The
Summer of Indians by l. choy
I
Napa Valley is sure pretty this time of
year. Feel that warm air! It’s great sitting out here in the shade, and
look at all those clouds. Take a deep
breath…smells like cow poop, don’t it, Doc?
I can just sit here all day and…What?
You’d rather we talk about
me..? Sure, sure, Doc, and hey, I
do appreciate you listening, but then, that’s what you do for a living,
huh? People around here think I’m
paranoid. I’m not, you know. Not
anymore. I think I’m a lot better
now. And, you’re right; talking helps
put things into perspective. You want to
know what happened? It was interesting
but, hey, if I start to bore you just let me know, okay? My feelings are not going to be hurt. So, where should I begin…from the
beginning? Got me there, Doc, heh, heh.
The whole thing started when me and
Jennie moved into a studio apartment in downtown L. A. It was near a skid row. Anyway, we just got married so the location
didn’t matter at first, but after awhile she began noticing all those bums and
winos hanging around the neighborhood.
And garbage and stuff was dumped all over the place. Some people just don’t know any better, isn’t
that right, Doc? It was summer, and being in them studio apartments was like
being in an oven. Our air condition
didn’t work half the time and when it was working, it rattled like a train
going by. The landlord was a company
with a corporate logo and you can’t get beans outta those people. I tell you, Doc, the only relief from the
heat was going up to the roof or sitting out on a really rusty fire escape. I remember checking out them bolts every time
we sat out there. Had to. The whole
thing coulda collapsed and we go flying three stories down. It could happen.
Interest rates were low, so she said
we had to move. Jennie kept at me about
them new ‘tract’ homes she keeps reading about in the real estate section of
the Sunday papers. It had air
conditioners, dishwashers and all kinds of stuff, and every freaking day she
would harp on it. Well, one fine, hot
weekend we hop into our beat up Toyota
and headed east ‘cuz that’s where them tract homes were being built…right in
the middle of a desert. Had to be in the
desert. Land was cheap there, so guys
like us could afford it.
Geeze, the names they gave those
places: Oakwood Hills, Greenview Meadows, Blue Heaven Estates, you’d think it
was cemetery plots they were selling instead of houses. And you should’ve seen all those rows of
shiny banners flapping in the wind. They
reminded me of used cars lots, the ones you gotta be real cautious about. I was hot and sticky and pissed off by the
time we got there. The air condition in
the Toyota gave
up the ghost long ago and we had to sweat it out getting there. We arrived around noon and it was a scorcher,
a real furnace, but ahhh…stepping inside those crisp, cool houses, with the air
condition on full blast, it was a different world, and that alone was the thing
that sold me. Creature comforts are
really important to me, Doc. I wasn’t
impressed with the other stuff, but Jennie was.
She spent her life in rental apartments with windows facing air shafts
or brick walls, and you know how that is.
She takes one look at those green lawns and those big picture windows,
and she gets teary eyed. We were
young. I just got outta the army and was
working at a meat packing plant. Only
job they haven’t shipped overseas. What
with the secure job and money we’ve put aside, we had to go for it. Yea, Doc, I was once a butcher. Didn’t I mention this before? I still remember my first set of cutting
tools, share as razors, they were. I’ve
always liked knives, guns too. I have a
small collection of shotguns and I wrapped them up in oily rags. In the evenings, I use’ta unwrap them on top
of the kitchen counter and polish them barrels, over and over again. It relaxed me. Why the funny look, Doc? I don’t do it anymore, you know.
No, I wasn’t a butcher in the
army. I should’ve but you know how that
works. They started me in infantry, then to cook school, then they needed
bodies in demolition instead, and I ended up blowing things up. I really don’t want to get into that part of
my life. Just this part, okay?
So, I wrote a check for the deposit
while this real estate guy worked over my credit with the bank. The houses weren’t built yet so me and Jennie
decided to go and have a look-see at the vacant lot, you know, kinda getting
acquainted with where we were gonna live…maybe for the rest of our lives. Come to think of it, that’s pretty heavy
stuff, don’t you think? You know, living
in one place until you drop dead?
We drove out early in the morning and
followed the map that the real estate agent gave us. His name was Harry. Couldn’t tell his age but he sure had white
teeth, and with his hair slicked back, he looked like Count Dracula. No kidding.
All he needed was a black cape and he would be in the blood sucking
business. He marked out where the parcel was and told us to stick to the red
arrow markers that had numbers on them.
Our lot number was one three one three.
Yea, I know, Doc. It was kinda thoughtless of them. I remember once reading about buildings that
don’t have a thirteenth floor. If them builders could leave out a thirteenth
floor, what’s so difficult about leaving out the number thirteen on the lots,
huh? I’m not superstitious but they had
to give us that number not once, but twice.
I couldn’t believe it. You know,
for a guy who works at trying to stay calm, I sure do fuss a lot, don’t I? Come
on, tell me the truth. You think I got a
hot temper? Well, maybe I’ve got
reasons.
I left it to Jennie to follow the
markers while I drove. There we were,
bumping along on this dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand. If it weren’t for the telephone poles and
them red markers, we would’ve been lost.
Then she saw it! The marker with
those damn numbers. I nearly wetted my
pants, Doc. It was the sorriest patch of
dirt I ever did see. There wasn’t a
living thing growing within a thousand yards of the spot. When we drove closer, it showed all the signs
of being a left over lot. You know, like
in the army, when the Quartermaster passed out the bed sheets or clothing. If you’re last in line, you get the left over
sheets with frazzled edges and so thin because it’s been washed a zillion
times. Or the left over field jacket
that’s twice your size with jammed zippers, or the left over field cap that’s
held up by your ears. You know what I
mean.
Jennie got upset; she started bawling
and carrying on and saying it was all her fault. I tried calming her down but she just
blubbered some more. We were in the
middle of nowhere, and I was getting madder than hell. I thought I stripped those gears when I spun
that old sedan around and went flying toward the real estate office. I nearly ran over a couple of kids on
bicycles, and they gave me the finger as I sped by. I deserved it. I might’ve killed them poor little
shits. Jennie stopped crying when that
happened, and she began to pay serious mind to my driving. When we screeched to a halt in front of the
real estate office, I says to Jennie, “Jennie, you wait in the car while I go
get our deposit back.” She didn’t say a
word. She just sat there and wilted in
the heat.
Inside the office, I grabbed Count
Dracula by the neck and held him up against the wall. And I explained why I was doing it. He didn’t panic, even when his face was
turning kinda blue. No, he just waited
until I got tired of holding him up by his neck. So, I let him down, and he calmly put his arm
over my shoulder and said that my piece of dirt wasn’t gonna stay that
way. “No sir,” he says. He says that by the time they got finished,
it would look just fine, with paved roads and pretty green lawns all
around. “That locality that appears to
be a disaster to you would be, in time, an excellent neighborhood that you
would be extremely proud to live in,” he says.
Those were his exact words.
“Observe,” he says, pointing out the
window. “Would you believe that this
property was in exactly the same horrid condition a few months ago as your
empty lot is presently? Now, does it
resemble anything like your present lot?”
Hell, I had to admit that it didn’t.
“Well, sir,” he smiled with all his white teeth, “so it takes time for
good things to come to pass, time for excellence, time for the estate to
develop to it’s full potential. That is
why we are known as ‘developers’.” He
was sure some smart dude, “and when the
time comes for you and your lovely spouse to take full possession, and if
you’re not entirely satisfied with your house, why, we’ll gladly refund your
deposit, every cent of it, that’s how much faith we have in our
development. You’ve got my word on
this. Harry Smites the name, and selling
dream’s my game.” He smiled, showed all
his white teeth and hugged my shoulder.
I didn’t like his touching me, and I
told him. “I don’t like guys touching me.”
His arm flew up as if it got
burnt. I didn’t think he lied, though. What he said did make sense. I went back to the car to talk things over
with Jennie and gave her the same spiel that this Harry guy gave me…though not
as good. She says that if it was okay
with me, it was okay with her. And she
began smiling again.
II
A few weeks go by and, you know, the
place began to change just like Harry said it would. They were laying out roads, houses were going
up. There were bulldozers, lumber
trucks, construction workers, all rumbling about. It was late in the fall when they finally
started on our house. Jennie and I went
there nearly every weekend. It didn’t
look like much at first, but before you knew it, it began to look fine.
I couldn’t help but notice that the
construction work was organized just like the meat plant where I worked. Beef carcasses were hooked up on those revolving
steel chains, and as it inches by, each guy at an assigned station would hack
off a piece of the cow. Construction is
kinda like that but just the opposite.
Things get added rather than hacked off, and the guys are moving instead
of the chain. The building supplies for
each section were dumped out in the open on a pile a couple of hundred yards
apart. It was piled high in mounds,
boxes of nails, stacks of lumber, spools of electrical wire, shingles, bricks,
stuff like that. Like for instance, the
electrician would help themselves to the wire, the masons would help themselves
to the bricks, all from the same central pile.
They would walk over and just get it.
I don’t know who keeps track or does the calculating, but it stands to
reason that they musta run outta certain supplies in each pile now and
then. For instance, I noticed that in
one finished section they didn’t have any bricks left at all. Not a one.
Would you believe that those sections
with no bricks left had houses with shorter chimneys? I’m not kidding , Doc. Some were shorter by more than a foot. It’s something a lotta people don’t pay
attention to. I mean, who goes out there
and measures their brick chimney fer Christ sakes? All I’m saying is that if they run outta bricks,
the last couple of houses getting built got shorter chimneys. Whatta I know about building codes and
inspections? But you can bet I measured
my chimney when I made the connection.
The only measurements given in the brochures were for the room sizes and
he height of the roofline. It said
nothing about the height of chimneys, so I just went to the real estate office
and checked the master blueprint. Harry
wasn’t there but the guy that was there tried to give me a hard time. He asked why I wanted to look at it. I asked him if he wanted his desk thrown
outta the widow with him following close behind. You’d be surprise how guys fold when
threatened with bodily harm…even when you’re bluffing, and I was buffing, Doc,
I would never hurt anybody. Naw, he
couldn’t call the cops. Too many
visitors looking to buy and it won’t look good with cop cars screaming in all
over in front with their lights flashing and their sirens screaming.
I borrowed my neighbor’s step ladder
and leaned it against my chimney. I
remember the day being a gorgeous blue with little puffy clouds floating
by. It was an Indian summer, all
right. People were wearing their T-shirts,
planting new lawns, putting up fences, or just sitting around in their
half-finished houses drinking beer. They
spotted me with the tape measure on top of the ladder, doing this and doing
that. Some couldn’t figure what I was up
to, while others caught on quick and began looking up at their own
chimneys. One by one, they hauled out
ladders and began measuring and comparing the measurements with their
neighbors. Some who had shorter chimneys
kinda let out a howl. Some just turned a
little red and muttered something under their breaths. Thing is, they could’ve gone on for years not
knowing and been happy not knowing.
There’s something to be said about ignorance.
Beautiful out here, isn’t it? All this rolling green and shade trees. I think that’s a weeping willow right over
there. Always like them. I especially like the high wall and the razor
wire surrounding this place. Keeps the
undesirables outta here, don’t it, Doc?
Especially with all those sick criminals running loose nowadays.
The builders thought I was a
troublemaker, not that I gave a flying leap how they felt. I didn’t short count them bricks, and I
didn’t institute them lawsuits. My house
was finished and Jennie was as happy as a clam.
We put up bed sheets in the windows instead of real curtains when we
moved in. It looked kinda ratty but it
was what we could afford. After moving
all the furniture in, the place still looked empty, so we went furniture
shopping, and while I was at it, I bought some gardening tools, some seeds and
some fertilizers. I always wanted to
have a garden, and now that I got my own back yard, I can do it. They didn’t meter water in those days. You could use as much as you want. I mean, gardens need a lot of water and it’s
a desert, right? So when I left for work
in the morning, I’d leave the hose turned on to give the ground a good soaking. And you know what? By evening, when I got home, the ground was
as dry as if I hadn’t watered at all. So
I left the water running for a couple of weeks and it still stayed dry. It was certainly a mystery to me.
Say, Doc, did I mention that my house
was on higher ground? Well, it was. The house was built on a rise. Well, not a really big rise. Anyway, I got it through my head that maybe,
just maybe, the water was draining downhill to my neighbor’s yard. Late one night, after doing some grocery
shopping, I parked in front of the house, and while I was getting the bags
outta the car, I spotted this gorgeous full moon. I remembered telling Jennie to come out and
take a look-see. It sure was
pretty. I also noticed storm clouds hanging
above the mountains in the distant, and my first thought was maybe I didn’t
have to water the next day. As I was
looking, I noticed that my chimney was on level with my neighbors. It didn’t hit me just then, but after awhile,
with them grocery bags in my arms and me walking toward the back door, I
started thinking, hey, that couldn’t be right.
How could my chimney be level with them when my house is built on a
rise? Maybe I was looking at it
wrong. Maybe I was tired and the
moonlight got me confuse. It was too
dark to be measuring anything and as time passed, I began having anxiety
attacks. What’s that fancy word you use
all the time, Doc? Anal retentive, yeah,
that’s me. I couldn’t sleep the rest of
the night because my anal was so retentive.
At the crack of dawn, I was on top of
my ladder, measuring every which way. I
measured and re-measured and…and…I couldn’t believe it. My chimney…my chimney had SHRUNK! It was shorter by six inches! That was half a foot! I nearly went bald. How could a solid brick chimney lose six
inches? What’s this, some kind of
erosion? Somebody’s been chiseling off
the top? Termites? Termites don’t eat bricks. Somebody’s idea of a joke maybe? How could that be possible? Like I said, I’m not swift on a lotta things.
I couldn’t go to work. I had to call in sick. I spent half the day just sitting on the
patio, staring up at the chimney, trying to figure it out. Jennie was staring at me and worrying
too. She came out bringing me a tuna
fish sandwich, heavy on the mayonnaise, a nice pickle and a beer. You know, it’s been a couple of years and I
still can remember that lunch. Funny,
the things you remember. She also told
me to stop rocking. Rocking? Who’s rocking? Was I rocking? I asked her.
She said yes, and went back into the kitchen. She called out and said that I’ve been
rocking back and forth all morning. Now,
this was getting really scary ‘cuz I didn’t think I was moving at all.
So, there I was, eating my sandwich,
drinking my beer and rocking away, when I noticed something strange. “Say, Jennie,” I called out. “How many
concrete steps do we have out here on the patio? “Three,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Heck, unless I’m mistaken, somebody’s just ripped us off one,” I said.
It took me all that day crawling
around he foundation to discover that the house, my house, was slowly sinking
into the ground. I tell you, Doc, I
could hardly breathe, I was so crazy. I
think I wanted to kill somebody. Jennie
tried to calm me, but she fell apart when she discovered the little metal door
in the back of the chimney was half way into the ground. You know, the one you open to remove the
ash.
It was too late in the evening to do
anything and that made it worse. Did I
tell you I was in demolition, Doc? I
did? Well, I was, and I was really good
at it. Don’t know how many booby traps
we set in Afghanistan
but it was a lot. Anyway, that next
morning, I went into the garage and took down my army duffel bag that’s been
laying on top of the rafters. You won’t
believe the amount of C-3 I had in the bag.
It was enough to bring down a small size building. I had about three pounds of the stuff wrapped
in a dirty old jock strap and underwear.
The whole batch smelled of old urine and I figured no one would touch
it. I was wrong, all the stuff was
washed and folded and theC-3 was gone
including the detonators. Jennie was
such a good housekeeper.
That’s plastic explosive, Doc. It was called C-2 in the old days and the
limeys invented it. I think it’s called
C-4 nowadays. Anyway, I knew she
probably dumped the stuff in the garage somewhere and I was right. I found it stacked between the ready mix
cement and the ceramic flagstones. I was
enlarging the patio at the time. The
stuff looks a little like a soft gray brick, so that’s why she put it there, I
guess. It was safe enough. What was I doing with it? Hell, Doc, when I was mustering out I took
some souvenirs, everybody did. I
would’ve taken my M-2 carbine if I could.
They use to issue the stuff from quartermaster and you sign for
them. Nobody ever asked me for change
afterwards. I stashed away what we
didn’t use and I ended up with three pounds of the stuff. Don’t ask me how I smuggled it through
inspections. You don’t want to know.
Anyway, I had the stuff and I was
gonna use it if those real estate guys start giving me the run around. It was noon when I walked into their offices. There were couples wandering around looking
at displays of the cardboard models of houses.
I spotted Harry, same toothy smile, same slicked down hair. He greeted me with all his teeth and I told
him my problem…slowly, so’s he wouldn’t miss a word. He surprised me by being calm. I had him by the neck and off the ground like
last time. If I remember right, he was
calm that time too. He gave me the
impression that he was giving my problem some deep thought, which was difficult
when you’re hanging by your neck. He was
always surprising me so I let him down gently.
“Listen, Mac,” he said. He was
talking regular for a change. “There ain’t much we can do. We just build them, you know? You gotta remember, there’s nuthin’ wrong
with the house. I mean it was clean,
well built and it got a nice kitchen, right?
It even smelled nice. Now, what
you got there is a beef with the guy that sold us the land, not us. Look,” he lowered his voice and looked both
ways to make sure no one was listening.
“I’m gonna be real honest with you, because, you and me…we’re tight, you
know? There’s only one way you can get
your ass outta this bind and get your dough back without a lotta slick lawyers
and a lotta foot dragging.” “How?” I
asked.
III
When I got home, I called Jennie and
sat her down. I told her that the
developers were going to look into the problem, and that they were coming out
with some hydraulic jacks before the week was up, and everything was gonna be okay. She just looked at me. In the meantime we were going take a couple
of days off so the guys could work on the place. We’ll go somewheres, her sisters maybe, and,
‘cuz them construction guys were the biggest thieves I know, she was to pack
all her valuables and take them along with us.
I also told her to pack our fire insurance policy too, just in
case. Them construction workers can be
mighty careless with their welding torches.
The night before we left, I fished out
the detonators that Jennie dumped in the fuse drawer. I figured she put them there because they
looked like long, solid fuses, except they had a meanness about them. They had two teeny short wires sticking out,
looking like little horns. I took a kilo
of C-3 and buried the rest in the backyard.
Why? Hey, I just wanted to blow
up the house, not the whole neighborhood.
Then I went into the garage with the kilo and taped it to the backside
of the gas water heater. It took a
little time to rig the thing up but I had experience. Finally, I shoved the detonator into the gray
clay and attached just one of the wires to the thermostat and the other I left
dangling. I would attach the other wire
when we leave. I told Jennie that I was setting the hemostat to cold on the gas
water heater. No use heating the water
while we were gone, I said. She
agreed. But I didn’t set it to
cold. I just wanted an excuse for her
not to be taking a shower and drawing off the hot water. The water had to be hot, you see, before we
leave or else the plan wouldn’t work.
Next morning, I was just opening my
eyes when I heard the squeaky noise of shower faucets being turned on. I bolted outta bed before I knew what I was
doing. I jumped so fast that I tripped
trying to get to the bathroom. I landed
on my stomach with my chin bouncing on the floor. “Oh my God, Jennie, Jennie,” I yelled. “Get the hell outta the shower.” But it was too late. I could faintly hear the metallic click
through those plaster wallboards, just before the electric charge turns the gas
on. I braced myself for the explosion.
I know, Doc, I forget a lotta things
when I’m excited. I mean, gee whiz,
you’re not perfect either. And remember,
I was barely awake. It soon dawned on me
that I didn’t arm the damn thing. I can
still remember Jennie looking down at me with this pink towel wrapped around
her head and that funny look on her face.
“Are you okay?” she asked, and I said yea, I was okay. “You forgot to turn down the thermostat,” she
said. “There was plenty of hot
water. Are you sure you’re alright?” she
asked again, and looked at me strangely. I told her that I was, and the reason
I’m lying on the floor was because I was having a bad dream and fell outta
bed. “I thought I heard you yelling at
me to get out of the shower,” she said.
No, No, I lied, and proceeded to tell her all about the dream I didn’t
have.
Later that morning, everything was
packed and ready to go, and I backed the car outta the garage. I stalled around, hoping that the water
heater would recover quickly. Jennie was
sitting in the front seat fiddling with maps and I told her I was gonna make a
last minute check around the house before we leave. I came outta the house by the door leading to
the garage. I quick step to the water
heater that stood against the wall put my hand on top of the heater; it was
real hot and the gas was off. Then I
reached around and stuck in the other wire and double-timed outta there. Jennie was still studying the maps and wasn’t
paying any attention to what I was doing.
It was a beautiful Indian summer
morning. Simply gorgeous. I headed the car towards my ugly
sister-in-law’s house in Fresno. I was feeling pretty good: I was putting
distance between us and the house. The
minute the water in the tank cools to a certain point, the thermostat will send
an electric signal to the heating elements telling them to turn on the gas and,
by the way, could you activate the detonators and transform the house into a
million flat toothpicks? Sure, why not,
says the heating elements to the thermostat and, bingo, the sinking house will
not sink anymore.
What’s this about the best laid plans
of mice and men? I read that
somewheres. Wasn’t that the title of a
movie or something? I gave all my
neighbors my cell phone number and my
sister-in-law’s telephone number in case anyone wanted to reach me. I spent most of the time listening for the
tone of my cell or eyeing the phone while avoiding, as much as I could, my
wife’s relatives. When it did ring, I
would jump. I think I jumped over a
hundred times that week. Half the time I
wasn’t listening to what the people were saying cuz’ my attention was focused
on the damn phones. People were telling
Jennie, in no uncertain terms, that I was acting downright rude. I probably was. I couldn’t help it. I was waiting for the news that my house had
suffered a terrible catastrophe and that I should contact my insurance company
right away. In the meantime, I still had
to be careful about how I behaved. I didn’t want to arouse any kind of
suspicion, especially Jennie’s. Knowing
her, she’d turn me in on a dime and wait faithfully through the years for my
parole, that’s just the way she is.
Well, the phone did ring a lot but it
was never for me, and I was getting constipated as hell. No news, nothing: zip. My week was up so we packed and headed for
home. Maybe the house did blow up and my
rotten considerate neighbors didn’t want to burden me with bad news, being I
was on vacation and all. Maybe they just
lost the number and what is really waiting for me is a heap of charred cinders
just waiting to be adjusted by a nice insurance guy.
We finally arrived at my block and as
we slowly rounded the corner, I prayed that the house wasn’t gonna be there
anymore. But there she sat, bigger than
life, a little older, a little shorter, and getting shorter every day. Nothing blew up. Don’t know why. Was it because the stuff was too old? It’s only been a couple of years and those
C-3 bricks wouldn’t spoil in that short of a time. Was it so warm that the water never got cold
enough? Maybe there wasn’t enough juice
coming through the wires? Could’ve been
a million things…but, what the hell, better luck next time.
There was another problem. I had to think of something to say when
Jennie notices that there were no hydraulic jacks jacking, nor any workmen
working. I was so busy thinking of what
kinda story to tell Jennie, that I didn’t notice we were already in the driveway
with the motor running. Jennie snapped me out of it shaking my arm and telling me to
open the garage door with my automatic garage door opener. I did but I shut the engine off and told
Jennie to stay in the car until I checked everything out. I was being very careful ‘cuz I knew it would
be just my luck that it would blow up in my face. I didn’t wanna drive into the garage until I
could disarm the sucker. So I walked
over to the water heater, reached behind, and there it was, just as I had left
it, the packet wrapped tighter than a drum.
Well, I couldn’t yank at the wires and fiddle with the tape with her
looking on, so I did the next best thing.
I turned the dial to off and would disarm it later. I started walking toward the car and was
nearly there when Jennie poked her head out and asked me what I was doing by
the water heater. “Nothing, sweetie,” I
said. “I was just turning the dial up to
heat the water.” “Oh, good,” she
said. “I could sure use a shower about
now.” And she added, “Aren’t you glad I
remembered to turn it off the day we left?”
IV
Sheer luck. That’s what they called it. Sheer luck that Jennie was in the car when
the garage blew up. And for me, one step
less, and half of me would’ve been splattered against the sidewalk. Jennie got a few cuts on her face and some
teeth knocked out. She also injured a
couple of ribs. I had some broken bones
but my innards were all intact: I didn’t have any trouble peeing, and you know
how important that is, Doc. They said we
were lucky to be alive. After a month
recuperating in the hospital, they presented me with the bill. I had a five thousand deductible and, on top
of that, my employer said my job had been filled. But the thing that really busted my ass was
that my fire insurance was only liable for the house, but not the
furniture nor the land the house was
sinking on. They would reconstruct the
house on the same piece of property and that was it, take it or leave it. I couldn’t build because the new house would
just sink again. I couldn’t sell because
Jennie, or the law, wouldn’t let me lie about the sinking part. I just didn’t think the whole thing through.
I know, I know, I shoulda check the warmth of the heater and I shoulda known
that turning the dial clockwise was turning it on instead of off. But I was in a hurry and worried that Jennie
would get too curious if I hung around the heater that long.
Well, Harry got even with me. He quit and moved while I was still in the
hospital. You can bet I was pretty
depressed. Was that some kinda irony,
Doc? I never really understood what that
word meant…until now. I had no job, no
place to live, no prospects. And to top
it off, I was wrapped from head to foot in a plaster cast. I couldn’t move and I was itching in places
where the sun don’t shine. That’s not
funny, Doc. You should try it
sometime. Naw, they didn’t investigate. What’s there to investigate? What motive did I have? I was losing money on the deal. Of course, they didn’t know that the house
was sinking at the time and I sure wasn’t gonna tell them.
When I left the hospital, I told
Jennie that I had to go back for one last look.
I just wanted one last look at that pile of misery and quicksand. I had to see it one more time before I call
it quits. Besides, we were heading for
my sister-in-laws, and I wasn’t too anxious to get there. The weather was still pretty warm , even
though it was already late November. I was sweating like hell. Jennie stayed with the taxi while I slowly
walked up the driveway. I took my
time. I looked at what was left of the
house. It was a sad sight. It even smelled bad. I mean it really smelled bad…like rotten
eggs. It took a while before I knew what
the smell was.
V
I know I didn’t have the mineral
rights, Doc…but they had to put the drill down somewheres, and my property was
right on top of the gas dome. They were
more than willing to pay a royalty for every cubic foot they pumped up, and
believe me, Doc, they’re still pumping and I’m still getting royalties. I used the first million and started a chain
of meat packers, and you know what? My
meat packing enterprise turned into hamburger franchises, and franchising
turned into Indian gambling casinos, and, oh, you know about all that? Well, got to invest my money somewheres…and
those Indians were real friendly and willing to go partners. Let’s face it doc, when Jennie divorced me, I
knew I had arrived. I was rich enough to
get into this snooty club, anyways.
Pretty good for a guy that can’t speak too good and kinda slow on the
uptake, huh Doc? Might even run for
President someday. Whatta you think of
that? Like I said before, I am really
partial to late summers, Doc, especially Indian summers. Hey, you wanna another beer? I’m buying.
I
