Читать книгу Junkin' - Strat Boone's Douthat - Страница 4

The Buick was black with lots of shiny chrome. It crept around the garbage bags, broken glass and beer cans before coming to a stop a few feet from where Benny and Dwayne stood waiting. A dark-tinted window slid down, revealing a pale, moon-shaped face. “Hello cousin Benny. Long time no see.”

Benny gaped. “Russell Johnson! What the hell brings you up here?”

A tight smile creased the man’s face. “Had to take care of some business down the hollow.” He looked around and said, “Jesus fucking Christ! This place looks like one of those after-the-bomb movies.”

“Yeah,” Benny said. “The bomb was dropped last September 24th. That was the day they closed down the mine and walked away.”

Russell squinted at the bathhouse, shaking his head. “It's a shame. I remember when the upper part of this hollow was crawling with people. Coming up here today, I don't think I passed a single house the last three or four of miles. Even the Jesus Church is gone. What happened?”

Dwayne stepped forward. “Burnt down. And the company tore down the last few houses five, maybe six years ago. Most of them was fallin' down, anyways.”

He moved up closer, to get a better look at the interior of the car.

“That real leather, Russell? Must'a cost a mint of money. Bet we could have bought those new windows for the church, for what you paid for those seats. The church was the only thing left standin' in the upper hollow for a while there, but some boys got drunk last winter and built a fire in it. It was gone by the time the fire truck reached it.”

Russell laughed. “That fire probably toasted some of those snakes my brother used to keep down in the church basement.''

Dwayne paused, considering, and then said, “You know, Russell, I never told you but I was at church the night your brother got bit. A lot of us saints had handled that snake and had had victory over it. It was a big rattler brought up from Florida. Franklin was puttin' it back into the box when the thing bit his thumb. The blood shot out six feet, I swear.”

Russell's pale, expressionless face reminded Benny of those figures in the wax museum at Myrtle Beach.

Dwayne's voice became reverent. “Some of us saints took Franklin home after he was bit. We prayed over him all night. You should'a seen his arm. It was swole up big as a watermelon. Franklin was groanin' something awful but he never once asked for a doctor. He never lost the faith, I can tell you that.”

“Franklin was a damned fool,” Russell said, spitting on the pavement.

“He was a true martyr,” Dwayne said, still wrapped up in his story. “You should'a been there, Russell, he never...”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time, and I still say he was a fool. Tell me, Dwayne, where is he now?”

Dwayne fell silent. Then he sputtered and said, “Why, he's in heaven, with Jesus and the angels. Ain't that right, Benny?”

Russell spat again. “I say anybody'd pick up a rattlesnake is a damned fool. Franklin’s in the cemetery underneath six feet of dirt. That's what happens when you’re dumb enough to mess with rattlesnakes.”

Dwayne stared, bug-eyed. He started to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words. Meanwhile, Russell lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Benny. Benny took it, glancing at the thin, puckered scar on Russell's upper lip, a memento of the fight they'd had in high school.

Benny knew Russell could tell he was looking at his lip. He continued to stare at it as he shook two cigarettes from the pack and handed one to Dwayne. Then, grinning at Russell, he put the pack in his pocket.

“So, what brings you up here, Russell? You must want something awful bad, to drive this shiny new car up that bumpy road.”

Russell shrugged. “I stopped down at the store and talked to Mary. She said I'd probably find you up here. Said you'd been junkin' up here for the past few weeks.”

“Yep. We held off for a while, thinking the company might come back. We’d already got about everything further down the hollow. I bet we hauled off at least 50 old refrigerators, not to mention two truckloads of scorched bed springs. Seemed like half the trailers on Cabin Creek caught fire last November, after it became clear the mine wouldn't be reopening before winter set in.”

It was Russell's turn to grin.

“Well, cousin, it appears your used refrigerator business must be doin' pretty good. Mary says you're one of the few folks around here still paying in cash.”

He motioned toward the metal door on Benny's truck bed. “You really are cuttin' up this place, huh?”

Benny shrugged.

“Nobody seems to care,” he said, flipping his cigarette in a high arch over the car and pulling out another one. “You might not believe it, but they just walked away and left. Damnest thing I ever saw.”

Russell spat again. “How much a pound of scrap bring these days?”

Benny wasn’t about to tell Russell his business. Who knew? Russell could be working for the coal company, or spying for Ruth, even. Then, suddenly, he knew why Russell had come looking for him.

“Seen Ruth lately?” he asked, pretending to admire the Buick's fancy control panel.

Russell looked up. “Well, that's kinda why I'm here. She wanted me to talk to you. Says she wants you to come up to Columbus, to be with her and Billy. Or, if you won't come, she says she wants you to give her a divorce. That's about the size of it.”

The divorce part caught Benny by surprise, like that sucker punch Russell had thrown at him back in high school. He blinked and leaned forward, putting a hand on the car for support. Then he brought his face down close to the open window, took a deep drag, and blew the hot, wet smoke directly into his cousin's upturned face.

Russell flinched. “Jesus! You trying to blind me!”

“Why'd she send you, Russell? Why didn't she come herself if it's so goddamned important? You been sniffin' around, haven't you, you sonofabitch?”

Russell rubbed his eyes.

“I didn't come up here lookin' for trouble. Ruth says she can't talk to you, says all you do is cuss and call her names.”

He flinched as Benny took another long drag on the cigarette.

“Look, Benny, I was comin' back to West Virginia anyway, and Ruth's workin' five and a half days a week. It's too far for her to come, all the way here and back, in just one day.”

Benny laughed. “Shit, that won't hurt her. It just means she won't have so much time to fuck around with cruds like you, that's all.”

“Damnit, I only came up here because she asked me to. She's a good-lookin' woman, Benny. You can't expect her to wait forever.”

Russell’s placating tone gave Benny some distance. It was as if he were looking down at the hollow from way up high, like the time he and Charlie took that charter plane ride and saw the hills rolling away into the distance like giant green waves.

From that height, the Buick would look like a shiny black beetle. He considered the scene for a moment, then slowly ground out the cigarette with his boot, imagining it was Russell's car. When nothing was left of the cigarette he looked up and said, “Better get back down the road, cousin. Your ass is way out of line, and there's nobody up here to save it.”

Russell's face was flushed now. Almost pleading, he said, “Hell, Benny, you can't keep junkin' forever. A certified electrician like you could get a job in Columbus, easy. Besides, what're you gonna do when you've hauled this old mine away, what then?”

“Don't try to snow me, Russell. You don't want me comin' out to Columbus and we both know it.”

Benny grasped the door handle. “Matter of fact, after the mine's gone I just might junk this here Buick and then go to work on the piece of shit that's drivin' it.”

Russell jammed the car into reverse and hit the gas pedal, spinning Benny around. He stopped the Buick at the far end of the parking lot and stuck his head out the window.

“I came up this stinkin’ hollow because Ruth asked me to!” he screamed. “You're runnin’ out of time, you dumb bastard. You always were a dumb bastard, Benny. Fuck you!”

Benny watched the Buick bounce down the road. In time, he knew, it would wend its way down the hollow to the river, follow the Kanawha on down to Charleston, pick up I-64 and then head west until he reached Columbus, where Ruth was waiting.

He could just imagine their conversation: “You should have seen him, Ruth, up there with those stinkin' piles of garbage, cuttin' up the mine for scrap. Don't know how you stayed with him long as you did.”

Ruth would eat it up, of course. He could see her running her hand through her hair. Benny's so small-minded, she would say. He doesn't want to better himself.

The curtain of dust kicked up by Russell’s car slowly descended on the parking lot, clouding the scene in Columbus. “Motherfucker,” Benny said, watching the dust slowly settle. “Motherfucker hasn't changed a bit.”

Dwayne peered at him, anxiously. “You okay?”

Benny smiled. “Yeah, I'm okay. Fact is, I feel pretty damned good, like there's not so much weighing on me right now, if you know what I mean. Or, at least I'll feel that way after I get rid of some more of this beer.”

He squeezed Dwayne’s shoulder and headed toward the bathhouse, the glare coming off the asphalt making him squint. He was zipping up when Dwayne called out, “Here come Norvil and Junior.”