little son of a bitch. He slapped DJ across the eyes and nose, knocking him into a table behind him, scattering glasses and ashtrays across the floor.

  Well, what in the hell, one of the men at the table said. Hoyt, what you think you’re doing?

  The boy straightened himself and ran at him with his head down, but again the man slapped him away and he fell against an empty chair and crashed over with it.

  Here, the bartender yelled. Raines, goddamn it, quit that.

  The boy’s grandfather came hurrying over and grabbed Hoyt by the shirt. I know how to deal with pups like you, he said.

  I’m going to knock the shit out of you, Hoyt Raines said. Let go of me.

  They commenced to fight. Hoyt slapped at the old man’s white head and they whirled around and suddenly from behind them the blonde barmaid reached in and grabbed a fistful of Hoyt’s hair. Hoyt’s head jerked backward and his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he swung about with the old man still hanging on to him and grabbed the woman by the throat and hurled her against the bar. Her blouse tore open, uncovering her breasts in the skimpy pink brassiere, and she let go and clutched at her blouse. Then the boy grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed Hoyt Raines across the face with it. The bottle broke on his temple and tore his ear and he fell sideways, his knees buckling, and he righted himself and bent forward, bleeding from the side of the face onto the barroom floor. The boy waited to see what else he would do. He held the jagged bottle as if he’d stab him with it if he tried anything.

  But the bartender had rushed out from behind the bar, and now he and two other men dragged Hoyt by the arms out the front door onto the sidewalk. When he turned and tried to push past them to come back inside, they shoved him violently away and he fell across the hood of one of the parked cars at the curb and lay sprawled. His face was cut and he was bleeding from the ear, the blood streamed down his neck. He rose gasping, weaving. He began to curse them.

  Get the hell out of here, the bartender said. You’re not coming back in here. Go on. He shoved Hoyt.

  Fuck you, Hoyt said. He stood glaring at them, wobbly on his feet. Fuck every last one of you.

  The bartender shoved him again and he stumbled backward off the sidewalk and sat down in the gutter. He looked all around, then rose and staggered southward down the middle of Main Street in the midst of Saturday night traffic. The cars veered around him, honking and blaring, the people inside the cars, high-school kids, shouting at him, whistling, jeering, and he cursed them too, cursed them all, gesturing at each car obscenely as it went by. He staggered on. Then he turned off into a side street and stumbled into the back alley. Halfway into the alley he stopped and leaned against the brick wall at the rear of one of the stores. A patrol car drove by out in the street. He squatted down behind a trash barrel. Blood was dripping from his ear, and the side of his face felt raw and numb. He waited, panting, squatted in the dark. He managed to light a cigarette and he cupped it in his hand. Then he stood and pissed against the brick wall of the store and stepped away in the shadows, headed out toward the street. When he saw no patrol car he turned toward Detroit.

  INSIDE THE TAVERN THE BARMAID HAD HURRIED BACK TO the rest room holding her blouse together, and the men were tending to the old man, who’d bumped his head on one of the tables and was sitting awkwardly on the floor. There was a knot above his ear and he kept mumbling something. They lifted him to his feet and one of the men patted the boy on the back, congratulating him for what he’d done, but the boy ducked away from under the man’s hand.

  Leave us alone! he cried. All of you, leave us alone! He stood facing the ring of men. He was almost in tears. Leave us alone, goddamn you!

  Why, what the hell? one of the men said. You little son of a bitch, we were trying to help you.

  We don’t want your help. Leave us alone.

  He took his grandfather by the arm and led him back to their table. We got to go home, he said. He helped the old man into his coat and put on his own coat and gathered up his homework papers, and they went outside.

  They walked down the sidewalk past the darkened storefronts. Cars drove past in the street. Across the tracks they turned in at their quiet neighborhood, and went on toward the little dark house. He put his grandfather to bed in the back room, helping him remove his overalls and workshirt and covering him with blankets. The old man lay back in his long underwear and shut his eyes.

  Will you be all right now, Grandpa?

  The old man opened one eye and peered at him. Yes. Go on, get to bed.

  DJ turned the light off and went to his room. Once he was undressed he began to cry. He lay across the bed, hitting at the pillow in the dark. Goddamn you, he sobbed. Goddamn you.

  After a while he got up and dressed once more and went into the other bedroom to check on his grandfather, then he went outside to wander the night streets. He crossed the railroad tracks and walked into the south side of Holt, out along the shadowed dark sidewalks past the silent houses.

  40

  IT WAS LATE BUT NOT YET MIDNIGHT WHEN RAYMOND walked out of Rose’s house to his pickup. They had gone again to the Wagon Wheel Café for dinner and the café had been even more crowded this time, but it didn’t matter, they were having a good time, and afterward they had gone back to her house and drunk coffee and made love. Now he was going home. It was a fine spring night and he was feeling full of pleasure, fortunate beyond any accounting. He started the pickup and he was thinking warmly about Rose, then he got to the corner and there was a boy about to cross the street. Raymond slowed down and the boy stood under the light waiting for him to pass. He saw who it was and stopped. Son, is that you?

  The boy didn’t say anything.

  DJ, that’s you, isn’t it?

  Yes, it’s me.

  He stood at the edge of the street, his hands in his coat pockets.

  What are you doing? Raymond said. Are you all right?

  I’m all right.

  Where you going to?

  I’m just out walking.

  Well. Raymond sat looking at him. Why don’t you get in and let me
drive you home. It’s late out here.

  I’m not going home yet.

  I see. Raymond studied him. Then why don’t you get in and we’ll just drive a little.

  You probably need to be somewhere.

  Son, there’s no place else for me to be right now. I’d be glad for the company. Why don’t you come get in.

  The boy stood looking at him. He looked away up the street. He stood for some time looking up the street. Raymond waited. Then the boy came around in front of the pickup and got in on the passenger side.

  You’re just out walking. Is that it? Taking the night air.

  Yes sir.

  Well, it’s a nice night for it.

  Raymond started the pickup and drove out of the dark neighborhood onto Main Street and turned south among the high-school kids in their cars, past the closed stores and the movie house, which had already let out for the night. When they passed the tavern the boy stared at the front of the building, and then turned sideways to look out the back window. At the highway Raymond headed west and drove out past the Legion and Shattuck’s Café, where people were parked in cars at the drive-up under the long tin canopy roof, and then on out of town.

  You want to just drive on a ways? Raymond said. Would that be all right with you?

  Yes sir.

  I wouldn’t mind it myself. Crank that window down if you want some air.

  The boy rolled down his window and they went on. The yardlights of the farms were scattered out beyond the dark open fields and at every mile a graveled section road ran exactly north and south, and all along the new spring weeds were growing up at the roadside. A rabbit darted across the pavement in front of them, heading off into the weeds, its white scut flashing as it zigzagged away.

  Raymond glanced at the boy. What you suppose spooked him out on the highway?

  I wouldn’t know.

  The boy was looking straight ahead.

  Son, is there something bothering you? Raymond said. You seem a little upset to me.

  Maybe.

  You kind of seem like it. Is it something you’d care to talk about?