“Different friggin’ goose,” Eldon said and laughed. “Frig’s no cuss word, is it?”
“Not so’s I’d notice, I suppose.”
“Good friggin’ thing then,” Eldon said. His face was ruddy now and he smiled more. He looked at the kid and winked.
The old man got up and began to rattle around at the stove and the kid and Eldon took turns looking at each other without speaking. There was the smell of stew, peppery and tangy with garlic and onions, and the old man set biscuits to warm in the oven. Eldon reached over and snuck the bottle across the table while the kid watched and poured himself a large dollop. He held a finger to his lips and winked again and the kid wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just sat there and watched while Eldon drank off more of the whisky and settled back in his chair and flopped one leg over the other and smoked and exhaled clouds at the ceiling.
They ate. The men mostly talked about the farm. When he was finished the kid gathered all the plates and cleared the table. Eldon was the only one with the whisky now. The old man sipped at black tea. The kid washed the dishes and set everything back in the cupboard. He caught Eldon staring at him every now and then but there were never any words. The looks felt odd, like there were words hung off them, but
Eldon never said a thing to him. When he was finished he said good night and went to his bedroom, where he coloured in a book until he was tired enough to get into bed. He heard the rumble of their talk. He thought he heard a sob and the old man’s voice rise some then it got quieter but he could still hear them talking.
“Who is he?” the kid asked while they were milking in the morning. Eldon slept on the couch near the woodstove. The kid had looked at him when he got up. His arms and legs were flung wide and his head was tilted back with his mouth wide open.
The old man pulled at the cow’s teats and the kid watched his shoulders work. “Someone I known years ago,” he said without looking back at him. “Different fella now but I knew him good at one time. Least I thought I did.”
“He smells funny,” the kid said.
“He’s been rinsed through pretty good.”
“With that whisky?” the kid asked.
“Yes, sir. Some men take to it. I never did.”
“Why not? Does it do bad things?”
The old man looked at him over his shoulder. “Keeps varmints away,” he said.
“How so?”
“Savvy what a varmint is?”
“Yeah,” the kid said. “Pests. Things you don’t want around.”
“Well, whisky keeps things away that some people don’t want around neither. Like dreams, recollections, wishes, other people sometimes.” The old man turned on the stool
and set the milk pail down on the floor between his feet. “Things get busted sometimes. When they happen in the world you can fix ’em most times. But when they happen inside a person they’re harder to mend. Eldon got broke up pretty bad inside,” he said.
The old man shook his head and wiped at his face with one hand. “It’s a tough thing. Hard to watch. Hard to hear. But folks need hearing out sometimes, Frank. That’s why I let him come here.”
“He seems sad.”
“Pretty much. Sad’s not a bad thing unless it gets a hold of you and won’t let go.”
“He sleeps funny,” the kid said.
“Chasin’ varmints, I suppose,” the old man said.
He was gone by the time they finished the chores. All that remained was the smell of old booze, stale tobacco smoke, and a sheaf of bills in a glass jar on the stove. The old man stood in the doorway staring at it, rubbing at his chin whiskers.
It was almost a year before he saw him again. He was herding cows back from the open range beyond the ridge. When they broke through the trees at the field’s edge there was a dull blur of orange at the head of the lane. The closer he got the more the blur took on the shape of an old pickup. The cows took to the scent of home and trotted toward the barn. The lot of them aimed for the open gate that led to the back paddock. He rode in slow and walked the horse past the truck.
She was a weather-beaten old Merc that was a few thousand miles beyond her better days. She was slung low on her springs and the windshield was starred with cracks. The front
bumper was wired on. There was a rag stuffed in where the gas cap should have been. When the kid rode by he saw a clutter of tools flung into the bed: a rusted chainsaw, pry bars, falling wedges, a bow saw, several axes and mauls, and a scattered heap of shovels. A pair of fuzzy dice dangled from the rear-view mirror.
After he’d stabled the horse he walked through the house. There wasn’t anyone there. There was a whisky bottle and a single glass on the kitchen table. Tobacco stench hung in the air. He went to the barn and walked the fence line around it. He found the tracks near the gate that opened out onto the tractor path leading to the woodlot where the old man chopped and stored their winter fuel. It was less than a quarter-mile and he heard no sounds of sawing or cutting. As he walked he listened and halfway there he could hear shouting.
“Stubborn old son of a bitch!” It was Eldon’s voice.
“Shut up! Just shut the hell up!” The old man’s voice, harder and louder than he’d ever heard.
When he cleared the last bend he saw them. They were sat apart from each other, leaning on stacked cords of wood. Both of them were heaving for breath. The kid could tell by the spill of the earth at their feet that there had been a scuffle, maybe even a full-on fight. There was a spot of blood at the corner of Eldon’s mouth, and the old man looked winded and half spent. When they saw him they both put their heads down and stared at the ground. The kid walked silently to a round of fir they used for a chopping block and sat down on it, not saying a word. He looked back and forth at them and it took a minute before they raised their heads to look back at him.
“Tell him,” Eldon said.
“Not my place to tell him. It’s yours,” the old man said.
“I don’t know that I got it in me.”
“You come here all full of beans for it.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Yeah, well, nothin’. He’s here now.”
The kid was puzzled and there was a spear of anxiety in him at their words. Eldon put his hands on his knees and let out a breath. He hadn’t shaved. He looked as broke down as the truck. He took something metal from his pocket, screwed the top off, and drank. He swiped the back of his hand across his lips and stood up, tucking the thing back into the pocket of his faded dungarees. He wavered but caught his balance, and put one hand on a hip and looked over at the kid.
“Got something needs tellin’,” he said.
The kid looked at the old man, who leaned back on the stacked lengths of wood and waved him over. The kid crossed to him and sat beside him. The old man put an arm around his shoulders and the kid peered up at him, wary at the sudden weight of the moment.
“What?” he asked.
“Hear the man,” the old man said.
The kid turned to Eldon.
“I’m your pap,” he said.
The kid looked again at the old man.
“I said I’m your father.”
“What’s he saying?” he asked.
“Sayin’ what he needs to say. Or thinks as much anyhow.”
“Is it true?”
“Ask him.”
Eldon had caught his full breath now and he had a cigarette he twiddled between his fingers.
“Is it true?” the kid asked him.
“Truest thing I ever said,” Eldon answered.
“That can’t be true,” the kid said. He stared at the old man wide-eyed. “I thought you were my dad.”
“I’m raisin’ you. Teachin’ you. There’s a diff’rence,” the old man said. “But I love you. That’s a straight fact.”
“How come then? How come he’s my father?”
“Gonna have to ask him, Frank. It ain’t mine for the tellin’. Certain things when they’re true gotta come right from them that knows them as true.”
“How come?” he asked.
Eldon peered at him, then struck a wooden match and lit the cigarette. “Don’t know as I can say right now,” he said. “It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated mean?” the kid asked.
“It means he ain’t got it all organized in his head,” the old man said.
“Then why say?” the kid asked.
The old man tousled his hair. “That’s what the scrap was about,” he said.
“I don’t even know you,” the kid said.
Eldon scratched his head. He took another long drag on the smoke. They could hear the nattering of ravens in the trees. When he looked over at the kid again his face was taut-looking. “That’s why I said it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me neither rightly.”
“Then why
say
?” He stood and moved a few steps away from the old man. He put his hands on his hips and stared at Eldon.
“Jesus,” Eldon said. “You got him talkin’ like a man.”
The old man smirked. “Someone got to,” he said.
Eldon ground the smoke out on the logs. He flicked it across the open space with one finger. The old man eyed him sternly and Eldon strode over and retrieved the butt and put it in his pocket. He looked at the two of them sheepishly. “Thing is,” he said slowly. “I don’t know why I come. Except somethin’ told me I needed to. Hell, the truth is, I don’t know why I hadta say it neither. Just kinda felt like I did. Savvy?”
“No,” the kid said.
“Damn,” Eldon said. “This is tough business.”
“You called it,” the old man said.
“Shit,” Eldon said. “Sorry. About the cussin’, I mean. I’m way too sober for this.”
“You know how to fix that. Always did.”
“Yeah,” Eldon said and stared at the ground. He traced a half-circle back and forth with the toe of his boot. Back and forth. Back and forth. His lips were pinched together and his shoulders slumped. The kid felt sorry for him. He’d never seen anyone trapped by their own words before. It looked like tough business like he’d said.
“It’s all right,” the kid said quietly.
Eldon looked up at him and the kid could see that his eyes looked wet. His hands shook as he rubbed at his chin. He looked ready to bolt. He took a huge breath and looked up at the sky. He exhaled loudly and when he looked back at the kid and the old man he looked desolate. It scared the kid some and he edged closer to the old man. “How come this is such a rough go?” Eldon asked.
The old man stood up. “Truth ain’t never easy. Especially one you had hung up in you a long time. I give ya points for gumption though.”
Eldon closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Thing is,” he said, “I don’t know where to go from here. It’s out. It’s there. But I plumb don’t know what to do. Maybe this was for shit.”
The kid looked up at the old man, who stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder. They both studied Eldon, who stood straighter and set his lips into a grim line.
“I gotta think on this,” Eldon said. “I gotta go.”
“To where?” the old man asked. “It’s out. You said yourself. Can’t go nowhere without the truth of it followin’ you around. You owe now.”
“Owe what?”
“Time. You lost seven years of it.”
“I can’t change that.”
“No. But you can make the years coming different.”
“How?”
“Gonna have to work that out for yourself. Me? I’d put the plug in the jug and sort it out quick.”
Eldon looked at the kid. His face seemed to waver like the shimmy the wind makes on the face of a pond. The kid just looked back at him calmly. “He just needed to know, is all,” Eldon said and fumbled about for another smoke.
The kid switched looks back and forth from the old man to Eldon. He needed one of them to tell him what to do. He could hear the cows bawling in the paddock and the hard, flat clap of a rifle shot echoing off the ridge. Eldon fidgeted. Then he pulled out the whisky and tipped it up and drank. When he pulled it away from his mouth he studied it as though surprised at the emptiness. Then he stood and tucked it back into his pocket. “Sorry,” Eldon said. “I shoulda thought this through.” He looked at the old man, who just shook his head sadly. Then he stared at the ground and puffed
out his cheeks. When he looked up the kid could see how spooked he was. “Sorry,” he said again and stomped off.
All they could do was watch him go.
“My father,” the kid said.
“Yessir,” the old man said.
“He never said nothin’ about my mother,” the kid said.
He watched as the old man’s face clouded. “Comes a time for it I’ll tell ya but for now it’s up to him,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a father’s thing to do. It’s him who owes ya that. Not me.”
“Maybe he’ll be too scared to talk about that.”
The old man scowled. “Could be yer right there,” he said.
IN THE MORNING HE WAS FEVERISH
. The kid could see the yellow cast of him and when he offered up the bottle his father waved it away and struggled to a sitting position and lit a smoke. He pushed the kid’s hand away from his brow and stared at the ground.
“What do I do?” the kid asked.
“Nothing. Liver’s shutting down.”
“Can you eat?”
“I can try.”
He checked the nightline and there were three trout that he cleaned and flayed and placed over the fire on sticks. When
they were finished he handed one of the sticks to his father and he picked at the flesh and tried a few mouthfuls and then handed the stick back and took a drink from the bottle. The kid ate the fish. He walked out to where the horse was tied and brushed her out and saddled her. Then he walked her close to the lean- to and left her there and began cleaning up the camp and reloading the pack. It was sunny but crisp and his father kept the mackinaw pulled around him. The kid kicked out the fire and then killed it with a canteen full of water and handfuls of sand from the creekbed. Then he disassembled the lean- to and laid the boughs and saplings in the trees and helped his father up onto the horse.
“Why do that?” his father asked.
“Respect. Gotta leave it the way you found it,” he said.
“Can’t ever leave nothing the way you found it.”
“You’d be the one to know that, I suppose.”
“What’re you sayin’?”
The kid stared up at him. He could feel words churning in his gut, like fish fighting their way upstream. None broke the surface. He brushed the horse’s neck and stared at her brown orb of an eye. “Nothin’, I guess,” was all he said.