Thomas Mcguane - The Cadence of Grass

“Tell me about it.”

“I sell a few horses, but then I don’t know where they’ve gone and it just makes me sad. I don’t like pushing calves into a truck the day they’re weaned either. I don’t like the cows bawling for them for days afterward and looking around where the truck used to be. Sure, we talk about the best way to breed those heifers, but they’re too young to have babies in the first place. It scares them and sometimes kills them. You know what it’s like to take those old cows to be slaughtered, ones you’ve known for ten years or more or you raised from the time they were calves themselves. They get broken mouthed, or you can’t read the shield, and that year they don’t go on the drive to summer pasture. It’s starting to get me down.” She was silent for a long moment, then added with searing conviction, “I may be the wrong person for my own life.”

Donald seemed to have been caught up in her mood. “We had an old longhorn, Luther, we used for a lead steer,” he said. “Luther got old but he never got mean. He just went where he wanted, through fences, whatever. Started going in and out of my mom’s garden and ruining everything. So we loaded him up — weighed over a ton — and drove around half of Montana to find someone to kill him. Finally located somebody at Martinsdale. Dad wanted the head, but Luther was so big his horns broke when they hung him up.” Donald looked desolate. “Just getting in the garden, was all.”

“So you headed for California.”

“Not for that. I went for basic gender issues, which turned out not to be enough for a whole life. Big surprise, that.”

A car drove up in front of the house, and Evelyn, suddenly anxious, went to the window and, separating the blinds with her hand, said, “Paul’s here.”

She hardly had time to get away from the window before Paul bounded inside and nearly slid to a stop with a comic back-pedaling of his arms upon spotting Donald, whom he studied sharply as Evelyn introduced them.

“Have we met before?” asked Paul.

“Not that I know of,” Donald boomed.

Standing closer to Paul, Evelyn noticed how imposing Donald was. His present western vigor was completely unforeseen.

“You live around here, Don?”

“I ranch at Daisy Dean. Got a hundred-head forest permit. Leased up some spring pasture right there where Mission Creek comes into the river. Where do you run your cattle?” He knew perfectly well that Paul didn’t have any.

“I don’t have any cattle,” said Paul, already crestfallen at this perceived disadvantage. “I don’t think I want any. They look like a nonperforming asset to me.”

“Don’t want any cattle? What do you do to pass the time?”

“I find other ways to amuse myself.” Paul was now sufficiently emboldened to let a twinge of acid enter his tone. “Where did you two meet?”

“I got stuck in the snow,” said Evelyn, determined not to be interrogated.

“Dad and I dug her out!”

“And now we’re all friends,” said Paul.

“I hope so!” said Donald, clamping a great paw upon Paul’s shoulder, demanding, “How about you, Paul, you got any friends?”

“Enough.”

With a hearty laugh, Donald pounded him on the back, “I gotta go, buddy!” He turned to Evelyn and, without a word, gave her a tiny wave at eye level. In the context of the roaring ranch act it was incomprehensible, but Paul seemed not to have noticed.

“Who was that overbearing bastard?”

“He’s a new friend.”

“A ‘new friend’? I’d hate to think what that means.”

“Then don’t think about it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No, you don’t see. He’s exactly what I told you he is. He’s my friend.”

“What’s this whole new sacred thing about friends? People used to just have friends. Now there’s this pixie dust over the entire subject.”

“Is that so? I must’ve missed that.”

“I didn’t come out here to argue.”

“Then you’ve made a poor start. I don’t know what you think the other night means, but it doesn’t include the resumption of monitoring my activities.”

“Sounds like you’ve really thought that through.”

“As indeed I have.”

Paul liked to mimic happy astonishment at various of Evelyn’s words. “Monitoring” and “indeed” got such treatment now. It was beyond irritating. It was, Evelyn decided, all part of his routine. “Once they’ve decided you’re the devil,” Paul had said long ago, “the gals beat a path to your door.”

“Evelyn,” he began in an entirely different tone, “I came out to tell you some good news: I have a new job.”

“Already?” Evelyn couldn’t help feeling pleased. It would all be so much better if Paul would just be happy.

“Mr. Majub must’ve approved of my work at the plant: he has hired me as a liaison officer for this region.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is, liaison officer.”

Paul had moved to her side. Evelyn sat in an armchair, and his hand was now in her hair.

“It’s a fancy word for a scout. I think it involves hoopla. I’ve always been keenly interested in hoopla. Majub feels that Montana has some undervalued businesses that are ripe for the plucking.” She could feel her breathing acquire weight and the heat of Paul’s hand was between her shoulders. Though aware of what was happening, she didn’t feel inclined to do anything about it. Her mind acted to quickly minimize all reservations as soon as they arose.

“I’ll have a company car,” he murmured. “I’m just going to follow the old routes, maybe start along the High Line. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then work my way down toward Wyoming, and you like Wyoming, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Just let go, let go, let go.”

Her breath kept coming out of her, and some of her clothes had accumulated next to the armchair.

“You get out there around Glendive, Forsyth, Miles City, it’s quiet, real, real quiet.”

Evelyn could see none of the light in the room. She heard Paul say, “How about now,” but waited until her breathing and her thoughts were going at the same speed.

“Now is good,” she said.

A retired circuit court judge, T. William Slater, was assigned to mediate the divorce and division of property for Stuart Cross and Natalie. While things were sedate enough at first, Natalie was already offended by Stuart’s suit; he’d never dressed like this before, and she wondered about his need to suddenly display such fashion sense. She knew that his fortunes had improved at the bottling plant, that he was climbing fast and making more money than ever before. His modesty, though, was undiminished, and Natalie hoped it indicated that he’d lowered what she considered to be an extreme position with regard to her property. She took solace in the fact that Justice Slater came from a well-known pioneer family. Ranchers and legislators abounded in his background, and since the end of the Civil War there had been much mingling among Slaters and Whitelaws.

Holding a pencil crossways in his mouth and arranging papers at the same time, T. William Slater managed to say, “I take it that we agree that the divorce itself is desirable.” He put his briefcase under the table and looked up.

Natalie and Stuart each said yes, Stuart with palpable sadness he was trying to disguise.

“So all that’s outstanding is the division of assets.”

Both nodded.

“Are there specific items to which either of you are attached?”

They shook their heads.

“What about the house?”

“Not the house,” said Natalie emphatically.

“So, what I’m looking at here is house, cars, the proceeds of your equity in the business which I gather here has been sold and probated. Yes, of course it has.” Sliding out another sheet of paper. “Because here is all this cash. I seldom see so much uninvested cash.”