Rolling Thunder (45 page)

What the hell. It only cost me an hour a day, and the sessions were relaxing. You can’t play pinochle all day long. Or screw.

THERE WAS ONE
subject I knew I’d have to talk over with Jubal, but I kept putting it off, and that was religion. His father had been some kind of backwoods messiah preacher, his church some weird combination of Catholicism, snake-handling, and penance through pain, the mortification of self and others. Jubal and his siblings had been the most frequent others.

He could not tolerate obscenity or profanity, and I had to watch my mouth when I was around him.

When he came out of the bubble he had been reciting the Hail Mary, so I assumed he was devout in some way. If he wanted me to go to church with him, I’d do it, though I suspected I’d feel hypocritical kneeling and praying. And I’d have to draw the line at handling snakes.

But finally I took the bull by the horns, or the snake by the tail, and just asked him what church he went to.

“Church?” he asked.

“You know, what is your religious faith? If we’re going to be together we’ll … we’ll have to work that out, some way.”

“I ain’t got no church, me.”

“But you believe in God, right?”

He eyed me suspiciously. “Do you,
cher?”

Honesty is the best policy, or so I’ve been told. I hoped it was true.

“I can’t say I do or I don’t,” I said. “I don’t think there’s any scientific evidence for a God, but I don’t know enough about the universe to say one way or the other.” There. Was that sufficiently weasel-worded?

“Well, I knows plenty about the universe,” he said, “and I’m wit’ you, honey. One thing, I’m real sure that if there’s a creator, he ain’t some bearded ol’ thunderclappin’ bullyboy wit’ a bloody shirt and a bad temper.”

“But I thought you believed in the Bible.”

He laughed, then quickly got serious.

“When you was a chile, Poddy, did you ever have a gris-gris to keep the boogeymens away?”

I had to google for a second, but then I knew what he was talking about.

“For a while there I remember checking under my bed and in the closet to see if there were any monsters in there,” I said. “But I don’t think I had any spells to keep them away.”

“Too bad. They can be a comfort. The words theirselves, I mean, not any real power they have, which they don’t. When I was little, I used to say the Hail Mary and the ‘Our father, who are in Heaven,’ and the Twenty-third Psalm, ‘Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Daddy …’ That’s how I said it,
cher.
Hopin’ we wouldn’t need to do any repentin’ that night.”

“Oh, Jubal my darling …” Has anybody ever found the limits of man’s inhumanity to man? To a man’s own son? He put his arms around me and hugged me gently.

“There, there, Poddy. It all over now. But when I’m scared—and I’m scared a lot, I know it ain’t manly, but I can’t he’p it … I say them words. I take comfort from ‘em, me.”

I sniffled for a while, and he continued to console me. Not manly? I should have been consoling
him,
not the other way around.

“You probly wonderin’ ‘bout them words, too,” he said.

“Words?”

“What they call ‘four-letter words.’ Some of ‘em a lot longer than that.”

“Swearwords.”

“That another name for ‘em.” He sighed. “I know words is just words. But I got me a conditional
re
-flect.”

“Conditioned reflex?”

“What you said. My daddy, if we young ‘uns’d say a cussword, he’d whup us something awful. He had a long list of ‘em. He didn’t even like us to say”—short pause—“darn. Said it was just the same as … damn.” He swallowed hard.

“If we didn’t say them words often enough, he’d say ‘em for us, and whup us while he was sayin’ ‘em. I done some studyin’ on it, Poddy. Say you take a little puppy, and every day you beat him, all the while a-hollerin’ ‘Bullfrog!’
Bullfrog, bullfrog, bullfrog! Whup, whup, whup!”
As he said this he pounded the couch we were sitting on.

“Pretty soon you don’t have to hit him, you just holler ‘Bullfrog!’ and that puppy’ll whimper and cry and pee hisself.”

“Jubal, that’s so awful.”

“It is, ain’t it. Poor little puppy.” And I knew he was thinking about that imaginary little puppy, not “hisself.”

“That’s what happened to me,
cher.
I hear them words, and my bowels clench up, and my heart goes to poundin’, and I break out all sweaty. Sometimes I get plumb sick and I urp up my food.”

I squeezed his hand.

“Jubal … you know they have ways of deconditioning reflexes like that.”

“They do?”

“Honest to … honest Injun. They can help with phobias, too. You’re not the only one. I freak out when I see a bug, and I don’t like open spaces much unless I’m wearing my pressure suit. That last one’s pretty mild, but believe me, if a spider crawled on me, I’d … oh, Jubal, just thinking about it makes my skin crawl.”

“Really? I don’t mind spiders, me.” He was thinking it over, and I thought he was drawing just a bit of confidence at the thought that a “normal” person like me had irrational fears, too. “I might like to look into that, one a these days. I don’t think I’d ever say them words, but it sure would be nice if I could hear ‘em wit’out gettin’ all trembly inside.”

THEN ONE DAY,
Travis walked in on us.

No, not “in the act,” but maybe it was the next worst thing.

Jubal and I were sitting side by side on the couch, watching
West Side Story.
Damn good music and dancing, by the way. I jumped up, smiling, and hurried over to him, intending to give him a big hug … but was stopped cold by the look of shock on his face. For a second I couldn’t figure out what was the matter. Then I did.

Oh,
please
, Travis!

Jubal was so involved in the movie that he hadn’t noticed Travis’s arrival at first. Now he looked up and got the big, goofy grin he always got when he saw his favorite cousin. He started to get up.

“Podkayne,” Travis said, “could I speak to you in private for a moment?” He grabbed me by the upper arm, quite roughly, and started pulling me toward the kitchen. There wasn’t much I could do about it. He was much stronger than I was.

We burst through the swinging door and Travis whirled us around, standing with his back to the door. Then he hissed:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Get your hand off me, Travis.”

He looked pained, maybe even a little apologetic, and let me go. I steamed for a moment, glaring at him. Nobody manhandles me that way.

“What are you talking about?” I whispered. I couldn’t think of much that would upset Jubal more than an argument between me and Travis.

“What am I
talking
about? Get some
clothes
on, Podkayne. You’re stark naked!”

“I will not,” I said. “Don’t saddle me with your stupid Earthie morality, Travis. At home, sometimes my family wears clothes, and sometimes we don’t.”

“This isn’t your home.”

He had me there, but I was stung. When Travis had showed up when I was a child, I’d always felt that our home was his home. He’d seen me running around naked until I was four, then again when I was nine, and when I was fourteen. He’d never seemed bothered by it. I knew what the difference here was, of course, and it was Jubal, and I know I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but it had to come out sooner or later.

So I said, “Besides, Jubal likes seeing me this way. It makes him happy.”

“Jesus Christ, Podkayne, are you fucking him?”

I slapped him so hard I’m surprised I didn’t take skin off his face. He pretty much ignored it.

“So you
are
fucking him.”

I slapped him again. This one finally seemed to get his attention.

“As you so gently put it,” I growled, “yes, I am fucking him. Or to put it more accurately, he’s fucking me, and doing a damn good job of it.”

He turned so red I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he turned his face away and spoke softly.

“Jesus Christ, Podkayne, listen to me, do you have any idea what this—”

“No, you listen to me, Travis. I know you love him, and I know you protect him, but I want you to ask yourself this. How long has it been since you’ve given him a chance to … to be something beyond what he’s always been?”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re saying.”

I did, though, because Jubal had confided in me, one night when it was dark in the bedroom, just a single candle, and he was on the verge of sleep … one of those times when you can confide things deeper than you’ve ever revealed before. He told me that sometimes Travis made him feel a little too protected. This was a bit like the Pope saying maybe God was a little too nosy and bossy and interfered too much. The sort of thing you might need a good stiff drink for, before and after. And he didn’t come out and say it in so many words, I had to decode it, because every other sentence was about how much Travis loved him and how much he loved Travis. All true. But one thing I’ve learned is that love can be the dirtiest of all those four-letter words that scare Jubal so much. When it turns to possessiveness. Love can morph into something ingrown, infected, and ugly. That kind of love can smother at best, and kill at worst.

But I knew I couldn’t tell Travis any of that, at least not then. It would betray Jubal’s confidence. No, I knew that I would have to count on Jubal to stand up to what might be his greatest fear: losing Travis. The rest of my life hung in the balance.

“Now,” I said, as calmly as I was able. “I want you to splash some cold water on your cheek and try to get rid of those red marks. We don’t want to upset him. And I’m going to smile, and take you back into the living room, and you and Jubal are going to sit down and visit a spell. He may have some things to say to you.”

He looked at me oddly. I could practically read his mind. This wasn’t the cheerful little Poddy who’d had a crush on him, not the Podkayne he was used to. I felt in control … of him, anyway. And I could read the beginnings of doubt in his eyes. I knew he would do what I told him to do.

If only I could feel more sure Jubal could stand up to him. Travis is a very forceful personality. Was he fair? Would he listen?

We went back into the living room, where Jubal was looking nervous, wringing his hands with a half smile on his face. He knew something was up, and he probably had a pretty good idea what it was. I made myself smile, and I hoped Travis was doing the same.

“If you boys will pardon me,” I said, “I think I’ll go powder my nose, and you guys can catch up on the news.” I went off down the hall, made it to my bedroom door, closed and locked it behind me, then sprinted to the bathroom and lost my breakfast into the toilet. Damn good andouille and cheese omelet, too. What a shame, eggs being as rare as they were these days.

I washed out my mouth and cleaned myself up, then did a few deep-breathing exercises while staring at myself in the mirror. I guess the course of true love never did run smooth, but this was taking a toll. I looked old. What would Jubal do?

I showered and shampooed my hair. I spent an hour on makeup, starting over twice. From the closet I chose a modest white-ribbed turtle-neck and a gray skirt, and plain black flats. I wanted to look as grown-up as possible. I draped a heavy gold chain around my neck, with my Navy Cross hanging from it, and chose a pair of earrings that matched.

I went to the bedroom door. I rested my forehead against it for a moment, then took a deep breath and went back to the living room.

Jubal and Travis were standing at the end of the couch, hugging fiercely, Travis slapping Jubal on the back. I waited, my heart in my throat.

Finally, Travis noticed me and beckoned me over with one hand. As I was walking toward them, Travis broke the embrace and turned toward me. Tears were streaming down his face. He held out his arms, and I came into them. I had to bend down a little as he spoke in my ear.

“Bless you, Poddy, bless you,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen him happier.”

Well, my heart didn’t have anyplace to leap to, being in my throat already, but it did some really fancy gymnastic moves in there and for a minute I wondered if I’d choke. But it tripped a release valve and turned on the waterworks. Travis took my hand and placed it in Jubal’s, gave our clasped hands a pat as I wondered if Jubal was going to crush my fingers, and then he drew back to admire us.

“So,” he said. “Y’all ready to set a date?”

22

JUBAL DIDN’T DARE
appear in public at all, even to the extent of coming to Thunder City under heavy security and secrecy. It was just too dangerous. There were too many powerful people with long memories who would like to examine the goose that laid the silver bubbles, and wouldn’t mind if he died in the process. And it was better if I stayed away, too, what with the clamor building over “Jazzie’s Return.”

Oh, yes. While Jubal and I were canoodling, Mike and Tina and Quinn had done a little fiddling with my latest effort, put it out there, and it had immediately shot to the top of the charts. There was clamoring for at least another concert, more if possible, and Tina told me that if I wanted to do a systemwide tour, it was mine for the asking. But she didn’t pressure me in any way, and when I told her that I wouldn’t be ready for anything like that for quite some time, she seemed to understand. Maybe a year from now, she suggested, and I let her think I was agreeable to that. In fact, at the moment at least, I’d rather have died than even
think
about going on tour again.