Carrying Albert Home

by Homer Hickam

  “This is nice,” Elsie said, snuggling into Homer’s shoulder.

  “It sure is,” Homer said, knocking back some more of the wine.

  After a few minutes of cuddling and wine sipping, Elsie was feeling warm and reckless. They were on the road! There was at least a chance for them to create a fine new life, if only she was clever enough. She allowed Homer to kiss her again, this time a long, deep kiss with a promissory note at the end. Relaxing, she sighed and said, “This reminds me of one time when I was in Florida. We made a fire on the beach and had wine and it wasn’t homemade. It was real wine from Italy.”

  She felt Homer tense. “I can guess who you were with.”

  Elsie had meant to convey how wonderful Florida was but knew she’d made a mistake. She rushed to cover it up. “It wasn’t like that. It was a whole bunch of us. They were just a swell gang. I never had so much fun. When we get to Florida, I’ll introduce them to you.”

  “Will you introduce me to Buddy?”

  She hesitated. “You know he’s not there,” she finally answered in a small voice. An image of Buddy dancing with platinum-haired women rose in her mind, which caused her to look sad.

  “But I know where he is.” Homer shrugged her head off his shoulder and stood up and pointed at her heart. “He’s in there, isn’t he? And I guess he always will be.”

  Elsie started to tell a lie she knew her husband wanted to hear. I don’t love Buddy. I love you. To her astonishment, what came out was “I’m sorry.” When she realized what she had said, she tried to tell her lie again but it still came out the same. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, Elsie,” Homer said. “I guess we both are.” His last words before he stalked off into the darkness were, “We’re going back to Coalwood.”

  Elsie sat on the glider for how long she didn’t know. She spent the time kicking herself for not being able to lie to her husband when she’d most needed to. She pulled a blanket about her and stretched out on the glider and watched the unblinking, unmoving stars in the celestial heaven. Her breathing was a little ragged. What was Homer going to do? He might even abandon her! But then she thought, no, Homer would never do that. He was too honorable. Still, he had said they were going back to Coalwood. All her hopes for the journey faded. She’d never be able to change Homer’s mind now. The truth was, she confessed to herself, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Elsie noticed a sweet, sugary smell and realized it was honeysuckle, the perfume of the old South she’d read about in Rebel Love. She sat up and drew the sweet air into her lungs as deeply as ever she could. The coal camps where she’d been raised always had an irritating petroleum odor and when the coke ovens were lit, the belching smoke gave her choking fits and left her throat as raw as an open wound. Oh, I could breathe this forever, she thought as the honeysuckle essence drifted softly by.

  Relaxing, Elsie thought about how she might change things with Homer and decided, for the sake of the journey, she’d just have to get the lie out of her mouth. Buddy is gone from my heart and you are my husband and that’s all that matters. It ought to be enough, she figured, to get him all the way to Florida, and time enough for her to convince him to never go back to Coalwood and maybe, just maybe, turn her dour husband into someone more like that long-legged and limber dancer she’d fallen for.

  Elsie cast off the blanket and stood to look for Homer but he was gone. She supposed he was probably in the car sulking. Had Buddy ever sulked? Not that she could recall. He was always laughing, telling jokes, being so warm in the way he talked to her. Taking his shadow in her arms, she began to move according to the last dance she and Buddy had danced among the palm trees. Two steps forward, two back, one to the right, one to the left, then a twirl. Elsie took another drink of wine, then another and kept dancing, remembering, breathing in the honeysuckle air.

  6

  ELSIE CAME AWAKE WITH A START AND FOUND HERSELF looking skyward toward a blinding sky alleviated only by the face of her husband. “What’s wrong?” she asked, before closing her eyes as tightly as she could lest they explode.

  “Nothing’s wrong except probably your hangover.”

  Some of the previous evening came back to her. She had danced and then . . . she supposed she had sat down on the glider and had herself more wine. After that, sleep had come and crazy dreams. She’d been back in Orlando and danced and danced with Buddy. “I’m sorry,” she said, then put her arm across her eyes to further block the light. She had a terrible headache. “I’m sorry for . . . for telling you that story about being on the beach. I’m sorry for saying I was sorry. I meant to say . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Homer said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. And I feel bad for making fun of you when you said the rooster liked you. Of course he likes you. He likes you because you are good and you are kind even if you are a coal miner.”

  “Nothing like faint praise to start the morning,” Homer said. “I’ve made coffee. Can I help you up?”

  Elsie allowed him to help her up but she kept her eyes closed, lest the light sneak in and blow her brains out. He folded her hands around a cup and she greedily drank the bitter brew. “My head is killing me,” she confessed.

  “I have some aspirin in my kit,” Homer said. “I’ll bring you a couple.”

  “Thank you.” After a few more swallows of coffee, she could feel her mind sorting itself out. Then she felt her hand being taken and two pills being placed in her palm. She gulped them down, then managed to get her eyes open to a squint. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “Right beside you. There.”

  “On the ground? Didn’t you get cold?”

  “It was my choice. But now, Miss Lavender, it’s your turn to choose.”

  Elsie picked some coffee grounds off her tongue. “The choice is really yours,” she said, dreading what he was going to say.

  His answer was a surprise. “Okay. Here’s what I choose. You stay here and take it easy while I take the Buick to get some gas at that station we passed. Then I’ll come back for you and we’ll keep going.”

  Elsie managed to get her eyes open enough to study his face. “Where are we going?”

  “Why, to Florida, of course. Why else are we on the road?”

  “But you said we were going back to Coalwood.”

  He peered at her. “We are. After Florida. What did you think I meant?”

  “I don’t know. The wine got to me, I guess.”

  “It surely did. When I came back, you were dancing.”

  She looked up and searched his eyes for anger but saw only hurt and disappointment. I’m sorry was on her lips but she forced the words away. “You know, you still owe me a dance from that time you stood me up in high school.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t dance. That was another reason I chickened out and didn’t take you.”

  “I bet you’d dance real good, Homer, if only you gave it a try.”

  Hurt once more welled in his eyes. “Somehow, I think I’d come in a distant second in that category.”

  Elsie stayed silent in the face of the truth.

  “Well, I’m off to get some gasoline,” Homer finally said in a cheerful voice that Elsie knew was forced. “I’ve already had my breakfast but I got out some bread and cheese for you. They’re right there beside the fire.”

  “Where’s Albert?” Elsie asked.

  “I put him in the car for the night so he wouldn’t get cold. This morning, I took him for a walk. Now he’s asleep again in the back seat. Unless you want to get him up, I’ll just leave him there.”

  “You took care of him last night? And walked him this morning?”

  “He didn’t even try to bite me.”

  “He never meant to bite you. He was just being playful.”

  Homer didn’t reply. He just kept walking. After she’d heard the Buick start and rumble away, Elsie sat until her headache began to fade. Finishing the coffee, she shook off the blanket and stood up and walked away fro
m the fire. She took a breath. The essence of honeysuckle was still there, made all the fresher by the cooler morning air. Breakfast could wait.

  And once more, although this time very slowly lest her headache return, she danced. One step to the left, one right, two forward, two back, and twirl.

  7

  WHEN HOMER PURCHASED GASOLINE FROM THE STATION at the crossroads, the attendant, a young man wearing a paper cap, couldn’t cash the fifty-dollar bill he offered. “You can get change at the bank,” he said, nodding back toward town.

  Homer thanked him, said he’d be right back, then drove to town, parking opposite the building marked FARMER’S BANK AND LOAN. The rooster, who’d been sitting atop Albert, jumped atop the seat, looked around, then fluttered out of the car. “You’re a strange bird,” Homer muttered as the rooster ran away as if on an urgent mission.

  When Albert crawled out after the rooster, Homer quickly slipped the leash around the alligator’s neck. Albert tugged hard against it in the direction of the rooster, his claws skittering on the boards of the sidewalk, all the while making the grunt that was his unhappy sound. To Homer’s ears, it sounded a bit like he was saying no-no-no. “I’m sorry, Albert,” Homer said. “He’s too fast. You’ll never catch him.” Homer suddenly felt a bit lonely. “I’m going to miss him, too.”

  The door of the bank opened and the preacher from the day before walked outside. He tipped his hat. “Well, you didn’t get far,” he said. “Why is your alligator making that unhappy sound?”

  “His rooster ran away.”

  “I’ll pray that he returns.”

  “That rooster has a mind of its own,” Homer said, more to himself than the preacher. “I don’t even know why he’s with us.”

  “Perhaps he’s an angel who’s decided to help you on your adventure. By the way, are you here to rob the bank?”

  Homer was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we heard bank robbers were in the area. You could use Albert like a gun.”

  “Oh. No, like I told you, I’m a coal miner. Bank robbing’s not in my line of work. I’m just here to get change for a fifty-dollar bill.”

  The preacher touched his hat again. “Well, many blessings, young man. Tell your pretty wife I send her blessings, too.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Homer said, touching his forehead in reply. “I will.”

  Before leaving, the preacher held the bank door open for Homer and Albert, who was still desperately clawing in the direction the rooster was last seen. “Come on, Albert,” Homer said as he pulled him across the polished wooden floor of the bank. With a hiss and a whimper, Albert lowered his head, shaking it back and forth.

  Behind the counter, an older fellow wearing a green eyeshade looked up from his ledger. “What do we have here?” he asked in a tone that indicated he’d seen nearly everything.

  “I need change for a fifty-dollar bill,” Homer said. He tugged at Albert to approach the teller’s window. “Come on, boy.”

  The teller took it all in. “I’ve worked here for forty years and I believe this is the first time I’ve ever had a crocodile in my bank.”

  “He’s an alligator.”

  “What’s wrong with him? He looks agitated.”

  “He misses his rooster.”

  “I see,” the teller said drily. “Did he eat it?”

  “It ran away.”

  “I’m not surprised,” the teller said, even more drily. “Now to your dilemma. Change for a fifty you say? I think I can help with that.”

  Albert crawled beneath a desk along the wall, splayed his paws out and dug in his claws and made his unhappy grunt. Homer gave a tug but the alligator was wedged tight. “All right, Albert,” Homer sighed. “Go ahead and mope. I’ve got to take care of business.”

  Homer dropped the leash and took a step toward the teller but that was as far as he got before the doors suddenly burst open and two men barged inside, both of them carrying shotguns. “Hands up! This is a robbery!” one of them yelled.

  Although shocked, Homer still could not help but note that the man who’d yelled was very short, no more than five feet tall. The other man, a huge black fellow, lumbered over toward Homer and waved a shotgun at him. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  The little man approached the teller, aiming a shotgun up at him. “All your money. Now!”

  The teller blinked, although so slowly Homer thought he was going to take a nap, before advising, “That’s just not going to happen.”

  The little robber was taken aback. “Why not?”

  “All the money I have is in that safe—that locked safe—and it’s made of case-hardened steel, which you couldn’t open with three sticks of dynamite. Also, because I’m leaving.” And with that, the teller turned and walked to the back door not two steps behind him, looked over his shoulder, shrugged, and went through it.

  “Why didn’t you shoot him?” the big man asked.

  The little man pouted. “In case you didn’t notice, Huddie, I couldn’t get a bead on him from this angle. Now, get over here and help me over the counter.”

  The big man, apparently named Huddie, said, “Okay, Slick,” to the little man, apparently named Slick.

  Huddie helped Slick through the teller’s window. Slick dropped behind the counter with a thud. Homer could hear him mumbling. “Dammit. It really is locked. What’s wrong with people these days? Don’t they trust anybody?”

  “The teller said we could blow it with three sticks of dynamite,” Huddie said.

  “In case you aren’t aware of it, you idiot, we don’t have even one stick of dynamite.”

  “Then we should probably get some.”

  “The voice of a genius, ladies and gentlemen!”

  Homer heard Slick rummaging around some more, then saw a shiny coin fly over the counter, bouncing once and landing beside Homer’s shoe. It was a penny, heads up.

  “That’s all there is,” Slick announced.

  “What are we gonna do?” Huddie asked.

  Slick nodded toward Homer. “See if that farmer’s got anything on him.”

  “I’m not a farmer. I’m a coal miner,” Homer said.

  Huddie stuck the shotgun next to Homer’s nose. “You gonna be a dead coal miner you don’t empty your pockets.”

  That was when Huddie started screaming, mainly because his right leg just below the knee was at that moment inside an alligator’s jaws. Huddie also pulled the trigger of the shotgun, which discharged, fortunately toward the ceiling. Plaster rained down while Homer hit the floor.

  Huddie continued to scream as Homer sat up and dusted the plaster out of his hair before noticing that Huddie had dropped the shotgun. Homer picked it up and climbed to his feet. “Don’t move,” he said to the giant robber whose leg was still clamped within Albert’s jaws.

  Huddie glared at Homer. “You can just put that gun down, mister. Slick only gave me one shell and, as you might have noticed, I burned it. Help me get this thing off me. Please, I’m beggin’ you.”

  Homer opened the shotgun, saw that Huddie was telling the truth, and laid it down. He also picked up the penny and put it in his pocket because miners considered a heads-up penny as good luck and he’d just had some. He looked behind the counter but there was no sign of Slick. He’d apparently gone through the same door as the teller. Homer turned to Huddie. “Albert, let the man go. You’ve done your job. That’s a good alligator.”

  Two men came inside the bank, the teller and the preacher. “What do you know?” the teller said. “Caught us a robber.”

  “Get the police,” Homer suggested, while working to pry Albert’s jaws off the big man’s leg. Albert finally got the idea and opened his mouth, then looked up and grinned at Homer. “Attaboy,” Homer said.

  “We don’t have any police in town,” the teller said, “but I called the state boys.”

  Outside, an old, dented, faded red pickup truck squealed to a stop. “Come on, Huddie!” the little man named Slick yelled.

/>   Huddie crawled to his feet, pushed Homer away, and limped past the teller and preacher, who made no attempt to stop him. He flopped into the back of the truck and, wheels burning rubber, it sped away.

  “Guess I’d best call the state boys and tell them to be on the lookout for an old red truck,” the teller said. He put out his hand. “But thank you, mister.”

  Homer shook the teller’s hand. “Thank Albert.”

  “Thank you, Albert.”

  “God bless you, Albert,” the preacher added.

  Albert looked up at them and made his yeah-yeah-yeah happy sound.

  “I still need that change for a fifty,” Homer said.

  The teller beamed. “And you shall have it, sir.”

  With change for not just one but both his fifty-dollar bills, Homer walked Albert back to the car across the empty street, coaxed him into his washtub, and then sat beside him. Homer found himself in an odd mood. “You know, Albert,” he said, “sometimes it takes a fright to realize something about others and about yourself, too. Well, we just had a fright and I realize maybe I was wrong about you. I want to apologize. You’re a fine creature. It was low of me to not like you.” He thought for a moment more, then said, “If you have to know, I’ve been jealous because Elsie sees Buddy Ebsen in you.” He patted the alligator’s head. “Forgive me, okay?”

  Homer didn’t expect Albert to reply and he didn’t except for the low rumble of a snore as he began to doze. His heart warmed anyway, Homer climbed behind the Buick’s wheel and headed back. After paying the attendant at the gas station, he turned toward the old plantation. Along the way, he found Elsie hiking along the dirt road. She waved him down. Her face was drawn with worry. “I thought you’d left me.”

  “Sorry. Got delayed.”

  She climbed inside. “What happened?”

  “You might say Albert and I robbed a bank.” He dug into his pocket and held up the shiny penny. “See?”

  “Dammit, Homer, if you’re going to lie to me, at least make up a good one.” She studied him. “Why is there plaster in your hair?”