CHAPTER

4

“I SUPPOSE this is sheep meat,” said Howard, taking a thick slice from the platter and passing it on to Sixbury.

“What else?” said the old woman.

“Where are you from?” Howard asked David. “Originally.”

“Savannah, Georgia.”

“Why don’t you have a southern accent?” asked Howard.

“I don’t know.”

Sixbury pointed her fork at Patrick. “Did you hose down the back of the pickup?”

Patrick nodded.

“Pretty warm today,” said Sixbury.

“Yep,” said Howard. “Warmer still tomorrow.”

“Howard,” said David, “where did you go to school?”

“I went to the state university in Laramie and then to vet school at Georgia Tech.”

“Georgia Tech?”

“Yeah, that’s how I know you don’t come close to sounding like you’re from Georgia.”

“I went to Emory for three years,” David said. “Then I joined the army.”

“Why did you join?” Howard asked.

“To protect the American way of life.” David laughed. “I’m not really sure. To see the world, maybe. It was a war; I’d never seen one and I didn’t want to miss it.”

“My husband was in the war,” said Sixbury. “He went through all the goddamn war without a scratch, only to come home and die in a car.” She pointed her fork at Patrick. “You sure you hosed down the bed of the truck?”

Patrick nodded.

“What was it like over there?” Howard asked David.

David shrugged. “Just a lot of noise, a lot of shooting.” He didn’t want to talk about it. He looked at Sixbury, then at Howard. “You know that sheep Sixbury bought for a buck?”

“Yes.”

“Well, she brought him home and shot him.”

“I figured that was what she was up to,” said Howard. “Thanks, Sixbury. I didn’t want to have to do it.”

“There you go,” said the old woman.

Patrick finished eating, then stood and left the table. He didn’t say a word. He just walked upstairs and into his room.

“Patrick can talk some, can’t he?” asked Howard.

Sixbury slapped some more potatoes on her plate. “He can, but he doesn’t. I hear him in his room. He won’t talk to me.”

“What does he say?” Howard asked.

“I don’t know. He ain’t talking to me, so I don’t listen.”

Howard leaned toward the woman. “Aren’t you the least bit interested in what he’s saying?”

“I’m sure it’s not very interesting,” she said. “He’s an idiot.”

David appreciated Sixbury’s solid reasoning, hard though it sounded. Howard, however, was not satisfied.

“Don’t you wonder at all what he’s saying?”

“I remember when he did talk to me. I didn’t listen then and I ain’t going deaf straining to hear his gibberish through a shut door.”

“I agree with you,” David said to her.

“Hell, I’d like to know what he says,” Howard said.

Sixbury closed one eye and scowled at Howard. With her fork, which had a piece of mutton on it, she pointed to the stairs. “His door is the first one on the right.”

Howard looked at her, then at David. He got up from the table and went upstairs. Sixbury looked at David and chuckled.

In a few minutes, Howard had returned to the table. “I think he’s asleep.”

“It doesn’t take him long,” Sixbury said.

David had not told Sixbury that he was planning to stay in Slut’s Hole, and he thought this was a good time. “Sixbury,” he said, “how would you like a boarder through the winter.”

She looked at him.

“I got a job here.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Mandy Lowe told me.”

“Who is Mandy Lowe?”

“She’s Hraboy’s mother’s neighbor. You can stay here. Fine with me. Somebody to talk to. Winter’s mighty long without somebody to talk to.”

“Hraboy’s mother’s neighbor,” David said and looked at Howard.

“Small place.”

Later that night, David and Howard walked along the road. It was warm, but there was a steady breeze.

“Georgia Tech,” said David. “The ramblin’ wreck from Georgia Tech.”

“I haven’t heard that in a while,” said Howard.

“I suppose not. Hotlanta. There’s a town.”

“Nice place, all right.”

“What brought you back here? You know, ‘how you gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Pa-ree.’”

“I don’t know. My ma died when I was in school, so it’s not like I had anyone here. Just the old place.”

“No intense gravitational pull to the homefront, huh?”

“I wish I could say it was something like that, but I really don’t know.”

“But you don’t know that that’s not it.”

“I suppose.” Howard looked at David. “What I don’t understand is why you’re staying.”

“Let’s just say I’m not ready for the mainstream.”

“Some moon, eh? You sure you’re ready for a place with such a big moon?”

David looked at the bright full moon. “Staying here just feels like the right move.”

“It’s important to pay attention to those feelings.”

“You get lonely around here?”

“I’ve got a lady friend in Laramie. She teaches biology at UW.”

“What’s her name?”

“May Rassmusen.”

“May is a nice name.”

“I’m going to Laramie this weekend, want to come? You can meet May and her roommate.”

“I talked to Hraboy and I start on Monday. A weekend in a town would be great.”

“Laramie ain’t Atlanta,” Howard said. “Is Mitch going to have your car ready by Monday?”

“I hope so.”

David stood in the drive while Howard drove off. He turned and started toward the backdoor of the house and his room. He heard a noise in the barn. He stopped and listened, staring up at the flickering mercury-vapor lamp hung above the loft doors. Another noise. He walked forward, opened the corral gate, and moved across the barnyard and into the barn. He inhaled deeply once inside; he liked the ammonia smell of the sheep shit mixed with hay. A smacking sound.

He walked toward the sound, into the side where the sheepfeeding bins were. He looked toward the back of the building, toward the large swinging doors. The doors were open, and there under the moonlight, David saw him. Patrick was fucking a sheep. He was wearing hip-waders and had the hind legs of the ewe shoved into the wide tops of the high boots. He smacked against the ewe harder and harder, saying one word over and over, “bitch, bitch, bitch…” He stopped and looked over at David.

David thought about running, but he didn’t. He just looked at Patrick’s face, emotionless and blank. Patrick looked down at the animal, closed his eyes, and slowly began his thrusting once again, also his chanting. David watched as Patrick arched his back and came, then stood there, gently stroking the sheep’s back. David left.

He went to his room and lay face up on the bed. He wouldn’t tell Sixbury; there was no reason to do that. What was odd was that David hadn’t been disgusted by the act he had just witnessed. In fact, it was as if he had seen Patrick for the first time as a human being. There was passion in the retarded man’s activity. It was unfortunate, yes. It was pitiful, certainly. But it was not disgusting.