The Rabbit Factory: A Novel

by Larry Brown

  “You want some pudding, Eric?” Mister Arthur was standing at the kitchen table with one of those plastic four-packs of butterscotch.

  “No thanks,” he said, and raised his beer. “I’m cool.”

  He heard him get a spoon from a drawer and heard the dog eating. Mister Arthur settled on the other end of the couch and pulled the lid off his pudding and put the foil top upside down on the coffee table. He had his house shoes on and he picked his feet up and put them on the coffee table, too. Mister Arthur had one of those really big monster TVs. Cost no telling how much. Digital black-and-white cows were lying on the open prairie, hundreds of them. Mister Arthur dipped his spoon into his pudding. A cowboy on a horse bumped against something on a wagon while stealing some sugar and set the cows off. They all jumped up and took off running. Then it was a stampede. Eric took a cold drink of his beer and watched the rest of the stampede, watched them sadly bury the cowpoke who’d gotten killed in the stampede, watched John Wayne angrily shoot the guy with the sweet tooth for causing the stampede, and then they cut for a commercial.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mister Arthur checking his watch. He hated to think about having to sleep in the car again tonight. It had been so nice to be able to sleep on the couch in here last night. It beat the hell out of his back seat. He couldn’t run the motor all night for the heater because cops would stop then, if they saw a car idling for a long time, if they noticed the smoke coming from the tailpipe, because they thought it was maybe somebody getting a quickie from a hooker, because it had happened before, several times. They shined their powerful flashlights in. But they never had done anything to him, just woke him up and told him he’d have to move on. He guessed it wasn’t any crime to be homeless in Memphis. But it sure was a pain in the ass. He always woke up cold and cramped in the mornings. He knew he would be a lot colder if he didn’t have Jada Pinkett to sleep with him under the blanket. He wasn’t that big, but he had some serious body heat. Eric kept his dog food in the trunk with his folded clean clothes and took showers at the Y and ate a lot of meals at McDonald’s so that he could use their bathrooms.

  “Well,” Mister Arthur said. “It’s getting close to midnight.”

  “Is it?” he said. He knew it was. He guessed it was time to leave.

  “I figured she’d be in by now,” Mister Arthur said.

  “Maybe she went to a movie,” Eric said, even though he knew where she was. Crap. What he should have done was go on over there and talk her into coming home. But he’d been afraid of that, too. He’d been afraid that if he got close to her again and so much as smelled her perfume or touched her on the arm, or the hand, or the shoulder, he would lose all his resolve and then wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going on and doing whatever would have happened.

  “I don’t think the movies run this late,” Mister Arthur said.

  Eric didn’t say anything. He wondered how he’d feel if he was in Mister Arthur’s place. He still didn’t know for sure what the problem was between them, but if it was what he thought it was, then there probably wasn’t any tactful way to bring it up. Hell, it probably wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Something like that was private as hell. And would probably be pretty scary. But it was pretty obvious that Miss Helen was wanting something she wasn’t getting and it wasn’t a cat.

  A happy guy in a fishing cap came on the TV screen selling cars. It was well-known fisherman Bill Dance again, this time for some car dealership out on Getwell.

  “Where’d you and Miss Helen meet at?” Eric said. He was just making conversation, but he wanted to know, too.

  “Montana,” Mister Arthur said, and spooned some pudding into his mouth. Jada Pinkett was pushing the Tupperware pan around on the kitchen floor with his head, slurping and snuffling and snorting and slobbering.

  “I’d say he likes spaghetti,” Mister Arthur went on. “Oh yes, we met in Missoula about twenty years ago. I used to have some oil wells and was in partnership with some people in Texas who used to take me with them when they went hunting. They had a camp and a private plane and we’d fly in to the airport out there and then get some pickups and horses and trailers and all that.”

  “Aw, wow,” Eric said. “Montana? What’d you hunt?”

  “Well, I didn’t really hunt. I just went for the trip. Like a vacation. I usually stayed in camp and played checkers with the cook. He was an old crippled cowboy named Lark Linkhorn. He could cook the best baked beans I ever had, with smoked bacon. And his enchiladas were something else, too. But the people I went with hunted deer mostly. Mulies. What I enjoyed was going to camp and seeing all that beautiful country and eating deer steaks and rabbit stew and playing checkers with Lark and taking naps in my tent.”

  “I like rabbits myself,” Eric said. He started to tell him he had about eleven frozen over at the pet shop that he needed to cook sometime.

  Another man came on the TV screen and he was selling paint jobs for cars. Mister Arthur spooned up some more pudding. Then the movie came back on. They watched it without talking and Eric finished his beer just as the next commercial came on. When Mister Arthur saw him set the can down, he went into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet and put some ice into it and poured a couple of shots of Chivas over it and brought it back. Eric took it and looked up at him. He guessed it wasn’t time to leave after all. That made him feel pretty good. It made him feel wanted. And he hadn’t felt that way in a while. Except for those few times with Rae Loni Kaye Nafco and her poodle puppy.

  “Thanks, Mister Arthur. A guy could get spoiled hangin’ around you for long.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mister Arthur said. He had another cup of pudding now and he peeled the lid from it slowly and picked up his spoon. “It’s nice to have somebody to watch TV with. Helen usually stays in the bedroom and reads at night. A long time ago she used to play checkers with me, but I think we played so much she finally got burned out on it.”

  Eric sipped at the scotch and slouched his socked feet out on the floor and rested on his spine. Damn. Was she so hot he just couldn’t handle her? Was that what was going on? No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. Hell. How could you talk about a thing like that?

  He looked over at Jada Pinkett. He was curled up under the kitchen table, his head on his paws, his eyes looking over at them, and then they closed. He was glad to have him in out of the cold for a while. He was afraid he got cold in the car sometimes when he had to keep him out there during his work hours. On days when the weather was decent, he got him out and walked him. Sometimes he tied him up outside a bookstore but made sure he could see him from the window while he browsed. People didn’t try to pet him, though, he’d noticed that. He guessed they were afraid of him because of all the scars he had. And he had a lot. Ears about chewed off. But no wonder. He’d killed six dogs. A dog got a lot of scars killing six dogs.

  “She was working in a bar,” Mister Arthur said.

  “Miss Helen?”

  “Yes. We’d go into town sometimes. It was a bar downtown. The Union. They had a long bar and a lot of pool tables and the kids from the university had readings there on Sunday nights. And Helen worked there, but she’d stop working and go in and sit down and listen to the readings until they took a break. Then she’d go back out front and start waiting tables again. She was very popular there. I think just about every man in there knew her name.”

  Eric sipped his scotch. Boy it was comfortable here. It would be nice to live here, and be able to go to bed anytime you wanted to, in a nice soft bed, some thick covers. He wished he could go back home, but he didn’t think he could just yet because he didn’t know what his daddy would say, whether he’d let him come back or not. He didn’t think his mama would ever come back. There’d been a bunch of yelling and screaming between him and his daddy, and his daddy had been drunk as hell again. He wished his daddy hadn’t told him to leave. He figured his daddy probably regretted it now, only thing was, there wasn’t any way for his dad
dy to get ahold of him since he didn’t know where he was. He missed everything now, his daddy, taking care of the dogs, riding the four-wheelers through the lanes they’d Bush Hogged in the patches of briars and tall grass within the rabbit factory, fishing, riding around in pickups and drinking beer. Swimming in Yocona River with his friends and diving off the river bridge below Taylor. Sitting underneath a tree at daylight with his shotgun, waiting for squirrels.

  “How’d you ever get to talkin’ to her?”

  “I spilled my drink,” Mister Arthur said. “I spilled it on her hand taking it off my tray. But the reason I spilled it was because I was looking at her.”

  “She’s a pretty lady,” Eric said. He felt guilty saying even that, knowing that he still wanted to kiss her. What was he doing sitting here? It wasn’t right for him to be sitting here thinking the things he was thinking. But it wasn’t like he’d made the first move either. He never would have made a move. He would have been too scared to. She looked too good. And she was so much older than him, too. Older was intimidating. Compared to her he was nothing but a kid. But maybe older women knew what they wanted and weren’t shy about asking for it.

  “That’s why I’m so worried,” Mister Arthur said. “I know she goes out to bars sometimes. I don’t know who she talks to. I guess she thinks I’m kind of boring. It doesn’t seem like she talks to me nearly as much as she used to.”

  Eric swiveled around a little.

  “Well, I don’t think you’re borin’. Why don’t you try talkin’ to her about Ben Johnson?”

  “I have. She’s not interested in old movies the way I am. And there’s such a big difference in our ages,” Mister Arthur said. “I’ve always secretly worried about that. I’ve always been afraid it would catch up with us one day.” He said this last in a long sigh: “And I guess it has.”

  The movie came back on then. Jada Pinkett, under the table, began a light snoring. Eric kept sitting there drinking as the ice slowly melted in his glass. Mister Arthur had finished his pudding and sat with his hands in his lap, his head tilted up a little. It wasn’t until another light sawing started up that Eric realized Mister Arthur had gone to sleep. He sat up and took a look at him. Yep. Asleep. Eyes closed, glasses down on his nose, mouth partly open.

  Well shit. What should he do, wake him up and tell him to go to bed? He thought maybe he ought to just get another drink, so that’s what he did. He got up quietly and walked over to the icebox. Jada Pinkett didn’t stir. He seemed to be pretty happy here, and why not? Mister Arthur fed him all the time and played with him and scratched his belly and behind his ears and it was warm. Eric thought he liked being around the kitten, too. Earlier in the evening, the old dog had gone into the pantry a time or two to look at the kitten, but it had only bowed up and hissed with its teeth bared. But he knew it would probably tame down if they kept it. Cats were just weird.

  He opened the top of the icebox quietly and scooped a few cubes from the bin in there. Jada Pinkett didn’t move. He looked over at Mister Arthur, who had rolled his head over onto his shoulder. He closed the top of the icebox and it was dark except for the light from the television screen and a small light that was on over the stove. It held the remains of Mister Arthur’s supper: a few small potatoes left in a pan, some green beans in a Corningware dish, half a breaded-and-fried pork chop. He pinched off a piece and chewed it. He turned the light off. The bottle was there on the counter and he poured enough scotch in the glass to cover up the cubes.

  He leaned his lower back against the sink and sipped it. He set the glass down and pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. Then he picked up his glass again. Mister Arthur was snoring a little louder now. And Eric didn’t care if he watched the rest of the movie or not. He’d seen it so many times. He got to thinking about what Mister Arthur had said about Montana. He wouldn’t have guessed in his wildest dreams that Miss Helen was from Montana. But then, on the other hand, what was somebody from Montana supposed to look like? They had elk out there. Bighorns. You could do some serious hunting out there.

  He crept past Mister Arthur’s feet and reached for the cereal bowl on the coffee table and took it back to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked at Mister Arthur. He looked really old in the light from the TV screen. He looked frail and almost helpless. Things must have been a lot different when they got married. Hell, how old was she? If he had to guess, he’d guess about forty. But it was hard for him to tell older women’s ages. So, if they’d been married twenty years, she must have been about twenty when she’d married him. Really young. About a year younger than him right now. And Mister Arthur had said something about oil wells. Eric looked around. It was a nice place, yeah, a real nice place, but it wasn’t any mansion. It was a hell of a lot nicer than anything he ever expected to live in, but it didn’t just shout RICH! from the rafters. But the shiny Jag out front did. He thought that sleek little black baby was about eighty-five thousand. Maybe Mister Arthur was rich and just didn’t flaunt it.

  He sipped on his drink and smoked his cigarette. If he stayed here, he was going to have to go out and get another pack out of his car. But he didn’t want to wake Mister Arthur up opening and closing the door.

  And he’d have to go sometime. He didn’t want to be here asleep when she came in. If she came in. He hoped to God she would. At least for Mister Arthur’s sake. At least before morning anyway. At least if she didn’t come in it wouldn’t be from anything he’d done to cause it. And what if she was mad at him and acted shitty to him now? He wouldn’t be hanging around over here anymore after all. Crap. Maybe he needed to just get up and go.

  He watched Mister Arthur sleeping on the couch. The television flickered its colors and bounced them around the dark room. At his feet, Jada Pinkett whistled through his nose. He’d have another drink or two. See what happened. He didn’t have to be back at work until tomorrow afternoon. And it was warm in here and it was a home.

  Even if it wasn’t his.

  74

  The little dog covered the hole up and when he got through, it all looked alike and he looked like a little dog made out of mud. He was simply coated with it, each hair hanging heavy and dirty and wet on him, his polka-dotted ribbon drooping and bedraggled. He seemed satisfied and trotted back toward the house. Then he stopped and raised his hind leg to pee on a rosebush before he went back through his own personal door to the shiny Mr. Clean kitchen floor.

  75

  Miss Muffett had a hard time just getting out of the bedroom. She had to hop on one leg and hold on to something, the side of the bed, the bedpost, a dresser, a wall, the door frame.

  There was a pair of crutches that she’d stashed in a broom closet downstairs simply because she got tired of wearing the fake leg sometimes and she was trying to make her way down to them. She had a hard time getting up the hall since there wasn’t much to hold on to except for a table with some flowers on it and a bench that was too low to do her much good. She could hop about a foot at a time by holding on to the wall. Once she got to the stairs she’d be okay, could hold on to the banister all the way down. Then when she got the crutches she could get them under her arms and look for the leg.

  She had to be pretty careful going down. She had to hold on with both hands and kind of turn sideways and hop down one riser at a time. It wasn’t a fun way to get around. Nobody understood what it was like to be disabled except somebody who was disabled. She was truly grateful for handicapped-parking spaces because they were always close to the buildings and that meant fewer steps. That mattered to somebody like her.

  There was no telling what he’d done with it. He might have dragged it up under the couch. Or hidden it in the utility room. She’d probably have to look in every room in the house.

  And when she got to the crutches, she went back upstairs not very easily or quickly and then bent painfully trying to look under beds, checked all closets that had halfway-open doors, and she couldn’t find her leg anywhere. Or the littl
e dog, either. She wondered if he was out in the yard.

  By then it was totally dark outside and she was ready for a bath and some supper. Maybe even a drink. That whole liquor cabinet downstairs hardly ever got used. And the things Scotty had made for her had sure given her a warm glow before they knocked her on her ass. Maybe she could find some stuff and make something kind of close to it, even though she didn’t know what he’d put in it. But the idea of a drink, sitting on the edge of the tub while she soaked in the hot water, started sounding pretty good. Maybe later she could try to call Nub. Maybe something would work out with him. Maybe they could try it again. She did remember vaguely that he was a great kisser. So she went into the guest bedroom’s bathroom and leaned one crutch against the wall while she bent carefully forward and put the drain plug in and opened the valves on the faucets. She let the water run awhile and then leaned back over and tested it with her fingers. It wasn’t nearly hot enough and she adjusted the left valve. She stood there watching it fill for a while. Then she turned and eased herself down on the edge of the tub and trailed her fingers in the water. It was pretty hot already, but she liked it so hot that her whole ass would be red when she got out of it. So she cut the cold water all the way off and let some pure hot water run in it for a few more minutes, then shut it off. There. By then it was smoking and looked hot enough to scald a hog. Now it would still be hot by the time she got her drink made and got back upstairs with it and got her clothes off and got in.