2
The kid’s name was
James Patrick George Hogan, George being his confirmation name,
taken for the saint who slew dragons. In his Catholic school book
there had been an illustration of George in armor and mail standing
triumphant with his huge battle sword near a slain dragon. The
dragon’s scales and reptilian snout had captivated James.
Looking at
illustrations of dragons and dinosaurs was his favorite pastime. He
could stare at them for hours, imagining himself living back then.
The only thing wrong with this was that back then there would have
been no Marietta Courtney, this being the fourteen-year-old
public-school girl James had been steadfastly stuck on since he’d
seen her a year ago riding her bicycle, her red hair gorgeous in
the sunlight, her smile in equal parts impish and unknowable.
These were some of
the things James had thought about on the last part of the journey
to Myles. His uncle Septemus Ryan had fallen into one of his
silences. Of course, James knew what the silence was about: a few
years back his uncle’s girl-and James’s favorite cousin-Clarice,
had been shot and killed in a bank robbery back in their hometown.
This had been particularly hard on Septemus, because only two years
previously his wife had died from whooping cough.
Since these deaths
there had been a lot of talk in Council Bluffs about “poor Septemus
not being quite right upstairs.” He was given to violent tempers,
unending days and nights of brooding, and talking to himself. The
latter seemed particularly troubling to Council Bluffians. Here was
a leading merchant, and a darned handsome one at that, walking down
the streets of town quite obviously carrying on some kind of
conversation with himself. What he was saying or to whom was a
mystery, of course, and a disturbing one to those who cared about
him.
In the dusty street,
James and Septemus dismounted. They took the carpetbags from their
saddles and carried them inside the hotel.
James appreciated the
cooling shade of the fine hotel lobby. Gentlemen in percale shirts
and straw boaters and cheery red sleeve garters sat in leather
chairs smoking cigars, sipping lemonade, and reading newspapers and
magazines. A few yellowbacks were even in evidence. James wondered
if any of them were reading The Train Boy,
which next to the works of Sir Walter Scott was the best thing he’d
ever read.
The lobby had
mahogany wainscoting and genuine brass cuspidors and great green
ferns. The mustached man behind the registration desk looked as
snappy as a man in a Sears catalog.
“Good afternoon,
sir,” the clerk said in a splendid manly voice.
“Afternoon,” Septemus
said. “One room, two beds. And we’ll be wanting baths this
afternoon.”
“Cool ones, I trust,
sir,” the clerk said, smiling.
Septemus didn’t smile
back. The clerk, something dying in his eyes, looked mortally
offended.
***
Up in their room,
they emptied the carpetbags on their beds and then sat in the two
chairs next to the window to sip their complimentary
lemonade.
“You glad you came
along?” Septemus said. Here it was three degrees hotter than down
on the street, but here they could feel the breeze better, too.
Septemus had taken his jacket and his vest off. At forty-five he
was balding and getting fat, but he still looked muscular and his
hard, angular face attracted women and made men wary. He didn’t
look at all like a haberdasher.
“Yessir.”
“There you go
again.”
James blushed. “I’m
sorry.”
“No need to
apologize, James. You’ve just got to remember the things I’m trying
to teach you.”
James nodded.
“You know why I took
you on this trip?”
“Because you wanted
to take me to the state fair.” The fair was in Des Moines, some one
hundred miles away. There would be amusement rides and prize
livestock and bearded ladies and magicians and probably two hundred
girls who were as cute as Marietta Courtney. Or at least James
hoped so.
“The fair is part of
the reason but it’s not all of the reason.”
“It’s not?”
Septemus looked at
James very hard. “I wanted to get you away from your mother’s
influence.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“You don’t like my
mom?”
“I like your mom fine
but she’s not the best influence you could have.”
“She’s not?”
“Nope. Your father
was.”
“But he is
dead.”
“I’m well aware of
that.”
“And my mom has done
a good job of raisin’ us three kids ever since.”
Septemus still looked
solemn. “Your mother is my sister and a woman I respect no end. But
she’s a lot better mother to your two sisters than she is to
you.”
“She is?”
Septemus nodded, then
sipped some lemonade. “Think about it, James.”
“About what?”
“About what your life
has been like since your father died. Without a proper male
influence, that is.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Violin lessons.
Always wearing knickers and a clean dress shirt. Spending most of
your time on studies instead of being outside playing baseball. Do
you honestly think this is a natural state of affairs for any young
man? And that’s what you are, James, whether your mother chooses to
acknowledge it or not. You’re sixteen and that makes you a young
man.”
“I guess I never
thought of it that way.”
“When your father was
your age, he was supporting a family of three and going to work for
the Union Central Life Insurance Company. By the time he was
twenty, he had his own office.”
“That’s right, Uncle
Septemus.”
“And he was a man
known to take a drink who could hold a drink, and a man known to
hunt who had respect for the rifle and the prey alike, and a man
known to please the ladies just by the manliness of his stride and
the confidence of his smile. He was one hell of a real man.”
James couldn’t help
it. Hearing his father recalled so lovingly- Septemus and James’s
father had been best friends for many years- James got tears in his
eyes and had a hard time swallowing.
“Your father wouldn’t
have approved of the violin lessons. Or the musicals in your parlor
every Tuesday night. Or all those luncheons your mother takes you
to.”
“He wouldn’t
have?”
Septemus shook his
head. “No, he wouldn’t have. And that’s why I brought you along on
this trip.”
James looked
perplexed.
“To start teaching
you about manly things,” Septemus said. “Away from the influence of
your mother.”
“Oh.”
“So stop being so
deferential. Stop always ‘Yessiring’ me. A gentlemen is always
polite, but that doesn’t mean he has to be bowing and scraping. You
understand that?”
James almost said
“Yessir.” Instead, he caught himself on time and simply
nodded.
“Good. Now why don’t
you take a bath. I’ve got to go do a little business. I’ll be back
to take my own bath and then we can get something to eat.”
Septemus got up and
stood over James and mussed his hair with thick fingers. “You look
more like your father all the time. You should be proud of
that.”
“I am.”
For the first time
since they’d left Council Bluffs, Septemus smiled. “This trip’ll be
good for you, James. You wait and see.” Then, his boots loud on the
linoleum floor in the drowsy quiet of the afternoon, he went over
and put his vest and coat back on.
James couldn’t help
but notice that Septemus also picked up his Winchester.
“See you in an hour
or so, James,” Septemus said.
Then he was
gone.