Читать книгу Lucky Strike - Nancy Zafris - Страница 16

Harry knew an instant before the others that someone was there. He pulled on Charlie’s collar and drew him back. The mother and daughter were too far ahead. The first thing he thought of was the pistol, which was one reason he hated guns, because they became the first thing you turned to when things went wrong. Nevertheless, he was about to step back to the truck and retrieve it when he noticed the silver Airstream trailer. He relaxed. Just more dogstakers.

A kerosene stove the size of a small piano was already set up. A woman was peeling potatoes. A man was sitting on a portable chair. A young man, roughly aged. He was hunched over, staring between his knees, somehow rough-looking in just the way he hunched. The man knew they were there, but he took his time looking up. Harry knew his type right away. Just as they knew his type, probably. “How ya doin’!” the man finally called over. It was supposed to be a friendly greeting, but it came out bully-loud.

Harry knew he had to answer quickly or the man would have a reason to take offense. The man was looking for that reason already. Harry had to think of something to say before the children’s mother jumped in, which he knew she would, and that wouldn’t be good. She didn’t have a feel for this part of the country. She dressed for uranium hunting like it was the PTA. Of course he really didn’t want it any different, not if she were going to be his wife.

“This is a surprise,” Harry said. “We thought we were alone.”

“You’re not no more.”

“What are you doing here?” The mother.

Well, she had jumped in.

“I’m doing . . .” The man spat out the word. “I’m doing what everyone else is doing.” Harry thought of Dewey Durnford and his love of boxing. This man had put on the gloves. Already. No call for anger— look at them, a mother and two kids, and here’s a man who sees that as cause to fight. But that was how it worked out here. A man itching to square off for no reason meets another man itching to square off for no reason. That was why, in a town that had swelled to three times its original size in five years, new trouble was brewing all the time. Miss Dazzle was smart to set her rates as high as it took to keep out the prospectors. He’d seen her rates double on the spot when some undesirable meandered in.

“This is our campground. You’ll have to leave.” The mother again. Harry wished the mother hadn’t said anything. She had though. It was war now. That was quick.

“Oh. Oh.” The man laughed cruelly. “Oh.”

There were so many people to dislike out here. This one was a winner. Harry could tell he’d been here for a while. Moving around from one dry hogback to another. Broker than when he’d arrived. Getting desperate. Starting to blame his troubles on the wife.

Of course they had that nice Airstream and the red pickup that pulled it. That took something from the pocketbook. Harry hadn’t figured out that part yet.

“The road was so bad. It just stopped.” The wife spoke. She had a sweet voice and she was trying to apologize. A higher-caliber human being than her husband, that was clear. Harry immediately wondered what the story was. Well, when it came to that, he knew. He’d seen it all the time in his own life. And actually he wasn’t such a good judge of character though he kept thinking he was. He was prepared to look upon this lady in the morning, prepared to discover she wasn’t a lady at all, wasn’t so young as she looked, wasn’t so sweet as she seemed. Because those were the kinds of surprises he’d been coming upon his whole life.

The man stared hard at his wife as she spoke. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m Josephine,” she said. “Really, Jo. Just Jo. Jo Dawson.” Her husband fumed silently. Harry moved to light their lanterns, something to distract everyone. Okay, no more ladies saying a thing, everyone quiet, let’s just get through the night.

“This is my husband, Leonard,” the wife unwisely continued. “I mean of course Dawson, too, Leonard Dawson.” She sounded breathless.

“We’re not here to be their neighbors,” the man growled.

Harry was right. The man had anger wanting out. He wasn’t glad he was right, but he was right. Everyone should have listened to Harry. Don’t say another word. He’d seen it happen.

“But we are their neighbors,” Josephine persisted.

“I said we’re not here to be their neighbors.”

Unfortunately the mother decided to speak again. “I’m Jean. These are my two children. We won’t be neighbors after you leave in the morning.”

The man continued with his mocking oh-ohs.

“It’s best if we leave them alone.” Harry drew close and whispered this, hoping she could read his warning. The mother’s blue eyes had a shade of green in them. Somehow he could see all their colors in a way he couldn’t during the day. In the sunlight her eyes were always on the verge of iridescence and Harry was struck by them yet blocked from really discerning the color. The desert had already begun to dry her skin and she would be surprised upon going home to discover there were now wrinkles creasing her forehead. Ladies didn’t like that sort of thing, but to Harry the new lines in her face made her more beautiful. She wasn’t unreachable. Something had reached her, even if it was the desert and the sun.

The mother didn’t acknowledge his warning. But she did stop talking.

The red pickup had been detached from the trailer. So maybe this Dawson fellow was planning to drive off in the morning. His type tended to be gone for days, weeks at a time, long enough for people to wonder, dead? dying? struck crazy? Then they showed up in town and went straight to the bootleggers for their drink, took the Lucky Strike at its unreliable word when they ran their rocks over it in the hardware store, and celebrated away all their money until the assessor’s final verdict denied them their million bucks. Then came the beat-up wives and no hospital to take care of them, just one little office and Dr. Randolph who was a quack. Harry preferred to take his injuries to Miss Dazzle, who was as good as a nurse, having worked for Randolph until she got fed up with his passes. She’d been his secretary, but in between trying to collect bills from people they couldn’t track down, Randolph had her giving shots and stitching up. Why give ’em a real doctor till they started paying for it—that was Randolph’s attitude.

“Don’t worry,” Harry told the mother. “I’ll stay here with you and the children.” He saw right away this was the wrong thing to say. Harry Lindstrom, Protector. No, she didn’t want to hear that. She set her jaw.

“I have to take care of Charlie.”

“That’s what I mean. I’ll help you.”

Her set jaw was protruding now. She looked around for a way out. She walked back to the truck. Harry and the kids followed. “Take me back down the road a bit,” she said.

“We were here first. We can stay. It’s ours.” Charlie was speaking now.

“It’s time, Charlie,” she said. “We’ll come back when it’s over.” She turned to Harry. “You don’t need to say anything, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take us down the road. Out of hearing distance. You don’t need to say anything. I don’t need a comment or a question.”

Harry took them down the road and stopped the truck. Never said a word, nothing. A song or two popped into his head, but he kept quiet. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“It’s fine.” She made no move to get out. Charlie looked ashamed. His head hung down.

Beth jumped out. The mother stayed put, excruciatingly so. She looked elsewhere, avoiding Harry’s eyes. Harry opened the door and got out. He stood in the road. He pretended he needed to check his tires. Just stooping down to check here. Looking pretty good. A cry left his throat and he fell back. The smack that he heard was terrible, and more smacks followed. He fled backward, staring at the truck in horror, the awful thumps and hacking. Beth didn’t seem to be bothered. She followed him as he stumbled backward down the black road. He coughed out something about her book reports. In the darkness she couldn’t see the expression on his face. He hoped she couldn’t hear the shaking in his voice. He asked her to recite one of her reports for him. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that she could. He grasped at the words and held on tight, Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski. A book I like is Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski. Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski is the story of a girl who picks strawberries for a living. She lives with her mom and dad who pick strawberries for a living, too. He held on. The hacks rose higher, like screams. The colors of red strawberries can change from orange to clay to yellowish. Sometimes there isn’t anything red about a red strawberry but it’s still a red strawberry. He knew the child wasn’t showing off, she was helping him get through this. He concentrated on the words, I like Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski because it tells you a lot about strawberries, but his grip was giving way. He couldn’t hold on any longer, but the noises stopped, he caught his breath, and they went back to camp.