Wounded

by Percival Everett

  “No, I don’t think he did it.” I was surprised to have said it, but I knew I’d thought it all along. “You still haven’t told me what you think.”

  “I don’t know, John. It’s felt funny from the beginning to me.”

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  “I guess I’ll do my job. Now, I guess I’ll get around to doing my fucking job.” He shook his head. “We both know I’ll never find out who killed that boy. Jesus Christ. Two men dead.”

  I nodded. “I’ll make the call for you.”

  Bucky looked at me.

  “I know you,” I said. “You look for your murderer. I’ll call Castlebury’s brother.”

  “Thanks. Still, you’re going to have to tell him to call my office.”

  Bucky stood away and I drove off. Bucky had a hard time with bad news, an obvious liability in his profession. He was either tender that way, and if true, I liked that, or he was weak. But I wondered why I was not either tender or weak. Fact was, I had little stomach for it as well, and I wondered why in the world I had offered to do it. Perhaps I thought I owed something to Wallace Castlebury. Perhaps I felt I’d failed to let him think that at least one person thought he was innocent. Maybe he’d have been alive if he thought I believed him. I carried enough guilt and I wasn’t going to carry any more. I would call his brother and do this last thing for him.

  At home, I put the shots for the dog in the medicine refrigerator in the tack room. I then walked across the yard toward the house. All the snow was gone, but somehow I could tell that it had been there. I stepped into the kitchen to find Gus nursing a cup of tea.

  He put down his cup and tilted his head like a dog. “So, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Wallace Castlebury hanged himself.”

  Gus whistled, picked up his cup and sipped some tea. He looked down at the pup on the blanket by his feet. “Such is life.” He leaned over, put his hand down and the little coyote pushed toward him. “She’s stronger.”

  “I see.”

  “You realize we haven’t named her.”

  “That’s your job,” I said.

  “What about Spirit?” he said.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want hippie-Jim.”

  “Just fooling around,” he said. He stroked the little head. “Her name is Isosceles. Maybe Tripod. Maybe Nubby.”

  “I suppose any of those will work, Gus,” I said. I studied my uncle for a few seconds. “Hey, Gus, you feeling all right?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “Just asking.”

  Susie had for a time accused me of being interested in a young woman who had brought her three-year-old Arabian mare to me for training. That was how she had put it. “You’re interested in her,” she would say. I laughed it off every time. “Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” Susie asked once.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” I asked back. “You’re beautiful and I happen to be married to you.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “Question?”

  “Do you think she’s beautiful?”

  “She’s attractive. Lots of people are attractive.”

  “And you like her,” Susie said.

  “I don’t like the way this is going,” I said. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s eating at you? She’s a kid. Listen, I’m not interested in anyone but you. It never occurred to me to think of her as attractive until you mentioned it.”

  “So, you do find her attractive.”

  “I love you, Susie. You’re my life.”

  She claimed to be satisfied and to have let the matter go, but still a distance had been created and she was, at least that night, cool to the touch. I told her I loved her and went to sleep with my hand on her hip.

  A few days later, the young woman, Lane, was at my place for a lesson on her horse. I was standing in the middle of the round pen, watching, asking her to position her arms in various ways. She was a tough, lean woman who wanted badly to conquer her fear of horses, particularly this big and unruly horse. I didn’t have the horse on a line, not that that would have helped. Something got into the mare and she kicked out and bucked her way across the midpoint of the circle, namely me. Lane began to lose her balance and I stepped to the horse and righted her. She was shaken a little and I helped her down. Our faces were close and I realized in that moment that Susie had been correct; I no doubt knew all along that she was right, but I was being defensive and, basically, male. Lane and I kissed. A brief kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. I kicked the dirt like an idiot and did the only thing that seemed decent, I said I was sorry and looked at the horse. Nothing else happened.

  Later that day, no doubt to prove beyond any doubt that I was an idiot, I confessed to Susie that I had kissed Lane. I did it to make myself feel better, I realized later; that could have been my only reason. I thought I had been a bad man, a bad husband, and I believed that being forthright and honest would fix me up. I was a selfish jerk and some part of me must have wanted to hurt Susie. That’s all I can imagine. I really wasn’t then a stupid man, but I was, apparently, an idiot. The reaction was what any reasonable person would expect and I don’t think we ever really got over it. All of my apologies never offered a why. I didn’t have any whys to offer.

  It was odd to be thinking of Susie while I prepared to call Wallace Castlebury’s brother. I was sitting in my study, looking out the window at the hills. There were no clouds collected over them; that was good. It was a beautiful day. I didn’t procrastinate, didn’t find a leaky faucet to repair, didn’t clean my already-too-clean rifle. I picked up the phone and pushed in the number.

  I identified myself and the man on the other end said, “What is it?” But his tone was different this time, perhaps softer, perhaps he was just tired.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got bad news. I’ve been asked to notify you that your brother is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “I’m sorry.” I was surprised to detect a note of sadness, given the tone and content of our last conversation. “He killed himself.” I thought to spare even this uncaring relative the grizzly details of his brother’s death. In fact, I was sure at that moment that I had agreed to make the call only because I believed the man would be unmoved by the news. So much for what I thought I knew.

  “What?” the man said. “My brother is dead?” I could hear that he was beginning to weep.

  “Is this Wallace Castlebury’s brother?” I was suddenly terrified that I had misled another man into believing his brother was dead.

  “Oh, lord, poor Wallace,” he cried. “Poor, poor Wallace.”

  I don’t think I was ever so confused in my life. I looked out the window that faced the barn and saw the mule emerge.

  “How did he die?”

  “He killed himself. If you want details, you’ll have to call the Highland sheriff’s office.” I gave him the number. “In fact, you’re supposed to call there anyway. About the body and all.”

  “The body,” the man wailed.

  “How did he kill himself?”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to say any more,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry to have had to give you such news.”

  “Brother,” he said. “I have found the Lord Jesus Christ and brought him into my life just last week. I’m saved now and I’d like you to pray with me for my poor, poor brother, Wallace. Do you know if he found God before his death?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Pray with me,” he said.

  “I think you should call the sheriff’s office. Here’s that number again.” I read it off.

  “Dear Jesus,” he said, as if dictating a letter. “Please find the soul of my poor lost brother and guide him into your sweet, forgiving arms. Open those beautiful gates of that beautiful heaven to him in spite of his sick and evil doings, his homosexualness and his shortcomings.” He wept loudly. “And help me stay away from the substances, you know the ones I mean, so that
I might serve you better. In your name, Jesus-God-Almighty, amen.”

  “Okay, one more time, here’s that number.” I gave him the number one last time and hung up. I was exhausted. I felt as though I had been chased by a cougar.

  I picked up the phone again. This time I called Morgan and invited her over for a ride into the desert. She seemed puzzled by the quality of my invitation and so I said, “I think I need some company and I don’t think Gus is it.” Thinking that was not exactly romantic, I added, “And I’d really like to see you. I’d like to try that kissing thing one more time. If that’s okay.”

  She said she’d think about it, but we could certainly go for a ride.

  The sun didn’t have to compete with any clouds and so my jacket was off and stuffed into my saddlebag. I rode Felony and I put Morgan on my Appaloosa. She hadn’t trailered her horse to my place for fear that there might still be some icy patches on the highway. My mare needed the exercise anyway. We rode up high and got really cold. Morgan asked me about the cave.

  “It’s not far from here,” I told her.

  “Care to show me?”

  “I don’t know.” Felony snorted and stepped uneasy and I knew he was feeling my tension. I slowed my breathing and he went off the muscle. “Why do you want to go there?” I asked.

  “I’m just curious to see it.”

  “We don’t have flashlights,” I said.

  “I just want to see where the damn cave is, John. But if you don’t want to show me . . .”

  “That’s not it.” I wheeled Felony about on his haunches. “Come on, let’s go. Over the ridge and facing the desert.”

  On the way, she said, “It’s bad about that Castlebury.”

  I agreed.

  “I don’t want to talk or think about him, though.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “I know you’re thinking about him.”

  “A little,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t want to.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What do you want to think about?”

  “Us,” she said.

  “I can do that.”

  “See to it then,” she said. She laughed then kicked the mare and trotted away from me. Morgan was right about most things, mainly because she was patient. She’d been patient with me, that was for sure. She was smart and she lived hard.

  At the entrance to the cave, we dismounted. I tied Felony by wedging a knot between two boulders. The App would stand on a dropped rein. We walked inside several yards.

  “Wow,” Morgan said. “This really is a cave.”

  “It stays this big for a while, then it branches a couple times. One of the branches opens into quite a large cavern. I’ve found only one tight spot. Tight for me anyway. I haven’t gone through it yet.”

  “You are getting a little chunky there.” Morgan poked her index finger at my belt buckle.

  “Watch out, sister,” I said. I caught her hand and pulled her to me. I felt excited and stupid. I kicked myself inside, realizing that any thoughts of Susie now were indulgent and convenient. I toyed with the lie that I was afraid of hurting her, so I kicked myself again. I looked at her eyes. “You understand, of course, that I’m basically stupid.”

  “I noticed that right away.”

  “I also have very strong feelings for you, ma’am.”

  “So, you’re not completely stupid.”

  “Apparently not.” I leaned forward and put my lips on Morgan’s. I closed my eyes this time. I pulled back. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Anytime.”

  “So, let’s get out of here.”

  Morgan shook her head and looked back into the cave. “Let’s go in a little deeper.”

  “We don’t have a light,” I told her.

  “So what?”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  We walked in about thirty yards and made the first bend. Once around it, everything was pitch dark.

  “Jesus,” Morgan said. “I’ve never seen it so dark.”

  “That’s a funny way to put it.”

  “So, why don’t we try that kiss again?” she asked.

  I felt her breath on my chin as I reached around her. She was different in the complete dark, but I could still feel the beauty of her face. We kissed again, this time more urgently. This time I felt my lips soften more to hers. I touched her face. Morgan put her hand between us, placed her palm flat against my chest, then brushed down my body to below my belt. She put her open hand against my penis and pressed into me. I kissed her harder, finding the tip of her tongue with mine. I thought to be afraid, to become shy, but I let that go, smelling her hair in the dark, feeling the warmth of her breath on my ear and neck. I opened her jacket and shirt and touched her breasts. I thought that they seemed smaller in the dark and I liked that. I ran my hands up and around her neck, loving the heat of her skin. In the dark we were clumsy with our clothes, but we got them off, enough of them off, and Morgan and I made love, my backside on my jacket on the cool floor of the cave, she sitting on me. We didn’t say anything, but I listened to every sound she made, every breath she let out, every click she made with her fingernails. The fingernail clicking, a nervous action between thumb and forefinger I had witnessed before, in the light, when she was thinking. And behind that sound was the forever-there dripping of the cave’s water. When she came, at least I thought she came, a wave of fear like none I’d felt in a long while washed over me, made me shudder. I guess to her it felt like I had come. We stopped moving and lay there, her palms flat against my chest, my hands on her waist.

  “I love you, John,” she said.

  And in the dark there, I told her the truth, the whole scary truth. I said, “I love you, too.”

  Finding our clothes in the dark was considerably more difficult than removing them had been. It wasn’t until we were back in the light that we could see what we had done. Both our shirts were incorrectly buttoned and I found myself squirming, then realized that my underwear was on backwards. Morgan watched while I stripped down to get things straight. I began to feel self-conscious, which was fairly dumb, given what we’d just done.

  “Are you feeling shy?” she asked.

  “No, why?”

  “You’re covering up.”

  “I am not.”

  “You most certainly are,” she said.

  I faced her. “I am not.”

  “Mr. Hunt,” she sighed.

  Then I covered up. “Okay, okay,” I said, pulling on my clothes. “So, I’m shy. What do you want from me?”

  “Exactly this,” she said and kissed me while I buckled my belt.

  The ride back was easier than I had imagined all those days before. We were relaxed, talking, laughing, and so Felony rode better than ever. We cantered across a meadow and then walked, letting the horses catch their breath.

  “You’re good for me, young lady,” I said.

  “Why do you say that, you old fart?”

  “You’re good for this nutty horse, too.”

  “So, you think we’ll ever do that again?” Morgan asked.

  I looked at her and realized she was joking. “I suppose. Once or twice more, the events being judiciously spaced so we don’t become bored.”

  “So, when were you thinking the next time might be?”

  “Couple hours from now.”

  We loosened the girths and walked the horses the last quarter-mile home. We didn’t speak, but it felt right. Morgan had to go home and see to Emily, and so I took the horses and got them squared away. When I walked into the house, Gus smiled at me, stared, and smiled some more.

  “What’s with you?” I asked.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you?” I said.

  “You had sex, didn’t you?”

  “What?” I was embarrassed.

  “It’s all over you.” Then I made the mistake of looking all over me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You had sex.”

  “You’re
a dirty old man,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I was beginning to think there was something wrong with you. Prostate-wise or something.”

  “No, apparently I’m okay.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re not going to say anything to Emily, are you?”

  “You think I’m a damn fool?” he asked.

  “Now that you mention it.”

  “We’re having what you call locker-room talk,” he said.

  “That’s what you’re having. I’ll be in the other room.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Gus said and turned toward the kitchen.

  SEVEN

  I WAS DEEPER into the cave than I had ever been. I had taken a bag of chalk with me and was marking my trail as I went. My light found it easily and I felt more secure than ever. Without traffic from animals, I also felt confident that my powder markers would remain undisturbed. I made my way across the big room to another opening and pushed myself about three hundred yards deeper. The darkness was heavy, sweet, and thick, and it scared me more than a little. I squeezed through a tight spot, two walls of rock formed a twenty-foot-high, nine-inch-wide chimney. I promised myself to shed a few pounds once I had popped through and was looking at it from the other side. Looking at the “fat man’s misery,” I wondered if, in fact, I would be able to squeeze my fat behind back through. I recalled when a child got his head stuck between banister spindles and everyone was wondering how he got it through in the first place. My heart began to race and I reminded myself that I was panicking before I had reason to. I pushed my arm into the crack, then my shoulder. Then, turning to face my direction of travel, I pushed my head into the crevice. The space felt even tighter now. I was convinced that I was swelling with uncertainty. I inhaled my gut in and my hips. I inch-wormed my way through and popped out like a cork. I couldn’t help laughing. The feeling was exquisite, not only the feeling of freedom from the cramped place, but from the fear itself. I looked back at the crack, my headlamp illuminating it, dark all around and dark in its core.