Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

Jake was blasting his roses with a narrow spray from the hose to remove aphids when the fancy Dodge pickup with the shiny bedcover came up the drive. He turned off the water and walked to the truck. A tall man with a belly got out from behind the wheel.

“Mr. Daniels,” Jake said.

“Clark,” the man said and reached out to shake.

Jake took his hand.

“Thanks for your time.”

Jake nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to know about you and my wife.”

Jake bristled at the sound of that, but didn’t detect any malice. If anything the man seemed as confused as Jake. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “She brings her horse over here and I watch her ride occasionally.”

“I know that,” Daniels said.

“You know what?” Jake asked.

“That she comes over here. You know, she spends all of her time with that damn horse. That’s all she ever talks about. Then the other night she started talking about you.”

They were standing in Jake’s yard. Jake thought it felt strange to be standing outside talking like this.

“She told me you opened her eyes.”

“I’ve done a lot of things in my so-called life, but I’ve never opened anybody’s eyes.”

“She claims that a trail ride with you gave her the courage she needed to let me go.”

“She said that, did she?”

“She did.”

“You realize that there’s nothing between your wife and me. Not just romantically; we’re not even friends.”

“I believe that,” Daniels said, but Jake didn’t quite buy it. “I just want to know what you said to her.”

“Listen, I don’t know what I said to her. Probably the same thing I say to her every time I watch her ride her horse, to stop staring at his head and watch where she’s going.”

“That’s it?”

Jake looked at the big truck and then at the man for the first time. He was dressed sharply; one might have called him a dandy. His suede boots looked expensive. His shirt was starched. His trousers were creased. His hairline receded somewhat. He had large hands, but they were soft.

“She really loves all this horse shit,” Daniels said, then laughed at his accidental joke.

“She does,” Jake agreed. “She wants to be good at it.”

“Is she?”

“She’s afraid of horses.”

The man blew out a breath. “She’s afraid of a lot.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jake said. “It makes sense to be scared of horses. They’re half a ton of dynamite waiting to go off.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. Why does every-fucking-body think I’m trying to say more than I am? I’m saying that a horse can be dangerous. You can’t forget that. Your wife knows that.”

“Why does she like it then?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Jake said.

“Why do you like it?”

“I like horses. They’re honest. I haven’t had one cheat me or lie to me or betray me yet. And they allow me to ride them. Have you ever been on a horse?”

“No.”

Jake looked at the man, then around the pasture at the hills. “How much time do you have?”

“Why?”

“You got half an hour?”

“Okay.”

Jake brought Trotsky out of the pasture and led him to the hitching post outside his kitchen door. He gave the gelding’s back a quick brushing and cleaned out his hooves.

“How long have you been doing this?” Daniels asked.

“Most of my life,” Jake said. He left the man standing by the horse and grabbed a big roper’s saddle that he hardly used anymore. It had a deep seat and a high cantle, seemed to suck a rider in. He put the saddle on Trotsky’s back and reached beneath him for the cinch.

“What are you doing?” the man finally asked.

“I’m saddling a horse,” Jake said.

“I can see that. Why?”

“You’re going to ride him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Listen, I don’t know you or your wife, but here you are at my house looking for answers. You asked me why she loves horses. I’m going to see if this helps you understand. I can’t make you get on this beast. I can’t do that any more than I can make this giant animal do something he doesn’t want to do.”

Daniels looked at his truck like he wanted to jump in it and drive off down the road.

“Come on. Two walks around an enclosed arena and you’ll know just a little more than you knew before you came here. Maybe.”

Jake didn’t wait for a reply. He walked the horse away from the post and toward the arena. Daniels followed. In the arena, Jake took the horse to the mounting block. He looked at Daniels.

“What?”

“Get on. Step up there and throw your leg over.”

Daniels did. Jake handed him the reins. “You want to go left, you touch the right side of his neck with the reins. Right, the left side.”

“I don’t know about this.”

“Relax. Nice shoes, by the way.”

“How do I make him go?”

“Say, ‘Walk on.’”

“Walk on.”

Trotsky did. He hung his head and walked like he thought he was carrying a kid. He brought the man all the way around. Jake waved him on.

A car came into the yard. It was Sarah Daniels. She parked near her husband’s truck and walked down the slope to the arena. Jake turned and walked past her on his way to his house. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. He just let her walk down to the arena.

Jake went back to his roses. Damn aphids.

“All I know is them cows didn’t shoot themselves.” Hugh Rakes walked around to the other side of the corral. The steers were back-to-back and head to tail in the mud. It was raining hard. The damage to their heads was unmistakable. Some large-caliber weapon had done it.

Sheriff Howard Gunther, Rakes’s closest neighbor, snapped a few photos of the dead cows and shook his head. The early evening was cold and he wished he were at home.

“I was up clearing out that damn culvert. Didn’t hear a fucking thing.” Rakes took his hat off, slapped the rain off it, and put it back on.

“This one’s been shot twice,” Gunther said.

“Yeah. He wasn’t quite dead when I found them and I had to finish the job. Son of a bitch. If I find the son of a bitch that did this I’m going to—”

“We don’t need talk like that, Hugh. I know you’re upset. I wish I could tell you I had some idea.” Gunther stepped away and looked at the soaked dirt-and-gravel yard. “Well, let’s circle our way away from the pen and see if we can find some shell casings in this mess.”

“This one is mine,” Rakes said, handing the spent round to the sheriff. “I picked it up for you.”

Gunther took it and put it in his pocket. It helped to have it only because he wouldn’t have to find it himself. They found nothing. “So, he picked up his brass. That the way you see it?”

“Must have.”

Gunther put away his camera and frowned at the rain. “At least your insurance will take care of it. It will take care of your loss, won’t it?”

Rakes nodded, rubbed his hand through his hair.

Gunther watched him for a bit.

“Goddamn,” Rakes said.

“I’ll be off now,” Gunther said.

“Yeah, all right.”

Gunther got into his rig. He sat there for a minute watching the worn wipers streak the windshield. He then drove the mile to his house. He walked into the kitchen and found his wife sitting at the table writing out checks to pay the bills.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I was over at Rakes’s place. He was showing me his cows that were mysteriously murdered.”

“What?”

“I almost believed him until he claimed he was cleaning out the old culvert. County cleaned that out last month.”