Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

“That’s right. I found her. Thanks to you. Tell me, do you know Ms. Cloud?” I sipped my coffee.

“She used to come in more, but I haven’t seen her in a long time. Why were you looking for her?”

“Wants me to find her son.”

“Her son?”

“He’s eighty-two years old.”

The woman laughed.

“So, you don’t know him.”

“I didn’t even know she had a son.”

“Here’s his picture. It was taken forty years ago, I think.” I handed her the photograph.

“Never seen him.”

“He doesn’t look familiar to you?”

She shook her head.

“Like an actor?”

She studied the picture again. “Nope.”

It pleased me that she didn’t think he looked like anyone else. I put Davy Cloud back in my pocket. “My name’s Jack.”

“Delores.”

“Delores, after Roberta, tell me who is the oldest person on the reservation?”

Delores looked at her feet and then out at the snow that was falling now in earnest. “It’s going to be a mess,” she said. “I’d guess that it would be Regina Shakespeare. I don’t know how old she is, but she’s almost as old as Roberta.”

“Where is her house?”

“Last I heard she was living over on Yellow Calf Road.”

“Where’s that?”

“Off Seventeen Mile before Plunkett. Plunkett is where the tribal office is.”

“Okay. How will I know her house?” I asked.

“Never been there.”

“Thanks, Delores.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Delores looked at my eyes. “Why are you doing all this?”

“I don’t know. An old lady asked me to do something for her and I said I’d try.”

“You could have said no,” she said.

“I suppose I could have. But I didn’t and here I am.”

“You must have hurt somebody along the way, I guess.”

“Excuse me?”

“You must be guilty about something.”

I stared at her for a long few seconds. “Who isn’t?”

I found my way to Yellow Calf Road. There were two houses on the dirt lane and they faced each other. On the porch of one lay a big black dog, a Doberman mix perhaps. The dog raised his head as I got out of my car and so I made the reasonable choice of trying the other house first. I walked through the deep yard and onto the narrow stoop. I knocked. I heard grunts first and immediately came barking as five or six dogs ranging from medium to huge came tearing around the corner of the house. They lunged while I tried to remain calm and slowly walk away. They did not chase me all the way to my car, but rather disappeared much as they had appeared. I looked across the road at the Doberman mix. His head was down again. I noticed smoke coming from the chimney pipe.

I walked to the other house and stepped onto the porch. The dog looked up at me and then closed his eyes. I knocked. A young man came to the door. He might have been in his midtwenties. He had two long braids that fell over his shoulders.

“I’m looking for Regina Shakespeare,” I said.

“What do you want with her?”

“It’s a long story, but I just want to ask her about Davy Cloud.”

“Who’s Davy Cloud?” he asked.

“Roberta Cloud’s son.”

“I didn’t know she had a son. And who are you?”

“My name is Jack Keene. I’m a friend of Roberta.”

“You can come in, but it won’t do any good to speak to my great-grandmother. She’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“She’s in and out.”

I stepped into the house. An old-fashioned wide-stance wood-stove kept the place very warm.

“Gammy,” the man called her.

The woman sat in an old wheelchair. She didn’t look up.

“Gammy, this man wants to ask you a question.” He looked at me. “Go ahead.”

“Ma’am, sorry to bother you, but do you recall someone named Davy Cloud? He’s Roberta Cloud’s son.”

“Roberta Cloud,” Regina Shakespeare said, surprising her great-grandson. “Why, she’s even older than me.” She let out a strong, throaty laugh.

“Do you know anything about her son?” I asked. “He’d be about your age.”

“Alder wood pops too much, don’t you think?” she said. She held up her index finger and smiled at the man. “What’s this?”

“It’s your finger, Gammy.”

“Alder wood pops,” she said.

The young man looked at me.

“Thanks for your time,” I said.

“Sorry.”

The highway was nasty as I drove back to Lander. The temperature had dropped suddenly and every curve looked like black ice to me. The snow was falling heavily now. I made it to a motel and lay in bed and did nothing. It was only Friday night and I had exhausted every avenue I could think of. I wondered what I was supposed to do for a week and then I remembered that if I waited a week Roberta Cloud would be dead. At least, she had told me she would be. I would have to go to her house the next morning and tell her that I had failed, that there was no way I could track down Davy.

I fell asleep wanting to dream about finding Davy Cloud, but I didn’t. I dreamed about an old girlfriend that I’d never loved. And so I woke up in a bad mood.

The world was buried in snow on Saturday morning. My car along with it. I raked the windshield clear and then chipped and scraped off the ice. My fingers were numb when I started my engine. I returned to my room and let the car run for a while. I wanted the heat in the car and I wasn’t sure if I could even shift and steer with my hands as frozen as they were. I snapped on the television for a weather report and there was Graham Greene talking to Val Kilmer in Thunderheart. Greene’s character was complaining about Kilmer’s character having a vision.

I fell in behind a snowplow on the highway and though it was slow going I felt more confident about the safety of the road. But that was short-lived as the plow turned around at the reservation border and I was left to push through six inches of snow with my Subaru.

There were a couple of cars and a pickup parked at Roberta Cloud’s house. I tramped through the snow to her door and knocked. A young woman answered.

“Are you Mr. Keene?” she asked before I could say anything.

“I am.”

“Come in.” There were two other women inside the house and a tall man who drank from a large travel mug.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“She’s dying,” the man said.

“She’s been asking for you,” the woman who met me at the door said. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” I said.

“Let’s go then,” she said. She led me into the room where Roberta Cloud lay on the bed under quilts.

“He’s here, Roberta,” the woman said and left.

“Mr. Keene, you’re back.” He voice was so weak, so soft I could barely hear her from five feet away.

“Yes ma’am.”

“I knew you would find my Davy. Davy, my Davy.” Roberta Cloud reached out her hand. She was so weak that I thought I could feel her life slipping away.

I stepped close and took the old woman’s hand. It felt like a baby bird. Her bones felt like nothing. I said nothing.

“Davy, my Davy,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much. I love you.”

I didn’t make a sound. I rubbed the back of her little hand with my thumb.

“It’s been too long,” Roberta Cloud said. She said that several times until her voice just trailed off.

I watched her face. I felt her leave. I didn’t even hear her last breath. She was just gone.

One of the women came in and I looked up at her. She left and I heard her tell the others that Roberta Cloud was no more. There was no crying. I let go of her hand and stood up. She looked peaceful. I toyed with the idea that I was partly responsible for that. I also felt terrible that I had lied to her. I told myself it was not exactly a lie. I had simply let her assume something. But of course I had lied.