Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

"You coward, why can't you say it? You despise me!" Inez said, with bitter scorn. "You'd be happy to see Inish back. Then you could just drink whiskey all day and moon about that Forsythe girl.

I'm jealous of that girl, I can tell you that.

I've more to offer than any girl who works in a store, and yet you've had her on your mind the whole time I've known you." Gus didn't answer. He wondered how women so easily found out what men were feeling.

He had never so much as mentioned Clara's name to Inez Scull--how did she know it was Clara on his mind? Women could smell feelings as a dog could smell a fox. He had just told Madame Scull that her husband was a prisoner of the cruelest man in Mexico, and yet she hadn't turned a hair. She was far more disturbed by the fact that he loved Clara Forsythe and not her.

Even in their passion, though he seemed to be there, he wasn't, and Mrs. Scull knew it.

"Well, I better just go," he said. "I mainly came up to give you the news." "Liar," Inez said, slapping him. "You're a liar and a coward--if I hadn't dropped my bullwhip I'd cut you to ribbons. You didn't come up to tell me about Inish. You came here because I know more about certain things than any whore you can afford on your puny little salary." She was red in the face again--Gus's nervous young horse was backing away.

"You and your village maiden, I despise you both!" Inez said. "You and your calf love. You come to me, though, with your mangy grin--and Inish will come for the same reason, when he's through wandering." "What's the reason?" Augustus asked, annoyed by the woman's violent tone--a tone that even scared his horse.

"Lust, sir ... free lu/!" Inez said.

"Do you hear me? Lu/!" She yelled the last so loudly that anyone within half a mile could have heard her. It made him nervous. Lust was one thing--telling the whole town about it was something else. He decided he could leave, but when he stepped toward his horse Madame Scull struck at him with the coiled bullwhip.

"There, go along, you coward," she said. "In your whole life you'll never find a woman who will make herself so free--and yet you're too callow to appreciate it." With that she turned and stalked off toward her mansion, while Gus stroked and soothed his agitated mount. He thought of following Madame Scull into the house, but, in the end, mounted and rode back down the hill toward town.

The first person he saw when he reached the lots was young Jake Spoon, idle as usual, though there was plenty of work available. Deets, Pea Eye, and Long Bill Coleman were struggling to subdue a stout young gelding, so they could shoe him. Jake, though, sat on an empty nail keg playing a game of solitaire, using an overturned wheelbarrow for a table. It evidently didn't bother Jake to play while others worked, a fact that annoyed Gus so that he walked over and kicked the nail keg out from under--it sent him sprawling. Then, not satisfied, he bent over, grabbed Jake by his curly hair, and knocked his head against the ground a time or two.

Jake saw from Gus's face that he was very angry--he had no idea why Gus had chosen to take it out on him, but he knew better than to resist. Gus McCrae was fully capable of doing worse.

"There, you better play possum or I'll have your damn gizzard," Gus said.

The three men struggling with the mustang noticed the little altercation. They stopped what they were doing, to watch, but there was nothing more to see. A little wind swirled through the lots, blowing several of Jake Spoon's cards off the wheelbarrow. Gus left Jake on his back in the dust and walked over to the horseshoeing crew.

"Jake's a lazy one, ain't he?" Long Bill said. "The whores like him, though. They fancy that curly hair." "Jakie," Mrs. Scull called him, Gus remembered. Probably she too had fancied his curly hair. The thought brought the bad taste back to his mouth.

Jake Spoon picked himself up, but cautiously. He left the windblown cards to lie in the dust. Gus McCrae looked as if he were in the mood to give someone a thorough licking. The men resumed working with the horse, but they kept one eye on Gus, who stood with his back to them. It was clear that it wouldn't take much to set him off.

But when Gus turned it was to motion for Deets to come with him.

"You, there," he said to Jake, "leave them cards alone and help the boys shoe that horse." Long Bill started to protest the order.

Deets was handy with a hasp and a horseshoe nail, and there was nothing in the way of labor that Jake was handy with. But he saw that Gus was upset, and held his tongue.

Augustus walked Deets out of town to where the cemetery lay, in a curve of a stream. They could hear the water rushing before they reached the stream.

Once amid the live oaks that bordered the river Gus felt a little relief from his sour mood, a mood mostly caused by Inez Scull. He didn't like the woman, but she exuded a strong nectar, too strong to easily ignore.

Deets followed Gus quietly, glad to be relieved of the horseshoeing. When they came to the cemetery he took off his hat, an old felt Captain Call had given him only the day before.

It had belonged to one of the rangers killed in the raid. Deets was mighty proud of his hat, but he took it off quickly when they came to the graveyard. It wouldn't do to be disrespectful of the dead.

Augustus walked him carefully through the fresh graves until he came to those of Clara's mother and father. He knew Deets couldn't read the names on the wooden crosses, so he wanted him to take care to note exactly where the two graves were.

"These are the Forsythes," he told Deets.

"They were parents of a good friend of mine. I aim to put up good stone headstones when I get time-- she'd want me to, I expect." The thought of Clara entrusting him with the care of her parents' graves left him briefly overcome.

He knelt down and didn't try to speak.

"Deets, can you garden?" he asked, when the mood passed and he had better control of his voice.

"I can garden," Deets assured him.

"Kept a big one, back home. Lord, we grew the string beans." Augustus realized he knew almost nothing about the young black man. Deets had just shown up one day, as people did--black people, particularly. Their owners died and they were set to wandering.

"Where was back home, Deets?" Gus asked.

"Louisee, I believe," Deets said, after a moment. "It was in Louisee, somewhere on the river." "Oh, Louisiana, I guess you mean," Gus said. "I want you to tend these graves like you would a garden. Only you don't need to grow no string beans, just flowers. My friend's mother was partial to bluebonnets, particularly. I'd like you to get some flowers growing on these graves, come spring." It was clear to Deets that Mr. Gus had a powerful affection for the friend he mentioned. When he mentioned her his voice shook. As for flowers, that was easy.

"The flowers be coming soon," he said. "I'll get some of the bluebonnets and put them on these graves." "I'll see you get a wage for it--a fair wage," Augustus said. "I want you to keep tending these two graves as long you're in these parts. Just these two, now. You don't have time to be flowering up other people's graves." "No sir," Deets said. "I see which two.

I'll make 'em pretty." "You tend them, come what may," Gus said.

"That's how my friend wants it." He paused--he seemed to have difficulty with his voice. Deets waited.

"You'll need to be keeping them pretty, year after year," Gus said, with a glance at the young black man who knelt, hat in hand, a few feet away.

"You'll need to do it whatever happens to me," Gus said, looking down at the clods of brown earth on the fresh grave.

These last ^ws startled Deets. It was clear that Mr. Gus was mighty concerned about the upkeep of the two graves. Deets could not but feel proud that he had been selected, from all the company, to be the one to see that the burial places were well maintained.