Empty Pockets (5 page)

They rode on John's big-wheeled tractor out along a high bank on a tilt along a long, high-staked turkeyfence, the turkeys all running hard and banging into each other when John crashed the horn. “They agitate me so I agitate them,” he said.

It was a bright morning with the sky blue and the grass dry and dusty. The road disappeared as they came to what looked like a small farmhouse. Woods started in the back of the house and went away as far as you could see in a covering of endless hills. John stopped the tractor and got off. A man came out of the house to the fence.

“Morning,” John said. “This here's my cousin's grandson from out west. I'd like to take him back into the hollar and show him where the old place was.”

“Sure enough, John,” the man said. He unlocked the padlock on the aluminum gate and let them through.

The road broke immediately into some trees, the tractor jouncing and shaking. Lee tried to imagine running a horse through. His grandfather had worn a diamond ring on his little finger and had a racing horse, the only one to go to school, too, the baby of the family. As they went on, Lee got John to talk about him. “They didn't call him that,” John said, “they called him Faye, he was sure enough a rounder, one thing I recall was when he'd got himself and his guitar up in one of them limestone caves up near the ridge and started hooing in there at the boys
out working in the corn around the bend—when they heard that sound they just took off, wasn't till the afternoon that your great granddad rounded them up and when he found out it was Faye that had done it he gave him a solid whippin'—a rounder, for sure, that was him . . .”

The rest of the trip continued rough, yet beautiful, they followed a barely discernable road, more a track, along the hillsides, often driving around huge boulders and fallen trees, and then they turned down and were in a draw where they went along a dry creek bed that wound around between wooded cliffs. John told him it might be hard to believe, but that back in the eighteen-nineties and during the turn of the century a lot of folks lived on those hillsides, farming down here in the bottom, hundreds of folks. It was hard to believe. The slopes were straight up and down in places, entirely covered with growth of all kinds. There were no houses nor did it look as if there ever could have been.

After a time the creek bed opened into a near valley, about a hundred yards wide. John stopped the tractor and shut it off. The sound of thousands of cicadas droned off the hills. They walked across the dry rounded stones of the creek bed and went over to the slope. Lee had lost all sense of direction. It was extremely hot. John pointed left, high along the hillside.

“The big house was up there,” he said. “That was the second house, the one I remember as a boy.”

“Where was the first?”

“Right where you're standing,” John said.

He showed Lee the outlines of the foundation. Actual square-cut blocks of limestone brought from Rogers forty miles away. The blocks were still in the ground, dirted over. Lee cleaned one off with the toe of his boot.

“Three kids in this house, the other eight up there,” John said.

That was all there was to it. They walked up to where the cornfield had been and then came back to the tractor.

The next day John and Sarah took Lee into Claymore and then down to Rogers to see a man named Harnish. He'd been a
pal of Faye's and was now in the VA Hospital. John said maybe he could tell him more about the old days.

The VA Hospital was new looking, recently constructed. The lawns looked old, though, and rich. They went inside and down a broad corridor. Harnish was in the end ward. The room was pleasant and sunny. Harnish was sitting up in his bed, two white pillows behind his back. Lee expected an old-looking man and was surprised. Harnish's face was lean and tan and his hair was dark with only flecks of gray in it.

“Bill,” John said.

“Hello, John.”

“Bill, this here is Lee Hatcher, Faye Hatcher's boy's boy. You remember Faye?”

“Sure,” Harnish said. “I do.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “It's bad, John, they've got to operate.”

“Well,” John said, “they'll do all right.”

“No, John, they won't.”

“Sure they will.”

“No, it's terminal, John.”

“I don't believe that, Bill,” Sarah said.

“Don't tell Judy now. She doesn't know.”

“Has she been here?”

“No, I haven't let her.”

On the way back John pulled into a Dairy Queen drive-in and bought them all double-decker ice cream cones. Sarah told Lee a nice story about Bill and Faye that she had heard of and then one about her grown kids and how Laurie, who would be Lee's cousin twice removed, had learned about how babies were made and had him and herself laughing.

That evening after supper John asked Lee to come outside with him and he'd show him the main barn, the only thing he hadn't gotten around to doing. John was a large man, nearly six three and easily two hundred and thirty pounds. He'd worn Big Mac overalls, a blue work shirt, and a felt hat all four days Lee stayed there, even on the visit to the hospital. He was dressed this way now and Lee studied him as they walked out across the
lawn and then into the barnyard. John was dark like Grandfather Hatcher had been, all the Hatchers had Indian blood in them.

They went inside the barn and John walked over to a stall, then turned around.

“Well, Lee, it's been real nice havin' you stay with us.”

“Thank you, John. I've learned a lot.”

“Tell me one thing, Lee. It's something I've been meaning to ask you. You don't have the true faith do you?”

“No, sir,” Lee said. “You mean the Baptist, don't you?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“No, not right now,” Lee answered.

“Have you any faith?”

“No, sir, I guess I don't.”

“You think about it, son. It would make this old man mighty happy to think that someday you would.”

“All right, John,” Lee said, “I will think about it.”

“It would make me mighty happy,” John said.

“I'll try my best, John.”

Becky: West Florida Romance

“T
hat's them,” Reeves said.

Down the highway under some trees some people stood by a white mailbox. The little girl was standing behind the woman. A boy in a
T
-shirt stood next to the girl. They both looked small, babies, really.

I looked at Reeves. His alcoholic's face was up over the wheel with his eyes squinted, trying to see through the dirty windshield and glare off the highway. Fine veins branched redly under his cheeks. He was excited for sure.

We went off the road and along the shoulder.

“Becca'll ride up here with us,” he said. “You'll see what I mean.”

We came alongside and he stopped the car.

“Well,” he said out my window, “I made it after all.”

“I knew you would,” the woman said. “I wasn't worried.”

“That's good,” Reeves said.

The woman smiled at me and pulled the children forward. Her hair was bleached, the roots showing dark. Her eyebrows were painted on, like those I had seen in photographs of Mexican whores in boxes outside Mexico City around the turn of the century.

“C'mon, Paul,” she said, tugging at the boy. He resisted, apparently scared of me. His face was dirty and he wore thick spectacles, his eyes large and milky-blue behind the glass. The woman pushed him forward, then the little girl.

“This here's a Washington boy,” Reeves said. “Picked him up outside Lassiter.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman said. She pushed the boy again, and I reached over and opened the back door.

Reeves leaned over the seat and as the little girl got in he lifted her up over and stood her between us.

The woman then the boy got in and I closed their door.

“This sure is good of you, Pat,” the woman said.

“How's my ol' Becca?” Reeves said. He laid his arm around the child's waist. “Can you give your ol' Uncle Pat a kiss? Hmmm? Can you?”

The girl was looking at me, her head slightly above mine, her eyes clear child's eyes. She was a beautiful little girl.

Reeves put his hand on her leg.

I shook my head at her.

“The bank closes at three, don't it?” the woman asked.

Reeves pulled Becca to him. She put her arm around his neck.

“Ain't she somethin',” he said.

Becca gave him a kiss. Reeves moved his hand up under her dress. She kissed again and started to bounce up and down on the seat, the cushion gently moving beneath me.

“Well, Pat,” I said, “I believe you. I think I'll get out here if you don't mind. I'd like to walk a bit.”

“Out here?” Reeves said, looking over Becca's shoulder. He had a perplexed look on his face.

“Right,” I said. I opened the door and got out. In back the woman was looking in her purse. She looked up, startled.

“Sure,” Reeves said. He reached around Becca and closed the door.

I stepped back.

Becca didn't look, watching Reeves as he took the wheel. Then the car moved off, bouncing as it hit the pavement, sun flashing sharply off its dusty flanks. The boy's face appeared at the rear window, soon vanishing into shadow.

I watched them for a moment and then turned around and walked over to the mailbox.

Leona Pride, it read. “A widow woman,” Reeves had said. “Yes, sir, really honest to God in love, the both of us. No, she don't know. She thinks it's her I'm interested in.”

War Songs

I
've been thinking of you and hope you have a Happy Birthday tomorrow. Hope the day is correct. I told Gloria how we used to have mental telepathy in Spokane, ha, ha.

Hope Jay is well and I have wondered if you got over the ulcer trouble. Hope Dave is well and happy. Do they have children? Excuse the mistakes. My glasses need changing as I don't see too good. I remember Martha's daughter Lynn and what caused her to die so young? That must have been very hard on Martha and family.

Mother and Melissa have been fine. Fred is about the same (bedridden), he is up a little each day. I told you about his broken neck and he never walked again. Donna gets pretty tired from the care. She had to train about like a nurse to care for him. Rena Jean lives in Tacoma. She has two girls. Diane lives at Skyway has two boys and one girl. Betty and Lora had some nerve trouble. Betty is fine but Lora isn't too well yet. Think Tom is a lot to blame. David (their boy) just twenty-one eloped with a Japanese girl and the dad and other grandma disowned him. Lora and Tom bought a new model home at Bothell and Tom won't let him bring her there at all. The rest of us will be kind to her if that's what he wants. Lora is a Christian and will be good to her. I don't approve of mixed marriages but will always be good to her. He met her at the University of Wash.

I was very sad about the middle of November. John's brother Ralph had a heart attack. He lived just a few days and passed away. We got two cute cards to send him at the Veterans' Hospital in Walla Walla and had some pictures for him too but he died before I got them there. He was still Catholic so they had
a rosary and mass. I couldn't go as I was low on money. He was like a brother to me all these years. He was up to Davenport in August and helped Walter do some painting. He got diabetes and I know that he had been doctoring. Walter and Helen and families went to Walla Walla for the funeral. On the way home they got about twenty miles from Walla Walla and Walter had a heart attack at the wheel. Mike took over (he is eighteen now) and they took Walter to the hospital. He didn't have any heart damage. The electric card-o-graph showed the old arteries ruptured and the new ones took over. I told you he had heart surgery a year ago, I believe. Had he not had the operation he would have died on the spot. We had two heart attacks within two weeks in the family and you can imagine how upset I was—after going through it with John. The Walla Walla heart doctors who did the surgery seem to think he is getting along okay Doris (John's sister) isn't very well her blood pressure went high and she had chest pains from the strain of it all. Wish I could go visit them. I haven't been to Walla Walla for six years or Davenport.

Guess you think this is some letter with all the bad news. I am just getting over a virus. It started in my stomach and then I got a sore throat I lost my voice and it hit my lungs and I nearly had pneumonia for a week or two. I have been several weeks getting over the bronchial cough and cold. I had been planning to write for several weeks. I felt pretty bum.

Donald took Gloria on a long trip in August she was gone all month. She was in Wash., Idaho, Montana, Yellowstone, S. Dakota, Nebraska, Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee (saw Elvis Presley's home in Memphis), New Orleans, Texas, Dallas, New Mexico (saw the Carlsbad Caverns), Nevada, Las Vegas, Reno, Northern Calif., Ore., and home. They stayed at motels with pools and
TV
and she had the time of her life. We sure missed her though. She and Julie both had mumps this summer.