Donald Pollock - The Heavenly Table

“Heck,” Cob said as he rolled off the bed, “we just got back and now you—”

Grabbing Cob by the shirt, Cane shoved him out of the room. They made their way down the back stairs and out the rear service entrance, then started down the alley at a slow trot, but after a hundred yards or so, Cob stopped. “What the hell are you doing?” Cane said, turning back to him.

“I can’t run on this leg,” Cob said.

“Jesus,” Cane said, “you’re not helpin’ matters.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“I know,” Cane said. “Come on.” They walked a few yards, then ducked into a weedy vacant lot heaped with mounds of coal cinders and trash.

“So I reckon they’re lookin’ for us?” Cob asked.

“You reckoned right,” Cane said. “We don’t find a way out of here, we’re in trouble.” They crouched down behind a pile of busted-up bricks, and a few moments later they heard a loud voice telling people about the Jewett the soldiers had captured, and that the other two were close by somewhere. Then someone else called out that he had dibs on the reward, and another hollered back that they’d buy the Blind Owl together.

“Take me to Jasper’s,” Cob said suddenly.

Cane gritted his teeth. Though his brother might be slow, he wasn’t that slow. “Goddamn it, this ain’t no time to be playin’ around.”

“I’m not. We need to get to Jasper’s. He’ll help us.”

Just then, seven or eight men carrying guns and lanterns marched down the alley past the lot. Cane thought for a minute. They had been in some tight spots before, but never one this bad. If only they could get to their horses, they might have a chance, but the stable was on the other side of town, and they would never make it that far without getting caught, not with Cob’s leg slowing them down. “So you know where he lives?” he asked.

“Yeah, he showed me yesterday. It’s not that far. Come on, I can find it from here.”

—

WHEN HE HEARD someone knocking on the back door, Jasper was lying half-asleep on his mother’s couch. In all the time he’d lived here by himself, the only person who had ever visited him was Itchy, and he thought at first that he must be mistaken. But then the taps started again, and he jumped up. A sharp pain shot through his groin. He’d had another one of those evenings when his situation had gotten the best of him, and he had quelled it the best way he knew how, by thrashing his cock against the furniture until he could hardly walk. Holding a candle, he cracked open the kitchen door, and for a moment all he saw was a pistol stuck in his face. “Don’t make a sound,” he heard someone hiss. For a few seconds, he stood frozen, but then he made out Cob standing behind the one with the gun, and he took a step back, allowing them to enter.

Cane shut the door quietly, and motioned for Jasper to move into the next room. As they passed the stinking work gear piled in front of the cookstove — the helmet, measuring stick, truncheon, and rubber boots — he remembered that this was the same man he’d seen in the store the other day looking wistfully at bathroom fixtures. In the dim light from the candle, he glanced around the parlor at the faded embroideries hanging on the walls and the dust-covered saints on the mantel and the little wooden shrine to the Virgin Mary. He recalled something Bloody Bill had said one time, after an old Mennonite woman hid him under her hoop skirts and saved him from certain death, about how salvation is sometimes found in the strangest places.

“Howdy, Jasper,” Cob finally said, smiling a little sheepishly.

“Hey, Junior.”

Through the open window came more yelling, then a car horn beeping, and the echo of a gunshot. Cane wiped some sweat from his brow. It suddenly occurred to him that there was no way he and Cob could make it out of town tonight, not together anyway. There had to be another solution, another way to save them both. “Sit down,” he told Jasper. Cane watched the man limp toward the couch, figured he must have a bad rupture from the looks of that bulge in his pants. “My brother keeps talkin’ about you, says you’re his friend. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Jasper said, looking nervously at the pistol Cane still had pointed at him. “I’d like to think so anyway.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I know who you are. I saw your pictures on a poster over at the jail this morning.”

“Heck, why didn’t ye say nothing?” said Cob. “We was measurin’ them ol’ shithouses all day.”

“I don’t know,” Jasper said, shrugging his thin shoulder blades. “I guess I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Have ye told anyone about us?” Cane asked.

“No, no, I swear. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sensing that perhaps the man could be trusted after all, Cane sat down in a chair, laid his pistol on top of one of the saddlebags. “All that commotion you’re hearin’ out there, that’s people huntin’ us,” he told Jasper.

“Yeah, they done caught Chimney,” Cob added.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Now they’ll hang him and he won’t ever get a chance to sit at the heavenly table. Well, shoot, I don’t reckon we will, either, for that matter. Yes, sir, I sure would’ve liked to seen it.”

“The what?” Jasper said.

“The heavenly table. Like I told Miss Eula, it’s where you—”

“Hold up,” Cane interrupted. Once again, just by making some offhand remark, Cob had given him an idea, and though it certainly wasn’t perfect, it was better than nothing. “You know a place called Nipgen?” he said.

Jasper nodded. He and Itchy had rented a horse and buggy on several occasions and spent the day riding around the county talking to strangers and pretending they were looking for land to buy. “Yeah, out west of town. I been through there once.” From what he could remember, they’d stopped at a little store there and bought some baloney heels and crackers from a man who wore an eyeshade.

Cane bent down and opened one of the saddlebags, started pulling money out. He counted for several minutes, then put a tall stack of bills next to one of the Bibles lying on the table in front of the sofa. “What I need is a big favor, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it, but I need to know tonight.”

“A favor?” Jasper said, trying not to look at the money. “What is it?”

“There’s a man and his wife got a farm three or four mile past there, and they—”

“The Fiddlers!” Cob said excitedly. “They’re the—”

Cane held his hand up to signal his brother to be quiet. “They know Cob, and he knows them. Ellsworth and Eula Fiddler.” He nodded at the money. “There’s fifteen thousand dollars there. You get my brother to their house safe and half of it’s yours. That’s seventy-five hundred. What do ye think?”

Jasper’s head was reeling. Why, there was more money there than he’d ever seen. He didn’t know much, but he had the feeling that if he refused the offer, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Not only that, no one, not even Itchy, had ever put this much trust in him before. But then he heard some more footsteps running down the street, saw the shadow of a lantern passing through a yard three doors down. What would happen if he got caught aiding a bank robber? And a murderer, though he still couldn’t picture Cob ever hurting anyone. Would they hang him, too? No, maybe he better not get involved. Then he looked over at Cob, sitting beside him on his mother’s couch, the same couch he had damn near beat his peter off on just two hours ago. But what kind of man turned his back on his friend? Let’s face it, he thought, he couldn’t save Meade; it didn’t matter how many corrupt citizens he pretended to slay in front of his mirror. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, it had never been a clean town. And there would never be any speeches made about him in Cone Park. Christ, who was he fooling? No matter what he did, people around here would always call him Shit Scooper. But still, maybe he could save someone, save his friend. “I’ll try my best,” he said.