by Aaron Latham
“Becky,” he said, “don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Goodnight gripped her hand tighter than ever. He was afraid he might hurt her, but she didn’t cry out, didn’t even complain. She had a good grip for a girl.
“Now open your eye slowly,” said the doctor. “Very slowly.”
“No,” Goodnight said.
“You gotta,” said Becky. “Come on now.”
Goodnight slowly opened his one surviving eye. He saw a bright light. It was too bright. It hurt his eye. He closed up again.
“It hurts,” he said. “You said it wouldn’t hurt, but it hurts. Just like last time.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It won’t hurt for long,” said the doctor. “Your eye is just very sensitive. It has to get used to light all over again. Like when you were born. You see light and you cry. But it’s worth it. And the pain goes away. Try again. Slowly.”
“Come on,” said Becky.
Since she asked him to, Goodnight slowly opened his eye again, letting in just a crack of light, then a little more, like the lid of a coffin being slowly lifted. Light and life flooded back in. The rays of light were needles, but he could stand the pain because he saw her now with his eye open. She was real. She existed out there as well as in here. He hadn’t lost her. There she was. He had her back again . . .
Then Goodnight’s eye focused and he saw Loving bending over him.
60
Goodnight kept staring. He didn’t believe his eye. He kept waiting for Loving to change back into Becky, but his friend remained immutable.
“It’s you,” Goodnight said. “I thought you was somebody else.”
“I know,” Loving said. “I don’t mind. I was kinda flattered. I knowed she musta meant a lot to you.”
“Where the hell am I, anyhow?”
“The Grand Hotel in Hot Springs. Only it ain’t too grand if you ask my opinion.”
“How’d you find me?”
“I didn’t. Wisht I could claim I did, but tain’t so. Old prospector name a Jensen come across your horse. Backtracked and found you. Lucky he come along when he did, ’cause the trail wouldn’t a lasted much longer, not in that there shiftin’ sand. He figured you was dead till he bent down. Then he heard you whisperin’ some lady’s name like it was some secret.”
“Yeah, my sister—” Goodnight almost said her name, but then he hesitated. He had learned to say it when he was blind and in another world, but he wasn’t sure that he could say it now that he was back with his eye open and working. Oh, well, some lessons must be transferable from one world to another. “Becky,” he said, and endured the pain. He figured he was going to have to learn to live with it.
“Becky,” Loving echoed.
“So how’d you git here?”
“Well, a fella I know, who knowed I knowed you, told me what happened. Said you weren’t doin’ no good. So I figured I’d come on over and see for myself.”
“Come far?”
“Not too far. Coupla days’ ride. I reckon it was worth it.” He paused. “You really seemed to like me till you got your eye open.”
“Yeah, well. Funny business. I was out lookin’ for you, and you turn around and find me. If that don’t beat all.”
“You was, huh?”
“Yep. Where’s this Jensen fella at now? Reckon I oughta say ‘Thank you’ at least.”
“Oh, he took off. Afraid the gold might git away if’n he didn’t hurry. I thanked him for you. You said you was lookin’ for me. How come?”
“I wanted you to come back. I figured mebbe I could talk you into it. Anyhow, I was gonna try. You kin bring that there Tucson girlfriend with you if you ever found her.”
“Never did. I reckon yore luckier’n me in that respect.”
“Well, then, how ’bout it? Come on back. But I ain’t been so lucky lately, actually.”
Goodnight sensed some hesitation in his friend that he didn’t understand.
“I dunno,” Loving said.
“What don’t you know?” asked Goodnight.
“I dunno if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not? What’s the matter? You got somethin’ ag’inst me?”
“No, course not.”
“Then what is it?”
“Well, you’re a builder. I’m a drifter. We’d kinda be pullin’ in differ’nt directions.”
“I ain’t a askin’ you to help me pull a damned wagon. We ain’t gonna be in harness together. So what differ’nce does it make if’n we ain’t exactly twins.”
“I’ll think on it.”
Goodnight took a nap. He was still weak from his ordeal. While he slept, he dreamed of Becky. He met her walking beside the stream near the old family fort. She hadn’t been killed or even hurt. It was all a mistake. Just a bad dream. When he woke up, he was happy. Then the world came back into focus and he lost his happiness. He hadn’t had that dream for years.
Goodnight wondered where Loving had gotten off to. He hoped he hadn’t lost him again. He kept looking around the small hotel room as if his friend might be hiding behind the cane-bottomed chair or under the table with the wash basin. He started to feel anxious. Then the door opened and Loving walked in.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Yeah, I dreamed Becky was alive,” Goodnight said.
He didn’t normally make a practice of sharing his dreams, but he was trying to get used to saying his sister’s name. It still hurt.
“Shame to wake up,” Loving said.
“Uh-huh,” Goodnight agreed. “That’s how come I want you back at the ranch.”
“On account of you have bad dreams?”
“It waddn’t a bad dream. Wakin’ up was bad.”
“I still don’t rightly see how I can help.”
Goodnight took a deep breath. He closed his eye and returned to darkness. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. Well, hell, just say it.
“I done lost so much in my life,” Goodnight said at last. “Folks I ain’t never fixin’ to git back ag’in. My sister Becky. My daddy. My mama. Aunts. Uncles. A girl with a real purdy name.”
“You talkin’ about Revelie?” asked Loving. “You ain’t lost her, have you?”
“No, I hope not. Anyhow, I was thinkin’ about a Comanche girl.” Goodnight hesitated. He knew he should say the pretty name, but he didn’t want to because he knew it would hurt. “Her name was Lifts Something.” It hurt. “She’s dead, too.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I lost so much I cain’t git back, I figured I better try to git back what I can.”
Watching Loving, Goodnight began to feel that he just might win this argument after all. He hoped he wasn’t just out of his head.
61
For the second time, Loving was bringing home an ailing Goodnight. They made a big detour around the White Sands.
While Goodnight had been with Revelie at home on their ranch, he had often thought about Loving, daydreamed about him, longed to have him back. But now that he was with Loving, Goodnight found himself thinking only about Revelie, longing for her, dreaming he was with her at night. In the Human way, Goodnight “felt-missing” his wife. He desperately hoped she hadn’t picked up and left Texas. What would he do then?
Of course, she would still be angry at him. Still furious. Still blaming him for everything. He told himself that he could endure her anger if only she hadn’t left him. If she was still there, he knew what he was going to do, what he had to do, what he now wanted to do. Well, that was stretching it. Anyway, he would win her over by doing what she had always wanted him to do: tell his story. He had made his peace with his sister, with Becky, as much peace as he ever could, so why couldn’t he do the same with his wife? He promised himself that he would tell her everything at the first possible “perfect” moment.
In the foothills of the San Andres M
ountains, Goodnight saw something that needed investigating. “Hold up a minute,” he said. “Lemme take a look.”
Goodnight dismounted in a field of pink-flowered snakeweeds. Then he started pulling them up. Their roots looked like small, twisted potatoes.
“Bringin’ your wife a bouquet?” asked Loving.
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Might be kinda wilted by the time we git there.”
“I don’t figure she’ll mind this time.”
• • •
Goodnight kept expecting to see the canyon. He started wondering if maybe they were lost. He sure hoped not because he had had enough of losing his way. He kept reminding himself that you couldn’t see the canyon from very far away. It was deep and hidden, like the future. You didn’t see it until you got there.
“Don’t fall in,” drawled Loving.
Goodnight had been looking so hard for the canyon that he had missed it. He had been searching too far in the distance when the canyon opened almost at his horse’s feet. Staring down into it, Goodnight thought his red canyon looked redder than when he had seen it last. The cedars clinging to the red walls seemed greener than when he had left them. He was surprised, but then he reminded himself that all colors had seemed brighter since that doctor had lifted the bandage from his eye and he had seen Loving. It was as though those blazing sands had burned the scales from his eye.
Goodnight reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his field glasses. He focused on the red-stone house and saw something both chilling and encouraging: the ambulance. So his mother-in-law was still in residence—but so was his wife.
“Yes!”screamed Goodnight. “Race ya!”
“Hold on,” said Loving. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t haul you all this way for you to go an’ break your neck now.”
“Why, Loving, you’re lily-livered.”
“Race ya!”
The two horsemen dug their spurs into their mounts and charged right out over the edge of the earth. Goodnight reached up and grabbed his hat as the world fell away beneath him. He couldn’t believe that they hadn’t even looked to see if there was a trail here before plunging down. Now he looked and there wasn’t. His horse turned half sideways and skidded down the side of a great red pottery bowl. Scree flew from beneath its hooves like bullets. Goodnight pulled back on Red’s reins as if to slow him, but he knew that the horse didn’t really need any encouragement to slow down: the poor animal was putting on the brakes as best it could, stiffening its forelegs, sitting back on its hind legs, but the mad slide continued unchecked.
Goodnight knew he should feel ashamed of himself. He had gone to so much trouble—been through so much—to return Loving to this red canyon, and now he was risking both their lives. It would serve him right if one of them got killed here on the actual brink of success. He should feel guilty, but he didn’t. He wasn’t worried about losing Loving. No, he was worried about losingto Loving. He had his friend back and he wanted to play.
Goodnight was surprised at how much fun he was having. He was amazed. He hadn’t felt so carefree in years. He had fallen off the edge of an old world of burdens and guilts and was falling into a new world of joy and happiness. He was giddy. He felt as if he were a boy discovering sex, falling into a woman for the first time. He didn’t care if he got killed or if Loving did. Because he knew he wouldn’t, just as the boy discovering physical love knows he will never die.
Goodnight lurched in his saddle as his horse crashed into Loving’s mount. He felt the animal beneath him stumble. Now he was falling in a new way. He fought to regain his balance in the saddle as his horse struggled to gain some purchase on the steep wall. He was losing his fight, going headfirst over the saddle horn, when somehow the world shifted, gravity altered its angle, and he dropped back onto the seat of his saddle.
In a blur beneath him, Goodnight saw his sprawling ranch headquarters lurch into view. He tried to hold his head still long enough to search the pens and lots and yards for Revelie. When they were halfway to the bottom, Goodnight saw his cowboys spot him and begin to spread the alarm. Now Revelie should appear, but where was she? He kept on staring down into the very pit of the canyon, letting his horse find its own way. Could he be wrong? Had she abandoned him?
Then Goodnight saw her come running out of the big stone ranch house. He flinched. She still had the power to make him so happy it hurt. Now he really wanted to win the race. He was a boy again who wanted to show off for his sweetheart.
Goodnight actually spurred his horse before he realized where he was and what a dumb stunt he had just pulled. His mount staggered beneath the spur, skidded, stumbled, and then somehow managed to get its hooves underneath it.
“Sorry,” Goodnight apologized, “my fault.”
Looking to his left, he saw Loving. They were still running neck and neck, nose and nose. He couldn’t let his friend beat him with his wife watching. That wouldn’t be any way to come home.
Glancing back down at the bottom of the canyon, Goodnight saw Revelie shading her eyes and staring up at him. She looked to him a little like his sister. He had never noticed that before. Well, she didn’t really look like her. It was just something about her movement, something of her vulnerability.
But he had better worry about his own vulnerability. He was getting beat up by all the bouncing around, but he was having more fun than he had had in a long time.
Glancing back into the pit, Goodnight saw his cowboys and his girl mounting up. Revelie swung up onto the sidesaddle that he had made for her. He enjoyed this secondhand contact with his wife. He saw his vision blur and he knew it wasn’t the dust or the motion.
Out of the corner of his eye, Goodnight saw Loving’s mount spin around on the cliff face as if it were caught up in a dust devil. But the horse was whirling the dust rather than the other way around. It finally came to a halt at the center of the red dust storm with its head pointed back up the wall and its rump pointed down toward the bottom of the canyon. The animal had evidently lost its balance and only barely saved itself and its rider by sliding into an assbackward stop.
Good! Great! All hands were safe and Goodnight was going to win. He would have slowed down a little—taken a little extra care now that he knew he was bound to win—but there was no way to slow down. He could no more put on the brakes than could the rocks that were racing him to the bottom.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Goodnight saw that Loving had his horse turned back around and was charging down the cliff again. But he was too far behind. Unless Goodnight took a fall.
Clinging to his horse with his feet and his heels and his knees and his thighs and every nerve in his body, Goodnight dropped the last hundred feet and hit the flat where his horse stumbled. The rider went headfirst over the horn and his horse’s head. In midair, he told himself to roll. And when he hit the ground, he turned a somersault.
Goodnight got up dirty and bruised, but the victor. He looked around with a big smile on his face expecting to see Revelie. But she wasn’t there yet. Loving rode up beside him.
“Serve you right if’n you’d broke your neck,” he said. “Didja?”
“No, ’fraid not,” Goodnight laughed.
He dusted himself off and climbed back on his long-suffering horse.
“Nice ridin’,” Loving said.
Goodnight didn’t say anything because he had just seen Revelie and her coterie of cowboys emerge from a grove of chinaberry trees. He tipped his hat to his wife and felt a big grin on his face. The canyon was redder, the leaves were greener, and his wife was prettier than when he had gone away.
“Howdy,” Goodnight said almost shyly to his beautiful wife. How mad was she? How hostile?
“Hello,” Revelie said, “so you’re alive.”
Then she turned her horse and rode away on the saddle he had made for her. He was tempted to ride after her, but he held back, hesitating. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing or hear the wrong thing. She didn’t look
back as she cantered toward the big sandstone ranch house. Naturally, Goodnight turned to Loving. He had long imagined that Loving could heal all the wounds in the canyon. Now it was time for him to start.
“Loving, please, go talk to her,” Goodnight said softly. “If I go, it’ll just make her mad, but you can talk to her. You can fix it. I know you can.”
Loving protested over and over but eventually gave in. Leaving Goodnight and the other cowboys hovering in his wake, he rode ahead. When he reached the ranch house, he dismounted, ground-hitched his horse, and knocked on the front door.
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When he reached the ranch house, Goodnight dismounted and camped out on the front porch, waiting. The cowboys moved on to the corral, but the boss kept waiting and watching and consulting his gold watch, which was a Christmas present from Revelie several years back. The hands moved as if they were crippled. What was taking Loving so long? What had gone wrong? What . . . ?
This delay, this waiting, wasn’t good. She must be madder than mad. Was he wrong about Loving? Maybe he wasn’t the healer he had taken him for. Or perhaps this case was beyond healing. Goodnight decided he should do some work around the place and not just waste time, but he couldn’t think of what to do. Summer turned into autumn; then autumn turned into freezing winter, which made him shiver on the front porch. Would spring ever come?
“Mr. Goodnight,” her voice startled him even though he had been waiting for it for seasons, “won’t you come in?”
He got up stiffly and entered his own home as if he were a guest. But was it his home anymore?
Goodnight and Revelie embraced politely in the big living room, but they didn’t kiss. Nonetheless it was a good beginning.
He thought: That Loving sure enough had a way with the ladies. What was his secret? He must ask him sometime. That would be a secret worth knowing for sure. Where had he gotten off to anyway? He wanted to thank him.
“I brought something for your mama,” Goodnight said softly.
