Tishomingo Blues

21

A LANTERN HUNG FROM THE TENT where the pie lady, smoking a cigarette, sat in a low-slung canvas chair at the edge of the awning. She watched him walk up to her, not smiling, not saying a word.

She was wearing lipstick.

She was wearing, he believed, eyeliner. Her hair was combed from a part and fell to her shoulders in a white shirt with a few buttons undone and a long skirt; but it didn't look period either.

He held out the joint, half of it left, and watched her look at it and then look up at his eyes before she took it, pinched it between her fingers and leaned forward in the scoop of canvas to the flame on the lighter he offered. She inhaled and held it, her body straight, before she blew out a cloud and sank back in the chair and smiled.

"You made it."

"I'm on picket duty."

"You mean right now?"

"At this moment, in the scrub."

She said from down in her chair, "You left your post for a piece of Naughty Child?"

There was an answer to that and he tried hard to think of what it was while she sat waiting to hear it. Finally all he did was smile.

She didn't, she kept looking at his eyes looking at hers.

"How'd it turn out?"

"The mister came up from his camp to pick up the pie and take it back. I told him it burned and I threw it away. He wanted to know where, so he could check on me, not trusting I even made the pie. I told him go on over to the Porta-Johns, it was in the second one to the left."

"Did he check?"

"He thought about it."

"Did you make the pie?"

"I rolled out the dough, got that far."

Dennis propped his rifle against the table. He pulled a short straight camp chair over next to hers, sat down and took off his kepi, settling in with things to say to her.

"You didn't want him to have any Naughty Child."

"I suppose."

"I run into girls all the time," Dennis said, "feeling trapped in a situation they don't know how to get out of. They're young, they're divorced, they have kids and the former husbands are all behind in their child support. Some of 'em look at me, the girls, I can see 'em wondering if it might work this time."

She said, "What are you wondering, how to get out?"

"Not always." He could feel the weed and was comfortable and wanted to talk. "I've met girls-I always think of them as girls instead of young women because it's my favorite word. Girl." He smiled.

"What's your least favorite?"

"Snot. What's yours?"

"Bitch. I get called it a lot."

They could go off on that, but he wanted to make his point before he forgot what it was. "I started to say, I've met girls I feel I could marry and we'd be happy and get along."

"How do you know?"

"We can talk and like the same things. Being able to talk is important."

She said, "Tell me about it," and said, "What do you do, you meet all these girls?"

"For a living? Take a guess."

She said, "You're not a salesman," and kept staring at him. "You're not from around here, or anywhere close by. You're not in law enforcement."

"Why do you say that?"

"I mean like a sheriff's deputy. You seem intelligent."

"You don't think much of cops?"

She said, "Having known a few."

"Why'd you marry this hardcore Confederate?"

She said, "I was going through one of my stupid periods. I started writing to a convict-he was related to a friend of mine and she got me into it. Girls do that, you know, write to convicts. They come to believe theirs is really a nice guy-look at the letters he writes. The idea is to make him see his good side and be comfortable with it." She raised the joint to take a hit but then paused. "Well, mine doesn't have a good side, and by the time I found out it was too late, we were married."

"Leave," Dennis said. "Walk out."

"I'm working up my nerve to file. What I'd love to do is move to Florida. Orlando. I hear it's the place to be, a lot going on."

She was a country girl-Loretta-trying hard not to be, but stuck with who she was. Her goal, to live where there were theme parks.

She said, "Anyway, I'm guessing what you do, meet all these girls that fall in love with you," staring at him again, slipping back into her soft mood; but then seemed to straighten in the camp chair as she said, "You're a croupier, at one of the casinos. No, you're a professional gambler, a card counter."

Dennis shook his head. It sounded good though. He caught a glimpse of himself at a poker table, very cool.

"You're not a business executive."

"Why not?"

"Your hair."

"I could be in the music business."

"Yeah, you could. Are you?"

"No."

"Then why'd you mention it?"

"I'm trying to help. You like blues?"

"Yeah, I guess. You're some kind of musician?" Dennis shook his head. "How about Drug Enforcement, something like that, a federal agent?"

Looking at him she half-closed her eyes in the lantern glow. "Yeah, you could be working undercover. But you wouldn't give me a joint, would you?"

"What if I was a dealer?"

She studied him again, their faces only a couple of feet apart. "I suppose. But you look too, like, clean and healthy." She narrowed her eyes now, suspicious. "You ever been to Parchman?"

He shook his head. "That where your husband was?"

"Two years."

It came to Dennis all at once. He said, "Your husband was a sheriff's deputy before that and now he works for Mr. Kirkbride…"

She said, "Oh, my Lord."

"And runs the drug business."

She said, "You're the diver."

Dennis waited.

She said, "Why don't you tell on the son of a bitch and have him put away?"

Everybody knew he was up on the ladder when Floyd was shot. She said it herself and Dennis asked if Arlen had told her. She heard it in a casino bar and when she asked her husband about it, yes, he told her. Loretta said he got drunk and told her all kinds of stupid things he did.

Dennis was in the pasture now with his rifle, heading back to his post, every now and again stumbling over ruts and clods of earth in the dark.

She wanted to know why he didn't tell. He said to her, "I'm going to next week, unless something happens I don't have to." She didn't know what he meant. "Like what?" Now he was talking the way Robert did, with no intention of spelling it out. He said to Loretta, the way Robert would keep you hanging, "Don't file yet. You may not have to." Picked up his rifle and got out of there.

He trudged along toward the dark mass of the thicket. Finally when he was getting close he saw the figure standing in the open. Dennis thought it was another sentry and he was off course from the direction he should be heading. When he'd walked off from the post he had turned around and lined up with the round top of an oak back in the thicket. There it was, he was heading toward it. But also toward the sentry, who didn't look like he had a rifle.

No, because it was Colonel John Rau-shit-his hand on the hilt of his sword.

He said, "Corporal, you left your post."

Dennis said, "Yes sir," because, well, why not.

"You know you could be court-martialed and shot?"

"Sir," Dennis said, going along with it, half turning to point toward the dark pasture, "I thought I saw something out there."

It stopped him, John Rau with nothing in his head ready to say.

"I thought it might be a Confederate raiding party," Dennis said, "looking to take prisoners."

John Rau said, "Corporal-"

But Dennis was already saying, "Get shipped off to Andersonville to die of dysentery."

"Corporal?"

"Yes sir."

"You've been gone over an hour."

"Colonel, you want to know the truth?"

"Tell me."

"I'm not a reenactor. I don't feel it in me."

"Are you quitting?"

"When this is over. I doubt I'll ever do it again."

"But you'll be here tomorrow."

"Yes sir, for the battle."

"And you know Arlen Novis will be coming out of the orchard over there with his boys. I can't say they're Dixie Mafia, that name doesn't mean anything to me. I do know they're thugs, they're vicious, and as soon as they wake up in the morning they'll be drinking again. By the time they cross this field they will have worked themselves up, they'll come with that Rebel yell like they're ready to kill. During battle reenactments they get into fistfights with Union soldiers all the time. They're warned beforehand, they still do it, 'cause they become out of control. I remember both at Franklin and at Corinth last year they met our line swinging rifle butts at us. My impression at those events, I was a captain with the Ninety-fifth Ohio, acting as an infantry officer for a change. Though I prefer cavalry. I was Stuart at Yellow Tavern when I lost my horse, a beautiful mare." John Rau paused to look for the point he was making. "You understand, Arlen and his fellas could come tomorrow with every intention of taking you out of the picture, for good."

Dennis was ready. He said, "If I told you right now I saw them murder Floyd Showers, would you go over there and arrest him?"

John Rau took a moment before saying, "He'll still be around Monday."

Here was a chance to play Robert with him. Say something like, Oh, are you sure? Or, You sure about that? But in Dennis' head it didn't sound anything like Robert. Jesus, trying to be clever. What he said was, "So you're giving Arlen a chance to take me out of the picture, as you say."

John Rau shook his head. "Don't report for tomorrow's muster."

"I know a person," Dennis said, "Arlen told they killed Floyd, and wants him put away."

John Rau said, "I have Loretta Novis. She'll tell it if my eyewitness testifies. But if he does, I don't need her, do I?"

Dennis said, "I'll talk to you Monday."

John Rau said, "You know I can have you subpoenaed and put on the stand under oath."

Dennis said, "Sir, I have to get back to my post."

Thinking he was smart. But John Rau had the last word.

He said, "You take part tomorrow, I don't want to see you wearing those chevrons, private."

They had it worked out that Arlen would come up from one end of the tent street and Fish and Newton would approach from the other end. He'd picked Newton 'cause he was the one had sassed this Robert when he was with the girl showing some of her tit, and would have gone after him he didn't have a goddamn sword in his hand. Newton 'd worked the wad around in his mouth, messy as hell, beard all stained, and said he would settle with the nigger, don't worry.

They'd meet at General Grant's tent and see what was doing. See if they could stick a gun in the man's mouth, this Caesar German-o, and tell him to go on home. It gave Arlen a chance to stop and see his wife. If he saw any green tomatoes it'd mean she never made the goddamn pie she burned.

The first thing he said to her was, "Jesus Christ, is that a roach on the table?"

Loretta looked over from her sling chair. "It looks like a roach to me. Doesn't it look like one to you?"

"I know what it is."

"Then what're you asking me for?"

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"I told you, don't ever bring none from home. Have these women sniffing the air, saying things about you."

"They're so scared of you they don't come near me. I wasn't even invited to the tea. I wouldn't have gone, but they could've asked."

Arlen said, "You disobeyed me."

"I didn't bring the pot, sweetheart. A soldier boy came by, a Yankee, and left it for me." "Who was it?"

"I don't want to get you upset."

"I'm asking you who it was."

"And I'm not telling, so go fuck yourself."

This was not the girl used to write sweet letters to him in the joint. They changed on you, all of 'em. Set 'em up with a nice house and a car and turned into alligators.

"You're trying to get me to smack you," Arlen said, "so you can, scream and get people looking out their tents. I'll ask you again we get home, you can scream all you want."

Now she was giving him her sleepy-eyed reefer grin, like she knew something about him he didn't. She did it all the time and it liked to drive him crazy.

Arlen said to her as he always did, hoping for an answer but never getting one, "What is wrong with you?"

An hour or so before this, in General Grant's camp, Germano had come out of his tent sweating in his underwear, growling, telling Hector and Tonto, "That's it, fuck it. I can't sleep in there, I'm going back to the hotel."

There was no way to argue with him if that's what he wanted to do. Hector said, "Of course," and said he would get Groove and Cedric to take him. It didn't matter to Germano who drove him, but it did to Hector; he wanted to be here if the Confederates came to visit.

Germano asked if Robert was sleeping. Hector said no, but he was around someplace. Germano said, "Tell him I've gone back."

When they had left, Hector said to Tonto, "There was no way to stop him. Now, what if he finds Robert in bed with his missus?"

Tonto took time to think about it, but all he said was, "I don't know. I guess we have to wait to find out."

They were sitting by the table in front of Germano's tent now, the lantern hanging above them from the awning. Both Hector and Tonto, when they thought of Jerry or would mention him, it was always as Germano. They couldn't understand why Robert allowed him to be the boss. They would protect the man's life, not having much respect for him, but because Robert would say to do it, okay? You mind? Not the way Germano the hard-on said to do something. Robert made you feel close to him. "Working for Robert," Hector said, "was like being in the fucking movies." Robert had imagination. Go on down to Mississippi and take over a deal from the Dixie Mafia. What? First get you some Civil War uniforms. What? And Civil War guns. Yeah? And you get to play war like when you were kids. Yeah? No kidding.

Sitting in the lantern light, Hector said, "He could have been a killer of bulls, a good one with his own style. But I believe he would have someone else plant the sticks.

"You know why? Because he likes to have people with him who know what they're doing. Planting the sticks looks difficult, but requires far less nerve than to go over the horns with the sword. I believe he can be anything he wants that catches his eye."

"Don't you know what he wants to do?" Tonto said. "He wants to dive off that ladder."

"He told you that?"

"No, but he would like to."

"How do you know?"

"See the way he watches that quiet guy dive off the ladder, that Dennis. Look at Robert's eyes, man, when he says `Hey, shit,' and shakes his head. He would give up something to do it. The guy high in the air, twisting and turning, is in control of himself, showing how cool he is. And Robert 's cool. He keeps Dennis around because he respects him as a man."

"You believe he wants to," Hector said, "but you don't know it."

Tonto said, "No, not the same way I know that guy down the street, the Confederate guy, is coming here. But the feeling I have about Robert is that I know it."

"From the other way also," Hector said, "two of them coming."

Jim Rein, the Fish, saw the two sitting in the lantern light. The one behind the table had the pigtail in his hair. The one at this end of the table had the bandanna covering his. He was looking this way. Jim Rein said to Newton, "That one there was at Junebug's with the general and the nigger." Meaning Robert, the one Newton was looking for.

Newton said, "Ain't those two niggers?"

Jim Rein said, "I think they's Mexicans."

Newton said, "What's the difference? They look like smokes to me."

They saw Arlen, who'd come from the opposite end of the tent street, facing them now, Arlen's Navy Colt stuck in his belt near to the front. Jim Rein and Newton wore their revolvers in military holsters with the flaps cut off. Jim Rein saw the one wearing the bandanna staring at him the same way he'd stared at Junebug's without ever saying a word. As Jim Rein and Newton came up to Arlen, Jim Rein saw the two Mexicans or whatever they were bring out their own Colt revolvers from wherever they kept them and lay them on the table-at the same time without saying anything or nudging each other.

Hector Diaz looked at the three Confederate soldiers in their hats with no style to them, no personality, three guys, Hector believed, who were used to scaring people by the way they looked at you. But now the expression on the face of the leader changed. This was the one called Arlen. He said, "How you boys doing this evening?"

Hector looked up at him. Tonto looked at the other two.

"Getting yourselves some air?"

They didn't answer that one either.

"Can't get you boys to say nothing," Arlen said. "How about your general, Mr. German-o? How's he doing?"

Hector smiled a little; he couldn't help it. He said, "Our general is asleep."

"You his guard dogs?"

"No, what you said, we getting the air."

"Ask him to come out here," Arlen said, "so I can speak to him. Or I can step inside the tent."

"I tole you," Hector said, "he sleeping."

Arlen nodded at the table. "Those pistols loaded?"

"Yes, they are," Hector said.

"You know you're not suppose to put loads in your guns?"

"Yes, we know it," Hector said, "the same as you know it."

Arlen said, "What're we getting to here?"

Hector turned his head to Tonto. "Fucking High Noon, man."

Arlen said, "I didn't hear you."

"I tole him," Hector said, "you want to pull your guns, but you don't have the nerve."

The one with the tobacco stains in his beard said, "What'd he say?"

But the one, Arlen, was louder, telling them, "You think that's what we come here for? To shoot you? Jesus Christ."

"Our Lord and Savior," Hector said. "No, I don't think to shoot us. Maybe scare us so we go home."

"We gonna see you tomorrow," Arlen said, "when we do Brice's, and run you off with rifle butts and bayonets."

Hector said, "And swords?"

"You want to sword-fight?" Arlen said. "I got a sword. Shit, we'll do 'er any way you want, Pancho."

Hector turned to Tonto again. "You hear this guy?"

Tonto only shrugged.

But then the one with the stained beard said, "Where's the nigger at?"

Tonto looked at him and said, "He left. He went to fuck your wife."

Hector could see the guy with the beard was about to go crazy, but Arlen stopped him, took the hand reaching for the pistol and twisted it behind him the way cops know how to do it, and that was the end of the visit. Arlen said one word to them before they marched off with the one still on the edge of being crazy. He said, "Tomorrow."

Hector looked at Tonto. "Tomorrow okay with you?"