I said, “Dr. Moses?”
“Call me Denny.”
I asked him to fish me out a 7UP. “Did you know my father, Joseph Pond?”
Denny grabbed another soda and popped it open for his wife. “Course I knew Joe. You remind me of him.”
I ducked my eyes. “Thanks.” Before I could ask any other questions, Rubin elbowed Denny. “The music's on. Check it out. I brought in a live band this year.”
Denny grinned. “Bet they stink.”
Rubin said, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, brother.”
We dragged chairs in front of where the boys from the band were adjusting their equipment, sending out feedback squeals on the loudspeaker, and tapping on mics. The leader was a tall, lanky kid with shoulder-length, raven-black hair, straight and hanging in his eyes.
I said, “That Marvin?” Rubin nodded. The kid seemed as full of anger as his grandfather.
Three other boys took their places: a drummer, a bass player, and a chunky kid on a stool plunking out the only three guitar chords he probably knew. Marvin pulled the mic to his mouth. “Hi, folks. We’re Road Kill, and we’d like to play some tunes for you.”
Someone yelled out, “Know any Hank Williams songs?”
“Sorry. We don’t take requests yet,” Marvin said, strapping on a battered electric guitar, tossing back that shock of hair that had fallen across his piercing eyes. “This one's called ‘In Your Face’.”
It was too. “In Your Face” assaulted my ears like a hurricane's roar. Over the thumping bass guitar, Marvin shouted out violent lyrics, something about pushing people around. Leila began to fuss, and Gwen took the baby into the house for a nap, she said. Denny and Rubin yelled to each other over the din, catching up the way friends do.
A few minutes later, Gwen came back outside toting Leila, crying in deep shudders. “I can’t take anymore,” Gwen said. “She's been teething for a week now. It's driving us nuts.”
Denny apologized. “We’re going over to Prineville to visit Gwen's folks,” he said. “Wish we could have stayed longer.”
“Nice meeting you both,” I said.
Rubin and I saw them to their car and then came back to where we’d been watching the band.
While Road Kill struggled to keep the beat, Nova stood over to the side. Her eyes fixated on the angry young man with the growling vocals, following his every move. She had a moony look on her face.
Tru and Aunt Lutie sat down beside us. Lutie clamped her hands over her ears. “Dear Lord, I’m glad Tiny's not here for this,” she said, grimacing. Then she patted my hand when she saw me staring at Nova, who was all but drooling over the band.
The song must have had ninety-two verses or just the same chorus over and over; it was hard to tell. By the time the last note rang out, most of the people around had pressed themselves against the emu pens. Finally, Rubin stood up and started clapping, knocking over the soda I’d set beside my chair.
“C’mon, let's show a little support here,” he said, beckoning to the small groups where most were looking straight at the ground. “These kids have been working hard.” He plopped back into the chair, stood the soda can upright, and mumbled, “I’ll get you another.”
Linc Jackson emerged from one of the groups. He raised his drink and said, “Let's hear it for my grandson.” People politely applauded, glancing at each other, as if silently praying for an electrical failure. Marvin and Road Kill then launched into “Louie, Louie,” and I amused myself by watching the bass player's hat vibrate with the deafening rendition.
“Excuse me,” I shouted to Rubin, “I’m going to mingle.” I tapped Lutie on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on the kids, will you?”
I wove through the chairs and around folks with paper plates full of barbecued emu. I wanted to get to know our neighbor and try to smooth things over.
Linc held captive an audience of younger men. I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but the rise and fall of his voice made me think of tall tales or the one that got away. As I listened it became obvious that Linc Jackson really was King of Murkee. Men rested their arms on the backs of chairs and spit tobacco juice every which way, careful to avoid the pointy toes of their own boots as Linc spoke. Here and there I caught a few words. In between songs I heard more.
“High time Murkee was put on the map,” Linc proclaimed. “How about a real live Oregon dude ranch? Wrangling emus, now wouldn’t that be a sight?” The men punctuated his speech with sharp reports of laughter, so loud at times the women at the food tables would look over. I headed over to where the women sat chatting. If they spotted me in Linc's audience I might turn into the subject of gossip. But before I could say hello to LaDonna, I paused. Linc was talking about the creek.
Linc spoke about the necessity for change. “The creek won’t take us much farther,” he was saying, “and we can’t live in the past. We got no other choice.” I was ready to sit next to LaDonna when I heard my father's name.
“See, Chief Joseph wasn’t interested in progress,” Linc said. “He didn’t give a hoot about this community or about our future.” The crowd murmured. “Chief didn’t give a tumble-weed's toenail if he was legal or not.”
He turned around and acted surprised that I’d been listening. Every inch of me burned.
“Mr. Jackson,” I said. “There's been some sort of misunderstanding. My father's not here to defend himself, but surely there's been some mistake.”
Linc's eyes narrowed. “Mistake's all yours, Miss,” he said. “Yours and your old man's.”
“I’m not even sure what we’re talking about. Water, land, what?”
“Goes to show you,” Linc said to the men. “City folks don’t understand how it is.” He turned to me. “I got the papers to prove the rights are mine.” He reached into his wallet and produced a document. He waved it at me. “See? This is the original deed to the water in that creek, in perpetuity. That means forever, in case you were wondering.”
I took a step forward. “I’d like to examine that.”
Linc stuffed the paper into his shirt pocket and snorted. “My cattle need that water. And legally, it's mine. I was willing to pay market price, but the old fool turned me down. The way I see it, Chief Joseph owes me.”
There was a flurry, and suddenly, Aunt Lutie flew past me. Flashing her puffy paint and fake studs she strode up to Linc, stopping about two inches from his face. Marvin and the Road Kill Band froze in mid-riff as Lutie stared into Linc's eyes.
“My brother never owed you nothing, you jackass,” she screeched, shaking a fist and trembling.
The young men chuckled softly. Linc sneered. “I just want what's mine, that's all.” He shrugged his shoulders and backed up a little.
“Well, then this is for you,” Lutie said and punched him in the stomach. Linc's cowboy hat flew off and landed in the dust. “And don’t ever call my brother Chief Joseph again.” Linc seemed too stunned to speak. I’d never seen a woman punch anyone so hard. I put my arms around Nova and Tru and gathered them to me.
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving?” Rubin rushed over and begged us all to stay. I shook my head.
“I think it's best if we go,” I said softly.
“Muri, please,” Rubin looked hurt.
“I don’t want trouble, but thanks for inviting us,” I said. “Will you stop by to check on Jim soon?”
Rubin gestured to the guys at the card table to start the hand without him. Then he said, “Jim. Sure, I’ll check on Jim.”
Linc still hadn’t said anything, but he made sure I noticed his long fierce stare. He and the others reminded me of how young boys eye each other, silently daring each other to fight another day. Someone handed Linc his hat. The men gradually drifted back into their conversations, voices starting out subdued and increasing in volume once Marvin's band got going again.
Nova didn’t want to leave. She and the leader of Road Kill were already on a first-name basis, planning to watch the fireworks display later on.
The fireworks between the two of them worried me at this point.
During a set break Marvin said, “It's cool,” peering at me through his hair. “I could drop her off afterwards.” Nova pursed her lips at me. Looking at her short cutoffs, I wished she wasn’t growing up so fast.
Lutie once again headed off a battle. “I think she’ll be okay here, Muri,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll ask Doc to keep an eye out.”
“Are you sure?” I said, thinking we all should have stayed home with Tiny and Jim. I looked over to Rubin, to make sure he wasn’t drinking. Thankfully, he was in control of his faculties, but some of the guests looked blitzed. The tortoiseshell barrette that I thought matched my hair so well began to bite into my scalp.
“This isn’t the big city you know,” Lutie answered. “Out here everybody looks out for each other. And just because old Linc is cranky, well, Marvin takes after his grandmother's side is all I have to say about that.”
“I’d feel better if Rubin brought Nova home instead,” I said.
“You can rely on me,” Rubin said. “I’ll see to it.”
“Before midnight?”
“Absolutely. What time is it, anyway?”
“Nova has a watch,” Lutie noticed. “She’ll let you know, won’t you, young lady? Or your Auntie will give you trouble.” Nova nodded. She smiled at Marvin, and he announced it was time for the next set.
I was secretly glad we were leaving before I grew to hate “Louie, Louie” even more. I’d found enough truth for one day, and it would be awhile before we would sample barbecued emu.
8
I kept my mouth shut as Tru and I followed Lutie back across the hill. Though it was already nine o’clock, the stars were barely out, watered down against the summer twilight. I’ve always loved this time of evening when blue-violet colors the breeze, softens the shadows, and tempers the rawness of the day. Even my white cotton dress took on a lavender cast.
Thankfully, Lutie wasn’t in a hurry. Tru ran ahead, filled with energy and too many sweets. He waved sparklers and wrote his name in trails of light. I was still a bit jittery.
“All shook up?” my aunt asked. I nodded. She looked calm, as if she socked men like Linc in the gut every day. Looking at her, I felt stronger somehow. I surprised myself that I’d begun to think of a complete stranger as “Dad.”
Lutie read my mind, or so I imagined. “Your daddy wasn’t perfect, I guess you know,” she said, nodding in Tru's direction, acknowledging his wild sparkler circles. “Joseph never could do anything just a little. He played too much, bragged too much, and dreamed too big. But there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. He never meant to cheat anyone, not even Linc.”
“Linc Jackson really is the king around here.”
Lutie laughed. “Bigger than Elvis, I’m sure. At least he thinks he is.”
My shoes slid on loose gravel, and I steadied myself against Lutie's shoulder. Someone had worked hard to grade this road. “What kind of work did my father do?” I hadn’t even known this about him, whether his hands were smooth or rough, or if his mind held more than the stuff of hard labor.
“Joseph had lots of different jobs. He was a real cowboy for a while, and then he sold office supplies in Tucson. He hated that job. Got work on the dam sites up in Washington, and that's where he lost two of his fingers. Blood poisoning. From the cement, you know.”
“How’d he come to Oregon?”
“He got on disability and bought this place with insurance money. The company paid him to go away, you could say. Joseph started drinking too much when he couldn’t buy your mother the fancy things she loved. You were born sometime around then, and he and your mom split up.”
“To marry Benjamin?” I shivered, although it was a warm evening.
“I suppose. He lost track of you for years. I was back in D.C. until Clinton was elected and hadn’t seen Joseph for a couple of years. He wanted to be a history teacher, you know. He finished a couple years of college before he married your mom.”
We were at the oven-door fence now, and I stopped. “You worked in Washington? I don’t know why, but I thought you’d grown up around here.” I had a little trouble imagining her in the high profile setting of federal politics.
Lutie laughed. “I wasn’t always a hayseed, young lady,” she said, weaving through the piles of discarded bike parts in the yard. “Joseph and I both had big dreams once. I was going to be a senator's wife, and he was going to write history books.” She sighed. “Things don’t always turn out the way you think they should.”
“Amen to that,” Tiny said, holding the screen door open. Jim stuck his snout out to greet us, as wheezy little noises came from where his oinks ought to be. “You’re home awful early.” My uncle fingered his red suspenders. “No fireworks this year?”
“Oh, there were plenty of those,” I assured him, grinning at Lutie.
“Now what's my Pearl gone and done this time?” Tiny wanted to know.
“Nothing that didn’t need doing,” she said, “and you’ll never guess what the Doc had on the menu.”
“Nobody you know,” Tru said, chuckling. He cast his spent fireworks in the dirt. “Emu. They had barbecued emu.”
We trooped inside where I plopped myself on the sofa, suddenly feeling as fizzled as the sparklers. Lutie proceeded to give Tiny a detailed account of the scene with Linc. Tru added sound effects like an old “Batman” episode.
My uncle listened, looking straight at her. Eye contact was something I’d never been able to command from Chaz. When she finished her story, Tiny massaged Lutie's shoulders gently and said he understood. The affection he poured on her was priceless in my view. A vacuum of loneliness threatened to suck the heart right out of me.
Tru didn’t want to miss the fireworks show at Rubin's. Tiny offered to let him climb up on the roof to watch the skies, which were by now getting blacker and crowded with a spectacular view of the Milky Way. They found a spot that seemed sturdy, and Tru held the ladder first for his uncle and then scrambled up. I wondered how Tiny would manage to get down, but he said he climbed up there all the time. Aunt Lutie gave me a good-night kiss and a pat, before she went to bed. I lay down in the living room, my spine sagging along with the old sofa, trying not to cry until everyone was out of sight.
It's always easy to navel gaze when nothing is going right and you’re looking up at a tacky low ceiling. You can get trapped into feeling that this is the way things will always be, that the planets will always be in some horrible aspect, and that you will always get dumped on by whatever deity you were raised to fear.
With Jim the pig snuffling by my side, and the picture of Jesus avoiding my gaze, I might have sunk into this quagmire myself. I had plenty to feel sorry about, didn’t I? My father had gone and died before I could meet him. My husband had dumped me. I was being sued. My daughter was taking up with a wannabe rock singer. And the plumbing was bad.
A tear leaked out. I tried to will it back to where I keep them hidden, but it wouldn’t budge. It just rolled down my cheek. I even tried to distract myself with visions of my father, rubbing my mother's shoulders gently, whispering that he understood. That made it worse. Before I could stop I was sobbing in ragged gasps, and Jim was looking at me with piggy eyes, straining to understand. Perhaps he did, since he’d lost something himself.
I was up searching for a Kleenex when Jim ambled over to the door. He sniffed at the air, and then I knew why. I recognized Nova's voice as the door opened.
Rubin had brought her home as promised, but my daughter reeked of alcohol. Nova blurted, “I’m sick,” held her hand across her mouth, and ran for the bathroom.
For a moment I stood there. I had to decide whether to punch Rubin for allowing this to happen or follow my daughter. I ran after Nova and found the bathroom door locked. I pleaded with her to let me in.
“You all right?” I whispered through the door, sure that her retching would wake everyone in the house.
“Go
away,” she moaned in between heaves. I stood outside the door awhile longer and asked her again if she needed anything, the same way I’d done when she had stomach flu as a little girl. I wanted to hold her head and wipe away her tears, but the door stayed locked.
After a few minutes, Nova emerged, brushed by me, and disappeared into the bedroom.
It was senseless to talk; I remembered that from my days with Benjamin and his binges. Best to wait until morning. Nova had never come home drunk before, although she had done plenty of other things to infuriate her parents. This was a first, and I intended to hold Rubin Jonto responsible.
I followed Nova into the room, where she had flopped over the bed sideways, and grabbed my pillow and a lavender crocheted throw. I would have to camp on the sofa all night now, as if I was going to get any sleep with my teeth clenched that way. My daughter and Dr. Jonto would get an earful in the morning. I fumed all the way back to the living room.
“Is she okay?” Rubin was still there, standing in the shadows.
I jumped, gasping like a kid in a haunted house. “I thought you’d gone,” I said, clutching the pillow to my chest. Jim had satisfied himself that Rubin wasn’t an intruder and had gone back to his spot next to the TV. I wasn’t that sure.
Rubin's brows bunched up, and he wouldn’t look directly at me. “Sorry about all this,” he said. He added a loud sigh. “Everything was fine. Next thing I knew, those kids had all disappeared. I promised I’d watch out for her, and, well, like I said, I’m sorry.” He came closer and sat on the edge of the sofa, inviting me to sit next to him.
I shook my head and wrapped the afghan tighter around myself. “This is not acceptable,” I said and breathed deeply. “Drunkenness is not okay, especially when it's my daughter. She's sixteen, Rubin. Where I come from that's considered underage.”
“I feel like a total fool. She said she was only drinking soda.” He had a hangdog look.
“Soda? Rubin, she puked her guts out in there. Anyway, since when will a teenager admit she's drinking? The legal age is still twenty-one.” I stood there and shivered, unable to say more.
The Fence My Father Built Page 8
