This is something I do not like, the mayor said.
He looked out the window, at the gnarled light staining the drapery. Then he began to pace the room.
You are just a young man, you see. Just a young man. He turned back and studied the boy with the same troubled eyes. A simple error is all it was, he said. That is what I like to believe. No different from the way the sound of wind rustling through a bush can sometimes be mistaken for water being poured out on the ground. You only mistook the deceitfulness of your actions for nobility. But a young man should be given chances. A young man does not need to be stricken down for faltering. He needs to be helped back up and shown where he has diverged from his path.
The mayor’s face clouded and he shook his thumb across the room at the boy.
But there are some places and some people with whom a young man should know not to seek out a conflict. People he should know better than to cross.
He paused and stood in front of the window and looked out, with the boy watching him from the bed.
I am sorry for what the Ralston boys have done to you. I did not wish this.
The mayor turned his hands one over the other.
I did not wish this, he said deliberately. I explicitly ordered against it and they have been reprimanded for the way in which they handled the situation. The mayor nodded only to himself, then turned on his heels again. They did not handle it well at all, he said.
He pulled a chair from the corner of the room and set it by the side of the bed and sat down and crossed his legs and pressed his hands on his knee.
I want you to listen to me now. I want you to hear me. I do not intend to keep you in here. I once told you it is a fair town and I must not make a liar of myself. You have done wrong, but I believe it was commanded by the whim of the young, and this is not a thing you can be expected to help. Truth be told, I did not wish to believe it was you. That is why you have been untouched for so long. But it was you, and it is a thing you will learn from. A thing you must learn from.
The mayor made like he would stand, but he only resituated himself in the chair and raised up his laced hands.
When you are young as you are, you believe you hold autonomy over your life. Over what occurs to you and around you in your life. I know this feeling. But there is nothing more to it than that. It is a feeling, and feelings are not what we should proceed by. The code of your life is no different than the code of mine or any other. We are many. Even in this small town we are many. And we must balance ourselves within one another. We must follow in a code that is common to us all, and that code has no rulers. That code is a house for all. You cannot flee from it to satisfy things to your own liking. You cannot burn it down.
The mayor’s face grew serious. He put a hand across his beard.
Choices that concern your life are constantly about nor can you make them all. Here is an example of one such choice and you are lucky to have the opportunity to make it.
The boy at last turned his head. He inspected the mayor through his half-shut eye. The mayor turned uncomfortably and stood and began to pace the room again.
A payment can be made for your release, he said. A payment of two hundred dollars can be made to the town hall and you will walk with impunity. You will be free to go on to Colorado. Where you are headed. Where the choice you have made is now common with mine. You will leave and not cross me again.
The mayor stopped pacing and looked out steadily at the doleful light falling on the alleyway mud.
If you do not leave, I’m sure the Ralstons would be eager to visit you again. This time without orders of restraint. And if you choose not to pay, you will remain here. With me. Let us say indefinitely.
The mayor came and sat again and his face hardened and the sad eyes now sparkled fiercely.
With the wages you have earned from me. From me, he repeated emphatically. You should have no problem with this.
The boy shook his head slowly on the pillow and turned away toward the hard glow of the bathroom bulb. The mayor stood and placed his hands behind his back. When the boy did not respond he went to the door and held the knob and paused and turned back once more.
Either way, he said evenly, you will not see her. To kill her or to love her, for in truth I know not which you seek, though I have my ideas. With respect, he said, making a deep bow toward the bed, you will not.
The mayor tugged the bottom stitching of his waistcoat and straightened his glasses and flattened his beard with the back of his hand and went out into the hallway where behind the closed door the creak of his polished leather boots trailed off into nothing.
EIGHTEEN
JOHN FRANK STOOD with his shoulder leaned against the door frame and his arms folded across his chest. He looked dumbly across the room to where the boy sat with his legs folded beneath him on the bed.
You comin in or holdin up that wall?
John Frank smiled at the floor and pushed himself upright and came and sat in the chair beside the bed. How you feelin, he said.
The boy drew the covers up to his waist and raised an eyebrow.
Your head got busted up pretty good, John Frank said.
He leaned in and took the boy’s head in his hands and turned it right to left.
Get them sweaty paws off me.
Hold on. Let me see it.
It’s all mended.
Jesus. That’s a mighty stretch of scar.
I guess it is.
It is. I’m tellin ya.
John Frank took his hands away and the boy regarded him, the pressed clothes, the slicked back hair.
Look at you. Went and got yourself all jellied up.
He reached out and flipped the lapel of Frank’s suit coat.
I figure someone ought to look halfway good between the two of us.
I don’t know, the boy said, fixing a shirt button Frank had missed. Halfway might be a stretch.
They sat quietly in the soft morning light. John Frank got up and went to the window. Heat’s still hangin on today, he said quietly.
Did we clear through September yet?
John Frank opened the window a crack and looked over his shoulder at the boy, then came and sat again.
It’s the middle of October, bud.
He righted the chair so he sat square to the boy and folded his hands and set them firmly in his lap. Lots of things have happened, he said.
Like what.
First off, the mayor told me you weren’t biting on his offer. Says you’ll stay here until he sees fit to let you go. Ain’t nobody really standin up to say otherwise. I think the people round here figure you’ve finally become what they suspected in you.
And what’s that.
John Frank opened his hands. Look where you are, he said.
The boy unfolded his legs and pushed down the bed and sat on the edge. How’d he find out it was me?
I don’t rightly know. But I can guess the way you’ve carried on since you came to town might have helped in his figurin.
Well. I don’t got the money he wants, and probably wouldn’t give it to him if I did.
I can help with that.
No. I’ll be alright.
No you won’t.
The boy turned and regarded John Frank, whose hands were clenched tight and his face reddening.
Why’s that, he said.
John Frank made to speak, then let off and rose again and crossed the room to where the dresser stood. He ran his fingers up and down the side of it. It’s her, he said.
What’s her?
Delilah. They picked her.
All of his breath seemed to go out of him yet on his face there was no surprise.
They’re to hang her in the plaza, Frank continued with a forced steadiness. This Saturday coming.
What’s today?
Monday.
Five days then.
Yeah, five days. I don’t know what to say exceptin sorry.
The boy rose with a grunt and held his ribs and stood ac
ross the room from John Frank, looking out into the deserted alley. John Frank studied his face but it no longer gave change nor did it even reveal a sense of it.
Mayor said it was done by random lot, Frank went on. Says it’s the only way to keep all types on their toes. Murder or misdemeanor, they’re all the same, he said. No one is above the law. That kind of thing. That’s what he said.
At random he said.
Yeah.
Don’t the state got something to say about that? It don’t quite fit the average American law, does it?
John Frank looked at the boy like he wasn’t altogether sure who he was. Then he lowered his eyes to his feet and shook his head. Then he looked up at the boy again.
Get this through your head, Trude. The state don’t even recognize this place yet and the country barely recognizes the state. You sure won’t find this town on no map. And New Mexico, it might as well be Mexico itself when it comes to average American law. I guess that’s what the mayor’s tryin to change. They might not yet know he exists even.
John Frank walked across the room and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and whispered gravely to him. Look, he said. Your name was in the drawing too.
They stood shoulder to shoulder at the window. Outside a dog sniffed through some paper debris. They watched the wind going through the stick trees on the mesa. In the distance there were children crawling around on the ground and eating raw squash and carving their names in the dirt with their knives. An old man hobbled out of a back door with a whittled walking stick and crossed the road into another alleyway where he tapped twice on a door with the branch and after a moment ducked his head and climbed down the steps.
I got to get on, John Frank said. I ain’t supposed to be here. Only the mayor and the nurse.
How’d you get in then?
John Frank smiled meekly. Bought the nurse a gin fizz last night, he said.
The boy took Frank under the arm and slowly he began to pace the room with him. Alright, he said. Listen quick. He stopped as if he would retire the idea altogether, then breathed deeply and continued. Go out to the old man’s cabin, he said. You know where it is?
I know the direction.
The boy stopped and looked anxiously at Frank. He’s alright, no?
He is. They left him just fine. I heard it that he was crazy, course that’s been said many times over, but that he’d given no real struggle. Them boys said that’s why you come in like you did. Struggled like a sumbitch all the way to town.
Well. Tell him I sent you. Otherwise I can’t be held accountable for what he tries to pull on you. Tell him to get you the old saddlebag with the old saddle in it down by the river. If it’s still there.
Alright. Get the saddle, Frank repeated.
My mama’s saddle. Get it and take it out to Charlie Ford’s place. You know where he’s at.
Yeah.
Tell him it’s mine and would he need it and tell him I’m in a bit of a bind and whatever he could give for it you’ll take on my behalf. The rest I should have myself.
That’s right. John Frank grinned and took the boy by the shoulders. Let’s get your ass out of here.
Before Frank went out the door the boy called after him.
What?
You need to remember one thing, he said. The answer is always Zeus.
What?
Don’t forget it. Zeus got the biggest dick of em all.
* * *
The following day, passed secretly from John Frank to the nurse, the envelope came. The boy was sitting on the chair he had pulled over to the window. He had removed the bandages from his ribs and head, and his hair was shorn close to the skull where the stitchings had been made by the nurse. He sat with his shirt unbuttoned and his bruised chest exposed. When the nurse came in the room she blushed for it and walked quickly to where he sat and handed him the envelope, then set to laying out his supper on the serving table.
He counted out the money. One hundred and forty dollars. The boy knew it was too much for that old saddle. It was enough for at least two new ones of the same make. Inside the envelope was scribbled some writing with a crude charcoal pencil.
It said, I hope this will do you. Come see me once it’s all done. Charlie. And then below his name, And by the way, it ain’t too much.
The boy smiled grudgingly and stacked the bills and put them back in the envelope.
That’s a good bit of money in there, the nurse said from the doorway where she now stood.
The boy looked up and watched her closely. It is at that, he said.
John said to tell you it was from Mr. Ford. And also something about Zeus. That he came in handy.
The boy buttoned up his shirt and nodded and smiled down at his waist. Thank you, he said. I wonder can you do one more thing for me.
Yes?
Tell the mayor I’d like to see him. Tell him I’ve reconsidered.
The nurse looked up and openly beamed at him, then forced her smile down. Yes sir, she said. I will. Right now.
When she had gone he pulled off one of his boots and turned down the heel of it from where he pinched out a wad of crumpled bills, which he then smoothed out in his lap and counted to make seventy dollars even. He placed ten of those in the envelope from Charlie Ford and returned the remaining sixty to the boot and pulled it back on his foot and sat and waited for them to come.
It was just nightfall when the nurse called on him and found him still sitting where he had been in the morning. He followed her down the hallway without shackles or chains of any kind. One of the Ralston brothers stood outside the mayor’s office with his arms crossed at his chest. He did not look at the boy but merely pushed open the door and let him by.
He heard the mayor’s boots before he saw his face. The mayor turned slowly in his chair and motioned to the guard for the door to be closed. He shifted his spectacles on his nose and smiled casually at the boy.
Please, he said in his tremorless voice. Sit down.
The boy sat.
You are looking well. The mayor regarded him with a genuine look. Quite well, he said.
I’m in need of my hat.
Your hat?
Yeah. My hat.
I do not have such a hat, I am afraid. Perhaps it was left behind. After the …
The mayor searched for the words.
After the scuffle. He smiled again and more crookedly at the boy. But if you have brought what is necessary, you can find it yourself. He made a flourish with his hands. Otherwise I can have someone bring it to you, he said. Here.
I have it, the boy said.
The mayor raised a single eyebrow and tugged on his beard. Do you, he said.
The boy produced the envelope from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He pushed it across to the mayor’s hands. With his eyes unrooted from the boy’s face the mayor gradually leaned forward and took up the envelope, then turned his chair away. When he turned back he was smiling robustly.
This is one hundred and fifty dollars. Fifty short of what has been asked of you.
It’s all I got. If you want I can pay the rest later.
No, no. You see, you cannot work for me anymore. He made a pointing gesture at the desk. You cannot stay here anymore.
So I’ll be gone. You want that so much, ain’t it worth fifty dollars to you?
The mayor stood and walked across the room. He went by one of the dark wood shelves that was lit up brightly by the candelabra beside it and picked up one of the glass train engines. He turned it over in his hand and studied it deliberately. He closed his fingers around it and set it down again. It is agreed then, he said. You may leave at your leisure. You will gather up your things and go far away from here.
The boy nodded. He looked across the room at the mayor with his purple eye upon him. How much you figure for the girl, he said.
The mayor’s brow creased in distaste and he walked to the back of the boy’s chair and put his hands on it.
You have heard, then, about the
girl.
The boy stayed silent. He looked straight ahead at the desk.
What exactly is the business you have with her?
It ain’t any business.
Ah, the mayor said, touching the rims of his glasses, but it is. I believe that you are fond of her. I believe you would like very much to see her live. She is, after all, quite pretty for a negress.
Maybe it’s that I don’t want to see anyone die.
The mayor went to the drink cart which stood beneath the raised blinds and poured a thumbnail of whiskey and brought it to his lips.
Maybe, he said. But sometimes it is necessary. She is not an innocent, you see. None of them were. Including you. She was unlucky, yes. But I do not think of it entirely as death. You must learn to understand this. That it is an action. A necessary act in which something is given for the greater well-being.
The mayor sipped from beneath his heavy beard and adjusted his glasses again and set the tumbler down and folded his hands behind his back.
It is like trading a ripe apple for a rotting one, he said. When the freshly fallen apple is picked up and the old one is crushed beneath the heel, there is a new order. A new order is created by that. The old worm-ridden apple is forgotten, and the other is brought to the mouth where it revitalizes that which the old apple could not.
The boy’s eyes quickened and he pushed back the chair violently.
It was her all along, he said, standing now and facing the mayor. I think it was always going to be her. All you’re sayin is she’ll be the one least missed. That she’s chosen to show death. Not to show lost life, cause no one cares about her life. But death’s enough to put fear in the heart. Death’s all you need. It ain’t life gone out, it’s just the goddamn picture. It’s the picture of death you want.
The mayor took up the whiskey glass again and rolled the rim around his lips.
I am not the great changer, he said calmly. I am not the one who bleeds life and death into the earth. A man is given one life and one life only. It is as substantial as a tree or bush or doe. It comes and is gone. A man lives and learns or does not learn and then is gone. Your life is not the blessed possession you would like to imagine. I am seeking order, he said more sharply. He set the tumbler down again. As perhaps you are, though you cannot see it. The girl’s life does not change things in the vast order of the world, it only changes things here. It makes order here. That is all we can do. A small bit of order amidst the outstanding chaos. It is simply an example, you are right in that. It is simply what must be done in a world where everything that is done must be.
The Sound of the Trees Page 23
