by Rector, John
“Don’t care.”
“Maybe he was a thief, and the owner caught him.” Morris walked back and sat on the floor. “Could’ve owed him money, or cheated at cards. Serious gamblers back then.”
“Or maybe it was alcohol and testosterone,” Evelyn said. “Can we stop this now?”
They were quiet. After a while, Morris spoke.
“What if it was a woman?”
Evelyn snorted. “I doubt it.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t”
“Could have been his wife,” he said. “Maybe she pissed him off somehow. Cheated on him.”
Evelyn stared at him.
Morris looked away. “I bet you can understand that,” he said. His voice was soft.
Evelyn crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. “Fuck you, Morris.” She reached in the box and grabbed a glass and walked to the kitchen.
Morris heard the faucet come on and the glass fill with water. He felt a small twinge of guilt but ignored it. Sometimes she needed to remember, he told himself, no matter what her counselor said.
When she walked back in the room, she didn’t take her eyes off him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, taking a cigarette from the pack. “If it winds up being a woman, I’ll finish the cellar and unpack the house alone, but if it’s a man—” she put the cigarette in her mouth and smiled around it, “—you never bring that up again.”
Morris frowned. “Is that all it is to you? Just a game?”
Evelyn lit the cigarette.
“Do you have any idea what you put me through that night?” he said.
“So what are we doing here?” She threw the lighter on the floor in front of her. “I thought this was our ‘new start.’ Away from the city, like you wanted.” She pointed at him. “If you didn’t want to forgive me, you should’ve divorced me. I can’t apologize forever, Morris. You have to let it go.”
Morris stared at her. She held the cigarette by the side of her head and rolled it between her fingers. She didn’t look away. He thought about that night and the number of times he’d looked at the clock, or picked up the phone to check the dial tone. It’d been the longest night of his life, and he knew she would never fully understand. Morris took a deep breath and looked away. “So how do we tell?”
“The police report,” Evelyn said.
He shook his head. “No, we might never see it.”
Evelyn sat down and brushed the hair from her face.
“Clothes,” Morris said. “We can tell by the clothes.”
“You want to look at his clothes?”
“See if she’s wearing a dress,” he said. “Then we’ll know.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “I’m not going down there.”
Morris leaned close to her. “Then you lose the bet.”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and stared at him. She was quiet, and after a moment she looked down, set the cigarette in the ashtray, and smiled.
~
The air in the wine cellar was damp and had the meaty smell of wet dirt. There was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Morris turned it on and blinked against the brightness. The wine racks lined the wall in three large, brick arches. They had finished the first and started the second when they broke through the wall. The hole was there, and behind it were the bones.
Morris walked across the room, loose dirt and debris popped under his feet. Evelyn stood behind him at the bottom of the stairs. She was holding onto the railing and staring at the hole.
“You holding up?” Morris winked at her.
“Don’t do that,” she said. Her eyes never left the wall. “I’m fine.”
Morris smiled and turned back. All he could see was the gray top of the skull. It was facing down, and resting against the wall. He leaned in closer and squinted against the darkness. “I can’t see,” he said. “It’s too dark.” He sat back on his heels. “You look.”
Evelyn inched closer. “I won’t be able to see anymore than you.”
“Try,” he said.
She leaned forward, and looked into the hole.
Morris stood up. He looked around the room at the piles of brick and wood. “Is the flashlight upstairs?”
Evelyn nodded. “In the kitchen.”
Morris ran up the steps. He found the flashlight on the counter and turned it on. It worked, and he walked back to the cellar door. He stopped, and from the top of the stairs, he watched Evelyn’s shadow move across the floor below. Morris stood there for a moment then took a step back. He closed the door, and turned the lock.
He heard her footsteps rush up the stairs. “Morris?” She shook the handle from the other side. “What the hell are you doing?”
Morris backed away and clicked the flashlight on, then off.
“Open the fucking door, Morris!”
He smiled and sang the words to himself. “Open the fucking door, Morris.” Then laughed and walked to the stack of boxes against the wall. He shuffled through them until he found one marked ‘Office Books.’ He pulled it aside and tore the tape away.
Evelyn was hitting the door and yelling. He didn’t listen. He flipped through the books and took out the one he was looking for. As he closed the box, he noticed the bottle at the bottom. He picked it up and read the label, ‘Docetañidos.’ He let the word roll on his tongue, “Docetañidos. Doceta—… tañidos.” His grandfather had brought the bottle back from a vineyard in Spain and gave it to him as a gift the night before his wedding. It was the one bottle he couldn’t bring himself to throw out.
He walked back to the couch and opened the ‘Kitchen’ box. He took out a plastic cup and a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and filled the cup to the rim.
Evelyn was pounding on the door, and he wondered if she’d use the sledgehammer. The idea amused him. He imagined her swinging the hammer over her head, destroying the door to get out. That would be something to see, he thought. Morris smiled and opened the book. He began to read.
Evelyn was kicking the bottom of the door in a steady beat.
After a while Morris stood and walked over. “Listen to this,” he said. He read to himself as he walked. “This is really wonderful.”
Evelyn stopped kicking. “I’m going to fucking kill you when you open this door, Morris, I swear to fucking Christ, I will!”
Morris put a finger to his lips and hushed her. “Listen.” He cleared his throat. “He’s leading him through the catacombs and offers him a drink. This is his toast.”
“Morris!”
“Ev, listen,” he said. “You’ll appreciate this.” Morris read. “He says, ‘I drink to the buried that repose around us.’” He shook his head. “Fantastic line.”
“Fuck you, Morris!” she said. “Open the door!”
He ignored her. “There are others,” he said. “I’ll find one.”
“Morris!” Evelyn was screaming.
“Just a minute.” He flipped through the pages.
“Morris, God damn it, let me out!”
Morris slammed his fist against the door and screamed. “MORRIS, GOD DAMN IT, LET ME OUT!”
His breath was hard, and the sound of it mixed with the wind outside.
Evelyn was quiet.
Morris’ throat burned, and he walked back to the couch and took a drink. He could hear her shuffling behind the door, and wondered if she was beginning to understand. He tried to imagine what she would say to him in the morning, but stopped. It doesn’t matter, he thought, what’s done is done.
Morris sat down and opened the book. The wind blew hard against the house, and the light beside him flickered and went dark. He heard Evelyn gasp, and the handle on the door rattle. Outside the window, the snow was solid and gray.
Evelyn was crying. “Please, Morris,” she said. Her voice broke through tears. “I am so sorry, Morris. Please.”
Morris raised his glass and finished it.
This time he said nothing.
T
o Lay Down with Animals
I didn’t care if it wasn’t my baby. A child is a child, and when God brings one into your life it’s a blessing.
“It’s gonna be a while, Jack,” Rochelle said. She put her hand on her stomach and looked down. “These things takes time, you know.”
Of course I knew. Who didn’t know about that? It bothered me, but I didn’t get mad at her for treating me like I’m stupid. She does that sometimes. She doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way she is, I suppose.
“It takes ten months for a cow,” I said.
“You comparing me to a cow?”
“Course not,” I said. “All I meant was it’s different for other animals.”
“I ain’t no animal.”
“We’re all animals. Some of us are just more advanced, that’s all.”
“I ain’t no animal,” she said again. But this time it was more of a whisper.
We both stayed quiet for a while. I wanted to ask her who the father was, but I figured that would’ve been rude. I’d only known her for a week or so, and it really wasn’t any of my business. Someday she’d tell me, once she felt more comfortable.
“You sure you got enough room for me and the baby?”
“’Course I’m sure,” I said. “Twenty acres plus woods, fifty head of cattle, barn, and the house has got two bathrooms. We’re pretty far outside of town, so there won’t be a lot of people coming around. Maybe the Nielsons’ out on route eleven from time to time, but that’s about it.”
“And you don’t mind sharing it with me?”
“Why would I mind? I love you, I told you tha—”
Rochelle held up her hand, stopping me. “I told you not to say that to me, Jack.”
“But I do love you.”
She hit the passenger seat. “God damn it!”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Jack Edwin Meese, if you don’t stop right now, I swear I’ll scream.”
For a moment I didn’t speak. I turned back and watched the road stretch out in front of us, the still air shimmering in the heat. Rochelle was quiet. “It ain’t something to be scared of, you know.”
That was when Rochelle started to scream.
At first I thought I was about to hit something. It was mating season, and the whitetail came across the road all the time, so I hit the brakes without looking and Rochelle hit the dashboard, hard.
That was when she stopped screaming.
I pulled off the road. “Baby, you okay?”
“What’d you do that for?”
“You were hollering. I thought there was a deer or something.”
“God Damn it, Jack. I think you broke my neck.”
Rochelle likes to exaggerate. The first time I met her I was filling my tank at the Sap Brothers on I-70 outside of Wichita. She comes up to me and tells me she hasn’t eaten in four days, and she needed money because she was pregnant and wanted to keep her baby from being born deformed or retarded. Well, it turned out she lived in one of the rooms across the parking lot and had food of her own. She’d eaten a bologna sandwich that morning and the truth was she needed the money to move back to Little Rock so she could be by her folks when the baby came. I didn’t blame her for that. Family is important.
I’m not sure what it was, but seeing her outside, and thinking about the baby she was carrying, made me think of Mary and Joseph and the story of the manger. How they’d been forced to lay down with animals because it was cold outside and they couldn’t find anyone who was kind enough to help. I think it’s important to take lessons from the Bible, especially when you’re faced with a new situation.
“Jesus Christ. I think my nose is broken.”
I tried to look, but she pulled away. Her nose wasn’t even bleeding.
“Take me back home.”
“I thought you wanted to see the house.”
She didn’t answer me, and for a while I kept driving toward the house anyway. Then after a mile or two, I decided to turn around and take her back to her room. I figured there was no point in upsetting her.
~
When we got back to the motel, she opened the door and got out.
I leaned toward her. “You want me to wait?”
She didn’t answer, just slammed the door and started across the parking lot toward her room. I watched her move. She looked so good from the back. Everything slid just right when she walked. I felt bad for looking, but I couldn’t help myself.
As she got closer to her door, a man came out of the next room and grabbed her arm. I saw her try to pull away, but he slapped her across the face and dragged her inside.
I was up and out of my truck fast, running across the parking lot. He’d left the door to the room open and I saw her sitting on the bed. He was standing over her, screaming at her. He didn’t see me coming, and I hit him hard. He flew across the bed, and landed in a pile against the wall.
I grabbed Rochelle’s hand and pulled her up. “Are you okay?”
She looked back over her shoulder. “Jesus, Jack, look what you did.”
“Did he hurt you?” I put my hand on her stomach, and she pulled away.
The man in the corner pushed himself to his knees. He looked up, but his eyes seemed distant, not really seeing us.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said.
She moved toward the man on the floor, but I stopped her. “Rochelle, let’s go.”
“Hold on a minute. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
The man was still on his knees, but I figured he’d be okay. He’d hit the wall pretty hard, but his eyes looked clearer now. Then, when he took the gun from behind his back and pointed it at me, I knew he’d be fine.
“Close that door.”
“Carl.” Rochelle’s voice had a tired whine to it. “Just leave him be.”
“You know him?” I asked.
Carl stood, bracing himself against the wall. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Jack Meese, I’m her—”
“Sit the fuck down, Jack Meese.”
I stopped talking, but I didn’t move.
He came at me and pressed the end of the gun against my forehead. “Sit the fuck down.” He talked real slow, dragging out each word, like I was stupid.
I felt the anger swell in my chest, but I pushed it back. There was a faded green couch along the far wall. I sat down, but I never took my eyes off him.
Carl turned to Rochelle. “Why don’t you sit next to him.”
Rochelle’s shoulders seemed to slump. She stood up and shuffled over to the couch, dropping onto the cushions like a scolded child.
“So,” Carl said, smiling. “How do you two know each other?”
“It’s not like that,” Rochelle said. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” He looked at me. “You her friend, cowboy?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Yes, he’s my friend.”
Carl nodded, paused. “She suck your cock, friend?”
I stood, fast. “You keep your mouth shut. I don’t know what—”
He pointed the gun at me. “You get off that couch again and it’ll be the last time.”
My chest was on fire, and every muscle in my body felt like it was going to snap. I made myself think about Rochelle and the baby. That was all that mattered, so I sat back down and tried to relax, for their sake.
Carl watched me for a while, then shrugged. “I don’t really care if she does or not, just trying to make conversation, s’all.”
“What do you want, Carl?” Rochelle asked.
“I want to know where the hell you ran off to. Why haven’t I seen you with the others? It’s been almost a week.”
Rochelle stared at her feet and shrugged. “I’m moving on, that’s all. I don’t want to stay here.”
Carl laughed, fast and short. “You ain’t going anywhere.”
I got a feeling I knew what was going on, but I wasn’t sure. I leaned over to Rochelle. “Is he the father?”
Rochelle shushed me, but Carl heard and smiled.
“What’d he say?”
“He didn’t say nothing.”
