The Son

Chapter Fifty-one. Diaries of Peter McCullough, AUGUST 6, 1917

Sally called to say she will be coming to visit. “Don’t worry about your little pelado,” she told me. “I won’t interfere.”

For a moment I saw everything falling in around me. I didn’t say anything. Finally I told her, “There is no reason for you to be here.”

“Except that it is my home. I would like to visit my own home. All sorts of excitement going on, I hear.”

“You are not welcome,” I said, though I knew it was pointless.

“Well, get that idea out of your head. Because I am coming back.”

MY FATHER WAS sitting on the porch with the driller and a few other men.

“I just spoke to Sally,” I said.

He gave me a look.

“And if anything happens, I will make certain things known.”

“I’ll see you boys this evening,” he told the men. They got up as one and left.

“Whatever you are about to say, do not say it. In fact do not even think it.”

“Stop her from coming.”

“I have nothing to do with that,” he said.

I shook my head.

“Anyone but that girl, Pete. In fact I would like it if you got every wetback in town pregnant, because unless I am given a proper Goodnighting, my days of prodding are over, and I could use a few more heirs.”

“We have nothing to worry about from María,” I said.

“I know that.”

“Then tell Sally to stay away.”

“You know, if you were a Comanche you could just cut Sally’s nose off, and throw her out, and get married to the new one.”

“Her name is María.”

“Unfortunately you are not a Comanche. You are subject to the laws of America. Which means you should have gotten rid of Sally before signing this other one on.”

“I’m embarrassed for you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he told me.

“SO YOUR WIFE is returning?”

I look at her; there is no point denying it. “Don’t worry about her,” I say.

She shrugs. I can see she has been crying. “I knew it had to end sometime.”

“It doesn’t,” I say.

She turns from me.

I try to hug her but she shakes me off. “It’s fine,” she says.

“It’s not fine.”

“I will be fine.”

I realize she is not even talking to me.

AFTER SHE FELL asleep I took a bottle of whiskey and walked out into the chaparral until I reached Dog Mountain, which is nothing more than a large hill, though it is the tallest around. At the top is a large rock with a backrest cut or hacked into the stone and I climbed up and lay against it. The house was a mile or so behind me; I could see a few lights, but otherwise, it was dark.

When I had sat long enough I began to get a strange feeling. This has always been a warm place and men had likely sat on this exact rock for ten thousand years at least, as it provides the best view of the surrounding country. How many families had come and gone? Before there were men there was a vast ocean, and I knew that far beneath me there were living creatures turning to stone.

I thought of my brother, who has always pitied me for my temperament, who spends his life inside, obsessed with his papers and bank accounts. When the agarito ripens he can’t smell it, when the first windflowers bloom he will not see them. As for my father, he sees everything. But only so he can destroy it.

AUGUST 7, 1917

Sally arrived this morning. She kissed me politely on the cheek, then greeted María. “Nice to see you again, neighbor.” Then she laughed and said: “This heat can make for strange living arrangements.”

She said she would take a bedroom on the other side of the house and had her things brought up there.

Meanwhile, I was supposed to spend the day with Sullivan, as we have hired a crew to do more cross-fencing.

I intended to tell him he would have to do it without me, but María assured me it would be fine.

“Your wife and I are going to have to be alone at some point. Better sooner than later.”

WE MET THE crew at the gate and drove to the middle of the ranch, explaining what we wanted done. Gates here and here and there… after a few hours I was so antsy my hands were shaking. I told Sullivan I had to go.

Back at the house, Phineas’s Pierce Arrow was parked in the driveway. I got a terrible feeling. Phineas, Sally, and my father were all sitting in the parlor, waiting.

I went from room to room, calling for her, the kitchen, the great room, the library, then searched every closet. Consuela was in my bedroom, stripping the sheets off the bed. She would not speak. I went back downstairs and found the three of them still sitting there.

Sally said: “María has decided to go back to her own people.”

“I am her people.”

“Apparently she felt differently.”

“If you hurt her,” I said, “either one of you,” looking at Sally and my father, “I will kill you.”

They looked at each other and something crossed their faces, some expression of humor. If I’d had a pistol, they both would have died an instant later. There was a red mist and I took my jackknife out of its sheath, opened it, and stepped toward my wife.

“I will cut your fucking throat,” I told her. She smiled and I stepped closer and she lost all her color.

“And you,” I said, pointing the knife at my brother. “Did you know about this?”

“Pete,” he said, “we offered her ten thousand dollars to move back with her cousin in Torreón. She decided to take it.”

“Her cousin is dead.”

“She knows other people down there.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s in a car.”

“Son,” said my father, “it’s for the best.”

I went upstairs to my office. I loaded my pistol and was making my way down the hall when I saw the dark figure, leaning on the banister, waiting for me. The sunlight was on him and I stood for a long time watching: first he had a face like my father’s, then it was my own, then it was something else.

I went back to my desk.

Waiting for them to make the car ready. Leave for Torreón in an hour.