Kent Haruf - Eventide

Just now, he said.

Why don’t you take your coat off and make yourself at home? You’re going to get too hot, then you’ll catch cold when you go back out. What can I bring you?

Bring me, the old man said. He looked toward the bar. Bring me some kind of drinking whiskey.

What kind? We have Jack Daniel’s and Old Grand-Dad and Bushmills and Jameson’s.

Which is your bar whiskey?

That’s Old Crow.

It’s cheaper, ain’t it.

Is that what you want?

That’s it.

And what about you? she said to DJ.

He glanced at her. A cup of coffee, please.

You drink coffee?

Yes ma’am.

He does, his grandfather said. I can’t stop him. He’s been drinking it ever since he was little.

All right then. Anything else?

Bring the boy some corn chips, one of the men said.

Coffee, corn chips, whiskey. Is that it?

Could you wipe this off over here? the red-faced man said. There’s a spot over here.

She looked at him and bent over and wiped the table with a wet rag, and they all looked down the front of her blouse. Will that do? she said.

It sure helps, he said.

You old bastard, she said. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Acting that way in front of this boy. She went off to get their drinks.

I believe she’s warming up to me, the red-faced man said.

She’d warm up to your bank account a lot faster, one of the others said.

Maybe she would. But a woman like her, you wouldn’t mind spending a little money on her. You got to.

What about her ex-husband?

That’s what I’m talking about. She’s older now. She’s not going to just fold her hands up and sit at home. She wants something better out of life. She knows there’s something more coming her way than a dryland farm out south of Norka.

And you could give it to her.

Why not.

Well, I kind of remember you complaining just last week about how you couldn’t get something in your undershorts to cooperate no more. After that operation you had, where the doctor cut on you.

Well, yeah, he said. There is that. The men at the table all laughed. But a woman like her, he said, she might put some new life in you. She might even manage to raise the dead.

The man next to him slapped him on the back. You just keep thinking that way.

DJ looked toward the bar where the woman was setting out glasses on a tray. Under the blue lights she appeared tall and pretty.

She brought the coffee and corn chips and the whiskey to the table, and his grandfather reached inside the chest pocket of his overalls and drew out his old soft leather wallet and removed his pension check.

What’s this? she said.

My check. From the railroad.

She turned it over and looked at the other side. You want me to cash this?

That’s the usual custom.

You’ll need to sign it, she said.

She handed him a pen, and the old man leaned over the table and stiffly signed his name and gave the pen back together with the check.

I’ll have to see if they will accept this, she said.

They will. I been cashing checks here for years.

I’ll just see, she said, and walked away toward the bar.

What the hell’s a-wrong with her?

She’s just doing her job, Grandpa, DJ whispered.

The old man lifted his tumbler of whiskey and took a long drink. Drink your coffee there, he said to the boy. It won’t do you no good once it gets cold.

The woman came back with a handful of bills and some change and handed the money to the old man. He drew out a dollar bill and gave it to her. Thank you, she said. I never should of questioned you, should I?

No, ma’am, he said. I’ve been coming in here a long time. Longer than you, I imagine. I plan on coming a while yet too.

And I hope you do, she said. Can I bring you anything else?

You can bring me another one of these after a while.

Of course, she said. DJ watched her walk away to another table.

As the old men around the table began to talk, the boy drank some of his coffee, then set the cup beside his chair on the floor and ate a few of the corn chips and took his math assignment from his coat pocket and got out a pencil and laid the sheets of paper on his lap. One of the old men said: Speaking of people getting cut on, and began to tell a story about a man he knew who couldn’t get his equipment to work anymore, so he and his wife went to the doctor. The doctor examined him and then presented him with a sterile needle and vial of fluid to inject into the skin alongside his business, just before he and his wife tried again, and told them to come back afterwards and say how it all went. The couple came back a week later. How’d it go? the doctor said. The man said: Pretty good, it stayed up for forty-five minutes. So what’d you do, the doctor said, and the man said: Well, we did what you’re suppose to, you know. Then after we was finished I went out to the front room and set down on the couch, watching TV and eating salted popcorn, waiting for it to go down again so I could go to bed. The doctor turned to the man’s wife. That must have been pretty good for you too, he said. Like hell, she said. He only had enough wind for five minutes.

DJ listened until his grandfather began telling the story of the Korean War veteran working on the railroad tracks one winter in the cold country south of Hardin Montana. DJ had already heard this one, and he went to work on the math papers he held in his lap. His grandfather’s story was altogether different from the one he’d just heard, and he wasn’t much interested in hearing about some vet chasing his foreman around with a shovel.

THE BARMAID CAME BACK AFTER A TIME AND BROUGHT another glass of whiskey to his grandfather, then left and came back with another round for the others. After the old men paid her, she leaned close to the boy and said softly: Why don’t you come up here with me?

Up where?

Up to the bar. That way you’ll have a place to work on your papers. You can write better up there.

Okay, he said. He stood up next to his grandfather. I’m going up to the bar, Grandpa.

Where?

To the bar. Where I can do my problems.

You behave yourself up there.

I will.

DJ followed her through the room past the men and women who were all talking and drinking, and at the bar she had him climb onto one of the high stools at the corner and he spread his math assignment out on the polished surface. She set his coffee cup and the corn chips beside him.

The bartender came over. Who’s this we got here?

My friend, she said.

He’s a little young to be drinking at a bar, don’t you think?

You leave him alone.

I’m not bothering him. Why would I bother him? I just don’t want him getting us into trouble.

He won’t get us into any trouble. Who’s going to complain?

They better not. But it’s your responsibility, if they do.

Don’t worry about it.

I ain’t going to worry. They don’t pay me enough to worry about shit like this. The bartender looked at her and moved away.

She smiled at DJ and went around behind the bar and brought a steaming glass coffeepot and refilled his cup. Don’t pay any attention to him, she said. He always has to talk.

I don’t want you to get in trouble.

This? she said. This isn’t trouble. I could tell you what trouble is. Don’t you want some sugar in your coffee?

No thank you.

No milk either?

No. I like it this way.

Well, I just expect you’re sweet enough. I have a boy myself, only a little younger than you, she said. He’s a sweet thing like you are. I’ll see him tomorrow. She stood across the bar, holding the coffeepot.

Doesn’t he live with you? he said.

He lives with his daddy. It was better that way. You know, until I got settled.