The Serpent's Bite (18 page)

“I'm glad to hear that,” Courtney said, with some annoyance. “Are they devoted to you as well?”

“They want their mother to be happy. And they do approve of our relationship.”

“Who wouldn't?” Courtney muttered under her breath. Her sarcasm was making Scott nervous.

“I suppose she plans to keep her job with your accounting firm?” Courtney asked.

“Depends.” He paused, his eyes shifting between his children. He seemed suddenly hesitant. “I told her she was welcome to come in with me.”

“Like Mom?” Courtney said.

Scott gave his sister yet another admonishing look. Cool it, sis, he tried to tell her with his eyes.

“I told you nothing could ever replace Mom. Muriel would work with me, help me.” He looked again at his children in turn. “Look guys, how many times have I offered each of you to come in with me? That offer still stands. Frankly I am baffled by your refusal, both of you. I have a going business that is interesting and profitable. You can make an extraordinary living. I guess I haven't been persuasive enough.”

“We don't want to, Dad,” Courtney said. “Don't you understand that? We have our own lives, our own destinies.” She turned to Scott. “Isn't that right, Scott?”

Scott nodded. His own motives had little to do with personal destiny.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” Courtney explained. “I wish I had the passion for it. I'm an actor. It's my calling. I hate the jewelry business. All that butt kissing. Besides, we've been through that so many times. I'm sorry about that, but I just don't want it.”

“And you, Scott?” Temple said, turning to his son. “Still no interest?” He paused. “Considering.”

Scott knew his father's shorthand. It meant “considering your many failures.” He did not reply.

“So this woman would be your partner?” Courtney pressed.

“Muriel
, darling. Her name is Muriel.”

Scott noted his father's effort at patience and tolerance.

“Yes. Muriel. I had forgotten for the moment,” Courtney acknowledged.

“We haven't discussed that part,” their father said. “She would have to leave her job, of course. But she seems eager to help. And she does know the business aspect and the numbers.”

“Of course. The numbers,” Courtney muttered.

“Be nice to have someone who knows so much about the business,” Scott said, determined to keep the tension down.

“So she will be a partner?” Courtney asked.

“If we marry, we're automatic partners, aren't we?”

“You'd better be sure about this, Dad,” Courtney said. “I've heard lots of horror stories.”

“Actually I am sure. Why would I consent otherwise?”

Scott could see that he was beginning to get somewhat uncomfortable under her interrogation.

“Father knows best,” Scott interjected, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

Thankfully, Harry joined them, and they aborted any further conversation on the subject of Muriel. Their father seemed relieved.

Tomas collected their plates and poured coffee into metal cups.

“Nishe night,” Harry said, his slurred speech and the usual alcoholic mist that surrounded him a telling barometer of his condition.

Tomas handed him a full plate, and he made a pretense of eating, but it was obvious that solid food was not his principal interest.

“Not hungry,” Harry said, emptying his plate in the fire. Tomas shrugged and took the empty plate from him. Scott noted an unmistakable sneer of disgust in the Mexican's face. No love lost there, he thought. Neither man enlisted his sympathy, although, he feared the Mexican far more than he tolerated the outfitter.

Like many drunks, Harry seemed to believe that he was in control, and he again announced in a rambling slurred way that tomorrow they would go to Bridger Lake and have lunch on its banks. Worse, he did not realize that he was being repetitive. They looked at each other with some confusion. This man was obviously not operating on all cylinders.

Speaking slowly as if to disguise his state, Harry repeated his description of the area. They listened with forced tolerance, exchanging nervous glances. After his brief and badly articulated description, Harry rose and staggered back to his tent.

“Good God,” Scott murmured.

“He's a menace,” Courtney said.

“Is he like that often?” their father asked Tomas.

“Sometime,” Tomas replied, without expression, addressing the cooking fire.

“He wasn't that way the last time,” his father said. “If I had known …” His words trailed off.

“Does shake one's confidence,” Courtney muttered. “People change.”

“Maybe we should talk to him,” Scott said. “Let's face it, we're his dependents out here.”

“Not a very secure feeling, is it, Tomas?” their father said.

“He okay,” Tomas said, obviously determined to shield his employer, showing his dependency. “He know if rangers come, he be in big trouble.”

“Trouble?” Temple asked.

The Mexican turned away, perhaps thinking that he had talked too much. But Temple continued to prod him.

“What exactly do you mean, Tomas?” he pressed.

Tomas turned again and lowered his voice. Despite his mostly expressionless face, his cunning and intelligence showed in his eyes. While his command of English seemed adequate, his understanding of the language seemed acute. He's not fooling me, Scott thought.

“Lose license to guide. People give bad report, he got trouble.” He cast a surprisingly revealing contemptuous look in the direction of Harry's tent.

“Why would he take the chance of losing his livelihood?” Temple pressed. “It sounds stupid.”

Tomas nodded and shrugged, feigning ignorance, but their father still wouldn't let the matter drop. Scott worried about his persistence for other reasons.

“Do they pull inspections? You know, a surprise visit? They see him in this condition, they've got to blow the whistle. Surely, they must look around. Not a very good image for the park service. He must have a pretty hefty supply of booze.”

Tomas did not answer, but there was a sense that he was holding something back.

“Leave it alone, Dad,” Scott said.

“And the booze. Smells sweetish, like bourbon.” Temple pressed, ignoring Scott's appeal. “And the weight. He did make a big deal about weight. How many bottles could he possibly bring in?”

Posed as a question, Tomas exchanged glances with their father. His only reply was a shrug as he continued to fuss at the cooking fire.

Scott listened to this conversation with increasing impatience.

“What's the point, Dad?” Scott muttered, looking at Courtney.

“It's a legitimate concern.” Temple muttered.

“He be fine,” Tomas blurted suddenly with some show of impatience, looking up. “Be okay. You no worry.”

“Let's hope so,” Scott said, looking at his father.

“But what happens,” Temple said, his concern accelerating, “if he can't do his job?”

“Dad!” Scott said sharply. “What do you want from him?”

“Listen to Scott, Dad,” Courtney seconded.

Tomas glanced at Scott then at Courtney, a thin smile forming on his lips. He seemed to be mocking them.

“Suppose he gets, you know, really smashed?” Temple posed, ignoring his children's rebuke. “Unable to function?”

“Tole you. He be okay,” Tomas said, getting more and more defensive under Temple's interrogation.

Courtney spoke up. She seemed genuinely frightened.

“There's always a first time. Addictive people think they can handle anything. Unfortunately, they crash. It could happen out here. Not a very comforting possibility. What the hell happens if he can't function? Do you take over, Tomas? Hell, I hope you know the way around here.”

“I know,” Tomas said, looking at her archly, his expression clearly brazen. “I tole you. He okay. No worry too much about notheeng. He like booze. Four years I be with him. Everybody go home happy.”

“Hope you're right, Tomas,” Temple said.

“Not worry,” Tomas said, as if repeating a mantra. “He okay.”

He shrugged, mumbling something in Spanish, then turned away, concentrating on the cleanup chores, leaving the three of them to their conversation as they sipped their coffee and munched on Twinkies. They were silent until Tomas picked up the plates and headed for the stream for washing.

“I think I better talk to Harry,” Temple said, when Tomas was out of earshot. “Could be dangerous. A drunken guide …”

“Better be diplomatic, Dad,” Courtney interjected. “An addict gets insulted when you tell him you think he's addicted.”

“I don't think we should worry about his being insulted,” her father said with annoyance. “He's getting paid well for this trip. Hell, I thought he was in big demand as he had been years
ago. He made it sound like people were out there bidding for his services. We're the clients for crying out loud. This keeps up, I'm going to report him. Why would he want to endanger his livelihood?” He was growing increasingly agitated.

“Just tread easy,” Scott cautioned. “We're out here alone.”

“Something about Tomas also bothers me,” Temple said.

“Bothers me, too,” Scott muttered, cutting a glance at Courtney.

“I think he's playacting, a lot smarter than he appears. He wants us to think he's just a lackey,” Temple said.

“Not our business,” Scott said, suddenly fearful of involving the Mexican.

“Harry sure treats him like shit,” Courtney said.

“That's his problem. Not ours,” Scott said, hoping that would end it.

Their conversation hinted at a diminished authority on their part, as if what Tomas had witnessed had made them lesser in his eyes, not worthy of even that special respect reserved for clients. Scott forced himself to deflect his thoughts.

The three of them sat in silence for a long time. Scott wanted them to put the issue of Harry's drunkenness behind them and pick up the strings of their earlier conversation.

He was also wary of any conversation involving Tomas. Besides, they were veering away from the main issue between them. He needed to force them back on track.

It was obvious that their father was begging for a reconciliation, his mind and heart open to a change in the way he dealt with his children. They mustn't, under any circumstances, deflect his purpose. He had come all this way to make things right. Nothing must interfere with that process.

“All we want is for you to be happy, Dad,” Scott said, looking at his sister. “Isn't that right, Courtney?”

“Of course, Dad. That's our wish.”

Her sincerity was suspect, but Scott was gratified that she was, at the very least, playing the part of the devoted daughter.

“I'm glad,” their father said. “And I want you both to be happy.”

They were quiet again for a long time. The air became chilled, and Scott threw another log on the fire. They watched the flames catch and flare. Scott sensed they were heading back on track now, the worries about Harry put on hold.

For the moment.

“G
od, I miss your mother,” Temple said, his eyes moistening, reflecting the flickering light. “I loved that time when you guys were young and we were a family. They were good times, weren't they?”

Scott and his sister looked at each other. Looking back, Scott had mixed feelings about what could be defined as good times. His incestuous relationship with his sister had distorted memories of his upbringing. The shrinks said his failures might be attributed to his need for punishment.

“Yes,” Courtney said suddenly, perhaps unable to bear letting the question hang between them. “They were good times, Dad. Yes, they were great times.”

“Mom and I loved watching you on the stage, Courtney. You were terrific, and we were proud as punch. Your Shakespeare parts were extraordinary. Moving. Nothing, but nothing, could beat your Lady Macbeth. Gave your mom and me the chills.”

“Thanks, Dad. I loved that part.”

“And you, Scottie,” their father mused. “I remember the first time I saw you in that basket at Mount Sinai, a little bundle of blue, roaring your lungs out. Mom and I standing by the window, wondering if you were in pain or something. Courtney had been a quieter baby. Maybe more contented. It amazed us to see your little body. We both kept counting your fingers and toes. You just can't convey what it meant to us young kids ourselves seeing your little body. And here's the funny part. We took you home and Mom laid you on the bassinette,
and we removed the little piece of gauze you had around your penis from the circumcision. Must have triggered an urge or something and by God you peed right in your mother's eye. I'll never forget that. I'll never forget any of it. God, we worried about you.”

He turned to Courtney. “Both of you. We worried ourselves sick over each of you. The slightest little cough. If you didn't burp. Hell, even your bowel movements were carefully inspected for who knows what. Courtney, you were colicky and I spent the first few months of your life walking you across the apartment, trying to get you to sleep. You were one hell of a howler. Funny, how you remember those things. So long ago…After all, you were the most creative achievement, brother and sister. One of each, how lucky to have conceived one of each!” His eyes moistened as he wiped them with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “You can't imagine the initial feeling of parenthood. It never leaves you, no matter what. It becomes part of you and can never be obliterated by subsequent events. It is beyond simple sentiment. It is a lifelong attachment and can only end with…death.”