by Pete Hautman
The tallowy mutton leaves an unpleasant coating on my tongue. I break a chunk of crust from the snow and chew it. The crunching fills my ears. When I have swallowed the last bits of melting ice, I am struck by how quiet this place is. The light breeze has died away completely, and the only sound left is my breathing. I feel small. I am the only living thing in sight. There is not even a bird in the sky. All around me is whiteness, and the fence at my back. I climb to my feet, don my pack, and continue walking. The sound of my boots on the hard-packed snow and ice drowns out the sound of my breathing.
A few hundred cubits later, the cattle trail and the ATV tracks veer away from the fence and head north. An enormous drift has come up against the fence, reaching nearly to the top. I strap on my snowshoes and leave the cattle trail, making my way around the drift, then returning to the fence. As I near the Pison, the land becomes a series of shallow arroyos filled with snow. In places, the top of the fence disappears beneath the snow. I hesitate to proceed. The river is less than a half mile away, but circumventing the arroyos will require more than a mile of detours. I decide to turn back.
By the time I rejoin the cattle trail, I am thinking that I will be back in the Village in little more than an hour. Enos might question how I could have completed my walk so quickly. I slow my pace, then stop completely as a new thought arrives. I could follow the cattle trail where it curves away from the fence, just far enough to get a look at what Lynna’s home looks like. I know it is a foolish idea, and that Enos would not approve, but the more I think about it, the more curious I become. A mile is not so far, and I only want to get close enough to see it.
My body makes the decision for me, and soon I have left the fence behind. The land rises, a gentle slope leading up over a ridge. From the top of the ridge, I look down into a shallow valley. On the far side is a cluster of trees. I see the roof of a barn, and a windmill, and beyond that a series of corrals crowded with cattle. I can see the steam rising off their brown backs.
A thin stream of smoke coils from within the trees, but the house itself is not visible. The cattle trail forks twice as I descend into the valley. I stay with the ATV tracks, and after a few more minutes of walking, the house comes into view.
Lynna’s house is very different from our buildings in Nodd. It is long and low, it has many windows, and it is painted an astonishing bright pink. Several vehicles are parked nearby. I can see a small pickup, two ATVs, and a tractor. I imagine myself walking up to the house and knocking on the door. The thought fills me with excitement and fear. I stand watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lynna, but there is no movement. After a time, I turn away and trudge back toward the ridge. I am almost to the top when I hear the buzz of an engine. I look back and see a helmeted rider on an ATV bouncing up the trail, coming directly toward me.
My first impulse is to run, but I know that I cannot outpace the machine, so I wait, praying that it is Lynna, and not her father or her uncle. As the ATV draws closer, I see strands of blond hair fluttering from beneath the helmet and I know that my prayers have been answered.
Lynna skids to a halt. She pulls off her helmet and shakes her hair free.
“Jacob!” She is smiling. Her cheeks are red; the rest of her face is winter pale. “What are you doing here?”
I feel myself smiling back at her. “Nothing,” I say.
She laughs. “You must be doing something! How is your leg? All better?”
“It is healed,” I say, though in fact it is rather sore. “How are you?”
“Me? You know, same old, same old. Bored out of my mind. What are you doing here?” she asks again.
“I followed the cattle trail,” I say, gesturing at the path I am standing upon. “I was just wondering where you lived. Why is your house pink?”
Even though the sky is clear and the sun is shining upon us, a shadow passes across her face.
“That was my mom,” she says. “She painted lots of stuff pink after she got her cancer.”
“Oh,” I say, even though it makes no sense to me.
Lynna laughs at nothing and says, “This is so cool, you coming here! Are you hungry?”
“I should get back,” I say, looking over my shoulder toward Nodd.
“Come on, just stay for a few minutes. My dad’s in Billings all day, and Cal’s off in West Fork for a few hours, so we’ve got the place to ourselves. I’ll make you a quesadilla. Do you like quesadillas?”
“What’s a quesadilla?”
“Oh my God, you never had a quesadilla? Do you like Mexican food?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Okay, that’s it. You’ve got to try my quesadillas. They’re the best. Get on.”
Unable to resist her enthusiasm, I climb onto the machine, backpack and all, and a moment later we are bouncing down the trail toward the pink house.
A quesadilla is two disks of unleavened bread called tortillas, with cheese and other ingredients pressed between them. I sit in the kitchen looking with wonder at all the unfamiliar appliances and decorations as Lynna cooks the quesadilla in a heavy cast-iron frying pan exactly like the ones the women use in Nodd.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing at a white metal box on the counter.
“Bread machine,” Lynna says.
“You make bread in a machine?”
“Yeah, you just pour flour and yeast in, and it kneads the dough and bakes it automatically.”
I think of the hours the Sisters spend kneading dough by hand. I ask her about another object on the counter.
“That’s a food processor for, like, chopping vegetables and stuff. My mom was a great cook. I don’t use it much.”
“What are all these pink ribbon things?” The ribbons were on display everywhere: refrigerator magnets, a calendar, even a cookie jar with a pink ribbon for a handle.
“That’s my dad. He sends money for breast cancer research, and they keep sending us ribbon stuff.” She flips the quesadilla. “I hope I didn’t make this too spicy. I can’t believe you never had a quesadilla.”
I hope it is as good as the fried chicken and orange soda we had at our picnic by the fence.
“So what have you been up to all winter?” she asks. “Did that big storm hit you as hard as it did us? We lost thirteen head on the west range.”
“Some of our sheep were killed,” I say. “By a wolf.”
“Really? Cal says he’s seen sign, but the cattle we lost just got killed by weather. They got mired in an arroyo over near the river, and we didn’t find them in time. They were frozen like Popsicles. My dad was pissed. He had a big fight with Cal over it. Said Cal should’ve checked that arroyo. It was kind of ugly with the three of us stuck out here. The road was so bad, we couldn’t even get to town. I just about went crazy.” She slides the quesadilla onto a cutting board, slices it into wedges, and puts the board on the table in front of me. “Let it sit for a minute. The cheese is really hot.”
It smells wonderful.
“You want a soda?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She takes two cans from the refrigerator and pops open the tops. Coca-Cola. Even in Nodd we have heard of Coca-Cola. I am excited to taste it.
Lynna says, “It gets lonely out here, you know? But I suppose you don’t have that problem, what with so many of you.”
“I get lonely sometimes. Tobias ran away that same day you came to visit.”
“I know. He came here.”
I stare at her as a mixture of relief and anger rise up from my belly. I am relieved because a small part of me feared that Tobias had thrown himself from the Knob and been swept away by the Pison. I am angry because the thought of Tobias sitting here in this kitchen with Lynna feels wrong.
“We let him sleep in the bunkhouse. My dad wanted to drive him straight back to you guys, but then Tobias started telling us stories about how he was treated there — about being locked in the dungeon, or pit, or whatever you call it. My dad made a couple of calls. He talked to Tobias’s aunt
in Denver, and she said he could stay with her. I guess his sister’s there now too. Anyway, the next day we drove him to Billings and put him on a bus. You should try the quesadilla.”
I am too shocked by the news of Tobias to reply, so I pick up a slice of quesadilla and take a bite. At first, it is delicious. I chew and swallow, and then I realize that my mouth is burning. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. I grab the Coca-Cola and guzzle half the can. The bubbles from the drink foam in my stomach and I unleash a tremendous belch.
Lynna is laughing so hard tears are coming from her eyes, and the inside of my mouth is burning with the fires of Hell.
“I’m sorry,” Lynna says as she peels back the top of the quesadilla slices and picks out the strips of green chili pepper. “I guess you’re not used to spicy food.”
My mouth is still tingling, and my eyes are watering.
“We eat a lot of Mexican food. Most of our seasonal help is Mexican, you know. I think my mom put peppers in my baby bottle.”
“Truly?” I ask.
“Well, not literally, but we eat a lot of jalapeños.” She reassembles the quesadilla and says, “Try it now.”
Cautiously I take a bite. It’s still spicy, but not like before.
“It tastes good,” I say. She watches me eat.
“Tobias calls me every now and then,” she says. “I guess you never call because you don’t have my number,” she says.
“We do not use telephones.”
“You don’t have a phone?”
“No.” For some reason this embarrasses me. “Brother Enos has a satellite phone, but it is only for emergencies.” I start on a second slice of quesadilla.
“You should get a cell phone,” she says, as if I could simply wish it to be so. “Tobias called me a few days ago. He wants me to come and visit. My dad doesn’t like him calling. I think he’s afraid I’ll run off.”
Thinking of her running away to be with Tobias angers me.
“Tobias is an apostate,” I say, my voice coming out more harshly than I had intended. “He is doomed to burn.”
Lynna sits back, startled by my intensity.
“What does that make me?” she says.
“There is hope for you,” I say.
She laughs. “Jacob, you are so full of it.”
I think she is talking about the quesadilla, and I think about the hellfire that still reverberates on my tongue. I start to reply, to tell her of the Truth that sustains the Grace, and of the Judgment to come, but suddenly I feel foolish and regretful. I know nothing of the World outside of Nodd. When Lynna and the others came to visit Nodd, Father Grace told us that we had to convince them to respect us for our beliefs. Perhaps I need to respect Lynna for hers.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess our lives are just different.”
“No kidding! Do you ever think about leaving?”
“Leaving what?”
“Nodd.”
“Never,” I say.
“Because if you ever did, I bet my dad would give you a job.”
For the briefest of moments, I imagine it.
“I do not know anything about cattle ranching.”
“They’re just like big sheep. It’s mostly fixing fences.”
“In any case, I will not leave Nodd until Zerachiel comes to take me.”
Lynna shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
She gives me a second can of Coca-Cola, then starts telling me about her friends from school in West Fork. It is hard to listen, because I don’t understand a lot of it and it’s all about people I will never meet. Lynna sees me drifting off, so she starts talking faster. There is no way I can fit a word in, so I keep eating as she chatters on.
“. . . Tara, she’s, like, wild. She and a bunch of guys drove all the way to Billings one time just to eat at the Burger Dive, and then on the way back they got pulled over and the cops arrested Jon Harkins because he had a joint on him, but he got let off, and two of the guys on the football team got kicked off because they got caught drinking beer at a Halloween party, and . . .”
By the time I have finished eating, my ears are clogged with names I don’t know and my entire body is buzzing. I don’t know if it is the Coca-Cola, or the hot peppers, or the conversation. I’m trying to figure out how to make her stop talking when we hear a truck pull up outside. Lynna goes to the window.
“It’s Cal,” she says.
I think about her knife.
A few seconds later, Cal steps into the kitchen through the side door. He is a small man, I am surprised to see. I am a good two inches taller, although not so thick around the middle. His hair is blond, like Lynna’s, but his face is darker and creased from working in the sun, and his eyes are small and hard. When he squints at me his eyes completely disappear.
“Another boyfriend from the freak show?” he says to Lynna. His words sound slurred, and I wonder if he has injured his tongue.
“Jacob just stopped by for a visit,” Lynna says. “Jacob, this is my uncle Cal.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say.
“He’s polite, anyway,” Cal says. He takes his hat off and slaps it on his thigh to knock the dust off, but there is no dust. It must be a habit. I notice that he is swaying slightly. He notices the cutting board on the table with a few crumbs and bits of cheese on it, and the pepper strips she picked off. “I see Lynna made you one of her tongue-blasters.”
“Yes, sir. It was delicious.”
Cal smiles in a not-nice way. “Fire and brimstone. Right up your alley.” He looks at Lynna. “You gonna make one for your uncle?”
“I’m not your cook, Cal.” Lynna is holding herself stiffly, back against the counter, gripping the edge with both hands.
Cal laughs, too loud and too long. He sees my pack and carbine on the floor next to the door.
“You always come armed to visit your neighbors?” he
asks.
“There is a wolf,” I say.
Cal nods, suddenly serious. “I seen sign. It’s them loners you got to watch out for. They get separated from the pack, they’ll go after anything. Yellowtail says he took a shot at one over on the Rez last winter. Bet it’s the same one — that Indian can’t shoot for shit.”
I remember that Yellowtail is the name of the Lamanite who visited Nodd.
Cal says, “You get a bead on that sumbitch, you shoot straight. Calving season’s coming up, and we can’t afford to lose no more.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Speaking of calves, we got some hungry mommas out there. I’d best move some feed. I’ll leave you two to get on with your smooching or whatever it was you was about to do.” With that, Cal lurches out of the kitchen, and there is an awkward moment of silence.
“He’s drunk,” Lynna says.
“Is he . . . dangerous?”
“Nah. He does this all the time — goes to West Fork to drink with his buddies, then comes home to act like a jerk. Anyways, my dad will be home soon. Cal acts nicer when Max is around.”
“Do you want me to stay until your dad gets back?”
“It’s okay. Cal, he’ll just hit his bunk and snore it off.” She looks away, and I see she is more embarrassed than afraid. “We have an understanding, me and Cal. He won’t bother me. Besides, you have to get back soon, right? You want me to drive you up to the gate?”
I am not comfortable leaving her here with Cal, but she seems to want me to leave, so I nod. A few minutes later, we are back on the ATV, heading up the trail. I look back and see Cal standing outside the corral, watching us.
When I return to the Village I feel as if I’m stepping back through time. We have electricity, of course, but mostly it is used only for lighting, driving the well pumps, powering the laundry machines, and running a few power tools. We do not have bread machines or food processors, or televisions or computers. I understand better now why Father Grace does not like us to leave Nodd. An hour or two in the World and already I am tempted.
I g
o directly to the Sacred Heart to pray. I am surprised by how many others have had the same thought, for the wall is crowded with kneeling figures. I see nine women, including my mother and two of Father Grace’s wives. The Elders Abraham and Seth are there, as are Brother Caleb and Brother Wallace, and a few of the Lower Cherubim. I wonder if something happened while I was gone.
I take a place next to Brother Will, who is kneeling awkwardly on one knee with his bad leg stretched out to the side. He is staring fixedly at the Tree, his lips moving in silent devotions.
The words of the Arbor Prayer come out of me automatically. I have spoken the prayer so many times that my mind wanders as I speak it. I think of riding behind Lynna on the ATV, and I feel my nether parts stirring even as I pray. I squeeze my hands together until they hurt and think of Lynna’s hair fluttering in my face. I grind my knees into the hard frozen earth and I think of her smell and I feel the heat of the quesadilla, and I bite my cheek until I can taste blood. It tastes of peppers and cheese.
I think about Cal, of the darkness I sensed within him. I think of the knife Lynna showed me, the knife used for castrating cattle, and I think about our last moments together. As I climbed off the ATV and prepared to walk back through the gate into Nodd, she asked me when I could return.
“I promise not to pepper-blast your mouth again,” she said. “Come for breakfast, and I’ll make you scrambled eggs with cheese.”
The thought of eggs made my mouth water. “Your chickens are laying eggs? Ours haven’t been, since the storm. And then they got sick. We have only a few left.”
