White Ribbon

“Sweat, that’s what I remember. Sweat.” he said in his low grizzly voice. He took a long draw from his cigarette and then spat on the ground. Ants came and began devouring the saliva. “It wasn’t just sweat, but back then it was mostly work. We ain’t had the time like y'all do now. People were simple, dumber too. They knew how to work and that’s it. They just worked” The fire crackled, the young man that sat opposite of him leaned in his chair, taking a small stick from the fire using its ember to light his cigarette. The old man liked to do this. Get in the backyard, out there by the field, build a fire, talk about old times, drink, smoke until he grew tired of himself talking. John didn’t mind, he liked the old man.

“Those wagons, with the canvas and all. Nightmare, nothing good about it. In those movies they make it seem beautiful, people all clean. Nobody was clean, it was hard work, dirty and everyone smelled like shit. The wheels would break off. We had a horse that died one time. Something was in the water, it was a pretty one too. White with speckles of black. Mama and I called it freckles. Tough woman she was. Died too young, a lot of them did back then. All the good ones it seems.”

John nodded having heard it all before. He took a swig of his beer crossing his left boot over his right looking at the endless night sky. “You ever see a bear when you came along out here?” said John. “ You kidding? They was everywhere. That was good eatin. Not many of 'em here anymore. Can’t remember the last time I seen one.” He groaned reaching over for his small bottle of whiskey that sat on the floor, pouring it into his small Irish crystal. “You got to be careful with them. You get one shot and that's it. They’ll be on you in a hot second and mad as hell. A boy up the river got killed by one back then. I remember daddy went with the party to get the bastard. They found 3 shots along his belly. One had hit his head and didn’t even break the bone of his skull. Large fucker. Satan’s pet if you ask me.`` John grinned, holding back a chuckle. The old man didn’t like being laughed at. He took several heavy drags from his cigarette. “How are the stock?” said the old man. “They are good, been taking to the foothills, sage is growing out there. They are eating well. Nice and fat.”

“Good, good, that’s what I am paying you for.”

“You’re not paying me nothing”

“Well I am feeding yeah and providing a roof. Don’t get to complaining.”

“I am not complaining, just stating a fact”

The old man tossed his hand in annoyance. “You make money at the picture-house in the evenings, you should have good money saved up” said the old man, containing his annoyance.

“Yeah, I got a bit.”

“Good. Now all you gotta do is find a girl. Settle down and get out of this place.”

John shifted in his seat. The old man at moments acted like he was his father and it irked him to no end, but it was part of the game.

“There ain't no girls around here.”

“Hell there is”

“Well none worth looking at.”

“I tell you, in the old days, before the car it was better. The downtown was always busy. You had bums sure, but at least they were all in one place getting to know one another. Now they just take to their cars and get home. It’s divided us I tell you”.

“Yeah? I don’t know about that.”

“I am the one that lived it boy.” He leaned and spat in the fire.”Listen to your elders. That’s in the good book.”

“It says to obey your elders. Doesn’t say anything about listening.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Yes sir.” He sat his empty can of beer down and pried open another. “Sorry”.

The old man gave a sharp look from the corner of his eye. “You’re a good kid, better than I was. I spent all my money on liquor and whoring at your age. You’re good to save and think about the future and all.” John nodded knowing every pattern of the old man. When he got drunk, he would talk a lot, get angry at nothing, calm down and go on talking again, repeating it all until slept suddenly met him.

“Have I told you about my wife? Elizabeth.” Said the old man shyly.

“Yes, many times.”

“Oh… right.” he finished his whiskey in one large gulp pouring another double avoiding something. “You got matches on you?”

“Naw I’ve been using the fire” said John.

“Light this for me would you.” He handed John a big cigar and cutter from his coat pocket. John took an ember from the fire and stoked the cigar until he billowed a big puff of smoke and then handed it back to the old man.

“Thanks” said the old man.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Bought it off some young kid. Said they fell off the truck. Means he stole em. I couldn’t care less. A good cigar is a good cigar.” He took a long puff. “Sad what’s happening to this country. After all that happened with the stock market. I ain't ever understand that shit. Made us all poor somehow. Real shame” He took off his broad brimmed white hat and placed it in his lap as he often did when talking about her. For a brief moment John saw the young man encased in this old shell.

“You know I learned to read, because of Elizabeth. She didn’t know I couldn’t read. John nodded along. "I was 20 going to this little pueblo style school that sat on the edge of main street.Going at night so she wouldn’t see me. Taking lessons from that old, what was her name. I forget, some Quaker lady, believed in helping people and all. She was tough and that work was tough. Tougher than any day out in the field or with the cattle I tell you. She’d grab your hand so hard. Making sure you wrote every letter right. I never did meet a woman, or man with stronger hands. I would come home and my hands would be bruised and all. I’d lie to my Pa about what I was doing.” he chuckled. “My Elizabeth, she was smart. Reading books real good, speakin real good. Never thought her Daddy would let us go courtin. When I felt good about my schoolin, we went to town. I made sure to read signs we passed by, showin off my skill and all. Probably made me look real stupid or somethin. Her Daddy came, a mean old religious man. He sat within arms distance, always looking out of his side eye at me. It was horrible, we had a terrible time, but we liked how each other looked.” He rocked onto the heels of his chair. “He didn’t approve, but we still saw one another.” A big smile arched his face. “Back then, that was risky as all hell. Everyone had a gun and everyone drank.”

“Now that sounds horrible” said John.

“What’s that?”

“Courtin with her Daddy. I don't think I heard that one before.”

“Shit it was, especially for an old whoring boy like me.”

John grinned, took his cigarette and stomped it out on the ground. “Getting late.” he said.

“I know it doesn't matter.” Said the old man.

“I got to get up early, still fixing the far end of the fence."

“You take the whole day off tomorrow, you hear? I want to stay up talking”

John paused, ruminating on the idea, knowing it was a gamble whether the old man would remember what he said tomorrow. “Yes sir”

A train's horn sounded off in the distance.

“Awe shit, here it comes.” said the old man. His face contorted into a a tight fist. It came hurtling through the far edge of the property. A fence hung on either side to keep the cattle out. Its light bathed the hillside, cattle stood frozen and silhouetted. The train sounded the horn three more times. “Christ”. The old man placed his hands over his ears until the caravan passed. “It ain't that bad” said John laughing. The old man didn’t hear. It was the beast from hell. “Always hated those damn things.” said the old man. He spat on the floor in disdain. The ants moved from the dry spit to the fresh saliva. They were silent until the sounds of the train faded and all lay quiet and the crickets began to sing again. The old man leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, his eyes scanned the landscape before another memory erupted in his mind.

“You see these fields here, right before that ridge.” He pointed. “Just beyond those tracks and between the line of trees.”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Way back in the day, this was all Indian territory. They’d been hunting up and down that away before we ever knew this place existed. When the Spaniards came they made them slaves and made them till those fields. After the Indians they made the black slaves work those fields. Then the Irish and the Chinese came and built that damn railroad. Mostly the Chinese.” He puffed and sent smoke rings into the air. “ I didn’t see them build it, but I would’ve been a youngin when they built that track over yonder. We were still some 40 miles south, it’s all the same country though. I do remember hearing the dynamite explosions, thinking it was dry thunder or God talkin or somethin.” He swirled the whiskey in the glass and then looked back at the black horizon. “This land has a lot of memories. A lot of sweat and a lot of blood. Now it’s been stealing some of yours too” He said, turning his head to John gazing lazily at him. “The land is always thirsty. It will always be askin for more sweat and more blood. No matter what you do though, it’s still the same old dirt.” He knocked back the rest of the whiskey and poured himself another. The two were quiet. The crickets chirped loudly and a soft breeze blew in from the south. John cracked open another beer. “Come on boy, stop drinking that piss water and take a real drink.” said the old man pouring a large swig into a tin cup that had held his coffee earlier that evening. “You know I ain’t much for this sort of drink”. “I know boy, I am trying to make you into a man, knock this back” said the old man. John took the swig and began coughing. “Shut up. Take another ''he poured him another swig, John took the second, stomaching it with confidence. “Two more and I’ll shut up about it”. John took the two back to back and slapped his chest. “Shit my chest feels like it’s on fire.” said John. The old man laughed “now you’ll see that all beer is, is colored water. Go on now. Drink your beer and sober up.” he said again laughing and slapping his knee. John laughed too. “You’re a crazy old fucker”. The old man suddenly stood, his legs wobbled as he took a few steps. The moon was bright enough to see the ground up ahead. “Where the hell do you think you’re going sir?” said John.

“For a walk and a piss, what does it look like!”

“The house is back thataway.”

“I’m going to do it the old fashioned way.” he said laughing to himself as he headed for the line of trees to his left. John shook his head and then placed his hat which sat on the arm of his chair on his head. The old man entered the tree line and his body became part of the shadows. There were faint mumblings followed by a torrent of piss splashing on the dirt ground. John began nursing his beer. “Elizabeth, where are you?” said the old man quietly, his words falling on the damp floor. There was a patter of soft footsteps and then all was silent. A cow mooed somewhere in the foothills and a single sharp yelp of a coyote echoed through the valley. John leaned back in his chair, naming the constellations in his mind. A minute or two went by and the old man didn’t return. John stood up, the alcohol rushed to his head and his vision blurred. “Where are you, you crazy old man?” he hollered. He took a swig from his beer. “You fall taking a shit?”. He chuckled, proud of his brazen joke. There was a cold silence. “Sir?”.

John entered the tree line and began to hurry his pace to where he last heard a sound. “Sir, where are you?”. He ran back and forth amongst the trees, glancing over the field in its picturesque silence and then back again into the thicket calling for the old man. He became drunker as his blood began to flow, sweat began building around his forehead. The old man had vanished.

After some time searching, he became tired and hurried to the stable. The old mule that sat alone in the dark became spooked and kicked when John barged in knocking over a tin pail in the corner. “It’s okay boy. It’s me, John it’s John.” He groped in the darkness and stroked the old mule's head, letting the beast smell his hands until it quieted. He took a lantern that hung in the corner of the barn, lighting it with a box of matches that sat nearby, then mounted bareback using just the bridle. Still slightly shaken, the mule jolted out from the barn, “fuck”, John steadied himself from falling, gripping tightly onto the kerosene lantern.

He followed the line of trees, he reached the zenith of a short mound of grass which sloped down on its far side into a small gully two horses wide. “Boss?.. Sir” he yelled down. He wanted to throw up traversing the steep decline. The old beast swayed like a boat. John followed the ravine, his lantern dancing in the dark, painting a faint echo of the old man's stories. A quarter of a mile in, he began to near the river that sat at the base of the foothills where they began their climb.

He heard the water brushing against the reeds, falling over the rocks at a steady pace. He jumped off the mule leading it with the reins. “Boss” he hollered as the fear set in at the possibility of the old man having drowned. . “It sure is nice to loving you Lizzy, it sure is nice. Sure is” said a faint voice that seemed to emanate from the land itself. John stood and listened. “Now where did we put it my friend? Now where did we put it, they don’t have legs...”

“Sir is that you?” said John. The voice stopped and there grew a dark chill in the air. “Who goes there? You know you on private property?”. John followed the voice. “You hear me? Who goes there?”. Rounding a corner of reeds he found the old man laying there up against a log. His bare feet were all covered in mud and his face had a look of panic as the light cascaded across his sagging skin. He tried to stand. “Boss, what on earth are you....” John began. “Who the hell are you?” retorted the old man rising and backing away. “What the hell are you doing with my mule?” The old man placed his hand on his hip, where his six shooter would have been back in the day to comfort himself.

“It’s me John.”

“John?”

“Yeah John”

The old man scratched his head. “The boy who runs the candy shop on main street?’ he looked bewildered and afraid. “No, no. Boss it’s me John. The cattle boy. I work your house, I tend the fields. The old man looked on in confusion. “You said you were going for a piss and then you disappeared” the boy continued. The old man's face went red. “Yes, yes, yes I know.” He shook his head placing his hand on his forehead. John's heart sank seeing the condition of the old man.

“You're drunk sir.”

“I ain’t nothin.”

“Come on let's go home.” said John beckoning him with his hand. The old man looked at the floor and then suddenly his face became washed with a pale fear. 'Have you seen a bow my lad?’

“A bow?”

“Yes, yes, a white bow. I’ve been looking all this time.”

“That’s why you went parading here in these hills?”

“We went swimming earlier and my Lizzy seems to have lost it. It’s her favorite. I came back to..” He stopped, his lips quivered and a tear began to fill his eye realizing what he was saying. “I don’t. I, she’s gone”

“It’s alright sir. Let's get you home. Do you know what you did with your shoes?”.

The old man's face turned red again as he placed his hand on his head. . “You know what, I think I saw them yonder. I’ll get 'em in the morning for you.” John lifted the old man onto the mule and then hopped on and began the trip back home.

The night became cold and a chill wind began to blow from the south. John blew out the lantern and then lazily tied it around his belt. The old man had dozed off against John's back and suddenly awoke. His arms were hanging around the young man's body. “Didn’t I tell you I was going for a walk?” the old man growled. John ignored the comment and the old man seemed to not notice he said it. He looked around at the gully they were traversing. “One spring it rained and rained. This whole gully was flooded for 3 days. Hard to believe, but we would’ve been under water right now.” he chuckled. John nodded his head. “You awake boy?”

“Yeah. Yes sir. Sobering up. Want to be in bed now.”

“Yeah, cattle work will do that to yeah. Tire you out. Even youngins”

“Sure does.”

“You got a smoke on you?”

“Yeah, but no light.”

“Shit, my chest is starting to chill”. The old man said, rubbing his hands against his chest. “Sounds crazy, but I thought I could find that ribbon all these years later.” he bit his lip. “Memory sure is a funny thing ain’t it?" John ignored the comment, not wanting to confirm the old man's fear. Right then a coyote yelped off in the distance. Soon other coyotes joined in a chorus, yapping incessantly. John slowed the mule and listened. “They usually don’t go after big game. If they did, I sure hope it wasn’t one of ours.” “They may have. They are a different breed now” retorted the old man spitting on the ground. “Everything got tamed, but they got more wild somehow. They ain’t even afraid of the city lights no more.” Loud deep yells from a dying animal sounded off the hills. “I think they be goin after a cattle sir.” said John.

“Sounds it”

“Sure hope it ain’t one of ours”

“Don’t make a damn difference to me”

They arrived at the house. John turned the lights on and poured himself and the old man a glass of water. “Drink up sir. You don’t want to wake up with a sledgehammer in your head.” The old man took the glass with a sheepish grin. “I want you to stop that boy.” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Stop what sir?” replied John. “Stop callin' me sir. Just call me Willie. That’s what my friends used to call me back when.”

“Alright Willie.”

Willie changed his clothes and washed his feet. John worked, putting out the embers of the fire and brought the beer cans and the bottle of whiskey inside. John handed Willie his hat. Willie slowly sat down at the kitchen table and watched as John threw away the cans. “Keep that bottle out” he said to John as he reached to put the whiskey in a cabinet. John placed it on the table with a single glass. “Just have one more drink with me. I promise I won’t ask for another drunk for a long while. Just have one more drink. Just one more".

“Alright, just one. I got to take mine with some water.” said John turning on the faucet.

“Ruins it, but to each their own. Grab them blue cards. Let's play a round”

John grabbed the cards, sat opposite of Willie. Willie lazily glanced at the ceiling staring at the a moth that flew around the kitchens light bulb like it was God itself. “I like the convenience of the electric light and all, but the light from them kerosene lamps sure was prettier.” Said Willie. John picked up the cards and began shuffling. “Rummy?” said John. “Sure”. Replied Willie. They began to play. “Any girls been tickling your fancy John?” John flipped a card from the pile. “We talked about this”.

“I ain’t remember, must have been a while since I asked.” John shot him a quick look.

“Willie, there ain’t no girls in this town I fancy.”

“Come on now. You’re at the picture house all day and ain’t see one pretty girl?”

“None from around here”. John drew a card wishing the conversation would end shortly.

“Well then who was it?”

“Who was what?”

“The girl that caught your fancy. If she ain't from here, who was she?”

“I don’t know. A pretty girl came to the evening picture show one time. Maybe about a month ago”

“Go on”.

“There's nothing to go on. She had on a yellow dress and red lipstick. I was working the popcorn stand when I saw her come in and that's it."

“You talk to her?”

“Naw, she just got popcorn and left.” He picked a card from the center deck.” When the movie ended I watched her walk out. Thought I saw her look at me from the car window as they drove off. She was pretty. I don’t think I’ll ever see another gall as pretty.”

“Reminds me of when I saw Elizabeth the first time. I’d been a whoring and was a real sick dog, but then I saw her. Never saw a prettier woman. Never wanted to see another one again after that. If you see her again you ask her to dinner, or bring her here.. You hear? Don’t give me lip.”

“Yes sir”.

“I ain’t getting shit. Let me shuffle next time” They played a few games and the old man drank a few more drinks until he was nearly as drunk as before. The hour struck 2:00 am. John got up.

“Alright now, I’m heading to bed Willie.”

“You go on. I’m gonna stay up a while.”

“Goodnight sir”

“Night…John....I” John turned around and leaned against the door frame. Willie took a swig of whiskey, the words wouldn’t come. “You, you check in on them steer in the morning. Let me know if the coyote gottem.”

“Yes sir”

“Git to bed”

John awoke a few hours later to take a piss. The kitchen light bounced off the walls and into the hallway. He went in to shut it off and found the old man where he had left him. Slumped up on the table, his face buried in his arms. A now cold cigarette carved a burnt mark on the table from where it fell out of his hands. He picked up the old man who felt light in his hands and carried him to bed. As he laid him down, the old man stirred awake. He saw the young man framed in the doorway silhouetted by the orange glow of the hallway light. “John is that you?”

“Yes sir. You fell asleep out there in the kitchen.” John placed a blanket over Willie’s cold body. “I just walked you in.” “Right, right” Willie said, placing his hand over his forehead. “John…” “What’s that?” said John as he retreated toward the doorway. “You asked me once, the first night we went a drinkin what I missed about the old days. I went on and on about the food and a whole bunch of shit. I lied. I miss none of it, not the horses, not the kerosene lamps, not the work. Not the huntin. I don’t miss nothin. I just miss the faces.” Willie turned onto his side, placing the pillow under his head. “They’re just words now.”