by Jim Harrison
Back in the parking lot Rollo thought that it might be time for a beer though it was against the rules. Because of his fearful Costco experience B.D. agreed. He wished, though, that he had hung around to look at more of the ladies that worked there. Rita’s melancholy was wearing him out though it was better than her knife, pistol, and murderous stallion. At the stop light he glanced off at some mountains to the east and thought they looked pretty unfriendly compared to the woods back home. He probably should walk up one while he was here but then Rollo told him that a female grizzly had slapped the whole face off an elk hunter up in the mountains which put a stop to the idea.
They went into the tiki bar which was part of a big motel. B.D. was mightily impressed because the whole place was decorated like the South Seas and the drinkers at the tables were enjoying baskets of free popcorn. Behind the liquor bottles there was a big window that looked into the subsurface of the pool. A couple of real big girls swam by but didn’t excite much interest among the drinkers. The bartender gave Rollo a real unfriendly look.
“Rollo, you know you’re banned for life.”
“That was ten years ago,” Rollo said humbly, emphasizing his walker as he approached the bar.
“Ten years isn’t life. Get outta here or I’ll call the cops.” The bartender reached for the phone.
“I’m showing the sights to a very important visitor from Iceland,” Rollo persisted.
“Are you bullshitting as usual?” The bartender paused because tourism was important. He had never met anyone from Iceland.
“Good to meet you,” B.D. said in Chippewa. The bartender poured him a shot and a beer ignoring the plaintive Rollo.
“You fucking prick,” Rollo yelled, throwing a full basket of popcorn at the startled bartender. Rollo made his way to the door as the bartender came at him. B.D. drank his shot and beer and a second and grabbed the bartender’s elbow in a painful vise grip.
“He’s a cripple,” B.D. said.
In the parking lot Rollo admitted that he had driven past one day and had seen one of his ex-wives and her boyfriend enter the bar. He dove into the pool and mooned her in front of a full bar. The cops caught him south of town.
They stopped at a convenience store for a twelve-pack and then Rollo directed B.D. north of town to see a spring that he said poured out a million gallons a day which B.D. doubted. They didn’t have a cooler and agreed to drink the beer fast so it would be pleasantly chilled. The spring turned out to be huge and there was also a waterfall that B.D. considered frightening. Rollo said that one of the Lewis and Clark boats went off the falls and a nearby woman said, “That’s not true.” Rollo ignored her because he was trying to keep up with two teenage girls in shorts on the narrow walkway across the spring. His legs, still weak from the accident, slipped but when he fell he managed to grab the walkway. He sprawled with his feet trailing in the water.
“You can’t keep up with young girls,” B.D. said, hauling Rollo to his feet and stooping to grab the walker before the current swept it way.
“All of this water comes from the Belt Mountains to the east. Science has proved that it takes fifty years for the water to reach this location.” Rollo was trying to retrieve his dignity. Meanwhile the teenage girls were giggling at the end of the walkway quite aware, as usual, of the fuss they had caused.
B.D. and Rollo retreated to a picnic table for a rest period. A twelve-pack drunk at judicious speed isn’t too much for a couple of grown men but drunk at top speed it holds a punch. Rollo was immediately asleep with his face in his arms. B.D. tried it but immediately was looking down through a crack at an ant wandering in a confused circle on the top of one of his shoes. What chance did this ant have for a good life he wondered. He had watched them on the sandy banks of creeks and they seemed to work from dawn to dusk. He remembered from school that ants work entirely for their queen and so do bees which didn’t seem to be a good deal. Of course when he took the dogcatching position it was to impress Gretchen who had helped him get the job. He wondered what she was wearing now. She changed her clothes every day, sometimes more than once while tavern girls tended to hang with the same outfit. And over the past thirty years he had noted that women’s undies had gotten smaller and smaller. Was there a hidden meaning to this? Sometimes subservience to this immediate consciousness bothered him. He suspected ordinary homesickness but that didn’t quite cover it. You had to try to be honest with yourself and he knew that if the Missouri had stayed clear he could have stayed in Montana indefinitely. But the Missouri hadn’t stayed clear so he was high and dry. Nothing was holding him here except picking up the setter puppies the next day and his troubled fondness for Rita. He turned and discovered his problem. It was a chokecherry tree about thirty feet behind him and about to bloom. He walked over and stuck his head within the branches inhaling deeply. It was now May 19, and almost always in the U.P. the chokecherries bloomed in the last weekend in May up near Grand Marais and earlier down near Escanaba. He always picked two creeks and a river to camp near while fishing brook trout in location near blooming chokecherries. Their odor was a wonderful narcotic to him. There was also the odor of dogwood and sugarplums mixed in. He thought he better get moving or he was bound to miss the chokecherries which was unthinkable.
Driving back through Great Falls Rollo insisted on stopping for a pint of whiskey and some Motrin for his beer headache. He took a half dozen Motrin in his hand and took a long swig of whiskey. B.D. limited himself to a short snort because he was still in a chokecherry panic. On the way south on the main drag Rollo spotted a strip club and demanded that they stop for a “pussy fix” for their morale. They put the plastic swimming pool in the pickup cab to protect it from thievery. The Saturday afternoon crowd was thin and they had barely gotten out when a mammoth bouncer near the door glared at them.
“Rollo, you know you’re banned here.”
“That was years ago,” Rollo said plaintively. “I need a lap dance from Minnie Mouse for my health.”
“She took off for Denver and besides you ain’t coming in here.”
“Just for ten minutes. My friend here is a visiting guest from Iceland and I’m showing him around. He’s bound to spread the word of your club in Reykjavik.” Rollo tried to push past the bouncer who put his huge hands around Rollo’s neck, lifted him off the ground, and started to shake him.
“He’s a cripple,” B.D. bellowed to put the bouncer off guard. He strained to remember his once famous seven-punch combination from thirty years before then delivered two stiff jabs to the bouncer’s nose to affect his vision, a strong jab to his Adam’s apple to choke him, two mighty punches to his lower gut to make him feel ill, and a left and a right cross to the head to knock him out. It worked. The bouncer fell like a tub of shit. A small crowd had gathered and an older business type took out his cell and said he was calling the cops. B.D. hurriedly carried Rollo to the pickup. He drove farther east and north through areas of residences and small business until he parked between two Dumpsters behind a Mexican restaurant. Rollo had fallen back to sleep so B.D. went inside for three very good beef enchiladas and a beer.
Back in the truck he noticed that Rollo had drunk all but an inch of the pint so he finished it for energy. He drove east about ten miles through farm and ranch country and then headed south. It would take longer this way but if indeed the cops were looking they’d likely check the interstate. Up in Michigan the cops weren’t much interested in strip club bouncers and he hoped it was the same in Montana.
It took more than an hour to reach the ranch because he had gone too far south following a wonderful looking creek but the land was posted. When he reached the ranch he carried Rollo into the house in the twilight knowing Rita would be pissed. In fact she was in tears when B.D. put Rollo on the sofa.
“You assholes are enablers,” she sobbed.
“What’s that?”
“People who encourage each other to get drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. You ought to send your brother
to Hazelden for six weeks.” He was bullshitting because he didn’t know anything about Hazelden except that it was a place in Minnesota where rich people dried out.
“Maybe. And maybe the pups will help. He’s a pure dog person like his dad.”
“I’m hoping for the car and money so I can leave,” he gave her a hug on the way out feeling a tinge of desire.
Chapter 10
In the cabin B.D. ran cold water on the swollen knuckles of his right hand. He felt badly about the fight though the bouncer clearly had it coming. He noticed a letter on the table. It was from Gretchen so he was immediately dry-mouthed and quivery. He could have used a beer.
Dear B.D.,
I’m lonely for you and wish you’d come back. I had a falling out with Cheryl. She arrived very late from the Soo for the weekend. I smelled Cheryl’s skin and something was wrong. I accused her and she broke down and admitted she had wrestled naked with her sixteen-year-old protégé athlete. By the way this is against the law. I said we’re through. I can’t stand unfaithfulness. I need you. So does Susi.
Love, Gretchen
B.D. felt somewhat paralyzed. This was way too much to happen in one day, or even a week. There was a knock on the door and he dreaded the arrival of Rita. It turned out she had just gotten her monthly but was bringing him a half chicken and two beers for a late dinner. He was upset but not too upset to eat. In the movies when there was an argument they would abandon the dinner table which was stupid. He showed Rita the letter. She meditated a few minutes.
“It’s just like men and women. I had this girlfriend once and we slept together a few times. It certainly didn’t hurt me and was even fun. You should bargain for once a month but from what you said she’s a hard case. But it’s just bodies.”
“She’s got these high standards so she doesn’t have friends,” B.D. agreed. “When I had shingles I figured that we’re only meat.”
“Hardly anything turns out well. I mean I like you but you would fuck up my horse business.”
Bright and very early the next morning B.D., Rita, and Rollo headed for Helena to get the pups. Rollo slept in a large fleece dog bed with sides about a foot high. The kennel turned out to be clean and well run. Rollo and the owner had an interminable bird-dog conversation until Rita interrupted and completed the transaction by writing a check. B.D. was close by and saw that the price was thirty-five hundred dollars which meant it was five hundred dollars a pup which was beyond his comprehension. The pups are worth a lot more than me, he thought.
It’s hard on any infant creature to get weaned and the pups cried a lot. Where was Mother? Calves bawling are the worst. Rita brought along a pile of dog toys and then Rollo crawled back into the dog bed with them and petted them to sleep, one across his neck. At the cabin B.D. had filled the plastic pool early so that the hot sun had warmed the water. First only the boldest pup jumped in the water and then they all hopped in except the runt, a female, who began to cry. B.D. picked her up and rubbed her tummy. Our inborn leftist sympathies are always quite taken by the runt. Now that B.D. was leaving and Rollo was moving to the cabin Rollo said that he intended to let the runt sleep with him.
In the afternoon B.D. and Mom drove to Great Falls to take a look at the car lot. There was a big sign in front that said “CHEAP.” There must have been a hundred cars that though spit polished were definitely older models. She specialized in the poor and Indian customers and was respected in the business community for filling this gap. B.D. couldn’t resist a gray 1979 Subaru because it had a built-in winch and skid plate, ideal for the back roads of the U.P. As he had gotten older becoming stuck in the snow had become more unpleasant. They sat in the Subaru and she took B.D.’s pay envelope out of her purse and handed it to him.
“Count it,” she said.
“What’s the point? I helped you bring your son back and there was seven days of fencing. We never agreed on the pay. So I have to take what I get.”
“Count it. You’ll never get ahead if you don’t count.”
“I’m never going to get ahead.” He counted it and there were ten one-hundred-dollar bills, his ambition for retirement. He asked for change for the hundred which she gave him and he put the rest in a sock. “Grandpa said you know you have your money when you can feel it in your sock.”
They went in her office and she made out a bill of sale and gave him a temporary license. He was impressed by her big desk. He had the impulse to take off for home from there.
“We’re just trying to keep Rollo alive,” she said.
“Good luck on that. He just needs something he likes to do. Raising dogs might work.” He was more uncomfortable with this big question. “I got a lot I like to do. You know, walk and fish. I’m lucky I’m not as crazed for booze and pills as he is. I’m heading out now.”
“Don’t you need your luggage?” she asked, forgetting the paper bag he arrived with.
“I only got the Walmart stuff Rita bought and a jacket I paid two bucks for at a yard sale. I don’t like to say goodbye. The only thing I’m missing is stretching out in the pool with the pups but I’ve swum a lot with dogs.”
He had chosen Route 2 for its simplicity rather than its scenic quality. He caught it north of Great Falls in Havre and it took him all the way to Escanaba and Gretchen. The car shimmied at 48 mph and 60 mph so he settled for 55 mph, a slow but reliable speed rather than the 90 mph a few of his friends had died at after leaving a tavern. It was a fine trip visually as the pastels of mid-to-late May are more interesting than the dense greenery of full summer. He stopped at a yard sale near Glasgow to pick up a jacket and blanket for sleeping in the car. He certainly didn’t want to use any of his retirement money on motels. Besides the backseat went flat and would be a fine bed. It was hard to believe he had only been gone about two weeks but he felt a lot better than when he left. He owed the sheriff a cell phone but maybe he could buy one used.
In Williston, Montana, he stopped to get some dinner and two young women pulled in at the same time in a new Volvo station wagon with a bicycle rack in the back. They were in shorts and expensive sporting wear. They had very nice legs if a little muscular. He waited in the Subaru until they went in and chose their seating. He wanted to get a seat near them for the leg view. He ended up right across from them and could hear their chat which included:
“You can’t be healthy without a clean colon.”
“Tell me about it! Mine was a mess when I still ate meat.”
This made them a tad less attractive but he enjoyed them whining about the food. “Only iceberg lettuce!”
His only complaint was the lack of a pillowcase when he slept a few hours. There was also the question of how you knew your colon was clean. All the way across North Dakota people were worried about the oncoming floods so that he was not sure he was safe until he was well into Minnesota and felt more at home. Gretchen always listened to NPR stations but then he wasn’t quite the concerned citizen she was. He preferred the mournful banality of country music though he couldn’t handle more than an hour at a time since most of the songs were complaints, bad form in his code. His intentions were to stop and see Gretchen for a day or two for brook trout and chokecherries. He’d take along the three dogs at his cabin for warmth and friendship.
PART III
Chapter 11
He arrived at dawn, about 5:30 AM, after driving all night. He knew she would be up giving Susi her first nursing. She unlocked the door in tears and hugged him with Susi between them. She looked pale and had lost weight. She gestured and he sat down on the easy chair and she sat on his lap in her nightie and began nursing Susi who immediately stopped being cranky and burbled something as if she recognized him after his absence.
“I suffered horribly,” Gretchen said, shifting her butt on his lap and glaring at him comically. “Why are you ruining a family moment by getting a hard-on?”
“It’s not my fault. It does it by itself.”
“Women have control over themselves.”
/> “Not always. I’ve been abused.”
“Fuck you.” She gave a sassy wiggle to her butt which put him up in the farther reaches of heaven. She suddenly became morose. “That bitch Cheryl betrayed me.”
“I’m sorry.” This was all he could think of to say.
“You hated her.”
“She was mean to me.”
Susi was finished nursing and Gretchen got up nestling her in the corner of the sofa. B.D. thought, “That’s that,” getting a startling view when she bent over with Susi but then she sat back on his lap crying with her face in his neck. He held her by the waist moving her nightie slightly so a breast would emerge. It seemed like a cement mixer motor started in his head.
“I might want to get pregnant in September,” she snuffled.
“We should practice before then.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She swiveled and poked his penis hard with a forefinger beneath his trousers. “I saw the boy next door’s penis. It turned right. It was ugly as a dog’s.”
“You’re talking about something that gave you a beautiful daughter.”
“You put it in too far.”
“You should have said something. Women have different depths.”
“Make me some Mexican chicken.”
“Now?” He was trying to remember something Rita had advised, about being more difficult so he wouldn’t get walked on.
“Yes. I’m starved for it. I tried to make it but I burned it so I gave it to the dogs next door along with some water because it was spicy.”
“I’ll make it if you kiss me for thirty seconds like you would the prettiest girl in the world.”
She paused as if trying to get her bearings. She was looking at life again after having emerged from a total cave of a couple of weeks. B.D. had been startled to see that the house was a mess which it had never been in the decade plus that he had known her. Now she was looking at him with a cockeyed smile and he wasn’t sure if she would begin slapping him or pull a hidden dagger like Rita.
