Jaimy Gordon - Lord of Misrule

I claimed that horse. Yeah. I put D'Ambrisi up to it. D'Ambrisi don't have a pot to pee in. You colly? He was working for me. He does what I say. Do you know why I claimed that horse?

Maggie shook her head. She felt irrelevantly insulted. She saw that to Joe Dale the worthlessness of her horse went without saying.

I claimed that horse because I want to have something you care about. I don't want to take him away from you. The opposite of that. I want to give him to you. If I like a lady I want to give her something, something she really wants, something so big she'll see she needs me. I want to give her something that will tie her to me, for a little while anyway. I want her to see I was really thinking about her, who she is, when I got this something for her-you see what I mean? I wasn't going to buy you a diamond bracelet. You ain't the type. I wouldn't even want to see you in a diamond bracelet. I like you in that little stripe shirt you wear. Yeah. Tell you the truth, from the first time I see you I want to reach my hands under it. You think that might ever happen? You think I might get to you? O well. He sighed, turned his hands over in appeal, and his big ring clinked against the desk top. Excuse me. I shouldn't of brought it up. You want to see the horse first.

She saw that Joe Dale was standing in the metal doorway of the trailer smiling at her, waiting for her, and she wondered distantly why she wasn't there next to him, why she was sinking deeper into this filthy plaid couch that had the booby-trapped feel of a sleeper sofa, hollow and mined with dangerous springs. Somebody seemed to have opened her veins and poured cement into them. She was wide awake but heavy, so heavy that the thought of standing up and picking her way across the paper-piled floor was almost laughable. She raised a hand to push her three-blind-mice sunglasses back up her nose where they had slipped, and the whole arm felt like a bag of wet sand. She could barely lift it. There was feeling in it-she pushed her thumbnail into her fingerpads to make sure-but the muscles she was so proud of seemed to have dissolved.

… see Pelter? Joe Dale was saying. Without asking herself why, she decided not to let on to Joe Dale what was happening to her. But what exactly was happening to her? Her body was inert or almost inert, her mind bobbed above it on a short string, like a helium balloon, unchanged from itself but aware of its own smooth pointlessness… your horse? he smiled. His custard pallor was making her sick. But she could pretend not to notice. She couldn't run in this condition. She had to use that little balloon to lift herself off the couch and go along with him until she saw some chance. Her feet pushed against the floor and she lurched across the room. It was like swimming through glass. The effort made her hot and nauseous and caused a great din, like an open hydrant, so that in the doorway she saw his mouth move but had no idea what he was saying.

Coming, she said, coming. He was still smiling but watching her carefully. All at once she understood that he had given her some drug and was waiting for it to show. She tried to stiffen her joints inside the jelly they were turning into, but for all her concentration she aimed at the door and tacked slowly to the window. She straightened up, pushed off the sill and tried again.

You aren't sick, baby, are you? You need help? Joe Dale said.

I'm fine, she replied, from a cave in a black rock, one mossy tonsil dangling from its wet roof. She followed him out the doorway, down the unpainted wooden stoop, into the barn, her hands catching clumsily at anything that stuck out along the way.

Then they were standing in a dark stall inside a high wooden gate, no flimsy webbing, and here was Pelter. She could hardly raise her chin to look at her horse; the effort to put a hand on him rocked her back against the planking. Yes, the place was solidly built. Unpainted but built to last. Which brought up the question, how long could all this last. Get this young lady a soft drink. She's going to be here awhile. What, then, was the plan? When she tried to focus on Joe Dale's face, her legs sank away underneath her, she sat down heavily on her tailbone in the straw, and she was looking not in his eyes but at his kneecap. She observed again that he was fleshy, plushy, so that his beautiful trousers were tight at the thigh. His right leg had a faint gray smudge on the pleat along the shin. The round thigh, the perfect crease, the gray smudge, made her deeply sick.

I'm sick, she groaned. What did you give me in that Coke?

I didn't give you anything, he said, smiling broadly, but I could give you something. If you wanted. If I give a lady something, it's going to be to help her relax. A young lady is always more entertaining when she stops worrying about business. If you're feeling loose, why not go with it? Have some fun with it. You got your horse back, ain't it? You should be feeling good. Don't you think you owe me just a little bit of good feeling? Instead of looking at me all the time with that sad face like your canary bird died.

Cause you got me to come here doesn't mean I'm getting my horse back, Maggie observed with dull logic. It just means I'm an idiot and you're an asshole.

Hey, go ahead and insult me, call me a liar if you want-you can still have your horse. Once you get to the road, it's only three miles to the track, almost all downhill. I'll lend you a shank. I'll even show you which way to walk.

Walk! Maggie said. I can't even stand. I weigh a thousand pounds.

Joe Dale laughed delightedly. Hey, he said, a thousand pounds. Just like a horse. So I guess Biggy got the right bottle, for once. You know Biggy ain't the swiftest.

Maggie stared at him. I believe you're telling me you gave me goddamn acepromazine.

Joe Dale just smiled.

But why? Why would you do a thing like that?

Not that I gave you anything-I ain't owning up to anything like that-but when I entertain a lady I like her to be completely in my hands. If you follow me.

I was already in your hands, Maggie said.

Yeah, but I don't like her to be running off as soon as she gets a little spooked. Until she has a chance to think about everything I can do for her. I want her to say, Joe Dale, I'm glad I hooked up with you whatever happens. Better in than out. Better mine than somebody else's. And I got to tell you the truth, baby, I don't see nobody else out there for you.

What do you have in mind? Maggie said.

Unh, unh, unh, that's just what I don't want-questions. No questions. What I want from you is your okay: whatever happens, Joe Dale. See? You're still in charge. If I was going to harm you, would I ask your permission? You got to show a little faith, baby. I promise you won't get hurt. You got your horse back, ain't it? You're going home in one piece. You're going home as good as you got here. In fact, better. You don't have to tell nobody nothing about what happened over here. All's you have to say is: okay, Joe Dale, I'm with you. And I'm going to make you as happy as you made me.

He crossed his arms and waited.

My name isn't baby.

How can I call you Maggie? he said. Maggie. It sounds like an old bag.

Maggie stopped fighting the urge to flop back in the straw. She lay down and stared up at the rough gray rafters, which were gloomy but thick and tightly joined and not even old. She had been right, the place was solid as a cavalry stockade. But there could be no question of staying here and doing what he wanted. She was quite sure that if she said no, he would hurt her, and if she said yes, he would hurt her very much.

She felt something familiar and pleasant at her knees-Pelter nosing through straw between her sprawled legs. Without having to raise her arm she could press the side of a hand against his nostril and feel its balmy gust.