The Drop Edge of Yonder (37 page)

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

A bowl of whiskey was passed around the circle. Gusts of rain swept across the sea and poured into the longhouse through large cracks in the supporting wall posts and between the roof planks. When the wind knocked over the lamps of whale oil, candles were lit and placed around the room on flat stones.

Plaxico continued his prowl around the room with bulging eyes, as if a fire were smoldering inside his head. Stopping in front of Zebulon, he grabbed the bowl of whiskey from Lu, took a swig, and sprayed it into Zebulon's face and eyes, shaking his rattles and crying out.

Then he slammed his fist into Zebulon's heart, sending him to the floor.

When Zebulon came to, Plaxico was kneeling on the floor, laughing at him.

"Before you went out, you sounded like an old whore suckin' on a stick of ice."

Zebulon grabbed him by the throat, trying to strangle him, an act which made Plaxico laugh even harder.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

Again, he slammed his fist into Zebulon's heart.

"It ain't your pump that's broke. It's your spirit. You think it's all over when it ain't even begun."

The crowd shouted and clapped their hands.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho! His spirit is broke, and it ain't even begun!"

Plaxico continued around the room, shaking his rattle and crying out.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

Zebulon floated above the floor, staring at the parade of figures dancing across the ceiling. He knew them all: outlaws and mountain men, Comanches, Arapahoes, Shoshonis, and Sioux, all wearing headdresses and war paint. There was a water spirit with pendulous breasts rising from an angry, howling sea, goats, frogs with snake-like tongues, ravens, and thunderbirds, and struggling not to be left out, Sergeant Bent, Snake Eyes, his Ma and Pa, the Warden and his wife, Stebbins, and Captain Dorfheimer.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

As the night wore on and visions waned and roared back, objects were exchanged. Plaxico gave Delilah a turquoise belt buckle and she gave him her gold and ruby necklace that had been given back to her by Large Marge. Indians handed out and received fishhooks, beads, rifles, shirts, bowls, and chisels. Zebulon tossed the Warden's gold pocket watch to Lu, who gave him a Tlingit knife with a carved sea otter handle. Large Marge handed an ornate French pen to Plaxico, who slipped a beaded African necklace to Hatchet Jack, who gave him his Green River bowie knife, and so on and on around the room.

The Colt was passed from Hatchet Jack, to Delilah, to Large Marge, to Plaxico, who exchanged it with Zebulon for the fossilized walrus penis that Zebulon had taken from the Warden's desk. Zebulon gave it to a Tlingit, who gave him an oyster-shell necklace. He gave the necklace to Lu, who handed Delilah her gold and ruby necklace, who kept it hidden inside her blouse.

The orgy of giving and receiving rose to a frenzy as objects were pushed, thrown, negotiated, and handed back and forth. Drums pounded, rattles shook, children screamed and laughed, men and women pouted and cried and clapped their hands. Soon no one cared or remembered the origin of the gold nuggets, knives, rifles, beads, mirrors, copper plates, boots, paddles, cards, dominoes, bullets, belts, long johns, chisels, fishing gear, Lakota Sioux rattles, or sacks of flour and food that passed from hand to hand around the room.

"Waaaaaaaaagh!" Zebulon cried, holding the Colt in his hands.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

Zebulon recognized Captain Dorfheimer as he appeared on the ceiling, dealing cards to a bandy-legged man and Azariah Keyhoe; and there was Hans, the German from The Rhinelander, shooting a cue ball into the side pocket of a billiard table floating on the ocean; and Cox and Plaxico, comforting Frau Sutter; and the Sheriff; and Stebbins, who was holding Miranda Serenade in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he read his latest dispatch to her; and there was Delilah, sweeping by, arm and arm with the Count and Hatchet Jack, and then just as suddenly, floating apart.

Zebulon joined the crowd, stomping, whistling, and shouting, all of them crying out:

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

Delilah offered him the queen of hearts and then took it back as her face dissolved into that of an old crone and then into a bleached skull. The skull could have been Miranda Serenade from Vera Cruz, Rosita from Denver, Suzy from El Paso, Louisa from Alamosa, or Not Here Not There - all the women from all the lost times, dead and alive. There was his Ma, pulling him out of the river by his hair. And there was Hatchet Jack, sitting on the bank, laughing and laughing.

The Warden loomed up, bowing before him, along with his wife and son. He was followed by the photographer, who was lining up his camera for a shot of the room. The Sheriff smoked a cigar, blowing smoke into the doc's eyes and then into Plug's. They were all posing - the Count and Vanderbilt, Large Marge and Ivan, the bandy-legged man and the doc, the Finn, the Seminole, Tok-u, Not Here Not There, Captain Dorfheimer, and the Irishman from Belfast - all congratulating each other as the camera flash went off and they danced and danced, grinding their spit and sweat and booze and urine into the floorboards. "You'll be sorryyyyyy," Plug was yelling as he slid backward out the door.

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

"Oh...! Ha...! Ho!"

Delilah crawled into his arms, listening to his heart pound with the drums. Before they passed out, they heard Stebbins' voice report news of Zebulon's capture, or maybe it was his death, or a reward of one-thousand dollars. Or more likely, they were dreaming.

When Zebulon woke, Delilah wasn't next to him and his heart wasn't beating. And yet, he was breathing. In and out. A faint pulse. Out and in. Then a thump. More breaths. More thumps. Life and death and life.

' Quien es?"

He looked at Hatchet Jack, who was standing by the door with Plaxico and Lu, all of them moving their jaws back and forth like pensive goats. Near them, two small boys and a girl sat on the floor playing with the Colt. One of the boys pointed the Colt at the girl and pulled the trigger, only to find the chamber empty. Then the other boy took the Colt and pointed it at Delilah, who still lay on her back in the middle of the room, her lips moving as if she were trying to explain something to someone, maybe to herself. When the girl pulled the trigger, the chamber was still empty.

Zebulon stood up and exhaled, then slowly inhaled. He tried again, and his breathing still worked. He tried once more, in and out as he walked towards Plaxico, who was still standing by the door with Hatchet Jack and Lu.

' Quien es?" he asked Plaxico.

Or was he speaking to himself?

"I did what I come to do," Plaxico said as Zebulon approached. "Some of it worked and a lot of it didn't. One way or the other, you and your made-up brother got some business to finish. Lucky for me, because if these old bones weren't headed to a rendezvous with the misty beyond, I might be dumb enough to hang around."

Across the room a few people were beginning to stir, moving their heads around and stretching out their arms and legs. Others were still sleeping or sitting dazed on the floor, staring at the walls or up at the ceiling.

"One last thing," Plaxico said to Hatchet Jack and Zebulon: "Don't either of you hold on to whatever was said or done, even if it comes from me or that power witch over there, or anyone else. If you're foolish enough to hold on to what don't exist, one of you might go up in smoke and the other find himself driftin' between the worlds, not knowin' how to shake loose. If someone pushes your head underwater and laughs about it, or you snake a card off the bottom, or you get suckered from behind, let it go. And even if you don't, let it go anyway. Not that either of you two fine mountain locos would ever do such a thing as gettin' stuck in your own fun."

"Oh.... Ha.... Ho," he said wearily.

"Oh.... Ha.... Ho," Lu repeated with a long sigh.

Thunder rumbled, followed by lightning and gusts of rain pouring through the planks and underneath and above the door.

"Which way you pointed?" Hatchet Jack asked Plaxico.

"To the border, then south until I get rid of all the aches and pains I've gathered tryin' to make things right with you."

"I'll ride along," Hatchet Jack said.

"I won't stop you," Plaxico said. "But know that I'm headed for the land of no big deal. There'll be no scratchin' for gold. And no chasm' or bein' chased. There'll be nothin' to do and no one to do it with."

"Fine by me," Hatchet Jack said.

Plaxico studied him for a long moment, not sure that he was getting through.

"I never figured you and me would get this far," he said. "But now that we have and we're done with who we been and who we ain't been, and you knowin' I'm your Pa, ready or not and all of that, maybe we can put it to rest."

"Fine by me," Hatchet Jack repeated.

Plaxico sighed, still not convinced. He started to say something to Zebulon, then thought better of it and walked after Lu, who had gone out the door.

Hatchet Jack looked at Delilah, who was still passed out on the floor.

"I'm done with her," he said to Zebulon. "And maybe if Wakan Tanka throws me half-a-bone, with you, too. One more thing: If we ever have the bad luck to bump into each other again, we'll most likely start the ball rollin' and we'll both lose. Or wish we had. So let's hope we don't."

Then he walked out the door after Plaxico.

hen they woke the next morning, Zebulon, Delilah, and Large Marge were the only ones left in the longhouse.

They spent the rest of that day waiting for the rain to stop. When the rain continued and they still hadn't come to a decision about where to go, they decided to head north, not wanting to return south, and not knowing where else to go.

"North," Zebulon concluded. "Everywhere else is used up."

EBULON, DELILAH, AND LARGE MARGE RODE OVER STEEP eroding cliffs, then turned inland, proceeding in a line roughly parallel to the coast. After three days they reached a narrow river. As they followed the river towards the sea, the rain turned into a soft mist, making the dense green of the surrounding forest seem untouched, as if no one had ever lived there.

Forced to dismount, they led their horses through thick groves of hemlock and cottonwood. The river widened and became sluggish as it merged into a large estuary. At the lee side of a large peninsula, they saw the tiny specks of buildings clustered around a saw mill. Further on, where the estuary flowed into the sea, a fierce wind blew curtains of white sand high into the air.

Walking their horses around a bend in the river, they heard rifle shots.

Four Russian sailors wearing oversized tunics and baggy pants stood in the middle of a sewn-together canvas longboat, shooting at a herd of sea otters feeding in a kelp bed.

A large otter sat on a rock, staring at the sailors. As if pleading for mercy, the otter held up a front paw, covering and uncovering its eyes. A dozen others lay dead on the shore, their front paws crossed gently over their breasts, as if, at the last moment, they had come to terms with their fate.