Thalia

by Larry McMurtry

  “Aw, I’ve seen worse overweight men than you,” I said. “One or two.”

  Actually he was just a fat tub of lard.

  “Well, whatever you need doing, just show me. I wasn’t raised on a dry-land farm for nothing.”

  “You wasn’t?” I said. “I thought it was being raised on nothing on a dry-land farm was what caused you to go into politics. Or was it because you couldn’t raise nothing?” I just came right out and got insulting when I talked to Willy. I didn’t have no time to fool around.

  “It’s just like Mabel says,” he said. “You don’t try to get along with people. I came all the way out here at my own expense to see if I could be of some help, and you insult my ancestry.”

  “Get off the goddamn soapbox,” I said. “There ain’t no voters around. You know damn well whose expense you come out on—Gid’s. It’s just a pity he didn’t throw away his car keys and cancel his charge accounts before he went in.”

  “Now you listen, McCloud,” he said. “My sister and I have had about enough of you.”

  “Listen yourself,” I said. “I’ve had a damn sight too much of you and your sister. Now you see this jar of screwworm dope? It’s the blackest, shittiest-smelling stuff they ever put in a bottle. Unless you want about half a bottle on the front of that white shirt of yours, you better get in that car and skedaddle.” I started around the feed trough, holding my bottle ready to throw. I would have thrown, too, if he’d opened his mouth, but he never. That’s one quick way to get rid of a politician.

  ONLY THE next day I ran into him agin, and he had me at a disadvantage. I had just stepped out of the domino hall.

  “Well, I see you been working hard today,” he said, “looking after my sister’s interests.”

  “No, I been playing dominos all afternoon,” I said. “If it’s any of your business.”

  “Mabel’s business is my business,” he said. “And you’re working partly for her. So I guess we ought to talk.”

  “My checks are signed Gideon Fry,” I said. “He’s the one I work for.”

  “That’s why we need to talk,” he said. “Of course you haven’t seen Gideon since the operation. If you had interest enough to go see him, you’d know he won’t be in any shape to give orders for a long time.”

  “Hell, he don’t have to be in very good shape to give orders,” I said. “Besides, I’m going to see him day after tomorrow.”

  “Well he’s a very sick man,” he said. “The doctors have told him he’ll have to quit work completely. Now what do you think of that?”

  “It don’t surprise me,” I said. “They’re always telling him something like that. But he ain’t quit yet, and even if he had I wouldn’t take no orders from you or Mabel. You can take your orders and put them where the monkey put the peanut.”

  And that ended conversation number two.

  THAT ONE worried me just a little, though. On my way home that afternoon I stopped by Molly’s. She met me at the back gate.

  “I was hoping you’d come by today,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  “You know, I talk a lot better when I’m full,” I said.

  She grinned. We had black-eyed peas and turnip greens and beef for supper. And I had about half of a custard pie and the better part of a pot of coffee.

  “I’ve got to get the weeds mowed around my barn,” she said. “I nearly stepped on a snake yesterday.”

  “One nearly stepped on me today,” I said. “He was a political snake.”

  “Willy Peters,” she said. “I was down to see Gid yesterday.”

  “I was hoping you’d been,” I said. “How was he?”

  She looked a little worried, too. “He was still a little dopey,” she said. “I never got to stay but about ten minutes.”

  “Willy said they told him to quit work,” I said.

  “Oh, they told him that ten years ago,” she said. “They just tell him that on general principles. One of the nurses told me they found some kind of little old tumor, but she didn’t know if it was malignant or not. I think Mabel was in the building somewhere, what made them run me off so quick. I hated to leave.”

  “Well, I’ll be down and see him tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get to talk awhile. Let’s go out on the porch.”

  The chairs were done out there; we went out and sat down. It was dark and we sat quiet awhile, enjoying the south breeze. The white clouds were rolling over, and the moon was done up. I wished old Gid could have been there with us—he would have enjoyed the cool. I could just barely see Molly, rocking in the dark. I reached out and patted her hand.

  “What ever become of that old glider?” I said. “Tonight would be a nice night to swing a little.”

  “Good lord,” she said. “I gave it to some high-school kids who come out hunting scrap iron. I wish I had it back.”

  “Want to ask you something,” I said. “Just out of curiosity. Gid mentioned to me once that he was kinda thinking about leaving Mabel and moving out here with you. You’all ever decide about it?”

  Molly sighed and didn’t say anything for a while.

  “Oh, we’ve talked about it a lot, Johnny,” she said. “But we haven’t decided. Gid hates to lose little Susie. Besides, I don’t know, they may take him off to the Mayo Clinic now.”

  “I’d make a bet they don’t do that,” I said.

  “Well, I just wish he’d come on out here where he’d have a little peace,” she said. “He’s done without it all his life. I believe I could take better care of him than he’s been getting.”

  “Well, I just wondered how you felt about it,” I said.

  “I guess it will come down to whether he likes me better than he does Susie,” Molly said. “He’s got such a conscience, you know. You got to convince him something’s right or he won’t touch it. Or else you got to trick him someway.”

  “Why hell, tricking him’s twice the easiest,” I said. “I can trick him nine times an hour, but I never have been able to convince him of nothing.”

  We sat there watching the night till almost ten o’clock. The whippoorwills were calling all over the ridge.

  “Bedtime for me,” I said.

  She walked to the pickup with me and told me to tell Gid hello for her. “Glad you came by,” she said. “Come a little oftener.”

  She was standing by the running board, and I reached out and patted her shoulder. When I drove off I remembered a lot of the times when we was younger and I’d stayed the night. It wasn’t that I wasn’t welcome no more, either. We were just different. Use to we could chase around and have fun doing nearly anything. Now we both just got yawny. It seemed plain sad.

  Five

  I HAD WONDERFUL LUCK AT THE HOSPITAL—MABEL AND Willy had already left for the day, and Gid hadn’t had no sedative. He had his bed cranked up so he could see out the window and watch the traffic. I knew the minute I seen him he wasn’t in no danger.

  “Country getting dry?” he asked. He was white as a bleached sheet, but he didn’t seem weak. At least his voice wasn’t.

  “Some,” I said.

  “What do you mean, some?” he said. I could see he was primed for a long conversation.

  “Just some,” I said. “A rain wouldn’t do no harm, but then I’ve seen it a damn sight dryer. We had a good shower down on the River country the day you went in.”

  “Just an inch, Molly said,” he said. “That’s already burned up.”

  “Now just back up,” I said. “You’ve been lying here half-unconscious in an air-conditioned room for ten days, and you’re trying to tell me how hot and dry it is?”

  “I got eyes,” he said. “I can see that lawn out there. They water it ever day and it’s still dry.

  “How’s the cattle?” he said.

  “They all died of blackleg and a whirlwind blew the windmill over,” I said. “How’s that for calamity? When you coming home?”

  “Be out in two days,” he said. “Don’t tell nobody though. They thi
nk they’re gonna keep me two more weeks.” Gid was a great one for walking out of hospitals; he’d done it four or five times in his life.

  “Glad to hear it,” I said.

  “Willy’s been driving me crazy,” he said. “Been bothering you?”

  “Not much. I chased him off with some #62 screwworm dope. That the right tactic?”

  “It’ll do till I get out,” he said.

  “Molly said they want you to ease up,” I said.

  “Hell, don’t they always?” he said. “If doctors had their way, the whole world would be sitting on its butt. But I’ll tell you a secret. This is the last hospital I ever intend to go in. If I get to hurting too bad to live, by god I’ll shoot myself, like Dad done. He had the right slant on this business, that’s for sure.”

  “I better give you my present,” I said. I had picked him up a good smooth cedar whittling stick, and I handed it to him. I didn’t figure he’d hurt nobody with it. Once I give him a stockwhip, and the doctors and nurses like to ate me up. They figured he had weapons enough as it was.

  But the stick tickled him to death. “Many thanks,” he said. “Looks like a dandy.”

  About that time the door opened and a little red-headed doctor popped in.

  “Well, how’s the patient?” he said. We didn’t say anything, and he went over and checked the charts. I knew he had come to run me out.

  “Now you’re coming along fine,” he said. “How would it be if this gentleman left, so you could take a little nap?” He said it just a little timidly; I guess he had already had a run-in with Gid.

  “It wouldn’t be worth a damn,” Gid said, popping the stick on the sheet.

  “Well, you know a sick man needs lots of rest,” the doctor said. He wasn’t Gid’s regular man. “I’m sure this gentlemen wouldn’t mind leaving.”

  “What do you know about me?” I said. “I might not leave for love nor money.”

  “Get out of here,” Gid said. “I’ve got some business to talk with this man. I’ll sleep when I get sleepy, like I’ve done all my life.”

  “Hospital rules,” the doctor said. “If he won’t leave, we’ll have to show him out.”

  “That’ll be fine,” I said. “Just bring a few pretty nurses to help you.”

  “You old cowboys seem to think the world revolves around you,” he said. “We’ll see about this.” And he left; he was plenty mad.

  Gid was popping his stick against the sheet.

  “That makes me just mad enough to leave,” he said. “Two days or no two days.”

  I didn’t say a word. He looked out the window for a while.

  “Bring the pickup around the side,” he said. “I’ve had my craw full.”

  And twenty minutes later me and him was on the road to Thalia, and everbody but the FBI was after us. The doctors and nurses acted like it was Judgment Day. But Gid didn’t pay them any mind. That Wichita hospital was nothing to the one he walked out of in Galveston one time. That time he chartered a private airplane and had himself flown home. I guess having money is right convenient sometimes.

  “Now I guess you’ll die,” I said. “Only I’ll get the blame for killing you, instead of the doctors.”

  “Oh, I’m all right,” he said. “I’ll have to be careful of my side for a while.”

  “Take you home?”

  “Yeah, I reckon.”

  We drove about fifteen miles and he was feeling a little sore.

  “No, by god, take me to Molly’s,” he said. “If I go home, they’ll just knock me out and haul me back to the hospital. Take me out there. The doctor can come and see me, and you and her can help me fight off the ambulance drivers.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Once you get strong enough to take care of yourself, I can cart you in to town.”

  “You know, I may never get that strong,” he said. “Won’t this surprise Molly?”

  Myself, I figured that question was settled, if he didn’t die before I got him out there. I figured he’d stay right there the rest of his life. Where that left me, I couldn’t tell.

  Six

  GETTING GID OUT TICKLED US ALL. I CAME UP THE HILL to Molly’s honking, so I guess she thought the war was on agin. Coming over those country roads had bounced Gid up enough that I think for a while he was kinda wishing he had stayed where he was; but Molly ran out and we helped him in the house and got him installed in the big south bedroom, where he caught every breeze there was, and he picked up pretty quick. Molly asked him what she could get him, and he said fresh tomatoes, so she sliced him up a bunch fresh from the garden and brought them in to him. He ate tomatoes and drank coffee till he got his spirits back. Late that afternoon his regular doctor showed up and tried to get him to go back, but Gid wouldn’t do it. The doctor had to come out and see about him every day for a while.

  Just getting away from the hospital done Gid a world of good. There was a day or two when he didn’t feel too spry, but in the long run he got better a lot quicker. Molly fed him good and watched after him and made him sleep a lot, and he didn’t have Mabel or Willy always worrying him.

  Of course I had a big run-in with Willy. I had been at the filling station, drinking a Delaware Punch. All the boys got a big laugh out of hearing about Gid. Then I ran into Willy on the sidewalk, and he motioned with his hand for me to stop.

  “Willy, don’t be waving me down,” I said. “I ain’t no motorcar.”

  “I guess you realize what a serious thing you done,” he said. “Taking Gid out of everybody’s reach.”

  “Whose reach?” I said. “The doctor was just out this morning and said he was improving fast.”

  “Well, out of the reach of the people who love him,” he said. “Anyhow, when’s he coming back?”

  “When he gets ready, I guess,” I said. “He told me yesterday he was going to start fencing agin next week. Does that ease your mind?”

  “Not a bit,” he said. “You know he ain’t to work.”

  “Oh sure,” I said. “I know it. But I ain’t agile enough to stop him, are you?”

  “Well, I just wanted to warn you,” he said. “Just don’t you get crosswise with the law. I got some friends who are judges.”

  “You’ll probably need them,” I said, and he left.

  MOLLY AND Gid enjoyed hearing about it. Gid was propped up in bed eating ice cream.

  “I wish there was some way to run him out of the country,” I said. “That’s the damn trouble with democracy. You got to wait around and vote, and then the people are so stupid they put the scroungy sonsofbitches back in office.”

  “I don’t like to hear that kind of talk,” Molly said. She was democracy-crazy.

  Gid handed Molly his ice-cream dish. “Uum,” he said. “This is mighty nice. Only I got to get up from here and start getting a few things accomplished.”

  Molly frowned, but he never noticed; he was already planning. I knew right then he wouldn’t be in bed much longer.

  Molly done wonders, though. She fought him and argued with him and dominoed him and ice-creamed him and kept him down another week. She was working so hard keeping Gid down she was about to get down herself.

  I didn’t know what they had decided about him staying and living there. Molly wanted him to, that was plain as day, and I guess they must have talked about it. But never while I was there, which wasn’t too often. Running the ranch kept me busy all day, and usually I got over about suppertime to see how the invalid was doing. The nights weren’t too hot, and we all sat around on the porch and talked.

  THEN ONE MORNING it come to a head. I was over helping Molly set up an owl trap in her chickenyard. We worked on it about an hour and looked up and seen Gid coming out the back door, all dressed and carrying his suitcase. Molly was just crushed; I guess she thought he was going to stay for good.

  “Now where’s he fixing to go?” she said. “He don’t have to go nowhere.”

  I was kinda wishing I wasn’t nowhere around.

  But she grabbed my wris
t before he got to us. “Listen,” she said. “Now if I can’t talk him out of going, you be sure and see he takes it easy on his work. Will you do that for me?”

  “Of course I will,” I said.

  Gid had put his gear in the pickup, and he came over, looking proud of himself.

  “Owl trouble,” he said. “Can I help?”

  Molly was all over him. “You sure can,” she said, “you can go in out of this hot sun and get back in bed and stay there. That would help me a whole lot.”

  But Gid put up his bluff.

  “Can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to get to working.”

  And we stood there. I kept on working on the trap. Molly was trembling and about to cry, I could tell. But Gid was determined.

  “Don’t think I ain’t much obliged to you,” he said. “But I’ve got to go to work, Molly.”

  She looked at me kinda funny. It was really tearing her. I was surprised to see she still had those terrible strong feelings, at her age. I never had felt things that hard, at any age.

  “All right, go to work,” she said. “But, honey, you don’t have to leave, you can go to work and come back.”

  She had never called him honey in public, in all the years I’d known her, either. I was trembling a little too, from just watching, and I don’t know what held Gid up.

  “Yes I have, Molly,” he said. “For right now, anyway. Just running off from a hospital like that ain’t the right way to settle anything.”

  She was crying then, but neither one of us quite dared touch her.

  “There never will be a way right enough for you,” she said.

  He said maybe there would. “And much obliged agin, for taking care of me.”

  I guess she thought Gid was sort of leaving her for the last time. “You’re mighty welcome, Gid,” she said. “God bless you.” And she turned and went to the house, crying and snuffling.

  “We better go if we’re going,” I said.

  It upset Gid a good bit too. We were pretty quiet, driving to town.

  “I wish I could have thought of a nicer way to leave,” he said. “I hate to upset Molly.”