by John Locke
The men start hoo-rawin’ again, only now they’re thinkin’ me the luckiest man in Kansas, which calls for another round of drinks bought by this one or that. As I start headin’ up the stairs, I glance back at the bear.
He’s lyin’ on the floor again, with the most sorrowful expression I ever seen on an animal’s face.
7.
I DON’T KNOW all the why’s and wherefore’s pertainin’ to women, so I can’t say why Gentry seemed annoyed with me earlier, and happy with me now. I mean, I know she’s happy she got what she wanted, which was to stop the music, but I don’t know why she wanted it stopped in the first place. And whatever annoyed her earlier still ain’t been addressed, so I got that hangin’ over my head. So even though all the men below are cheerin’ me on, thinkin’ I’m goin’ upstairs to bedpost my sweetheart, I knew when she called for me that she weren’t extendin’ me a romantic invitation.
This time when I try the door, it opens. Gentry’s sittin’ in a chair beside the bed where the old man is sleepin’ peacefully. She has two lanterns goin’, and I get a better look at him than I care to. He’s white and pasty, and his skin is hangin so loose, he looks like a bean bag with only half the beans inside.
When I walk in, she looks up.
I start first: “You made me look bad down there, in front of them fellers.”
“I know.” She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry.”
I nod. “You never done that before, so I figure you must a’ had a good reason.”
“I did.”
“That why you called me up here?”
“No. I called you up here ’cause I felt bad about how I shamed you in front of your friends. I called you up here so they’d think you’re getting pussy.”
“Am I?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I’m your woman. I’ll give it up if that’s your fancy.”
“I don’t want to get it that way.”
“I know you don’t, but that’s how it’d be.” She sighs, then says, “How about I explain myself, and then we can couple up after closin’ time?”
I smile. “That’d make a fine name for a song.”
“What would?”
“Couplin’ after Closin’ Time.”
She shows me a curious smile, the kind she gives when I’ve surprised her by bein’ clever or thoughtful. I can see her repeatin’ it in her head. Then she says, “Why, that’d be a great song title, Emmett!”
“You think?”
“I do. Maybe you could think out a whole set of words for it.”
“If only we were allowed to play music here,” I say.
She smiles the exact same smile again, only this time she leaves the sweet part out. Then she scrunches her mouth and says, “Touche.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a French word.”
I perk up. “A nasty one?”
“Monique and Scarlett used to say it. Means you got me back.”
“Well, it weren’t a nice thing for me to say. The second it come outta my mouth I wished it hadn’t. Specially since you ain’t even give me your reason yet.”
Gentry nods, thoughtfully. Then says, “It’s the bear.”
I break out into a grin. “Did you see him? I mean, weren’t that the most amazin’ thing ever?”
“No. Sergio told me how it’s done.”
“Who’s Sergio? How what’s done?”
“Rudolph.”
I take my hat off, run my fingers through my hair, put the hat back on. She sees me doin’ this and smiles.
“What?”
“You always do that. Makes you look like a little boy.”
“Wait—is that a good thing?”
“Very good thing. But I’ll start over. Sergio’s the dead guy.” She points to the old man lyin’ three feet from her. I jump back a step and reflexively draw my gun.
“He’s dead?”
“Well, of course he’s dead!”
She shakes her head at my stupidity, and says, “Put your gun away, crazy man.”
When I do, she adds, “Seriously, Emmett. Have you ever seen a man sleep with both eyes open, makin’ a dead-eyed stare?”
“I have.”
“Who?”
“Turd Nelson.”
She snorts. “I’m not one of your drinkin’ friends, Emmett.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you’re not going to get away with spinnin’ a yarn about something that never happened.”
I pause a minute. “How’d you know it was a yarn?”
“Think about it.”
I try to think, but nothin’ happens.
Then Gentry says, “The name.”
“What, Turd Nelson?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“No Christian woman would name her son Turd.”
“Not even Alice Crapper?”
Gentry can’t help but smile, since Alice Crapper’s the actual name of a Dodge City woman we met, whose name we joke about all the time. “Not even her,” she says.
I look at Sergio. “How long’s he been dead?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Who’s Rudolph?”
“The bear.”
“And what’s he done?”
“It’s not what he’s done, it’s what’s been done to him.”
“And what’s that?”
8.
“FIRST OF ALL, bears don’t dance,” Gentry says.
“Honey, I hear you sayin’ that, but I seen it with my own eyes. I danced with him, for gosh sakes!”
“They train the bears to make it look like they’re dancing. But it’s horrible the way they do it.”
I frown. “That bear—”
“Rudolph.”
“Ru—look, can I call him Rudy?”
Gentry scrunches up her face in that cute way she does when she’s considerin’ somethin’ important.
“Rudy’s a perfect name,” she says. “I like it.”
“Okay then. Anyway, Rudy looked sicker than a cat eatin’ persimmons, till the music started. Then he jumped to his feet and, even if he weren’t dancin’, he was mighty lively.”
She stands and places her hand gently on my arm, and nods toward a spot that’s still inside the room, but far enough that we’re no longer standin’ right over the dead guy.
“Emmett. The bear is trained to do that. He only does it to keep from being beaten.”
“Gentry, no man in that room would dare put a hand to Rudy.”
She sighs and speaks slow and deliberate, like she’s talkin’ to a child. “You and I know that, but Rudy doesn’t know it.” She sighs again, and this time a tear spills out of her eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t know what they did to Rudy, to get him to move around like that.”
“Tell me.”
“It hurts my heart to tell it.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “If you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll never understand. And I’ll never be as understandin’ about Rudy as you are.”
She bites her lip and says, “They ran that rope through Rudy’s nose when he was six months old. They made the hole for it by pushing a red-hot poker through his snout.”
Gentry shudders. Then says, “It’s the most painful part of his body, and the rope being there…” she starts to cry.
“What?”
“Every time you jerk on the rope it tears open the wound, and they jerked it open every day of his life, to keep him in constant pain. They played music, then tugged on the rope and beat him with a stick and greased his paws and forced him to stand on hot plates to make him learn how to move around like that.”
I set my jaw. “Who done that to Rudy? The old man?”
“No. Sergio tries to rescue dancing bears.”
“Well, he used to, anyway,” I say.
She looks at Sergio, sorrowfully. “Yes.”
And that
Vlad guy owned Rudy?”
“When the circus shut down, he took the bear as payment.”
I nod.
“It’s worse than what I’ve said, Emmett.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they trained poor Rudy, they broke his teeth and cut his claws and burned his paws.”
I shake my head in disgust. “So every time he hears music he can’t help but dance?”
“It ain’t dancin’, Emmett. But yes. He moves like that, and has for his whole life. He can’t help it. What they did to him was pure evil cruelty.”
“It ain’t right, Gentry.”
“No, it ain’t.”
We look at Sergio another minute or two. Then Gentry says, “But I’m so proud of you!”
“Me? Why?”
“For rescuing Rudy, and saving him from that horrible life.”
This didn’t seem like a smart time to tell her I planned to cut poor Rudy up into bear steak, so I say, “Well, it seemed the right thing to do.”
Gentry locks her wide-set green eyes on mine and says, “And that’s why I love you truly, Emmett.”
“Tell me.”
“’Cause you’re a good-hearted man.”
I make a note in my head to tell Jim Bigsby not to repeat our conversation about bear steak, since I’m pretty sure Gentry’d be against it.
9.
“WHAT ARE WE gonna do with him?”
“Who?” Gentry says, “Sergio?”
“No. Rudy.”
“We’re going to keep him, of course.”
“Keep him?”
“Isn’t that why you rescued him?”
“Uh, well, I hadn’t really thought about where to keep him. Bigsby wants four dollars a day. We could live in a hotel for half that.”
“He can live with us.”
“Here?”
She looks perplexed. “Well, Emmett, where else would he live with us?”
“Bears take up a lot of space in a house,” I say.
“So do jail holes.”
I start to say somethin’, then smile and say, “Too shay!”
Gentry smiles back and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
“You’re a fast learner,” she says.
“Would a’ learnt a heap more when I was a kid if you’d been my teacher.”
“You already know lots of things I don’t know,” she says, frownin’. “You cipher way better than me. I’m afraid I can’t teach you much.”
“You can teach me French words.”
“I’ll see if I can remember up some more.”
“If you do, I’ll fast learn ’em.”
Gentry nods. Then says, “About Rudy.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got to get that rope out of his snout.”
“That’ll hurt,” I say.
“Maybe doc has something to lessen the pain.”
“I hope so, ’cause it’s one thing to hold a man down. Quite another to brace a bear.”
“Rudy’ll do just fine,” she says.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I just do,” she says.
And that’s that.
“I should make arrangements for Sergio,” I say.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Your friends think we’re having a poke. They’ll make fun of you if you go back downstairs too soon.”
“So we should stay in here with a dead man?”
“I’m willing if you are.”
“Well, since they think we’re doin’ it anyway…”
“Oh, no you don’t. I can’t do it in front of a dead guy!”
“Can you at least kiss me?”
“I can do that. If it goes no further.”
We kiss a minute, and get so excited we almost forget about Sergio.
Almost.
But I’m not disappointed. I’d rather kiss Gentry than poke a fine whore.
After waitin’ a respectable amount of time, I leave the room and get a thunderous applause from downstairs. I turn and look back at Gentry and grin.
She winks at me.
I go downstairs and visit with the customers about twenty minutes, and then a very upset Gentry comes runnin’ to the railin’ and shouts, “Emmett! Oh my God! The old man just died!”
“Oh no!” I say, shakin’ my head. “I’m so sorry!” I get a couple of young men to come with me upstairs to fetch Sergio in return for two dollars of bar credit. They carry him downstairs, and I go to the money drawer and take out enough for a second burial. I swear, if I have to keep buryin’ people, I’ll go broke in no time.
The three of us walk over to Earl Gray’s house and knock on the door. When he answers, I say, “Got another passenger for your trip tomorrow.”
He stares at Sergio and says, “I’ll add him for another two dollars.”
“You’ll add him for free,” I say. “It’s no extra work for you, and I ain’t legally responsible him.”
Earl frowns.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
“It don’t feel right.”
“It’ll feel worse if I shoot you.”
“Let’s get him on the wagon,” Earl says.
Before leavin’, I give him five dollars for the burial.
“I thought Major Cardigan charged ten,” Earl says.
“He’ll take five to toss this one in the same hole,” I say.
After the young men lift Sergio’s body onto the wagon we head back toward The Spur and see Doc Workday ridin’ in. I flag him down and ask, “How’s Mavis?”
“She could birth ’em in her sleep,” he says.
I lower my voice and ask, “How do you feel about working on large animals?”
He looks around and lowers his voice and says, “I agree Mavis ain’t the prettiest woman in the county, but I wouldn’t go so far as to—”
“Not Mavis, Doc. I’m talkin’ about actual animals!”
“Oh. Well, I’ve been known to work on a horse or two.”
“Do you have medicine strong enough to knock ’em out while you work on ’em?”
“I’ve used ether on horses before, but sometimes those that are helpin’ me wind up passin’ out.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Well, of course it is! But I ain’t killed no one yet, like I have with chloroform. Ether is safer on people and livestock, but you can’t light a match around it.”
“Can you come by the Spur tomorrow mornin’?”
“Why?”
“I got a patient for you.”
“A horse?”
“Yeah A big one.”
“He’s out back?”
“Walk on in, I’ll take you to him.”
“I can be there at ten.”
“See you then.”
10.
WHEN ME AND the two young men get back to the Spur, I’m shocked to find Gentry sittin’ beside the bear, strokin’ him, talkin’ in his ear. I cross the floor quickly and say, “I wouldn’t get that close, honey. He could kill you with one swipe of his paw.”
“Rudy’s a big baby,” she says. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“My experience with bears is to assume they’ll kill you first chance they get.”
“Rudy’s a circus bear, Emmett. He’s been around people his whole life. He probably doesn’t even know he’s a bear.”
I point to the empty bucket between them. “What’s that?”
“It used to be table scraps. Rudy was starving!”
I’m uncomfortable with her bein’ that close to Rudy, but he does seem taken by her sweet affection. I can understand that. I also understand when I’m wastin’ my breath talkin’ to Gentry, and this is one a’ them times. So I go back to the card tables awhile and visit my gamblers. Then I go to the bar, and mix with the patrons. My main purpose here, besides ownin’ the place is standin’ guard. But even though Dodge City’s one of the roughest towns in the west, I don’t get much trouble from my regulars. And th
ere ain’t been any strangers in town lately, other than Vlad and Sergio, who are both dead.
Before closin’ time, Gentry—who hasn’t left Rudy’s side all night—says, “It’s time to take him outside to do his business.”
“How do you know?”
She wrinkles her nose. “He ain’t that different from you, when it comes to giving a warning sign.”
I lead Rudy down the street as gently as I can, so as not to hurt his nose. When I get past the last wagon rut, we stop, and I wait for him to do his business.
He obliges.
“You’re a well-trained bear,” I say, then turn around and find us facing a snarlin’ dog. I don’t recognize the animal that’s threatenin’ us, and Rudy don’t seem to care. There was a time I would a’ shot the dog for growlin’ at me and not lettin’ me pass, but I’ve softened my tone toward killin’ animals since then.
I stand aside to see what’s gonna happen. I feel bad for purposely allowin’ Rudy to either get bit or kill the curr, but I figure it’s good information for me to have, either way. It’ll show me how Rudy responds when provoked, and might possibly teach me how he fights, which could come in handy, in case he attacks me someday.
The dog jumps on Rudy, who just lets it happen. When I see Rudy refuse to fight back, I chase the dog away. Rudy ain’t hurt, but would a’ been, had I allowed it to continue.
Next mornin’ Doc walks in the door and says, “What happened to your piano?”
“I shot it.”
“Always heard you was a good shot. What was you aimin’ at, a fly?”
“Nope. Just the piano.”
“Well, I’d say you killed it.”
He follows my look across the room and does a double-take.
“That your horse?”
“It is.”
“I don’t work on bears,” he says.
“We’re cash customers, Doc.”
“Who’s gonna hold it down?”
“Me, Gentry, and Wing Ding.”
He looks at Rudy. “Ain’t gonna be enough.”
“He’s a circus bear,” I say.
Doc Workday walks with me to take a closer look. Since last night, I’ve managed to work a couple of very loose lines around Rudy’s shoulders and arms that can be pulled quickly from behind to pin him down and keep him from flailin’. But poor Rudy is so used to bein’ mistreated, he don’t even bother to move the ropes off himself. It’s pathetic, really.
