by Jim Harrison
“If you're not shot dead.” The doctor followed him in and poked at some venison chops Joseph had thawing on the counter. “Can I stay for dinner?”
“Sure. That is, if you'll shut up about me getting shot.”
They were both mildly drunk by the time they finished eating. The doctor was repeating a story Joseph had heard often but wasn't tired of, how the doctor had left Wales as a young man right after medical school. He had read some American sporting magazines and wanted to come to a country where hunting and fishing weren't more or less limited to the privileged few. So he emigrated to Canada but Canada lacked good brown-trout fishing so he had ended up in northern Michigan by the time of the First World War. He was promptly drafted but always said that he had done the best “to save my ass” so he could return to his fishing. The doctor despised the crudity of most American sportsmen and over the years had infected Joseph with many of his nineteenth-century attitudes, so Joseph was thought a bit strange by many other hunters and fishermen. The doctor released most of the fish he caught and limited his bag in grouse to what he thought any area could easily replace. The doctor's other bête noire was the medical profession. He was unpopular among other doctors because he strongly disapproved of their self-importance and fee gouging.
They went in to talk to Joseph's mother but she was sleeping fretfully. The doctor gave her a shot of morphine as a gift for a full night's sleep. Joseph poured a nightcap, dizzy from fatigue and whiskey. He was pleased not to have to face Rosealee at mid-evening.
“Catherine says that Robert's a homosexual,” Joseph suddenly blurted out. He had meant to keep this secret.
“I know it.” The doctor was diffident.
“How did you know?” Joseph was surprised.
“You can tell when you've been in the business. He's a good boy. He'll be OK.”
Joseph was shocked at what little importance the doctor placed on his secret. “What can we do about it?”
“Nothing. You can start by leaving him alone. He'll probably move to the city where he can find some friends. So don't say much and don't let Rosealee say much. He's a man and it's his business and you can't change him. Some are and most aren't and it's always been like that.”
“Well there aren't many up here,” Joseph insisted.
“You'd be surprised. There's even some married men in town that are.” The doctor began laughing. “There's even a doctor that is. But the best thing is to act normal with Robert. Life has tricked him or maybe it hasn't. Who's to say? I'm not going to. We got enough crazies, wife beaters, and drunks not to criticize queers, don't you think? Also enough bad marriages to drive this doctor up the wall and over the top. I've seen enough in my practice to not care who is fucking whom or what. Except if they get themselves shot.” He laughed and stood patting Joseph on the head. “I'm sorry. I know I promised.”
Joseph was pleased to know a man with so much composure. It put his mind at ease about Robert whom he disliked anyway. Joseph had been worried that Rosealee would be hurt but knew he himself hurt her over and over again. When she found out he'd have her talk to the doctor. Poor Rosealee with Orin dead and Robert so confused and me fooling with that girl. Joseph put his head on his arms among the venison bones and vowed with little conviction that he would straighten out his life.
The thaw disappeared during the night and when Joseph walked into the barnyard at dawn the ground was hard again and an icy wind came straight down from the northwest. It was so cold the mud puddles were solid enough to walk on. The first load was already in the spreader so Joseph lit a cigarette while the tractor went through its faltering warm-up period which always seemed deafening at dawn. He watched the stars begin to disappear as he made several passes over their garden spot and was so intent on the stars he narrowly missed the grape trellis on his way out of the garden. He felt aimless in this chore. He had no intention of planting field corn but it would be equally aimless to waste the manure so he started into the field as the sky began to lighten.
Throughout the morning he was superheated while forking the manure onto the spreader and then freezing while he drove the tractor, but he knew he would be done by lunchtime. In the old days it was a week-long job but their last cow was gone by Christmas and Catherine's horse didn't amount to much. He remembered going into town with his father on Saturdays. Some town kids on the street taunted him by yelling that he smelled like cowshit and Joseph had poked one hard enough to discourage the others. Years later when he had gone to County Normal for a year to study to be a teacher the boy he had hit also attended and they became friends though the boy later disappeared in World War II at Monte Casino.
On his last load Joseph became sure that he would be ill. The deepest manure was warm and gave off a gas and this, combined with a hangover and troubled stomach, made him nauseous. He was shivering by the last forkful despite his exertion. Other than a slight cold once a year Joseph was never ill. He prided himself on his constitution and his ability to virtually will himself away from sickness. Perhaps this was only an extension of his attitude toward his bad leg; from his ninth year he had simply chosen not to notice it, and any pain the leg gave him, any awkwardness or disability it caused, were to be thought of in no other terms but as facts of life. On the way toward the house from the barn he slipped on a patch of ice and swore. Hours before the metal blades of the spreader had flicked against his jacket cuff and he had had a chilling vision of his body without an arm.
In the house he washed up and warmed some soup for his mother. She lay propped up against two pillows with her Bible on her lap. Her eyes were open but at first she didn't notice him.
“Can I help you to the toilet?”
“No thanks. You don't look so good yourself.” She smiled at him then her eyes rolled backward and her hands clutched and released. “It comes in waves,” she said apologetically. “I had a fine sleep and good dreams. I dreamed when you were ten and shot the weasel that was after chickens. Such a little weasel to kill chickens. Then Arlice when she won the contest for being the prettiest at the fair and without a new dress.”
“I think I just got a little flu. I'll have Rosealee come look after you and I'll go to bed.”
“Don't bother. You know, Yoey, I heard you and Dr. Evans talking. I shouldn't say anything because I wasn't meant to hear it but you should marry Rosealee and stop messing with that girl. She comes over to ride and she never rides.” Then she smiled and reached for his hand. “Of course all men have vinegar in them, even your father, but you are up in years to be fooling with such a young girl.”
“I know it. I'm a bad man but sometimes it's great fun to be bad.” They both laughed and she squeezed his hand.
“You're a good man. If that made men bad we'd all be lost. I'm almost out of your way. You take Rosealee for a nice honeymoon trip. Maybe out to Wyoming, huh? There are mountains there.”
When Joseph got into bed the chills descended on him so strongly he got up and filled a hot water bottle. He thought he wanted whiskey but the idea quickly nauseated him. He added two quilts and lay beneath their weight hugging the water bottle to his stomach. The strength had left his body and he felt like so much dead meat that somehow managed to ache in every muscle and joint. He slept fitfully then awoke with a start as the bottle slipped down against his member. He swore and turned on his stomach. The pain was so real it was oddly delicious and simple after so much mental torment over his mother, Catherine, and Rosealee. He had dreamed briefly of Rosealee when they were both fourteen at the party. Where was Orin? Arlice and her boyfriend were in the barn. Rosealee was laughing with the glasses of beer they had sneaked off with, spilling most of it but then they had already drunk many glasses. They walked a few rows into the tall corn with a slight breeze rasping the stalks and leaves together. They giggled and drank their beer and began kissing kneeling there. She raised her dress some, not wanting to get it dirty. He had his hands on her thighs. She took his thing out saying she had never touched one before. Even in the
cornfield the music was loud and people were shouting with the light of the bonfire against the stalk tips. He heard his mother's high full laugh. He raised Rosealee's dress higher and rubbed against her. The polka band began playing a slower tune, like a waltz. Rosealee moved her thighs together and he was trapped there. They kissed over and over and then the warmth of the hot water bottle ended the dream.
Joseph wondered at the exactness of the dream and thought for a moment he smelled the cornstalks, beer, Rosealee's scent and heard the slow mournful music. Arlice had called and Rosealee slipped back away from him and the hard rub of her thighs had made him come onto the ground. Rosealee had said get up get up they'll find us and think we did something. Joseph smiled in his fever. It had been the most splendid night of his life but afterward Rosealee blushed when she saw him; then developed an interest in Orin who was even then his best friend. Joseph slept again but the dreams were bad and full of sick horses that had to be shot and buried out behind the granary.
When he awoke the room was black and the door closed. He was startled to hear someone in the kitchen. For a minute he lost his bearings completely and reached for his leg to see if it was covered with bandages as it had been thirty-five years ago. He heard again his mother scream I can't stop the bleeding it won't stop bleeding. His father running from the field with him held in his arms. He was dazed and his pants were torn and his leg was hot and twisted. They were buzzing wood with a belt off the neighbor's tractor attached to the big saw and they gunned the tractor to cut a big log. He backed into the belt when he threw his dog a stick and before anyone could move the belt had gripped his pants toward the roller which mangled his leg, even ripped the skin from his crotch. Now Joseph tossed his head on the pillow and yelled. He heard steps and the light came on.
“What's wrong?” Rosealee knelt beside him and he began weeping.
His fever broke on Sunday evening and he awoke drenched with sweat and asked Rosealee to make him some coffee with ice. Rosealee put on his overalls and boots to do the few chores; she normally had a hard time getting the geese back in the pen. The geese were suspicious of everyone but Joseph and his mother, and Rosealee had to chase them with a broom. When Rosealee stood at the end of the bed half-nude sorting his clothes he was swept back into his dream and again felt that incredible choked tenderness a fourteen-year-old in love feels. Her bottom was framed by the white iron rungs of the bed and she blushed as she turned and caught his stare.
“This summer let's go out in a cornfield and drink beer.”
“Fine by me.” She laughed. “Only I won't run away.”
“I wish it was summer tonight.” Joseph was wet and clammy. He wiped his brow with the sheet.
“You'd be too weak, silly. I'll make you some supper when I get through chores.”
“Please turn off the light. I want to think.”
Back in the dark Joseph almost regretted that his fever had passed. The fever was helping him sort his problems. Sickness often creates a space to live in, freeing the mind from the habitual if only for a day or two. Ordinary stresses disappear and when one returns to usual routines everything seems a bit more clear though sadly the clarity quickly passes. Joseph had lain all afternoon deep in the past, staring out his window at the bare orchard and the field beyond that; then came the wood lot where the creek ran through basswood and tag alder. After the accident his father had rigged small seats on the mowing machine and hay rake so Joseph could sit beside him. They followed the horses from so many cool mornings into hot afternoons when the hay chaff made it hard to breathe. During the cutting of the first hay, meadowlarks and killdeer would swoop and flit around as if crippled, trying to draw them away from their nests. A few times they crawled around on the ground and found the nests with their pale smallish eggs. Then they would cut around the spot. Later when they got a tractor Joseph wore a brace so his left foot could work the clutch. He had never been able to handle the horses. You had to dig in with your heels and pull back hard to turn them, especially in the morning when they were well-rested and frisky. Plowing was also out of the question. Until they had managed to buy a tractor plowing was the most arduous work on the farm. Walking behind the horses you had to hold the handles steady, rein the horses, and twist the single blade unit around on corners, all with one foot walking in the furrow and the other on solid ground. Joseph agonized over this because his father became brutally tired during plowing. He learned years later that it was Dr. Evans that loaned his father the money for the tractor. Unfortunately his father was mystified by motors and could never keep the John Deere in good running order. The same was true with their used Model T, no matter how elementary the problem was. He would sit at the kitchen table in the evening listening to the radio and scratching his head over the owner's manuals for both tractor and car. Joseph would sit beside him and stare at the diagrams mournfully.
“I think we got a problem, Yoey.”
“We'll figure it out, papa.”
Only the fact that the neighbor boy was a good mechanic saved them. Joseph had smiled in his fever over the many times they had stood looking at the broken-down machinery and had decided to go fishing. His mother would pack sandwiches and a jug of lemonade and they would either go back to the beaver pond on state land and fish for brook trout or, if the car was working, drive to a small lake down the road where they would fish for bluegills and sunfish with long cane poles and bobbers. They would get back by dark and his mother and sisters would fry the fish in butter after dusting them with flour, salt, and pepper. They always ate the fish with brown bread and a simple cabbage salad with vinegar. Everyone was methodical and silent as they picked the bones, listening to the music on the radio, the air dense with the smell of fish fried in butter, the noise of frogs and night birds and crickets coming in from the screen door where June bugs often hung to the tiny-meshed wire. Then he and his sisters would wash up and kiss their parents and go upstairs where Joseph had a small room and the four girls slept in the other bedroom, though Arlice often came in and they would talk half the night about all the places Richard Halliburton had been in those books.
But by the time Arlice was thirteen and had her first period she stopped visiting him at night and he missed hearing about her secrets. Arlice's breasts became finer than her older sisters’ and she wasn't heavy at all so they became a little jealous. One night when they were fifteen and his parents had gone to town Arlice showed him her breasts which he had peeked in and seen anyway years before, but they both became embarrassed. His sisters caught him peeking and told Mother who told Dad who took him out to the barn for a paddling. His father said yell, I'm not going to paddle you but it's not proper to peek at your sisters. When you grow up more in a few years you will understand.
In the eighth grade some of his friends made love to a homely fat girl but Orin said it wasn't so much fun. All the girls in school even the older ones liked Orin. He was the best at everything but hung around Joseph's house all the time because his home wasn't happy and besides Rosealee was there so much. Her father trapped for furs in the winter and she sometimes stayed for months, with her father giving them some money for her board before he drank it all up downstate where he would go to have some fun. Carl didn't want to take the money even though they were bitterly poor then but Rosealee's father just said he would drink it up anyway. Rosealee upset Joseph so much that he spent as much time as possible doing the chores and hunting after school with Orin. His leg though twisted had toughened to the point that he could hobble for hours on his brace. He worried that it would prevent him from becoming as tall as his father who was an even six feet but Joseph's growth stopped only an inch short. His chest was wide and his arms big partly because he compensated for his bad leg by using them more. When they pitched hay he would scramble around on his knees stacking it and when they pitched it into the mow he would always be there to spread and stack it. He also stayed on the wagon to arrange the crates of potatoes. The same when they unloaded them. So he ended up handlin
g all the weight everyone else together handled. By fourteen when he and Orin and Arlice played Tarzan of the Apes in the barn, Joseph could climb the hay ropes hand over hand and then down the barn rafters hand over hand. It was good for him to become strong because it ended any teasing at school. They could always run from him but the time would always come when he could get hold of them if Orin hadn't first interceded. Orin hated farming even then. He only wanted to hunt and read about airplanes. When Orin was only eight his father had bought him a ride from some barnstormers at the fair and that had changed Orin's life and finally killed him.
Once late in the afternoon Joseph was ashamed to find himself weeping. For two years in the mid-twenties there had been a drought which left the corn shrunken and useless and blight had rotted the potatoes. Even the pigs grew thin from short rations. It looked like the bank would foreclose. At the fair Joseph had lost his two quarters and there was nothing to replace them with so he walked around the fair pretending he had lost his money playing horseshoes which he was good at. He later learned that Dr. Evans had saved the farm. Dr. Evans would look for any excuse to stop by with a big chunk of beef and a bottle of whiskey or case of beer. Once he said it was his birthday and that made them all happy as they ate but then Arlice piped in and said you had a birthday two months ago and his mother ran from the table.
Of course the discomfort and pain of poverty was more generalized than sharp. It was more difficult for the older girls who were in high school during the worst of the times. They were farmed out as servant girls to wealthier families in the county seat and in exchange for their work they were given room and board and a chance to go to high school. By the time Joseph and Arlice were to enter ninth grade the country school down the road had expanded into the higher grades. Joseph was happy, not wanting to expose himself to the possible cruelties of a new life. Arlice didn't mind; she was a happy girl who spent her free time day-dreaming and reading romantic novels far in advance of her age. And she saw how unhappy with envy the older girls were; they had moved into town when there was no money left to give them anything more than the clothing on their backs and not much of that. The whole family had been surprised when the girls kept themselves near or at the top of their classes. Joseph's father made much of the fact that though they were poor they weren't dumb. So much of the cruelty of poverty rests in the idea that it makes its victims feel unworthy, shy, willing to be pushed around by virtue of this economic accident.
