Wounded

by Percival Everett

  “She says,” Robert added.

  “I believe she is.” David put down his fork. “She’s got her own stuff right now. Do you know why they broke up?”

  I shook my head. “All of this is brand new to me.”

  “Well, I don’t know either. I don’t think my mother knows. That’s what’s so hard about all of this.”

  “Sounds hard,” I said. I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. “Well, now that I’ve eaten, I think I’ll go out and shovel the shit of large animals.” I snapped my fingers for Zoe to come.

  “I hope that’s not a crack,” Gus said.

  David laughed.

  “You guys want to join me in the freezing cold or stay in here where it’s nice and toasty and have hot chocolate? You’re not obliged to help.”

  “I’ll help,” David said.

  “I think I’ll sit in the other room with the fire,” Robert said. “I have a bit of a headache.”

  “You want some aspirin or ibuprofen?” Gus asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  Outside, Zoe led the way to the barn. The snow had all but stopped falling. That silence that snow brings had fallen.

  “What kind of dog is Zoe?” David asked.

  “She’s a heeler. Some people call them Australian cattle dogs.” I whistled and Zoe looked back. “Zoe, go find a rope, girl.” Zoe trotted off into the barn, then came back with a lead rope in her mouth. “Good girl.” I took the rope and gave her head a rub.

  “That’s pretty good,” David said.

  “I’d like to say I’m a great trainer, but Zoe’s a genius.”

  I piled a deep cart with flakes of hay and asked David to push it down the aisle and put two flakes in each metal feeder. I checked the mule’s gate and caught up to the cart. Once we had the hay tossed I started mucking out.

  “I can help with that,” David said.

  “That’s great. Grab a silage fork from over there and a bucket. Do the bay’s stall.”

  “I thought you were married,” David said.

  “I was. My wife died.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I knew that.”

  I waved him off. “You were a kid. Anyway, Gus came to live with me about six years ago. He’s a big help.”

  “Gus is cool,” David said.

  “He is that.” I rubbed at a stiffness in my neck. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings earlier. You know, about your parents and all.”

  “The bad feelings aren’t too far below the surface, I’m afraid.” David paused to look in at Felony, the big palomino. “That’s a big horse.”

  “An enormous baby,” I said. “David, I don’t know your mother very well at all. But I do know, or at least I used to know your father. He can be pretty rigid in his thinking.”

  “You got that right.”

  “I’m not just saying this to get on your good side, but sometimes it helps to hear that somebody else sees the same things you’re seeing. Your father is a good person, but on occasion he can be a selfish—” I looked for a word.

  “Jerk,” David said.

  “Not a word I would have used,” I said. I looked up and down the aisle, as if afraid Howard might appear. “I lived with him. He’s my friend, but he’s sometimes clumsy when it comes to other people’s feelings.”

  “And he’s not tolerant of other people’s ways,” David said.

  I nodded.

  David looked at my eyes for a second, then we both laughed. “Well, you did get on my good side,” he said.

  “That wasn’t my aim.”

  “So, why are you so tolerant?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I like to think I am. I’d like to think that if you were my son I’d behave differently from your father. But I can’t honestly say that. You’re not my son. I don’t have a son.”

  “That’s pretty honest,” he said.

  “Hey, I’m trying,” I said.

  “You know, my dad used to talk about you all the time like you were a god or something.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t have much respect for gods.”

  “He used to say you could do anything, fix anything.”

  I looked at Felony, reached out and scratched his big nose. “Well, that’s real flattering. It’s not true, but it’s flattering. Hey, it’s getting cold out here. We’d better finish up and get back in that house before those two suck up all the heat.”

  Back in the house, Gus told us that Robert had decided to turn in for the night. David said he’d better go check on him.

  Gus had scooped up the coyote puppy and had it lying on a nest of towels on the kitchen table. “That David’s a nice man,” he said.

  “He is,” I agreed.

  “Robert’s having a tough time.” That was like Gus. He was generous of spirit. He wouldn’t settle on thinking Robert was a jerk or an asshole, Gus just thought that this was difficult for him.

  “Seems so,” I said. I leaned over and examined the puppy. “So, you think we should just take that leg off.”

  “I think so. What do you think?”

  “Well, it won’t heal and become a leg she can use, that’s for sure.” The tissue was thin and dark and the remaining piece looked as if it might fall off.

  “Want me to go get your kit?”

  “No, that’s okay.” I got a sharp knife from the drawer and went to the stove where I held the blade over a flame. I came back and sliced through the tissue. It was the smallest cut, but the largest as well. There would be no putting the leg back on. That was it. The slightest slash and now this animal had three legs instead of four.

  “That’s it?” Gus asked.

  I looked for bleeding. There was none. “That’s it.”

  “I could have done that,” the old man said.

  “We can all do a lot things,” I said, “but we won’t.”

  “I don’t think she felt it.”

  “I doubt she did,” I said. “But who knows. Not that it matters now anyway. Let’s try to get her through this alive.” As I stood there watching Gus stroke the little head on the three-legged body, I realized that if the animal lived, she was a fixture. I couldn’t very well put her into the wild. But she was wild. I’d have to find a way to socialize her and even then I knew I’d have to kennel her when new people came around. I got way ahead of myself in my thinking and tried to shake my head clear.

  “What is it?” Gus asked.

  “Nothing. You know, I think the little girl is going to make it.”

  “What’s going on?” from David in the doorway.

  “We just made a tripod,” Gus said. “We cut off her leg. Well, John did, but hell I could have done it.”

  “Really?” David came over for a better look. “What will you do with the leg?”

  Gus looked at me.

  I’d intended to toss it into the garbage can beneath the sink, but now that suddenly seemed unceremonious. “I don’t know,” I said. “What does one do with a dead leg? I mean, it’s not an animal.”

  “You weren’t just going to toss it in the trash, were you?” Gus asked.

  “What, do you want me to mount it on a plaque?” I looked at David and Gus looking at me. “I suppose I could bury it.”

  “That sounds right,” Gus said.

  “To me, too,” David said.

  “I suppose you expect me to say a few words over it as well. I mean, we’re not having a funeral for a leg.”

  “No, of course not,” Gus said.

  “Give me that damn thing.” I picked up the leg between my fingers and walked out of the kitchen. I was going to dig a little hole and drop it in.

  And that’s what I did, but before I tossed any dirt in on top of it, I said, “Well, little leg, I hope you’re the last death the little girl has to see for a while.” So, the leg had its funeral anyway.

  The following morning was still and clear and not as cold as I thought it would be. The sun was risi
ng in a cloudless eastern sky, but there were already clouds bunching up in the northwest. The snow stayed where it had drifted the night before. There was finally not much of it, just enough to quiet things, to muffle morning’s naying for hay and grain. I was done feeding by the time David made his way down to the kitchen. Gus was preparing an uncharacteristically unhealthy breakfast of sausages and eggs.

  “I have to say that smells great,” I said. I looked over Gus’s shoulder at the frying sausage. “When did you buy that?”

  “It’s not exactly meat,” he said.

  “What exactly is it?”

  “Soy.”

  “Soy,” I repeated.

  “Soy sausage.”

  “Oh, lord.” I shook my head. “You know, we’ve got some antelope steaks in the freezer.”

  “This is better for you.”

  “I’ll try it.”

  “I’ll bet those boys won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  I walked over to Zoe and the puppy. “How’s our patient this morning?” I asked.

  “A little better, I think,” Gus said. “She’s really trying to drag herself around. I think somebody’s coming down.”

  “Good morning,” David said.

  “David,” I said.

  Gus said, “Orange juice is in the fridge. Coffee’s on the stove. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

  “In other words,” I said, “Get it your damn self.”

  David laughed and went for the fridge and the orange juice. “Breakfast smells terrific,” he said as he pulled down a glass from the cupboard.

  “Where’s your …” Gus stopped, “what do you say? Partner? Boyfriend?”

  “Boyfriend’s good enough.”

  “Well, where the hell is he?” Gus asked.

  “I don’t think he slept too well.” David sat at the table with his juice. “He’s not usually in such a mood. I’m sorry.”

  I waved off David’s apology. “Robert’s okay.”

  I watched as David looked away out the window. He turned his attention to the puppy, but didn’t say anything. There was sadness there and I didn’t know what to say.

  Gus set a plate in front of the boy and said, “Have at it while it’s hot. Your boyfriend might have to fix his own breakfast if he’s not down here pretty soon.” He looked at me. “Put your butt in a chair.”

  I sat and looked at my plate. David had already started to eat. “How is it?” I asked.

  “Good. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

  “Don’t know what what is?” Gus asked.

  “This fake meat,” David said.

  “It’s soy,” I said.

  “I like it,” David said.

  As we finished, a truck pulled up to the house. I stood and looked out. “That’s Duncan,” I said. “If you two gentlemen will excuse me.”

  I put on my jacket and walked outside.

  “The snow is a good sign,” Duncan said as a greeting. His daughter Ellie was with him. The young woman had spent a couple years down in Laramie at the university, but was taking a year off, she said.

  “Good morning, Ellie,” I said.

  “Hi, Mr. Hunt.”

  “You make me feel old calling me that,” I told her. We were all walking toward the barn.

  “Sorry, Mr. Hunt.”

  “So, why is the snow a good sign?” I asked Duncan.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a thing to say.” Duncan put a cigarette in his mouth, but didn’t light it. He often did that. “Daniel White Buffalo told me to tell you to give him a call.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “I had to go out there. He claims that old Monday woman is stealing his cows. He claims that a lot. I suppose it’s true, but I can’t see it.” Duncan was one of the few cattle detectives left in the area. “White Buffalo is so bad at keeping records.”

  “And Clara Monday is smart,” I said.

  “Tougher than a dairy cow steak,” Duncan said. “Rides around up there on that App with a thirty-thirty across her lap. She’s gotta be seventy.”

  Ellie was stroking Felony’s nose. The horse seemed grateful for the attention.

  David came into the barn and joined us.

  “Duncan, Ellie, this here is my friend David. He’s from Chicago.”

  Duncan shook David’s hand. “Where is Chicago?”

  David looked to me.

  “Just kidding you, son,” Duncan said.

  “How’s he doing?” Ellie asked about Felony.

  “He’s going very well. You could ride him right now, but I don’t know what he thinks of snow yet.”

  “He’s a beautiful horse,” David said.

  “Thanks,” Ellie said.

  “Know much about horses?” Duncan asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “If you’re smart enough to say that, you’re all right with me.” Duncan put the cigarette he’d been fiddling with back into his pocket.

  Robert came into the barn and we all looked his way. He walked up to David and gave him a kiss. I glanced at Duncan, looking for a reaction, then felt bad that I was doing that.

  “Ellie, Duncan, this is Robert.”

  Robert nodded, but didn’t offer his hand.

  Ellie said, “Hello.”

  Duncan said, “Robert.”

  “The snow is beautiful, isn’t it?” Robert said.

  “Well, John,” Duncan said, “Ellie just wanted to see her baby here. I guess we’ll be going.”

  Robert decided to take offense. “Do we make you uncomfortable?”

  David was as surprised as me at how confrontational Robert was being, especially with someone he didn’t know. He was, however, less amused than I was. I looked to Duncan for his response.

  “No, son,” the big man said. “The two of you don’t make me uncomfortable, but you alone do.” Duncan was completely relaxed. “I’ll give it to you in good old cowboy talk. I ain’t never been around any homosexuals. Not to my knowledge, anyway. I’m just assuming that’s what you are. I ain’t never given it much thought, and I reckon I don’t approve of it, but I can’t say why. Still this is a free country and, to my mind, you can do what you want.”

  “Let’s go, Daddy,” Ellie said.

  “Wait a second, darlin’,” he said. “The man asked me a question.”

  “Son, I don’t like anything thrown up in my face.” He looked at David. “David, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  Robert was angry. “Nice speech,” he said.

  Duncan smiled. “I don’t lie. There are people around here who might shoot you for what you are. I don’t know why, but I’ve no doubt that they would. People are bad like that and we’ve got our share. Maybe we’ve got more than our share, I don’t know. Like I said, I believe this here is a free country. Now, my speech is over. See you later, John.”

  “Bye, Mr. Hunt,” Ellie said.

  I watched Duncan and his daughter leave the barn. What I liked about Duncan was that he was never out of control. He was a strange man in that he admitted to a lot of prejudices, but he never held that against himself.

  David looked at Robert. I couldn’t tell what was in him. He was confused, I knew that much, but whether he was angry with Duncan or with Robert, I simply had no clue. He shuffled his feet and walked over to scratch Felony’s nose.

  I probably should have said nothing, that would have been best, I knew it even then, but my mouth opened, “You just make friends everywhere you go.” With that, I walked away. I didn’t like feeling bad and this kid made me feel bad every time I turned around. This time I was feeling bad because I considered that I was being unfair to him. All he had really done was kiss his partner and I couldn’t tell whether I was bothered by that or by the way he had done it.

  After breakfast, I drove the boys back to town and to their motel. The ride in the Jeep was quiet, ending with a polite handshake from Robert and an unexpected and warm embrace from David.

  SIX

  ALTHOUGH I
WAS ITCHY and eager to get home, my reaction to visiting town so many times in so few days, I decided to stop by Myra’s and pick up shots for the young coyote. I considered it ironic that if left in the wild she would have been healthy, contact with humans notwithstanding, but because she was in our care she now had to be protected from distemper, parvo, and a host of other things. Protection against rabies would come later. The thought of rabies reminded me of my primary concern, that the little dog was a wild animal. Normally, I could see raising her in a cage and then turning her free to roam and hunt, but this pathetic creature had but three legs and who knew what kind of respiratory damage she might have suffered. I’d have to establish our respective stations and socialize her as best I could.

  As I drove back through town, the medicine in a shoe box with dry ice around it, I considered Gus’s attachment to the coyote. It seemed a bit extreme, but the pup was plenty pitiful. What little traffic there was slowed near the square. I could see an ambulance parked in front of the sheriff’s office. I inched closer and I saw a stretcher being rolled along the walk to the vehicle. Bucky was standing nearby, his hat in his hand while he scratched his equine head. I tapped my horn and the tall man turned to see me. He walked to my rig.

  “What’s going on, Bucky?” I asked.

  He put a hand on the roof of the Jeep and leaned toward me. He spat on the ground before saying, “It’s bad, John.”

  “What?”

  “Your friend killed himself,” Bucky said.

  “Castlebury?”

  “Hanged himself from the upper bunk with his britches. One leg around his neck, the other around the top rail. I sure didn’t see it coming. Should have.”

  “Good grief.”

  “Terrible thing to see.” The sheriff looked over at the ambulance doors being slammed shut. “Terrible thing.”

  “Good grief,” I said, again.

  Bucky stood and looked away across the lawn of the courthouse. “It’s about the last thing I need, I can tell you that.” Then he fell silent.

  “What is it, Bucky?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t think he did it,” I said.

  “What do you think?” he asked. The ambulance drove away, no siren. “You knew him a little.”