Thief of Dreams

by John Yount

  Right then he saw his mother coming, but he wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t have to. At a glance, he’d seen her temper in the way she was walking. He gazed at the quince bushes, the stalks of his own eyelashes, unwilling to admit the worst, but not at all surprised by it, except in the way he was always surprised by the actual appearance of the bad news he had predicted for himself. He heard her get in her car. Heard it start. But he didn’t look up, not even when the commotion of her leaving demanded it. He could feel, without having to look, the anger she’d left in her wake, and it blew right through him.

  EDWARD TALLY

  For a moment he didn’t quite know what had happened, but the door was standing open and she was gone. He’d seen and heard her all right, only he didn’t quite take it in because he’d thought it would be different. Hell, he’d imagined she might hug him, kiss him, weep for joy, be happy—maybe because, all through the night, he’d uncovered his own true feelings, planned his confession, looked forward to setting things right, getting his family back, being a better man, an honest man at last; and he’d been so wrapped up in his confession and vision of things that it took him a few moments after she’d gone to understand what she’d said and done. She was still mad all right, madder than a hornet, and he doubted that she’d listened to a word he’d said.

  He heard her start the car, racing the engine, as she always did. But he was parked behind her, and since she’d gone off half-cocked, she hadn’t thought of that, and he’d have to let her out. He almost laughed, whether at himself or her, he didn’t know. How could he have thought it would be so easy, as though sorting out the disposition of his own heart was the hard part and the rest would just naturally fall into place? As sad as it was, it was also comforting and a little funny. Some things a fellow could count on, and in a scary kind of way, they made him feel at home. He’d let her out, but not before he’d told her again that he loved her. Maybe he could think of something funny to say. Something to break the tension. It wasn’t impossible that she would laugh. He got up and stepped out of the trailer, gently closing the door behind him. He remembered a time or two when he’d been able to convert her fury to laughter, but as he turned, already smiling at the prospect, he saw her careen the little coupe off the driveway, somehow sling it around the Packard and gun off toward Cedar Hill.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said.

  For a moment he thought of chasing her down and having it out with her, but he thought better of it. Let her cool off, he told himself. It had been a shock for him to appear out of nowhere, and naturally it would bring back her anger. She never did well with surprises; he didn’t remember ever giving her one that worked the way he’d thought it would. Okay, he told himself, all right. It was embarrassing, in front of the boy and her family and all, but the only thing to do was acknowledge it and make light of it. Buy her some flowers, say. Wait her out. Grin and tell everyone that she was still mad as the dickens. Be patient with her, until, some damned way or other, he could convince her he was a changed man.

  He took a deep breath and let it whistle out through his nose. His eyes were suddenly tired, and every muscle seemed weak. Even the air in his lungs felt thin and oily, unhealthy from all the cigarettes he’d smoked. He crossed the stile, sadness and disappointment tugging at him, and went on toward the house, his hands shoved in his pockets and what he suspected was a very silly and addled grin on his face, although he figured it was probably the best expression he had to offer.

  As he stepped up on the front porch, he noticed James and said, “Hey, worrywart!”

  James was hugging his knees to his chest and rocking himself back and forth. He didn’t look up.

  “Say,” Edward said, “aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  The boy stopped rocking but otherwise didn’t move. “Are you going back to Pittsburgh?” he asked in a grown-up, matter-of-fact voice that took Edward so by surprise, it left him nothing to say. The question seemed impertinent and absolutely to the point. He pondered the skinny child, who kept himself stubbornly turned away, and then sat down beside him. He took the pack of Luckys out of his shirt pocket, shook out a cigarette, and lit it.

  “You don’t smoke yet, I reckon,” he said. “That’s good,” he remarked after a moment as though he’d gotten an answer. “I was already smoking when I was your age.” He gave a little snort of laughter. “Use to pick butts up off the street. We called it shooting snipe. Don’t know why. I’d smoke those and coffee grounds. Yeah, and corn silks and rabbit tobacco too. Hell, I’d even roll up newspaper with nothing in it, light the end, and smoke the news. Sometimes suck a flame down my throat, seemed like a foot,” he said and laughed. “That’s when we lived in Atlanta, on the edge of colored town where my Daddy sold insurance to the colored folks. Collected maybe fifty, seventy-five cents a week from them when he could.” Edward looked off across the valley. Pondered the mountains. The fall colors were faded at the highest elevations; some of the trees had even lost their leaves up there; but they were still bright in the foothills. He pondered the fertile creek bottoms, the pastures and fields. “Wasn’t pretty country like this.”

  What the hell was he babbling for? The boy already knew how grubby his childhood had been, knew all about how much trouble he’d had with his father, and how early he’d left home. Maybe he’d never told him about the smoking, but, hell.… So, of course, here he was again trying to make James feel better by comparison; and since James was about ten times smarter than he was, the boy had no doubt been on to him from the beginning, whereas he was just figuring it out himself. Still, dammit, what sort of comfort was there to offer? “Yessir,” he said, “this is just about the prettiest country I ever saw. Do you know what Watauga means in Indian?”

  James sat with his chin wedged against his knees, his rocking diminished to almost invisible oscillations. He did not speak.

  “Well,” Edward said, “I don’t know for a fact, but I heard it meant the land of many beautiful waters.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s the rainfall that makes these mountains so pretty. Makes all the good creeks and rivers.”

  “You and Mother are still going to get a divorce, aren’t you?” James said in his matter-of-fact voice.

  “Ahhh, son,” Edward said. He rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck. “You know,” he said at last, “I think I’ve been better than my pop, but I haven’t been so good with you and your mother. Maybe I just don’t have another chance coming.” He took a drag from his cigarette but found he didn’t want it anymore and snapped it off his thumb across the quince bushes and down toward the road. The boy kept as still as held breath. Edward didn’t know what to do about him, so he caught him by the neck and shook him gently as though to shake the sadness out of him. “Don’t count me out though, squirt,” he said.

  James allowed himself to be shaken, but his mood didn’t alter. “I’ve got to see my friend,” he said.

  “Don’t you boys go to school once in a while?” Edward said.

  “I don’t have to go for a week and a half because of the fighting,” James said.

  “Ahhh.” Edward nodded. “I guess you started this little rumpus then, huh?”

  “All three of us were suspended,” James told him, getting up but then standing motionless, his head hung, as if he didn’t know whether or not he was free to go.

  Edward laughed and got up himself. “You ought not to fight them two at a time if you can help it.”

  “Me and Lester fought Earl Carpenter,” the boy said, looking into some intermediate space beyond his feet. “Not at the same time,” James said and shrugged. “Earl had already whipped me, and Lester was only just trying to drag him off.”

  “Ahhh,” Edward said and nodded. “Well,” he added cheerfully, as though he didn’t mind being abandoned a second time, “I’ll give you a lift to see your buddy then.”

  Without looking at him, James went off into the house. “I need to tell Grandmother where I’m going,” he said as he went thr
ough the door.

  How incredibly urgent it had seemed all through the night that he get back to his family, explain himself, set things right. And here Madeline had gone off to work, and James was going off to see his friend. So where was he, Edward, going to go? What was he going to do with himself? Of course Harley and Bertha would put him up. Although Madeline certainly wouldn’t thank them. No. And he wasn’t welcome in the trailer either. Well, there was a tourist court in Cedar Hill.

  A buzz of uneasiness made him check his billfold. Eighty-four dollars. A very good thing that he had cashed and not deposited his last paycheck. He could go to the bank in Cedar Hill and have his funds transferred. He had almost four hundred dollars in Allegheny Bank and Trust. Yes, and he’d call Womb Broom and tell him where Star Electric could forward his pay. He stuffed his billfold back in his hip pocket, but he didn’t feel any better. He felt much worse. Completely empty and lost. Jesus, but he’d thought they would at least talk to him, listen to him, hear him out; but maybe, at last, he had ceased to matter to them. It was an awful lonesome thought, but it just might be true.

  JAMES TALLY

  He told his grandmother where he was going and then went out the kitchen door and down the driveway when he knew his father was waiting on the porch. He was sulking, making his father pay a price, and he felt bad about it, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He let himself in the car and sat quietly on the passenger’s side until his father came down the walk and got under the steering wheel.

  “You sorta sneaked around the other way on me,” his father said, grinning good-naturedly.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” his father said and took the steering wheel in both hands as though making a strangely important gesture of it, “where does this buddy of yours live?”

  “That way,” James told him and pointed.

  After they’d driven a little way, his father remarked that it was a strong friend who would jump into a fight for his buddy, but James merely looked out the window.

  “What did you say his name was?” his father asked.

  “Lester Buck,” James said.

  Out of the tail of his eye he saw his father wagging his head side to side as though puzzled. “No,” Edward Tally said, “I don’t reckon I know that family.” He shook his head again. “Working for Watauga Light and Power Company, I figured I’d met just about everybody, one time or another.”

  “They don’t have electricity,” James said.

  “Ahhh,” his father said. “Well there’s still some families in these mountains who don’t see why they can’t get along without it.” He cocked his head and grinned. “Course it’s hard to say they’re wrong, since it wasn’t so very long ago when the whole damned world had to get by without.”

  “They’re poor,” James said, keeping his face turned away. “That’s why they don’t have electricity or much of anything else.”

  Edward Tally nodded.

  “Everybody makes fun of Lester because he has such sorry clothes and his mother gives him these stupid haircuts, but he’s the best friend I ever had.”

  “I’d like to meet him,” his father said.

  “He got worse beat up than me,” James said. All at once his eyes grew wet. “He wouldn’t give up. He’s terrible at fighting, but he wouldn’t give up. He’s not afraid of anything,” James said.

  His father didn’t speak.

  “Why can’t I be like that?” James blurted. Was he going to cry now in front of his father too? What was wrong with him? The way he was behaving didn’t make any sense. What did it have to do with the awful chasm between his mother and father?

  “Everybody’s afraid of something, son,” his father said.

  “Not Lester,” James insisted. “Not you.” He looked out the window through brimming eyes, wiping his nose on his sleeve and his eyes with the heel of his hand.

  “Me and Lester too,” his father said.

  Not like me, James thought. All at once the landscape outside the window came into focus, and he realized they had missed a turn. “We were supposed to turn off back yonder,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. His father cocked himself up on one hip, got a handkerchief out of his pocket, handed it to him, and told him to blow his nose. When they came to a farm road on the right, his father pulled in and turned around.

  “It’s just that folks are different,” his father said. “Some fellows are afraid of heights or snakes; some are afraid of water or being in the woods, or big cities.” He took James by the neck and gripped it, but not hard enough to hurt him. “And you’re not afraid of any of those things, squirt,” he said and laughed.

  His father did not understand, but there was no explaining it. “It’s just there,” James said and pointed to the wagon road, rough and half washed out, winding up from the blacktop on the right. He hadn’t expected his father to drive it, but the car paused only a moment before his father shifted the Packard into low and turned up the rutted dirt track. The car bounced and lost traction and scraped something underneath, but then it took hold and climbed, James’s side seeming to hang off the edge in space.

  The labored sound of their approach brought first Roy and then Effie Buck out on the open dogtrot. If Roy was surprised or curious about an automobile appearing where few had ever been before, he didn’t show it; he looked like a man who knew who and where he was, but Effie seemed worried and frightened. Still, James was out of the car almost before it stopped in order to set their minds at ease.

  “Why chile!” Effie said, “we didn’t know who in the world …”

  “My dad brought me,” James said, already embarrassed and puzzling over just exactly how to make introductions when his father got out of the car and Roy Buck came down the steps, and the two men shook hands and called each other “Mr. Tally” and “Mr. Buck” and seemed to share at once the same shy, formal, but easy friendliness with each other, as though it were all written down in a book somewhere that both men had read.

  Effie stayed on the porch and did not speak, as though that were a part of the book too, not even when Edward Tally touched the brim of an imaginary hat and nodded to her.

  “Mrs. Buck,” he said, but Effie merely nodded back, very formal and ladylike.

  “Is Lester around?” James wanted to know.

  “He is, son,” Roy said with a gentleness that made James uneasy, although he didn’t, at first, know why, “but he’s kinda puny.”

  James looked to Effie on the porch as though for confirmation or explanation and saw that she was caught in an agony of worry, although it was all contained in her eyes and in the way her big, mannish shoulders were hung, so that if he hadn’t known her, he wouldn’t have seen it. “He’s in bed, honey,” she told him.

  “James explained to me how your boy took up for him, Mr. Buck,” Edward Tally said. “If there’s something we can do, we’d sure like to do it.”

  “Well, I’ve been to a neighbor’s down the creek this mornin to call the doctor out, and I reckon there’s not a thing to do right now but wait on him to get here.” Roy turned to James and gave him a good facsimile of his usual easy grin. “Don’t know why you couldn’t look in on him though. Just let me take a peek and see is he awake?”

  From the dogtrot Effie said that she’d just made a fresh pot of coffee and would be pleased if James’s father sat with them while the boys had their visit; and James’s father said he’d be glad to if it wasn’t too much trouble; and the three of them went up on the dogtrot, and Roy stuck his head in Lester’s room and said in his unusually gentle voice that somebody had come to see him who sure wasn’t walking, and then stepped back and let James in and softly shut the door behind him. It was very dim in Lester’s bedroom, and though James didn’t know why, it always smelled a little like a snuff box. Out on the dogtrot he heard Effie say, “We just think the world and all of that boy of yours,” but he couldn’t make out his father’s soft response.

  “Hey,” Lester said in a weak voice.
He appeared to be looking out of his small window, with its old, green, wavy panes of glass. “You didn’t tell me you was rich. That there’s a big ole Packard.”

  Him? Rich? It hurt to hear it, as though he’d been treated like a stranger in a place he’d thought was home. But Lester’s face, when James’s eyes got used to the dim light enough to see it, made him forget everything else. James was surprised Lester could talk, his lips were so swollen and cracked; and both his eyes had swelled so tight, it was hard to believe he could see anything at all.

  “How you feelin?” James said.

  “Ha,” Lester said in a voice that was much more whisper than laugh, “I reckon nowhere near as bad as they tell me I look.”

  “Your face is real bad,” James said. “It must hurt like crazy.”

  “Nawh,” Lester said, “it don’t bother.”

  “It don’t look like you can even see,” James said.

  “I can,” Lester said. Very slowly, almost too slowly to believe, Lester shifted his position in bed. “I can see out better than you can see in,” he said. “I just ain’t got the strength of a fly.”

  James didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorta wind broke,” Lester said.

  “Can I get anything for you?” James said. “God, Lester, I’m sorry I started it with Earl Carpenter.”

  Lester moved again in bed. With infinite slowness he crossed his legs as though on purpose to look casual. “Poppa’s got asthma. Figures I do too,” he said. He seemed to take a rest, and James could see his eyeballs move behind the puffed eyelids in the same fashion he might have seen the eyeballs move behind the closed eyelids of someone sleeping. At last he said, “I reckon asthma ain’t got much to do with Earl Carpenter.”