The Late Child (49 page)

Peewee swung open the little door and showed her into the jail proper. At that moment Harmony remembered that she wasn't wearing any makeup, although it was her first visit to her brother in years; she should have fixed herself up a little, for such an important occasion, but it was too late, she was already in the jail, and, anyway, she had driven into Tarwater without so much as a comb.

There was Billy, though, in the back room of the jail, sitting on an old couch watching TV. He was bigger than when she had seen him last—a lot bigger; obviously the bacon had had some effect, over the years. It was horrible to think of all that greasy bacon going into her brother, year after year; no wonder he looked so sad.

“Hi, Sis,” Billy said. Even though he was big, he was still graceful and athletic. He got off the couch and gave her a nice hug and a kiss.

“Oh, Billy, I've missed you,” she said. It was true, too—in some ways she had always missed her brother, and relied on his counsel, even if she had to get it over the telephone.

“I hope I haven't come too late at night,” she added—actually she had no idea what time it had gotten to be.

“Oh, no, the later the better in this jail,” Billy said. “Me and Peewee, we're the town's two night owls.

“Otherwise this whole town nods off about nine o'clock,” he added.

“Once in a while the juvenile delinquents will go on a tear and make a little noise,” Peewee said. “But mostly the nightlife consists of me and Billy and Dick Van Dyke.”

A Dick Van Dyke rerun was on the TV at that moment; Harmony had forgotten that Mary Tyler Moore had ever looked that young.

“Billy's up later than me,” Peewee said. He seemed nervous. Harmony remembered that he had had a big crush on her when they were in high school, maybe still had a little bit of the crush or something, which might explain the nervousness.

“I usually like to be asleep by three a.m.,” he added. “I usually am, too, unless Bonzo acts up or something.”

When Billy hugged her, Harmony noticed that his clothes smelled like they weren't being laundered too well—they smelled a little musty; she wondered if there was a way she could do his laundry for him, while she was home; it would be nice if her brother could at least have clean-smelling clothes while he was in jail.

“Who's Bonzo?” she asked—it was an odd nickname.

Billy looked at her strangely, as if she had said something unusual.

“He's your nephew,” he said. “Little Davie.”

“Davie—I just met him,” Harmony said. “He was kind of solemn.”

“He's solemn when he's sober, but that ain't when he becomes Bonzo,” Peewee said. “It's when little Davie turns into Bonzo that the wilding starts. Sometimes it takes all the police in two or three counties to get him under control.”

“He likes to take off all his clothes and race around naked with two or three whores in the car, honking and carrying on,” Billy said. “If they can't get him off that nose candy I expect Neddie and Dick will end up losing their farm.”

“You mean cocaine?” Harmony asked.

She could hardly believe they were talking about the same quiet boy who had just given her such a nice hug; though, of course, she knew from experience that quiet boys weren't necessarily quiet
all
the time. Maybe the whores were understandable; there had always been whores in Tulsa. But the part about Neddie and Dick losing their farm because of Davie's habit seemed hard to believe, though of course she had only met Dave for a few minutes.

“He's ruint their credit,” Peewee explained.

“Yep, put it right up his nose,” Billy said. “David ain't a bad kid, either—that drug's just got ahold of him.”

Harmony was wondering why her sisters hadn't said a word about Davie having a drug problem—why wouldn't Neddie have at least mentioned it?

“Why wouldn't Neddie tell me?” she asked Billy.

“It's hard to come out with news like that,” Billy said. “Neddie and Dick are honest people. Dick's a little dull, but then lots of people are a little dull. Neither of them deserve to have a son who would take their whole life's work and stuff it up his nose.”

“What about the rest of those kids?” she asked.

“They're fuckups,” Billy said. “Don's already got two out-of-wedlock children he has no way to support.”

“What about the girls?” Harmony asked. “They seem like sweet girls.”

“Oh, they are, far as sweet goes,” Billy said.

“They sing in the choir, too,” Peewee said.

“On the other hand, not a one of them's ever slept with anyone who doesn't have a criminal record,” Billy said. “They just naturally gravitate to criminals. I can't trust 'em in my house because if I do they'll come by when I ain't there and steal my stuff, so they can sell it to buy dope for their creepy boyfriends.”

“What little they ain't already stole,” Peewee said. “It's a good thing you're still in jail, if you ask me. At least we got a couch you can stretch out on. At home you don't even have a couch.”

“Or a TV to watch, if I did have a couch,” Billy said. “Those kids have about picked me clean.”

“Deenie's the one who worries me,” Peewee said. “If she don't get the shoplifting under control they'll send her to the pen, one of these days.”

“Deenie?” Harmony asked.

“Yep, she steals so she can buy dope for her boyfriends,” Billy said.

Harmony felt confused. She had only been with her brother maybe five minutes and already she was learning all sorts of unhappy stuff about her sisters' children—the very ones who were eager to meet Eddie and take him to breakfast. Already she was feeling that it was sad that her nice brother had to be in jail, and that his clothes smelled musty, and that he was overweight, and that his only companion was Peewee, a man who had lost his expectations. Now it was beginning to sound as if her whole family had lost their expectations, which was not good.

“Then there's little Debbie, she's got the same problem her mother has,” Billy said. “She's dick-struck—if she was selling it instead of giving it away she'd be a millionairess by now.”

“What about Donna?” Harmony asked. “She seemed pretty stable—but of course I just met her for a few minutes.”

“Donna's the one you don't want to cross,” Billy said. “When I think how mean little Donna is I don't feel so bad about being in jail.”

“Safest place in Tarwater,” Peewee agreed. “So far Donna ain't attacked the jail, but I wouldn't put it past her.”

“Yeah, it's pretty peaceful in here, Sis,” Billy said. “I don't have to worry about getting mugged by one of my sisters' kids. About the worst it gets is when they bring Bonzo and stick him in a cell. Then we have to listen to him snore.”

“I've had old worn-out tractors that don't make as much noise as Bonzo makes when he snores,” Peewee said. “Most of the time we don't try to bring him in. We just mace him and leave him in his car.”

“Mace Davie?” Harmony asked. She was getting the sense
that her hometown was a pretty strange place. “Why would you mace him? Is he violent?”

“No, but he just sulks when they get him pulled over,” Peewee said. “He won't roll down the window or cooperate at all.”

“Some cop in Tulsa invented a little squirt hose they can slip through the crack of the door so they can mace Davie,” Billy said. “I guess it's a pretty clever little device. They use it all over the country now, but it was invented right here in Oklahoma, for use on your own nephew.”

“I think Davie should be in the
Guinness Book of World Records
, myself,” Peewee said. “I mean for speeding tickets. Not too many people can rack up a hundred and eighty-six speeding tickets in one year's time.”

“I don't know, they got some pretty wild drivers up in Kansas,” Billy said. He got up, went to a little refrigerator toward the rear of the jail, and took out three beers, one for Peewee, one for himself, and one he offered to Harmony, who took it.

“Billy, when do they plan to let you out?” Harmony asked. “I think your clothes need to be laundered better.”

Peewee chuckled. He may not have had expectations, but he did have a sweet smile.

“The whole town needs to be laundered better,” he said.

“Can't the woman you've been calling just get her phone number changed?” Harmony asked.

“Well, it ain't quite that simple, Sis,” Billy said. One thing he hadn't lost was the twinkle in his eye. Billy had always found life amusing, and evidently still did.

“Ain't simple at all,” Peewee commented. “Billy's got connections—he can get unlisted phone numbers in less time than it takes you or me to call information.”

“If I leave jail but don't leave town Jack might shoot me with his hunting rifle,” Billy said. “Jack's a pretty fair shot, too. He gets a deer just about every season.”

“Who's Jack?” Harmony asked.

“Mildred's husband—he owns the Exxon station,” Peewee said. “He says he won't shoot Billy as long as he stays in jail, which
is why Billy's still here. Watching Dick Van Dyke with me beats being shot by Jack.”

“But Billy, you can't stay in jail all your life,” Harmony said. “Can't you just promise Mildred and Jack not to do it anymore?”

“I could, but it would be a lie, and they know it,” Billy said.

Harmony found herself wondering what her brother actually said, in his phone calls.

“If I'm out wandering the streets, once in a while I get the urge to call up Mildred and make suggestions,” Billy said.

“Billy don't want to be cured,” Peewee said. “That's the whole problem.”

Actually, the jail seemed pretty comfortable—at least it was neat. Harmony had never been in Billy's house, but she understood from her sisters that he wasn't a neat housekeeper; Billy had always had a tendency to let the chores go. So maybe it wasn't entirely bad that he was in jail, but it wasn't entirely good, either. Billy was sweet and nice—what was he doing spending his life in a small-town jail?

Harmony suddenly had the urge to see her brother alone. Peewee was behaving, but Harmony could tell he still had some of the crush he had in high school. The fact of the crush made it hard for her to relax and enjoy her visit with her brother.

“Peewee, would it be against the law for me to take Billy for a walk?” she asked. “We haven't got to visit in a long time. Maybe we could just take a walk, or ride around a little.”

Peewee and Billy exchanged looks—neither of them had been expecting the suggestion. “Well, I guess that would be all right, Harmony,” Peewee said. “You got to promise not to give him no quarters, though—or let him get hold of a screwdriver. If Billy has a screwdriver he can make a pay phone work in no time.”

“Do you want to go, Billy?” she asked. After all, maybe she shouldn't disturb him; maybe he would be more comfortable just staying where he was.

“Sure, let's take a cruise,” Billy said, getting up. “We've about run out of beer, anyway. Maybe I can pick up a twelve-pack or two, while I'm out.”

“Jack opens the Exxon at four a.m.,” Peewee said. “If you ain't back by then kind of avoid the main drag, if you can. Jack gets pretty hot when he sees Billy.”

“He keeps that deer rifle right by the cash register, too,” Billy said. “Remember that time he shot old Pete Rutherford's tires out because the old fart tried to drive off without paying Jack for the gas?”

“Yep,” Peewee said. “I doubt old man Rutherford done it on purpose, though. He was probably just addled in the head.”

“I don't know, that old man is sly,” Billy said. “I think he meant to sneak himself a tank of gas while Jack was in the john.”

A minute later Harmony and Billy were out on the sidewalk. Billy hadn't even had to sign out. At first, Billy took a cautious approach. He looked around carefully before he stepped off the curb.

“Billy, are you afraid he might kill you, even at night?” Harmony asked.

“It could happen,” Billy said. “Jack's pretty crazy about Mildred.

“Of course, so am I,” he added. “Let's just slip into the pickup and move on out.”

Harmony was thinking about Eddie—it would have been nice to have him along.

A mile from the Best Western there was an all-night convenience store, where Billy could buy beer. He came out with two twelve-packs.

“One for now and one for later,” he said.

“I wish you'd stop letting Momma stuff you with bacon,” Harmony said. “That much bacon is not good for anybody.”

Billy smiled, and didn't answer. Billy was driving, though it turned out that he didn't have a driver's license, either. He too had failed to renew.

“Why waste money on a driver's license when I'm mostly gonna live in the slammer anyway,” Billy said.

“Could we get a room at the Best Western in case we get sleepy?” Harmony suggested. “This pickup doesn't have but one headlight. If we get stopped and neither of us has licenses I don't know what will happen.”

“Back to the slammer, that's all that would happen,” Billy said.

He drove to the Best Western and waited in the pickup while Harmony got a room. It was a ground-floor room way at the back of the motel. Crickets were singing in the grass, and the stars overhead were bright. The brightness of the stars reminded Harmony that Billy had once wanted to be an astronomer. He liked looking at the stars, and knew where all the constellations were. When Billy went on the wheat harvest he had used all his money to buy a telescope. He bought it the summer she went away to Las Vegas. In the late summer, just before she left, she remembered that Billy would sit outside until very late, studying the stars through his telescope. He already had a football scholarship to the University of Tulsa, but he wasn't that excited about football. He just intended to stay at the University of Tulsa for two years; then he meant to transfer to the University of Arizona and major in astronomy. At the time, Billy had notions about discovering a new
planet; if he managed to discover one he wanted to name it after her. She was close to her brother, that summer. They talked a lot about the planet named Harmony. Billy thought it might be hiding behind one of the other planets. Billy even thought it might be warm enough to welcome life-forms; the fact that it was welcoming was the reason he wanted to name the planet after her.