Percival Everett - Big Picture - Stories

Lewis Fife pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and parked in a space well away from a large huddle of people. They were standing around the bed of a black dually pickup with yellow running lights.

Lewis Fife pointed but didn’t say anything.

Hiram grabbed the handle, opened the door, and got out. He walked toward the truck, feeling the muscles in his stomach shaking as if he were freezing cold. Beyond the crowd and the truck was the market, all lit up; people inside were pushing carts and standing in the checkout lines. He looked at the people inside, trying to distract himself, trying to tell himself that there was other business in the world. He recalled the look on Carolyn’s face as he left the house and repeated to himself that he wouldn’t cause a scene.

Hiram heard someone say, “Hey, it’s Doc Finch.” And the crowd of men peeled away from the truck and watched him. He got to the bed of the big pickup and there it was. Nothing could have prepared him for the face of the animal. He was large, his head about the size of a big boxer dog’s, and the front legs were crossed in a comfortable-looking position as he lay on his side. But the face. The mouth was open, showing pink against white teeth, and the tongue hung crazily out along the metal of the truck. The ochre eyes were open and hollow and cold and held a startled expression. Hiram looked up at the faces of the surrounding men, one at a time until he saw Wilcox and his son. The two were not quite smiling.

“We got him, Doc,” Wilcox said.

Hiram swallowed. “Yep, I guess you did.” Hiram touched the fur of the lion’s neck and stroked it.

“Big one, ain’t he, Doc?” someone said.

Hiram felt Lewis Fife standing beside him. He walked away from him, circled around the open tailgate of the truck, and studied the cat. “He’s a big one, all right. I hope he’s the right one.”

“He’s the right one,” Wilcox said.

“Got him in Moss Canyon,” the Wilcox son said. “I shot him,” proudly, a little too loudly.

Hiram looked up, caught the boy’s eyes, and saw the fear in them.

The silence was then broken by a scream and the breaking of glass. Hiram turned with the others to see Marjorie Stoval a few yards away, with dropped sacks and broken bottles at her feet, looking at the lion. She screamed again and then sank to her knees, crying. Hiram went to her, as did the Wilcox boy. Hiram supported her while the boy gathered her groceries. They helped her away from the pickup and to the line of stacked wire carts in front of the store.

Hiram talked to her. “Mrs. Stoval, are you all right? Mrs. Stoval?”

The Wilcox kid backed away and rejoined his father. Hiram stood with the woman and watched the crowd disperse, watched the black dually pickup drive off down the street.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Hiram said.

Lewis Fife came over. “Is she okay?” he asked Hiram.

Hiram shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Marjorie said, trying to stand up straight, but keeping a hand on the cart. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“I know. Where’s your car?” Hiram asked. Marjorie pointed across the lot toward a small station wagon. “Listen, I’m going to drive you home.”

“I’ll follow you,” Lewis Fife said.

The headlights of the Lincoln faded and grew large, but stayed in sight the whole way. Hiram had failed to adjust the driver’s seat of Marjorie Stoval’s wagon and so he was crammed in behind the wheel; his knee raked his elbow every time he shifted. Marjorie was no longer crying, but sat stone-faced, staring ahead through the windshield.

“Are you okay?” Hiram asked.

“I’m so embarrassed,” the woman said.

“Why should you be embarrassed? I think your reaction was the only appropriate one out there. I told them not to, but they did it. They say they did it to protect their stock. They say they did it to protect their families. But none of that is true. They did it because they’re small men.” Hiram felt how tightly he was holding the steering wheel in his hands, and when he glanced into the mirror, he noticed that Lewis Fife’s headlights were white dots well off in the distance. He eased his foot off the accelerator and tried to relax.

“You’re really upset, aren’t you?” Marjorie said.

Hiram didn’t answer, but did look at her.

“That was a beautiful animal,” she said.

“Yes, it was.”

“I saw a lion near my place once.” Marjorie rolled her window part way down. “He was on the ridge about three hundred yards from my house. I couldn’t believe it. It was about nine in the morning and I had just finished my tea and there he was. Or she. I don’t know. I got my boots on as fast as I could and went hiking up there, but it was gone. I can still see the white tip of its tail.” She closed her eyes.

Hiram looked over at her face, the curve of her nose, then down at her hands, large for a woman her size, but they fit her. “They’re magnificent creatures, all right. Felis concolor .”

“I’m sorry you’re having to do this, drive me home, I mean.”

“It’s no trouble.” Hiram glanced behind them. “Besides, Lewis is here to drive me home.” He felt a cramp start in his leg and tried to stretch it out.

“You’re kind of wedged in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Marjorie laughed.

“I like you, Dr. Finch,” she said.

Hiram nodded and smiled at her.

“I’m sorry I unloaded my baggage on you earlier.” Marjorie’s voice didn’t sound frail anymore. “I mean, about what’s-his-name.”

“Eagle Nest, eh?”

“In a trailer.” She shook her head. “Did I mention that she’s twenty-three? I saw her. Dwight and I were shopping and we ran into her. She saw him and said hello and then she saw me and they pretended not to know each other. That’s how I found out.” She sneezed out a laugh.

“That sounds awful.”

“Have you ever had an affair?”

“No.”

“Ever thought about it?”

“No. I guess I’m pretty boring, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Marjorie said. “I wouldn’t say that at all. In fact, I’d say you are anything but boring.”

“Why, thank you kindly, ma’am.”

Hiram turned off the road into Marjorie Stoval’s yard and killed the engine. They were out of the car when Lewis Fife came to a complete stop. The fat man waited in his car while Hiram helped Marjorie with her groceries. He held the ruptured sacks and stood next to her on the porch while she looked for her keys. Once inside he put the groceries on the table in the kitchen.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Hiram said.

“I guess.”

“Good night, Mrs. Stoval.”

“Marjorie.”

“Hiram.” He smiled at her. “Good night.”

Lewis Fife was more relaxed during the drive home than he had been during the ride to see the lion. He drove faster, his fat fingers holding the bottom of the steering wheel lightly.

“Seems like a nice woman,” Lewis Fife said.

Hiram agreed.

“I never met her before tonight.”

Hiram glanced out the window at the river as they passed it. “I’ve been out to treat her animals a few times. I was out at her place treating her horse just today.”

“She live there by herself?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Not married?”

Hiram shrugged. He didn’t want to seem removed, but neither did he want to broadcast the woman’s life story all over the county. “I think there’s a Mr. Stoval, but I’ve never seen him.”

“Funny,” Lewis Fife said, “the things we assume.”

Hiram looked back out his window and his thoughts turned to the lion. “I wanted to scream just like she did,” he said. “I just don’t get people. Did you see the look on the Wilcox boy’s face?” He glanced over at the silent Lewis Fife. “He hurt that boy.”