Kent Haruf - Eventide

A farmer like you?

Well, I wouldn’t say we was farmers exactly.

What would you say?

I guess you’d have to call us ranchers. We raise cattle. Poverty-stuck old cattle ranchers, more like it.

You make it sound like you’re close to starving.

We’ve done that a time or two. Or pretty near to it.

How big a ranch do you have?

How much land?

Yes.

Well, we have about three sections. All counted.

How much is that? I don’t know what a section is.

There would be six hundred forty acres to a section. It’s mostly grass pasture, what we have. We put up a lot of brome hay every summer but we don’t do any real farming. Well, I keep saying we. I mean me now. I haven’t figured out what I’ll do about haying next summer.

How will you manage?

I’ll think of something. Hire somebody I expect.

It must be terribly hard without your brother here anymore.

It’s not the same. It’s not anything like it. Harold and me, we was together all our lives.

You just have to go on, don’t you.

He looked at her. People always say that, he said. I say as much myself. I don’t know what it means, though. He looked out the window behind her where the night had fallen. The yardlight had come on and there were long shadows in the yard.

She sat watching him. I was surprised to see you come into the tavern the other night, she said.

No, it ain’t like me, he said. I was surprised to be there myself.

Do you think you might come in again?

I imagine it’s possible.

I hope you do.

She sat with one foot folded up under her in his big recliner chair. Her red sweater looked very bright against her dark hair.

And I want to thank you again for inviting me to dinner today, she said.

Well, yes, ma’am. Like I say, Victoria is the one that did all that.

But you’re the one who asked me. I’ve lived in this area long enough to know quite a few people, but I don’t think I’ve ever been invited into one of these old ranch houses before.

Our grandfather homesteaded this place. Him and our grandmother. They come out in eighty-three from Ohio. But where do you come from yourself, can I ask you that?

From Cedar Rapids.

Iowa.

Yes. I was ready for a change.

Don’t they have good hospitals back there?

Oh, sure. Of course they do. But my life kind of fell apart, so I thought I’d come out here. I thought I’d start over, try out life in the mountains. But I only got this far and kind of broke down. I think I may go on to Denver yet, though.

When do you reckon on doing that?

I don’t know. I guess it depends. I’ve only been here a year.

Sometimes a year can be a long time, Raymond said.

Sometimes it can be too long, she said.

WHEN LINDA MAY WAS GETTING READY TO LEAVE, VICTORIA came out from the bedroom to say good night. They stood in the kitchen and Raymond took down Linda May’s coat and held it as she put it on, then he walked her out through the wire gate to her car. Outside in the cold air everything seemed brittle and the ground was frozen down as hard as iron.

Thank you again, she said. You make sure you come into town one of these days.

Be careful out there on that road, he said.

She got into her convertible and turned the key, and the engine turned over but wouldn’t catch. When she tried again it only whined and clicked. She rolled the window down. It’s not going to start, she said.

Sounds like it’s your battery. Is it a old one?

I don’t know. The battery was in it when I bought the car a year ago.

I better give you a push. Let me get my coat.

He went back into the house and pulled his coat and hat from the pegs in the kitchen. Victoria was putting the clean dishes up in the high cupboards. What’s wrong? she said.

I need to give her a push.

You better stay warm out there.

He walked back out past the Ford, where Linda May was still sitting behind the wheel, and crossed the rutted gravel to the garage and climbed into his pickup. He let it run for a minute, then pulled it behind her car and got out to see how the two bumpers would meet. When he walked up to the side of the car and opened the door, she was shivering and hugging herself.

Are you all right? he said.

It’s really cold.

You want to go back in the house?

No. Let’s go ahead.

You know what to do, don’t you?

Pop the clutch once we get going, she said.

And have the key turned on. But don’t try it till I get you out on the county road where we can go a little faster.

He shut the door and got back in his pickup and eased it forward. The bumpers touched and he pushed her slowly out the drive onto the lane and then onto the dark road, his headlights shining very bright on the rear of her car. He went faster, the gravel kicked up under the fenders, and with a lurch her car leapt forward and she pulled away and her headlights and taillights came on. She sped up, the dust was boiling under them from the dry road, and he followed her for half a mile to be sure she was all right, then he slowed and stopped and watched the red taillights going away in the dark.

Victoria was sitting at the kitchen table when he came inside. She had made a fresh pot of coffee. He took off his coat and hat, and she stood up when she saw his face was so dark and red.

Why you’re just freezing, she said.

It must be down around zero out there. He cupped his ears with his hands. It’s going to turn off pretty cold tonight.

I made you a pot of coffee.

Did you, honey? I thought you’d be in bed by now.

I wanted to make sure you got back all right.

Were you worried?

I just wanted to be sure, she said. Were you able to get her car started?

Yes. She’s gone on toward town. Well, I expect she’s almost back to her own home by this time.

ON A BRIGHT COLD DAY IN JANUARY ROSE TYLER PARKED unannounced in front of the trailer and got her purse and notebook and walked up the snow-muddied path to the faded trailer house. Dead stalks of cheatgrass and redroot stuck up through the snow beside the path like ragged stands of tiny gray trees. The plank porch had been swept clean, that much had been done. She knocked on the metal door and waited. She knocked again. She looked out into the empty street. Nothing was moving. She turned to knock once more and waited a while longer. She had started down the steps when the door opened behind her.

Luther stood in the doorway wearing sweatpants but no shirt. Is that you, Rose? he said.

Yes. Weren’t you going to let me in?

I didn’t hear you knock. He stood back from the door so she could pass inside. Betty ain’t up yet.

It’s past ten o’clock. I thought you’d both be up by now.

Betty never slept good last night.

What’s wrong?

I don’t know. You’d have to ask her.

I came to talk to both of you this morning. To see how things are going.

Things is fine, Rose. I guess we been doing pretty good.

Why don’t you go put on a shirt and tell Betty to come out. We’ll have a little visit.

Well, I don’t know if she’ll want to get up.

Why don’t you ask her.

He disappeared into the hall and she surveyed the front room and the kitchen. There were dishes and pizza cartons on every flat surface, and the black plastic bag of pop cans leaned against the refrigerator. A morning game show was playing on the television in the corner.

Luther came out of the hallway in a tee-shirt, with Betty shuffling barefooted behind him, looking tired and haggard in a pink bathrobe. She had brushed her hair and it hung down stiff on both sides of her face. She looked at Rose and looked at the television. Is something wrong, Rose? she said.