Percival Everett - Wounded

There was a coolness between Robert and me that I didn’t like. But also, I didn’t much care, so I let it stand. “Now and again,” I said.

“What’s Felony’s problem?” David asked. He reached out and rubbed the horse’s nose.

“Basically, he’s a nut. It’s not so much that he thinks he’s a person as he doesn’t know that people aren’t horses. That’s a bad thing. Like I said, he’s making progress. Or I’m making progress, I should say.”

“You and Gus take care of this whole place?” David asked.

“Mostly. I hire a hand from time to time. They come and go. How’d you like a job?”

Robert laughed.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t want me,” David said. “I don’t know how to do anything.”

“You can learn,” I said. “Are you boys cold?”

“I’m fine,” David said.

“Well, I’m cold,” I said. “Let’s get inside and grab some grub. How’s that for authentic regional yak?”

In the kitchen, Gus had the table set. I could smell the chili. Zoe was in the corner lying on her bed, curled around the coyote pup. The pup pushed and whined, trying to get purchase on one of Zoe’s dry teats.

“I see you moved our little patient,” I said, stomping my boots clean in the mud room.

“More light in here,” Gus said. He looked out the window over the sink. “The snow’s not going to be all that bad. It’s tapering off a little already.”

“All I know is it’s cold out there,” I said.

Gus turned to David and Robert who were sitting at the table. “The coldest I’ve ever been was thirty-three in Phoenix. Not even a freeze and I thought I might cry, I was so cold.” He pulled a ladle from the drawer and dropped it in the pot. “Come and sit down, ugly.” This was to me.

“That coyote is really cute,” David said as I sat.

“She’s something, all right.”

“How did you find her?” David watched Zoe with the pup.

“Some idiot torched her den and killed her mother,” I said. “Her little brother didn’t make it.”

“Beautiful people,” Robert said.

I nodded.

Robert put his hand on top of David’s on the table.

“I didn’t make the chili super hot,” Gus said. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. There’s Tabasco if anyone needs it.”

“It smells great,” David said.

“Gus can actually cook,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” Gus said.

“Well, to look at you, one wouldn’t, well, never mind.”

“You’re lucky you’re getting to eat at all,” the old man said. Gus didn’t take chili, but filled his bowl with salad.

“Aren’t you having any chili?” David asked.

“Stuff gives me heartburn,” Gus said.

“Since when?” I asked.

“Everybody eat up,” he said. “I’m happy with leaves and bread. The bread’s not great. I’m still working on that.”

We ate for a while in silence. I tore off a piece of the crusty bread and studied the sleeping puppy. “You know, Gus, I think you’re right. That little girl is going to pull through.”

“Tough,” Gus said.

“Did you want to call either of your parents?” I asked David.

“Certainly not my father,” he said. “My mother’s away on business.”

“These things happen,” Gus said. “People live, people die, people split up, people stay together and make each other miserable. Me, I’ve got ugly and he gets to live with me.”

Robert laughed.

“Your mother’s a special person,” I said to David.

“Not special enough, I guess,” David said. He poked at his chili with his spoon. “Why does my father hate me? He hates homosexuals. I’m a homosexual. It follows that he hates me. That’s logic, right?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I think the leg is going to fall off,” Gus said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“The coyote. I was looking at it and I think it has to fall off. Do you think we should cut it off?”

“Maybe, but not in the middle of a meal,” I said.

“I didn’t mean right now.”

“All right, let’s take a look at it later tonight. We might have to perform a little surgery.”

We ate for a while.

“So, your being a homosexual’s not a problem for your mother?” Gus asked, slapping butter on his bread. Gus had a way of cutting right to the chase.

“She’s cool with it,” David said.

“She says,” Robert added.

“I believe she is.” David put down his fork. “She’s got her own stuff right now. Do you know why they broke up?”

I shook my head. “All of this is brand new to me.”

“Well, I don’t know either. I don’t think my mother knows. That’s what’s so hard about all of this.”

“Sounds hard,” I said. I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. “Well, now that I’ve eaten, I think I’ll go out and shovel the shit of large animals.” I snapped my fingers for Zoe to come.

“I hope that’s not a crack,” Gus said.

David laughed.

“You guys want to join me in the freezing cold or stay in here where it’s nice and toasty and have hot chocolate? You’re not obliged to help.”

“I’ll help,” David said.

“I think I’ll sit in the other room with the fire,” Robert said. “I have a bit of a headache.”

“You want some aspirin or ibuprofen?” Gus asked.

“No, thanks.”

Outside, Zoe led the way to the barn. The snow had all but stopped falling. That silence that snow brings had fallen.

“What kind of dog is Zoe?” David asked.

“She’s a heeler. Some people call them Australian cattle dogs.” I whistled and Zoe looked back. “Zoe, go find a rope, girl.” Zoe trotted off into the barn, then came back with a lead rope in her mouth. “Good girl.” I took the rope and gave her head a rub.

“That’s pretty good,” David said.

“I’d like to say I’m a great trainer, but Zoe’s a genius.”

I piled a deep cart with flakes of hay and asked David to push it down the aisle and put two flakes in each metal feeder. I checked the mule’s gate and caught up to the cart. Once we had the hay tossed I started mucking out.

“I can help with that,” David said.

“That’s great. Grab a silage fork from over there and a bucket. Do the bay’s stall.”

“I thought you were married,” David said.

“I was. My wife died.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I knew that.”

I waved him off. “You were a kid. Anyway, Gus came to live with me about six years ago. He’s a big help.”

“Gus is cool,” David said.

“He is that.” I rubbed at a stiffness in my neck. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings earlier. You know, about your parents and all.”

“The bad feelings aren’t too far below the surface, I’m afraid.” David paused to look in at Felony, the big palomino. “That’s a big horse.”

“An enormous baby,” I said. “David, I don’t know your mother very well at all. But I do know, or at least I used to know your father. He can be pretty rigid in his thinking.”

“You got that right.”

“I’m not just saying this to get on your good side, but sometimes it helps to hear that somebody else sees the same things you’re seeing. Your father is a good person, but on occasion he can be a selfish—” I looked for a word.

“Jerk,” David said.

“Not a word I would have used,” I said. I looked up and down the aisle, as if afraid Howard might appear. “I lived with him. He’s my friend, but he’s sometimes clumsy when it comes to other people’s feelings.”

“And he’s not tolerant of other people’s ways,” David said.

I nodded.

David looked at my eyes for a second, then we both laughed. “Well, you did get on my good side,” he said.