Thalia

by Larry McMurtry

  But when I got to the house I wished I was back outside in the hailstorm. The ten or fifteen broken windowlights hadn’t improved Mabel’s humor. I was thinking I might get a good hiprub, but I could have staggered in on two wooden legs and she wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t see no signs of supper, and I guess I said the wrong thing.

  “Hello,” I said. “What’s for supper, hail soup?”

  “I’ll hail soup you,” she said, “going off and leaving me in a storm like that. Where you been all afternoon?”

  “Well, I been coming home,” I said. “It wasn’t a very quick trip, I’ll admit.”

  “I bet you was,” she said. “I bet you was sitting down in the Antelope domino hall, losing some of your inherited money.”

  I let that pass.

  “Where’s the mail?” she said.

  “Wasn’t none but the catalogue, and I lost that in the hail. I guess we’ll have to get them to send us another one.”

  She got so mad it tickled me.

  “What kind of a husband are you?” she said. “We’ll do no such thing. You just saddle up and trot back and find it; I want to do some ordering out of that catalogue before it gets too old.”

  “Why, you’re crazy,” I said. “Hell, it’s beat to pieces by now, anyway. I imagine we can borrow one.”

  “We ain’t going to borrow nothing,” she said. “You go get it. You lost it.”

  I tried to grab her and hug her, hoping it would get her in a better humor, but she just stomped out to the bedroom, and I let her go. I got the milk bucket and milked, and when I got back, no sign of her. I cooked myself some bacon and eggs and ate supper. Then I washed the dishes, and still no Mabel. I went in the living room and did some figuring in my little daybook; I was thinking of buying three sections of land that joined us on the northwest.

  About nine o’clock I heard her, and she came in in her bathrobe and nightgown, looking like she’d had a good nap. She was a shapely woman, too, when you caught her looking just right.

  “Hi,” I said, and she set down on my lap and kissed me and seemed fairly friendly.

  “Where’s the catalogue?” she said.

  “Good lord,” I said. “Ain’t you forgot that yet? It’s right where I dropped it, and that’s where it’s going to stay, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Well, I knew you was ignorant but I never thought you was lazy,” she said, and she jumped off my lap and went out the back door just boohooing. I would have swore she was crazy.

  But I went out to get her; I didn’t want her to run around barefooted and get on a snake. That would really aggravate her. When I came out on the backsteps she ran down in the storm cellar. It was pitch dark down there, and I went over and stood on the steps.

  “Now, Mabel, come on out of there,” I said. “There’s no use in you taking on so over a damn catalogue. You’ll get on a stinging lizard down there if you ain’t careful.”

  “I hope I do,” she said. “I hope they sting me to death, so I won’t have to live with you.”

  I started down, and damned if she didn’t grab a jar of peach pickles off the shelf and threw it; I heard it hit the steps below me and break. Then she threw two more, just whatever she happened to grab.

  I thought what the hell, there wasn’t no use in provoking her to ruin all the preserves.

  “Okay,” I said, “sleep down there if that’s how silly you are.” She didn’t say nothing, so I went in and went to bed. There was a cot in the cellar, and it was a warm night; I didn’t figure it would do her any harm.

  Only I couldn’t sleep worth a flip. I went back out twice more to try and persuade her, and all it did was cost me preserves. The last time I went was about three-thirty, and I just sat down in the kitchen and read the almanac till it got light. Then I went down in the cellar, and she was curled up on the cot asleep, peaceable as a baby. But the cellar steps looked like a cyclone had hit a jelly factory. I went in to cook breakfast, and I heard her hollering at me. So I went out.

  “No, I ain’t gone after the catalogue yet,” I said.

  “Could you carry me up these steps?” she said. “I’m barefooted and I’m afraid I’ll cut my foot off on all this broken glass.”

  “No, I’m afraid to carry you, I might drop you and break your precious butt.” I went and got a basket and a broom and the ashes shovel and cleaned up the mess, while she sat on the cot and watched. Then she came in and made coffee and never said another word about it. And for a day or two, she was sweet as pie.

  Twenty-Three

  ONE MORNING EARLY IN JULY A DAMN HORSE KICKED A hole in the water trough, and while I was down patching it, getting wet up to my ears, I looked up and seen a horseback rider loping across the Ridge toward the barn. By god, if it wasn’t Johnny, he’d come home, and he was riding the prettiest little sorrel gelding you ever saw. He called him Jack-a-Diamonds.

  “Well, by god,” I said, standing up to shake his hand. “Where’d you get that horse?”

  “Bought him off a feller,” he said. “How you been?”

  “Oh, fair,” I said. “How long you been home?”

  “Since last night.”

  “You’re walking just like a normal feller. You don’t look crippled.”

  “I finally growed back together,” he said. “This country sure looks good to me.”

  “Well, we had four inches of rain in May. Course we had that hail.”

  “Heard about that. See it smashed hell out of your wheat.”

  “What I get for raising it,” I said. “Tie up your horse and stay awhile, I got to patch this water trough.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said, and he did. If he hadn’t I wouldn’t have got the damn thing patched by dinnertime. While we worked he told me a million funny stories; he was the same old Johnny. I was sure glad to see him back.

  THAT NIGHT, of all the things, me and him and Molly went coon hunting, and had a hi-larious time. Johnny’s dad had a new coon dog he was proud of and Johnny wanted some excitement, so he asked me if I wanted to go with him to try the dog out. I said sure, and after supper I told Mabel where I was going and met Johnny on the Ridge. We decided to go over and see if Eddie was home, and if he wasn’t to take Molly. She was there by herself, peeling potatoes in the kitchen, and she put on an old pair of boots and was ready in a minute. Johnny had brought the dog with him across his saddle, and we all struck off toward the creek, walking. It was a hot night with plenty of moon, but we took a lantern anyway.

  “I hope we don’t get snake-bit,” Molly said. She had been bit once and was afraid of snakes. Sure enough we killed three rattlers that night, but we didn’t have any close calls.

  We hadn’t been out thirty minutes when the dog treed a big old fat coon in a live-oak tree. I didn’t much want to kill him, because we’d have to lug him around all night, but we went ahead and done it. After that we got pretty excited, and the dog soon struck another trail. Johnny had the lantern and the gun, and I had the coon in one hand and Molly’s hand in the other, so I could help her through the brush.

  “I like this,” she said. “I’m glad you’all came by.”

  Then the dog treed in the shaft of an old hollow oak, and from the squealing we heard it was a momma coon and two or three little ones. We never brought an ax, but the old tree was just barely standing, and me and Johnny pushed it over. Only no coons come running out.

  “Now what?” Molly said.

  “I’ll stomp it open, I guess,” Johnny said. About the time he said it the momma coon went scooting out the open end of the tree, right between Molly’s legs. She jumped about three feet. I had the gun and couldn’t shoot for Molly, so it was up to the dog, and he let the old momma get plumb away. He was a good dog for treeing, but he wasn’t worth a shit for fighting. She got in the creek and he didn’t have the backbone to go in after her.

  “Don’t you all kill the little ones,” Molly said. “I want one for a pet.”

  “Sure,” Johnny said.

  We b
locked up the open end and then Johnny stomped a hole in the old rotten wood. One little coon jumped right out into the dog’s mouth, and that was all for him. I got down on my hands and knees and managed to grab another one by the neck and drag him out. He was nearly half-grown though, and I sure needed something to tie him with. Baling wire was what I needed, but that’s the way, when you need baling wire you can’t find it and when you don’t need it you’re tangled up in it.

  “Do you think you can gentle him?” I said, holding him out so Molly could see.

  “Probably not,” Molly said.

  Then Johnny yelled. He had kept his foot in the stomp hole, so the other little coon couldn’t run out, only he discovered that his foot was stuck. I wasn’t very worried.

  “Pull your boot off,” I said. “Or sit down or something.”

  “Hell no,” he said. “If I was to sit down wrong, I’d break this hip agin and be laid up in the hospital another three months. My heel’s stuck. See if you can stomp more hole.”

  Molly and me thought it was funny; we stood there and laughed. Only I didn’t laugh long. The little coon that was in the log decided it was time to come out, and he did, right up Johnny’s leg. Johnny yanked backward and fell a-spraddling. The coon went right over him and off, and the dog never seen it. I got so tickled I forgot I was holding anything, and the little coon I had whipped around and bit clear through the palm of my hand. When he turned me loose I was glad to do the same for him. I howled like a banshee.

  So Molly didn’t get no pet, and we went home with just one and a half coons and a cowardly dog, but we had fun anyhow. When we got to Molly’s she bandaged my hand and we sat up in the kitchen, eating all the stray food and talking over old times. We were all in high spirits and Johnny told us a lot of stories about life on the plains. Finally me and him slept awhile on her living room floor, and about sunup she came in in her nightgown and bathrobe and woke us up and cooked the best breakfast I ever ate. We did her chores for her and about six o’clock rode off toward home, with Molly standing by the yard gate with a milk bucket in one hand, watching us go.

  There was a big dew that morning, and the country looked as green and sparkly as it ever had in July. We stopped our horses on the Ridge and talked about the grass and the cattle for a while.

  “Well, are you home to stay?” I said. “Did you quit your job?”

  “Yep, I’m here for good,” he said. “You need a hand?”

  “Boy, you bet,” I said. “If you want a job you can start today. And live in our bunkhouse and we’ll board you if you want to.”

  “Fine with me if it’s okay with Mabel,” he said.

  I said it was. We hadn’t said two words about her.

  “Course you might be ready to go in business for yourself,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to stand in your way if you do.”

  “I am in business,” he said. “The cowboying business. You can have the ranching business; I don’t want no part of it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “I’ll go home and tell my old man and get my stuff,” he said. “See you after while.”

  And him and old Jack-a-Diamonds went off along the Ridge west in a long easy lope, neither one of them carrying a care in the world. I just about envied Johnny, but I didn’t quite. He was the most carefree, but I thought I had a few more good things than he had. I meant to swap him out of his horse, though. The sun was drying up the dew, so I got rid of Molly’s bandage and went on home and ate another breakfast.

  Twenty-Four

  JOHNNY SURE MADE A GOOD HAND. ME AND HIM GOT things done in a day that I would have fiddled around with a week if I had been by myself. Besides, he was enjoyable to work with. At least most times. Sometimes he was the most aggravating feller I knew. Ever once in a while he acted like he still intended to try and court Molly some, but I didn’t figure he’d get very far with that.

  HAVING HIM to do the cow-work left me more time to get ambitious, and the land bug began to bite me pretty bad. I had already decided that land was something I’d never have enough of. So one day I buckled on my spurs and rode to Wichita to the bank and borrowed enough money to buy them three sections that joined me on the northwest. They were a good place to start extending. I had a deed drawn up and took it with me for the other feller to sign, and started home.

  I rode hard that afternoon; the automobile was broke down or I would have gone in it. The weather was terrible—it was late August—and I didn’t need no thermometer to tell me it was over a hundred degrees. When I crossed the Taylor place I decided to take the deed up and show it to Molly. I was proud of that deed, and I already knew Eddie wasn’t there; I had looked that morning.

  Molly was, though, ever inch of her, and she couldn’t have looked better to me if she’d been Lily Langtry. I knocked at the back door and went on in, and she was just turning away from the stove. She had been putting up the last of her garden stuff.

  “You’re about as hot as I am,” I said.

  “I’m glad you come,” she said. “Let’s sit down and cool off.”

  I drank a couple of dippers of water out of the water bucket. She sat down at the table and I offered her a dipper full.

  “I believe I will,” she said, and she took the dipper and tilted her head back and drank. She had really been working: the arms of her shirt were sweated halfway down her side, and the tip ends of hair around her neck were wet. Her old shirt was plastered to her stomach. But she looked like the real thing to me; when she took the dipper down I leaned over and kissed her and she reached up to put her hands behind my head, so the dipper dripped water on my shoulder.

  “You know why I’m glad you come?” she said. “I’ve been saving something to show you.”

  I grinned; I sure felt good. “What have you got I ain’t already seen?” I said.

  “This, Gid,” she said, standing up. She grinned to herself and pulled the ends of her shirttail up and stuck her stomach out at me. It didn’t look much bigger than it ever had, but it looked a little, and I got the message. Besides she grabbed me and hugged me.

  “Don’t that make you glad?” she said. “We’ve got one started. That makes me so proud. It’s just what I’ve been wanting.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It was okay with me, but I wasn’t wildly happy about it, like she was. I was more excited about the deed.

  “Why sure, Molly,” I said, “if it’s what you been wanting. And it’s ours for sure?”

  “It’s ours for sure.”

  There was nothing else to say. She was happy enough to faint; she just sort of slid on me.

  “Well, sugar,” I said, after it was too late for it to have done any good, “I don’t know about all this. You’re so excited about it, we want to be careful and not jar it loose.”

  “This bed’s just a puddle of sweat,” she said, crawling over me. “I’ll get some water and sprinkle us, so we’ll be cooler.” She brought in the dipper and sprinkled the sheets with me in them, and then sat down by me and caught my hand.

  “It won’t jar loose,” she said. “I’m so glad the first one is yours. I wouldn’t have wanted anybody else’s to be the first.”

  “Honey, you’re an awful strange woman,” I said. “There ain’t another like you in the world.”

  “That’s okay,” she said.

  “See how this stretches the elastic,” she said, sticking out her stomach agin when she started dressing. She had just got into her underpants.

  “I thought it was supposed to make women less exciting,” I said. “It sure hasn’t you.”

  She flopped back on the bed and laughed a big one. I liked the way Molly laughed. “These sheets are still nice and cool,” she said. I was done half-dressed but I lay back down a minute and grinned and kissed her.

  “And you’re my honey,” she said. In a minute we got up and dressed. I showed her the deed, but it didn’t impress her a snap’s worth. But I must have impressed her a little; she wouldn’t hardly turn loose of me that day
.

  “Gid, have you got time to see what’s wrong with my windmill?” she said, “It just barely has been drawing lately.”

  “Sure, come on out with me,” I said.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” she said. “I want to pin up this old hot hair.” She raised her arms to pin it.

  I got a pair of pliers and a couple of wrenches out of her tool box and climbed to the top of the pipe. It was just the sucker rod loose, and I tightened it in two minutes. But I didn’t climb down, I rested a minute on the crossbars while I waited for Molly to come out. Dad was the only thing missing in life; I hated it that he had missed such a good year for cattle; it was just the kind of year he had always waited for. From where I sat I could see my new land.

  I had my hand on the top of the pipe, and the damn rod went down and mashed my finger before I noticed. I damn near fell off, but caught myself. I had a blood blister to suck, and a big one. Some grayish clouds were building up in the northwest, so we might get rain.

  Molly stepped out on the back porch, buttoning her shirt, with her hair pinned up high in a knot and her neck looking cool.

  “Come on down.” she said. “I’ll get a crick in my neck looking up there.”

  “I’m surveying my new land,” I said. “Except for your place I own everything west of here that I can see.”

  “You and your land,” she said, “you ain’t getting mine. Come on down here to me.” She was shading her eyes and looking up.

  So I climbed down. “I like to pinched my finger off,” I said. “I better get on home before I get in more trouble.”

  She took my mashed finger and put it in her mouth and wet it; the finger still stung but I didn’t much want to go home.

  “You’re supposed to kiss it,” I said, “not slobber on it.”

  “I can’t feel him yet,” she said. “I ought to pretty soon.”

  “One of these days I’ll repipe your windmill,” I said, and then I remembered Eddie. Molly looked a lot thinner with her hair up on her head; it made her look cool and tender.

  “I see you ain’t interested in babies,” she said. “Come with me to milk. It’s cool enough now.”