Percival Everett - Wounded

“That wasn’t my aim.”

“So, why are you so tolerant?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I like to think I am. I’d like to think that if you were my son I’d behave differently from your father. But I can’t honestly say that. You’re not my son. I don’t have a son.”

“That’s pretty honest,” he said.

“Hey, I’m trying,” I said.

“You know, my dad used to talk about you all the time like you were a god or something.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t have much respect for gods.”

“He used to say you could do anything, fix anything.”

I looked at Felony, reached out and scratched his big nose. “Well, that’s real flattering. It’s not true, but it’s flattering. Hey, it’s getting cold out here. We’d better finish up and get back in that house before those two suck up all the heat.”

Back in the house, Gus told us that Robert had decided to turn in for the night. David said he’d better go check on him.

Gus had scooped up the coyote puppy and had it lying on a nest of towels on the kitchen table. “That David’s a nice man,” he said.

“He is,” I agreed.

“Robert’s having a tough time.” That was like Gus. He was generous of spirit. He wouldn’t settle on thinking Robert was a jerk or an asshole, Gus just thought that this was difficult for him.

“Seems so,” I said. I leaned over and examined the puppy. “So, you think we should just take that leg off.”

“I think so. What do you think?”

“Well, it won’t heal and become a leg she can use, that’s for sure.” The tissue was thin and dark and the remaining piece looked as if it might fall off.

“Want me to go get your kit?”

“No, that’s okay.” I got a sharp knife from the drawer and went to the stove where I held the blade over a flame. I came back and sliced through the tissue. It was the smallest cut, but the largest as well. There would be no putting the leg back on. That was it. The slightest slash and now this animal had three legs instead of four.

“That’s it?” Gus asked.

I looked for bleeding. There was none. “That’s it.”

“I could have done that,” the old man said.

“We can all do a lot things,” I said, “but we won’t.”

“I don’t think she felt it.”

“I doubt she did,” I said. “But who knows. Not that it matters now anyway. Let’s try to get her through this alive.” As I stood there watching Gus stroke the little head on the three-legged body, I realized that if the animal lived, she was a fixture. I couldn’t very well put her into the wild. But she was wild. I’d have to find a way to socialize her and even then I knew I’d have to kennel her when new people came around. I got way ahead of myself in my thinking and tried to shake my head clear.

“What is it?” Gus asked.

“Nothing. You know, I think the little girl is going to make it.”

“What’s going on?” from David in the doorway.

“We just made a tripod,” Gus said. “We cut off her leg. Well, John did, but hell I could have done it.”

“Really?” David came over for a better look. “What will you do with the leg?”

Gus looked at me.

I’d intended to toss it into the garbage can beneath the sink, but now that suddenly seemed unceremonious. “I don’t know,” I said. “What does one do with a dead leg? I mean, it’s not an animal.”

“You weren’t just going to toss it in the trash, were you?” Gus asked.

“What, do you want me to mount it on a plaque?” I looked at David and Gus looking at me. “I suppose I could bury it.”

“That sounds right,” Gus said.

“To me, too,” David said.

“I suppose you expect me to say a few words over it as well. I mean, we’re not having a funeral for a leg.”

“No, of course not,” Gus said.

“Give me that damn thing.” I picked up the leg between my fingers and walked out of the kitchen. I was going to dig a little hole and drop it in.

And that’s what I did, but before I tossed any dirt in on top of it, I said, “Well, little leg, I hope you’re the last death the little girl has to see for a while.” So, the leg had its funeral anyway.

The following morning was still and clear and not as cold as I thought it would be. The sun was rising in a cloudless eastern sky, but there were already clouds bunching up in the northwest. The snow stayed where it had drifted the night before. There was finally not much of it, just enough to quiet things, to muffle morning’s naying for hay and grain. I was done feeding by the time David made his way down to the kitchen. Gus was preparing an uncharacteristically unhealthy breakfast of sausages and eggs.

“I have to say that smells great,” I said. I looked over Gus’s shoulder at the frying sausage. “When did you buy that?”

“It’s not exactly meat,” he said.

“What exactly is it?”

“Soy.”

“Soy,” I repeated.

“Soy sausage.”

“Oh, lord.” I shook my head. “You know, we’ve got some antelope steaks in the freezer.”

“This is better for you.”

“I’ll try it.”

“I’ll bet those boys won’t be able to tell the difference.”

I walked over to Zoe and the puppy. “How’s our patient this morning?” I asked.

“A little better, I think,” Gus said. “She’s really trying to drag herself around. I think somebody’s coming down.”

“Good morning,” David said.

“David,” I said.

Gus said, “Orange juice is in the fridge. Coffee’s on the stove. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

“In other words,” I said, “Get it your damn self.”

David laughed and went for the fridge and the orange juice. “Breakfast smells terrific,” he said as he pulled down a glass from the cupboard.

“Where’s your …” Gus stopped, “what do you say? Partner? Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend’s good enough.”

“Well, where the hell is he?” Gus asked.

“I don’t think he slept too well.” David sat at the table with his juice. “He’s not usually in such a mood. I’m sorry.”

I waved off David’s apology. “Robert’s okay.”

I watched as David looked away out the window. He turned his attention to the puppy, but didn’t say anything. There was sadness there and I didn’t know what to say.

Gus set a plate in front of the boy and said, “Have at it while it’s hot. Your boyfriend might have to fix his own breakfast if he’s not down here pretty soon.” He looked at me. “Put your butt in a chair.”

I sat and looked at my plate. David had already started to eat. “How is it?” I asked.

“Good. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“Don’t know what what is?” Gus asked.

“This fake meat,” David said.

“It’s soy,” I said.

“I like it,” David said.

As we finished, a truck pulled up to the house. I stood and looked out. “That’s Duncan,” I said. “If you two gentlemen will excuse me.”

I put on my jacket and walked outside.

“The snow is a good sign,” Duncan said as a greeting. His daughter Ellie was with him. The young woman had spent a couple years down in Laramie at the university, but was taking a year off, she said.

“Good morning, Ellie,” I said.

“Hi, Mr. Hunt.”

“You make me feel old calling me that,” I told her. We were all walking toward the barn.

“Sorry, Mr. Hunt.”

“So, why is the snow a good sign?” I asked Duncan.

“I don’t know. It’s just a thing to say.” Duncan put a cigarette in his mouth, but didn’t light it. He often did that. “Daniel White Buffalo told me to tell you to give him a call.”