Savage Season

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “I see,” Howard said. “What say we go in? I’m freezing.”

  “Go ahead,” Leonard said. “I’m gonna smoke a pipeful first. Hap’s gonna keep me company.”

  “All right,” Howard said, and put his arm around Trudy as they started for the house. Howard seemed to be holding her shoulders rather tight.

  They went inside and Leonard got his pipe and fixings out of his coat pocket, packed the pipe, and lit it.

  “I don’t know about you, Hap, but I liked him. He’s sweet. Warmed to me right off, don’t you think?”

  “I think you talk too much.”

  “And I could see he warmed to you too, and you to him. You both got, I don’t know, a kind of glow on your faces when you first saw one another. Guess spreading the same gal does that to you.”

  We leaned on the hood for about five more minutes, then Leonard tapped out his tobacco and put his foot on it. “Well,” he said, “what say we go on up to the house and meet the rest of the gang? Got a feeling we’re gonna love them as much as we do Howard.”

  8

  The house was sticky-warm and the air wore the smell of incense like a coat, and beneath the coat was some kind of stink.

  The incense came from the upraised trunk of a small brown ceramic elephant sitting in the middle of a water-ringed coffee table. My delicate nose determined that the underlying stink most likely came from the kitchen garbage. The heat came from a big butane heater with busted grates, and from a small fireplace that needed shoveling out.

  The walls were covered with faded newspaper, and the paper was ripped and peeling, and where it was completely gone you could see pocks in the wood and occasional holes stuffed with thick wads of toilet tissue.

  There was a couch covered in what was left of a flowered pattern, and a big green armchair with the cloth on its arms worn down to the wood and cotton dangling out of the cushions like some strange animal that had got its guts knocked out by a speeding car.

  There were also a couple of folding metal chairs with their seats polished silver by hordes of shifting asses.

  “All right,” Leonard said. “Where’s everybody?”

  As if in answer, Howard came through a door. Before he closed it, I saw behind him a kitchen with a greasy cookstove, a bullet shaped refrigerator and smoky-yellow walls that were once white.

  I was right about the garbage too. With the kitchen door open the smell came into the room like a bully and started pushing the incense around. Howard closed the door, stopped in the center of the living-room and stood there looking nervous and angry, though he was trying not to let it show, and thought he was good at it. He was all dry smiles and no hand gestures—he had his hands pushed down in his pockets to keep from it, but there was tension in them and they fluttered in his pants like frightened animals trapped in sacks.

  “Trudy went to tell the others,” he said. “They’ll want to meet you.”

  “Bet they aren’t as excited about it as we are,” Leonard said.

  The door to the hallway opened and saved Howard from having to respond to that. Trudy came into the room, along with some cooler air and a fat, doughy man with a shaggy haircut that didn’t go with his receding hairline. He wore a tie-dyed T-shirt, faded jeans with ripped-out knees, and low-cut work shoes with thick white socks. Except for the haircut and clothes, he was a pretty nondescript guy. He had colorless eyes, shit-brown hair and smooth features.

  But the only thing regular about the man who followed him were the clothes he wore: a black T-shirt with pocket, blue jeans and running shoes.

  The right side of his face was red and angry, obviously burn-scarred. He had a lump like a melted candle for a nose. His lips were two thin lines of purple leather. His left ear was missing and there was a knob of wart-like flesh where it had been. He was bald except for a tuft of hair over his right ear, and that ear seemed big enough and flared enough to pick up Radio Free Europe. At some point his scalp had been torn off and resewn, and a poor job had been done of it. The skin on the back of his head pouched up like a wrinkled pup tent.

  Trudy said to me, “I’ve explained to them that you and Leonard are with us.”

  “Except I’m not giving my share to any whales or such,” Leonard said.

  Trudy didn’t bite. She was learning to ignore Leonard. Things went better that way. She gestured to the doughy man, said, “This is Chub.”

  Chub came forward, put his hand out and I took it and we shook. “Real name is Charles,” he said, “Everyone calls me Chub because I’m a little pudgy.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I smiled like a jackass and Chub went to Leonard and shook his hand, said, “Trudy just told us about her hesitation in letting you in on our plans here, and I want to assure you it had nothing to do with you being black. That isn’t our way. We make our decisions on a one-to-one basis.”

  Leonard said, “You keep your dialogue on a three-by-five card?”

  Chub grinned. “I accept that. I learned years ago, if you express what you think and feel, you’re better off than if you don’t.”

  “Chub’s had analysis,” the burned man said, “and he never lets us forget it.”

  “It’s done me a world of good,” Chub said. “There was a time when being the fat kid, the one who got chosen last in football, the one who didn’t get the pretty girls or get asked to go riding around with the popular boys, was painful and important. It carried over into being an adult. But analysis has allowed me to move beyond that and I can accept who I am.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I can,” Leonard said.

  “That’s right,” Chub said. “Express yourself. I’m not offended.”

  “Before he expresses himself in a way you don’t want, Chub,” the burned man said, “let me introduce myself. I’m Paco.”

  “Paco what?” Leonard said.

  “Just Paco.”

  Paco didn’t come forward to shake hands, and we didn’t go to him. I stood there feeling foolish. Leonard probably felt disgusted, and with good reason. What had seemed like a good idea yesterday now seemed childish and pathetic. Reality had taken hold and I felt like a little boy who had been playing at adventurer but had just been told by mother to put my toys away and come in to supper.

  We stood that way a long time. Leonard said, “Isn’t anyone going to ask me my sign?”

  Chub said, “I sense a lot of hostility in you, Leonard. I’d like to know you better, have you think of me as a friend, someone you can talk to. Being able to talk things out can really let off pressure.”

  “Chub,” Leonard said, “that analysis shit might be all right for an airhead like you, but you come at me again with that, I’m gonna let off that pressure you’re worried about.”

  Chub started to open his mouth, then mulled it over. His lips twitched, like the words were living things trying to push out. But he held them. Leonard looked like a man who just might let off pressure.

  I felt sorry for poor Chub on one hand, but on the other he sort of asked for what he got. Kind of wore a perpetual KICK ME sign around his neck and on his ass.

  “We’re not getting off to the best start,” Howard said. “There’s no need for threats.”

  “He wants to talk like people talk, okay,” Leonard said, “but he wants to play analyst, he can talk that trash to himself.”

  “We’re going to work together,” Howard said, “we got to coexist.”

  “True,” Paco said, “but could be a solid punch in the teeth would do Chub some good. I’m tired of him myself.” He looked over at Chub. “One word about my physical scars being a manifestation of my internal condition, or some dumb thing like that, and I’m going to promise you something similar to what Leonard promised.”

  Chub put his hands in his pockets and smiled to let us know he could take whatever was dished out. He was okay, you were okay.

  “Violence isn’t the way here,” Howard said. “Let’s sit down and get something to drink or smoke and talk business. We’ll eat i
n awhile.”

  “That sounds right enough,” Leonard said.

  “Trudy,” Howard said, “will you help me bring in some drinks?” Then to us, “Selection’s limited. Coke, beer, some Dickie whisky. We got a little grass, anyone wants it.”

  Chub didn’t want anything. I went for beer. Paco and Leonard took the Dickle.

  Trudy caught my eye and gave me a look that pinned my skull to the wall. Gee, what did I do? Leonard was the bigmouth. I thought I’d been pretty sweet, all things considered.

  I tried smiling at her, but she wasn’t going for that. She turned her back, and she and Howard went into the kitchen and closed the door.

  Paco went over to Leonard, grinned and said, “By the way, big fella, what is your sign?”

  “The Asshole,” Leonard said.

  “I’ll buy that,” Paco said.

  Chub smiled. He smiled big. He liked himself. He and the world were one with one another. Except he was smiling so tight the muscles in his cheeks were quivering.

  In the kitchen I could hear Howard murmuring, and though I couldn’t understand what he was saying, I could tell from the tone of his voice that Leonard and I had already worn out our welcome, or Leonard had worn it out for both of us. Not that it mattered. Now that we were dealt in, they had to let us stay. Thing was, I wasn’t sure there was anything to stay for.

  That feeling of foolishness washed over me again, big time.

  9

  After a bit, Trudy and Howard came back with our drinks, and I sat on the couch with them. Leonard got the gutted chair, and Paco and Chub pulled the folding chairs up close. Howard sipped a beer and went through the stuff Trudy had told us about the money most likely being laundered. Then he started waving his hands around and working his best facial expressions; threw in a few cents about how the spirit of the sixties need not die; how the money we were going to get could be used to push the ideals of that time forward; said the survivors of that noble era need not fall by the wayside; that unlike the dinosaur our generation had been compared to, we were not in fact extinct or even on the endangered species list, we were merely hibernating like a bear, and now was the time to awake to a new and productive spring.

  Although Howard pretended to be talking to both me and Leonard, it was pretty clear it was me he was trying to interest. Trudy had told him about my past, about my involvement in “the movement,” and he thought he might jump start my old battery if he could find the right words.

  He couldn’t.

  I was curious about what they had in mind, but felt it would be a mistake to go the next step and ask. I’d open a whole new can of germs that way. Once they knew I was interested they’d try to work their virus into my bloodstream and take over, and I couldn’t see any reason to go through the process.

  From the way Trudy looked at me, I think she was both surprised at me and disgusted with me. I don’t know if it was my lack of interest in their cause, whatever it was, or the realization she was losing control over me.

  During Howard’s dissertation on the sixties and what it meant to him and should mean to all of us, Chub threw in a few “right ons,” but for the most part was mercifully silent. Paco yawned a lot, and Trudy tried to stare me into submission. I attempted to look pleasant but a little dense, like a dog listening to a talk on nuclear physics.

  When Howard was on his third run of rephrasing what he’d already said, hoping to sneak up on my blind side, Leonard said, “Since I don’t see we’re talking much business, pardon me, will you? Because like the bear coming out of hibernation and feeling the first intestinal stirrings of spring, I’ve got to take me a big, greasy shit. When y’all get to the folk songs part, maybe I’ll come back. I’m good on ‘I Got A Hammer.’ ”

  “Wrong era,” I said. “We’re talking Beatles and Doors here.”

  “I never can fit in,” Leonard said, “and I try so goddamn hard.”

  He went in search of the bathroom.

  “Your friend doesn’t seem to like us much,” Howard said.

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said. “He wasn’t involved in any movement during the sixties except moving out of the way of bullets, trying not to get his ass shot off in Vietnam.”

  Howard nodded like that explained some things. “He knows about guns, I presume?”

  “Yeah, got a medal or two in Vietnam. But on the negative side he’s a little weak on the social graces and Bob Dylan lyrics, and I’ve caught him in a few mistakes when we’re discussing the ballet and the history of Marxism.”

  “I don’t get the impression you’re all that interested in reviving the spirit of the sixties, either,” Howard said.

  “Can’t imagine why you thought I might be. Well, I can imagine, but whatever Trudy’s told you about me, that’s in the past. This sixties talk is embarrassing. You sound like a first-year college guy who’s just gotten away from mom and dad and discovered weed and liberal politics.”

  “The sixties were a positive time, a good time,” Howard said.

  “Some of it was. Some of it wasn’t. But that was the sixties. I’m happily selfish now. I’m in this for the money alone. Besides, sounds to me like you’re trying to justify theft with sixties rhetoric, and you’re too goddamn secretive for my taste. You sound like more illegal stuff than I’ve agreed to, and I don’t want to hear about it. I’m not going to prison for some idealistic rush. This idealism crap has got me nowhere but tired and broke and cut to the bone. Money I can spend, and might get away with it.

  “I can take it and go someplace warm with cheap whisky and loose women.” I looked at Trudy. “Women that want nothing more than hot, sticky sex down Mexico way or on some tropical island where you can run around with your ass hanging out and your dick slapping your thigh, and nobody asks you anything but mind your own business. You people fight the good fight, whatever it is, because you’re going to have to do it without us.”

  Paco grinned, got out a cigarette pack, lipped a smoke and lit it with a cheap lighter.

  “Don’t make us breathe your bad air,” Howard said.

  “Screw you,” Paco said. He blew smoke across the room.

  Normally I’d be on Howard’s side, but I enjoyed seeing him irritated. I almost asked Paco for a cigarette.

  Howard sighed, looked at Trudy sadly; he was a smart, hip guy dealing with a bunch of nincompoops. What could he do?

  “Anytime change is encouraged,” Chub said, “there’s always someone who argues for the status quo, or decides to run off and take it easy, concludes that the best and simplest way—”

  Paco reached over and slapped Chub on top of the head with his fingers.

  “Damn you,” Chub said. “That was childish, Paco. You’re frustrated about something, you should discuss it, not resort to—”

  Paco slapped Chub again, this time with the palm of his hand, said, “Shut up, will you, Chub?”

  “Who’s side you on, Paco?” Howard asked.

  “Yeah,” Chub said, rubbing his head.

  “I’m not choosing up,” Paco said. “I’m tired of Chub’s bullshit is all. He keeps talking like he’s done some things. Hell, leave Hap alone. He isn’t interested. Let him and Leonard do their job, then let’s do what we’re gonna do. They couldn’t care less. If they want it that way, lets leave it that way. You guys are starting to sound like evangelists, and I hate those fuckers.”

  “Amen.” It was Leonard back from the bathroom.

  “You look refreshed,” I said. “Hope you struck some matches.”

  “About four. It was a championship shit.”

  “I can see this isn’t going anywhere,” Chub said. “So I think I’ll withdraw until we’re willing to converse sensibly.”

  “Telling it like we see it,” Leonard said. “Isn’t that what you like, Chubby?”

  “I don’t need this,” Chub said. He got up and went through the hallway door.

  “I hate it when he leaves the room,” Leonard said. “He makes things so damn bright when he’s around. B
ut since he’s gone, I’m going outside to smoke.”

  “Thanks for not cluttering up the air,” Howard said, and he looked at Paco.

  Paco put a smile on his ugly face and kept smoking.

  Leonard said, “It’s not your air I’m worried about. It’s mine. This place has a rot smell under all that fucking incense. Smelled enough of that in Vietnam. The rot and the incense.”

  Leonard went outside.

  “Think I’ll join him,” Paco said, and he got up and went out and closed the door.

  “Me too,” I said, and got up and started after Paco.

  “Hap,” Trudy said. “We got to talk.”

  God had spoken. “Do we?” I said.

  “I told you you shouldn’t have done this,” Howard said to Trudy.

  “You don’t know everything,” Trudy said and stood up.

  “I know this,” Howard said. “I know this isn’t a good idea at all. You’re thinking maybe with some other part of your body.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you,” Trudy said. “I’ve seen how you think.”

  “How you make me think.”

  “Children,” I said. “Let’s not fight.”

  Howard stood up, held his beer in my direction. “I got something to say to you, big shot.”

  “Say it, then,” I said, “while I’m used to the drone of your voice. I’d rather not get acclimated again.”

  “You think you can come in here and run things,” he said, “be a goddamn comedian. But you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not trying to run anything. I just don’t want to be ran.”

  “We got some scruples here. Idealism may strike you as dumb, or sissy, or childish, or nostalgic, but there’s more to it than that. There’s more to us than that.”

  “I’m sure history will be kind to you,” I said. “Howard gave his stolen money to the whales. He was a good guy. Hap gave his to wine and heat and women. He was a a bad guy. Leonard bought all the Hank Williams originals he could find. He was a bad guy.”

  “What’s with the whales?” Howard said. “No one’s said a thing about the whales.”