21

Sour, stale breath in my face. A raspy tongue licking my arms. “Paul, Paul—wake up!” I opened my eyes —saw straw, muddy black hooves, fresh calf dung—and Dave’s long potato face close to mine.

“Whaaaa?” I said. Dave hoisted me into a sitting position. Butch the labrador kept licking.

Dave leaned closer, his rank breath in my face again. “Your father’s here. You don’t want to let him see you like this.”

But it was too late. I struggled to my feet, covered with splotches of fresh calf dung bearded with straw, my shirt stained with vomit from last night. Something—probably more manure—caked one ear. My father leaned on the side of the pen, watching.

“Well, Paul,” he said. “You’ve hit bottom.”

“I—I was just checking on the calves last night,” I began, but my throat was dry and my tongue thick and I couldn’t find any more words.

“No need to explain,” he said. “After you didn’t come in last night, I had a long talk with Is, then found you here.”

“You found me here?”

“Yes. I thought it’d do you good to sleep it off.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“Dave, get him into the milk house and help him clean up—it’s time for Meeting,” my father said.

I squinted out the window; the sun was bright in the smudged panes; I could see cars in the yard. It was Sunday, the Fourth of July.

“He’ll need some fresh clothes, won’t he?” Dave asked.

“No. Get the worst of it off him, and bring him—just like that.”

Dave looked at me uncertainly, then back to my father, who turned away. “Come on, Paul, let’s go,” Dave said. He held my arm as I walked along the alleyway, past the stanchions on either side.

“I can walk,” I said. We moved as if in slow motion.

Dave pointed down the gutter on our right. “That’s the bottom,” he whispered hoarsely, with a glance over his shoulder. “Your old man thinks you’re there, but you’re not even close.”

In the milk house I got cleaned up as best I could, and then we crossed the yard to the house. Mrs. Halgrimson’s car, closest to the front door, had her front tires well onto the lawn. Ray Swenson, smoking in his car, nodded gravely at me as I passed, as if we were old friends.

Inside the living room twenty faces, all the usual ones—the VandenEides, the Grundlags, the Sorheims—turned to stare. There was a sucking in of breath from several adults, a nervous rippling giggle from the VandenEide sisters, and soft sobbing from my mother. Dave helped me get seated near the door. I winked at the nearest VandenEide girl, who wrinkled her nose as she smelled me. She nudged her closest sister, who, like dominos falling, pushed them all down one chair. After much rustling and clumping (Mrs. Halgrimson slid her chair closer to my mother, and held her hand), the first hymn began.

Dave’s rank breath kept me awake as he sang along, but then I didn’t remember much until chairs clattered. The VandenEide girls, each holding her nose, gave me a wide berth on their way out. “You’re in big trouble now, Paul!” the oldest one, Mary, whispered as she passed.

Which was not untrue. When the living room was empty, my mother clamped on my ear and hoisted me toward the stairs. “Get up there, take a bath, then go to bed. We’ll talk about this later—when you’re able.”

“There’s still a little dung in your right ear,” Dave said helpfully.

I took my bath, and scrubbed myself all over, then sank into the clean, fresh white sheets. I dreamed not of Peggy and me, but for the first time of Janet. I saw us in the dim, sweet-smelling hayloft, our clothes spread around us like offerings, our bodies like open pages in a dark-covered book, soft paper rippling in a warm breeze.

As I slept, a couple of times I thought I heard loud voices in the yard, the sound of cars, engines, thudding doors. However, I did not know what was real and what was my dream, so I slept on. When I awoke, much later, the light had changed in my window. I stumbled across the room and looked out onto our yard.

It was empty. The yellow van, the tent, Janet—all were gone. The only proof they had been there was the dark eye of the fire ring, and the last wisps of its smoke rising into the twilight air where they thinned and disappeared.