House Made of Dawn (18 page)

“Hello, Benally,” he said, real soft and easy like. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was smiling the way he does when he knows you're scared. We were just going home, I said, and I asked him what he wanted. He just stood there, smiling and watching us sweat, I guess, and all the time tapping that stick in his hand. “Let's see your hands, Benally.” He was close to us, and we had our backs to the wall. I raised my hands up and held them out. I was almost touching him. He had a flashlight, you know, and he turned it on. “Your hands, Benally, they're shaking,” he said, like he wondered why and was worried about it. He made me keep my hands there for a long time in the bright light, and they were shaking bad and I couldn't hold them still. Then he asked me how much money I had. He knew I had been paid, I guess, and I gave him all I had left. He looked at the money for a long time, like maybe it wasn't enough, and I was scared and shaking. Pretty soon, “Hello,” he said. “Who's your friend, Benally?” And he stepped in front of him and held the light up to his face. I told him his name and said he was out of work; he was looking for a job and didn't have any money. Martinez told him to hold out his hands, and he did, slowly, like maybe he wasn't going to at first, with the palms up. I could see his hands in the light and they were open and almost steady. “Turn them over,” Martinez said, and he was looking at them and they were almost steady. Then suddenly the light jumped and he brought the stick down hard and fast. I couldn't see it, but I heard it crack on the bones of the hands, and it made me sick. He didn't cry out or make a sound, but I could see him there against the wall, doubled up with pain and holding his hands. And the light went out and Martinez went by me in the dark, and I could hear him breathe, short and quick, like he was laughing, you know. We got out of there and went on home. His hands weren't broken, but they were swollen up pretty bad and the next day he could barely move his fingers and there were big ugly marks above his knuckles, all yellow and purple.
We told Milly that we had been working on that radiator, you know, and it fell over on his hands.

He couldn't forget about it. It was like that time at Tosamah's place, you know? He didn't say anything—and even when it happened he didn't say anything; he just doubled over down there against the wall and held his hands—but he couldn't forget about it. He would sit around, looking down all the time at his hands. Sometimes I would say something, and it was like he didn't hear me, like he had something bad on his mind and he had to do something but he didn't know what it was. Then he would look up after a while and ask me what I had said. It was getting harder and harder to talk to him. Milly would say something funny, you know, and she and I would laugh and look at him, and he would smile, but you could tell that he was thinking about something else and hadn't heard. And even when he got drunk it was different somehow. He used to get drunk and happy, and we would laugh and kid around a lot, but after that night it was different.

One day I came by for him and we went out to Westwood. Sometimes, when I'm pretty well caught up on the line, Daniels lets me take the truck out on a delivery. It's a nice break, you know, because you get a chance to see everything and get some fresh air. When there wasn't a big hurry and I had to go way out someplace like that, I would take him along. Daniels never found out, or I guess I would have been fired. Well, it was a nice day, and he was just sitting around up here, like he didn't know what to do, so I told him to come on and he seemed pretty glad to go. We went out on Wilshire, and it was a nice day and it was getting on toward noon. I didn't have to be back until one, and it was only going to take a few minutes to unload. I figured when I was through we would have time to get a hamburger and drive down by the beach. I always liked Westwood, and it was a nice day and there were a lot of people walking around on the streets. I backed the truck into the alley and pulled up to the dock. The cab was out a little way on the sidewalk, and the people had to go around.
He waited in the cab while I unloaded. It wasn't a big order, and I was through pretty quick. I got back in the truck and started to pull out, but he told me to wait. “Let's go,” I said. We just had time to beat the noon-hour traffic on Wilshire and get on down to the beach. But he made me wait, and we were just sitting there, you know, and I didn't know what was going on and I was getting kind of mad. Pretty soon a woman came out of one of the shops, and he nodded and wanted me to look at her. She was all dressed up and just walking along kind of slow and looking in the windows. She passed right in front of us, you know, and he leaned back a little like he didn't want her to see him. I didn't know what was going on. She was good-looking, all right, but she wasn't young or big anywhere and I couldn't see anything to get excited about. She was rich-looking and kind of slim; you could tell that she had been out in the sun and her skin was kind of golden, you know, and she had on a plain white dress and little white shoes and gloves. She was good-looking, all right. She had on sunglasses, and her mouth was small and pretty with some kind of pale color on her lips, and her hair wasn't long but it was neat and shiny and clean-looking; there was one streak of silver in it, clean and wide, and all around it the dark, shining hair, almost copper-colored in the sun. We watched her out of sight.

He said he knew her. He used to work for her, I guess, and she liked him. She was going to help him, he said. She liked him a lot, and, you know, they fooled around and everything, and she was going to help him get a job and go away from the reservation, but then he got himself in trouble. He kept saying that: that she liked him and was going to help him in some way, but he got himself in trouble. I didn't believe him at first, and I was kind of mad because he was going on like that, bragging and joking about some white woman. But I found out later that he was telling the truth. When he got hurt, you know, he talked about her and said her name, and he was hurt bad and out of his mind, and you could tell that he wasn't making it up. It's funny, but even at first, when I thought he was kidding around, he acted somehow
like he knew all about her and she was special and good and she liked him a lot. I saw her again at the hospital. She was good-looking, all right, like those women you see in the magazines.

He didn't look for a job anymore.

I wish we had remembered to close that window. Rain. I wish it would stop raining. This place is always cold and kind of empty when it rains. We were going to tear out some pictures of horses and cars and boats and put them up on the walls. Milly brought some curtains over one time, but we never did get around to putting them up. Maybe I'll put them up tomorrow. She'd get a kick out of that. We used to kid him about that little suitcase. It was over there in the corner, and there was one little spider that always wanted to make a web across it. Milly would come in and brush it away, but that little spider got right to work and made another web in the same place. It never gave up, and finally we told her to leave it alone. That spider was our roommate, we said, and she didn't have any right to come around all the time, trying to evict it. Then she was always talking about how nobody, even a spider, ought to live in a suitcase and she was going to bring some tin shears and make a doll house out of it; that spider ought to have a little rocking chair, she said. It gets cold in here when it rains. It's a good place; you could fix it up real nice. There are a lot of good places around here. I could find some place with a private bathroom if I wanted to, easy. A man with a good job can do just about anything he wants.

Old Carlozini ought to be getting home pretty soon. She's old, and she ought not to be out in the rain like that. One of these days she's going to just fall down and die in the street, or they're going to find her all alone in that little room of hers. She has a few little things, you know, some dishes and spoons, and every morning about five-thirty you can hear her moving around down there. She always wears that old black hat when she goes out. It looks funny on her because it's big and the brim droops down all around her head and there's an old beat-up flower that hangs down over one eye and bounces around when she walks. She
never says hello or anything, but she's always watching you, like maybe she thinks you're going to sneak up on her or steal something from her. She can hear you on the stairs, you know, and she always opens her door a little, just a crack, and watches you go by. That's about all she has to do, I guess.

One time we were going out, and old Carlozini was sitting down there on the stairs, all bent over and still, like she was going to sleep. The door of her room was wide open, and she was just sitting out there on the stairs, and it was the first time we had ever seen the inside of her room. It was real dark and dirty-looking, and even out there on the stairs we could smell it. I guess it was the first time that door had ever been left open like that. She never takes a bath, and you know how old people smell and how they like to shut themselves up in the dark. It was pretty bad, that smell. Well, we started to go around her and she said something. We turned and she was looking up at us and her eyes were all wet. “Vincenzo is not well,” she said. “It is very bad this time.” She had a little cardboard box in her hands and she held it out to us. We didn't know what she was talking about, but we looked inside that box and there was a little dead animal of some kind, a guinea pig, I guess; it had black and white fur and it was kind of curled up on its side and there was a dirty white cloth under it. “Oh, it is very bad this time,” she said, and she was shaking her head. We didn't know what to say, and she was crying and looking at us like maybe we could make it all right if we wanted to. It was like she was being real friendly and nice to us, you know, so we would make it all right. “His name is Vincenzo,” she said. “He's very smart, you know; he can stand up straight, just like you gentlemen, and clap his little hands.” And her eyes lit up and she had to smile, thinking about it. She went on like that, like that little thing was still alive and maybe it was going to stand up and clap its hands like a baby. It made me real sad to see her, so old and lonely and carrying on like that, and she kept saying “you gentlemen” and everything. We didn't know what to do, and we just listened to her and looked down at that little furry animal. And
then after a while he said he thought it was dead. At first I thought he shouldn't have said that; it seemed kind of mean somehow, you know? But I guess she had to be told. I think maybe she knew it was dead all the time, and she was just waiting for someone to say it, because she didn't know how to say it herself. All at once she jerked that little box away and looked at him real hard for a minute, like she was hurt and couldn't understand how it was, why on earth he should say a thing like that. But then she just nodded and slumped over a little bit. She didn't say any more, and she wasn't crying; it was like she was real tired, you know, and didn't have any strength left. I asked her if she wanted us to take Vincenzo out to the alley, but she just sat there and didn't say anything. She was just sitting there on the stairs, holding that little dead animal real close to her, and she looked awful small and alone and the night was coming on and it was getting dark down there. It's funny, you know; that little animal was her friend, I guess, and she kept it down there in her room, always, maybe, and we didn't even know about it. And afterward it was just the same. She never said anything to us again.

 

There's always a lot of rain this time of the year. It isn't bad; it lets up after a while, and then everything is bright and clean. It's a good place to live. There's always a lot going on, a lot of things to do and see once you find your way around. Once you find your way around and get used to everything, you wonder how you ever got along out there where you came from. There's nothing there, you know, just the land, and the land is empty and dead. Everything is here, everything you could ever want. You never have to be alone. You go downtown and there are a lot of people all around, and they're having a good time. You see how it is with them, how they get along and have money and nice things, radios and cars and clothes and big houses. And you want those things; you'd be crazy not to want them. And you can have them, too; they're so
easy
to have. You go down to those stores, and they're full of bright new things and you can buy just about anything you
want. The people are real friendly most of the time, and they're always ready to help you out. They don't even know you, but they're friendly anyway; they go out of their way to be nice. They shake your hand and pay attention to you; and sometimes you don't know how to act, you know, but they try to make it easy for you. It's like they
want
you to get along, like they're looking out for you. The Relocation people are all right, too. It's not like Tosamah says. They know how it is when you first come, how scared you are and all, and they look out for you. They pay your way; they get you a job and a place to stay; I guess they even take care of you if you get sick. You don't have to worry about a thing.

“No, sirree, Benally, you don't have to worry about a thing.” That's what Tosamah says. He's always going on about Relocation and Welfare and Termination and all, and that little fat Cruz is always right behind him, smiling and nodding like he knew what it was all about. I used to listen to Tosamah. He's a clown, and you have to laugh at some of the things he says. But you have to know how to take it, too. He likes to get under your skin; he'll make a fool out of you if you let him.

 

Let's see…let's see; Manygoats gave me three dollars, and I bought a bottle of wine. I wonder who that great big girl was. I have two dollars and eleven cents. I wish I had some more of that wine. I wish I had another bottle of wine…and a dollar bill…and two dimes…and two pennies.