Cruddy - Lynda Barry [91]
Auntie Doris said, “Earlis?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
“Earlis did?”
“Surprise wedding.”
“I’ll say.”
The father came huffing and wheezing back over the rocks. Auntie Doris shouted, “YOU DICKLESS PIECE OF SHIT! SEE WHAT YOU JUST DID TO MY GLOSS ASPHALT?”
The Lucky Chief Motel was long and low with orange doors and cement-block windows. It was built right into the rock face. There was a theory that attaching directly to the rock would keep it cooler in the hot season. Some of the rooms had actual rock walls, and there was an awning over a cave opening that descended to a shallow underground stream. Water for anything but drinking came up from there. Over the cave entrance was quite a fancy sign. It said THE LAIR OF THE SEQUINED GENIUS. As the light faded down to the last shreds I looked for bats to come shooting out, silent and swift. I like bats very much. They are the most incredible creatures. But none were in the Lair of the Sequined Genius.
There wasn’t much else to the Lucky Chief. Some truck-tire planters with zigzag edges and a couple of concrete picnic tables. I figured I’d seen everything there was to see. And then I saw her.
She was sitting on the bench of the picnic table closest to the door marked OFFICE. A very intelligent-eyed little dog staring straight at me. Studying me. Scraggly haired and dirty looking. A whitish-grayish dog.
The desert is famous for certain types of hallucinations. Mirages they can be called. Always in the distance, the thing most hoped for appears, like cool, cool water or the ice cream man. The superheated air rises in wiggles and reflects back your last wishes. There are a thousand movies that end with the main character crawling through the desert toward something that does not exist. Often this happens when treasure is involved. When one guy cheats another guy and won’t pay what he owes.
I walked toward the dog.
Auntie Doris said, “Careful. She bites.”
“Haw!” said the father. “Them two could have a contest.”
Pammy said, “Earlis, honey?”
The father said, “What, dolly-baby?”
Auntie Doris said, “Earlis? Shit. I need a goddamned highball.”
Darkness in the desert is so quiet. There weren’t any of the usual sounds, there were no train tracks, no sounds of cars, nothing to break the stillness except for a cracking explosion that had everyone but Auntie Doris diving to the ground.
“Testing,” she said. “They’re just testing is all.” She had the yellow bug lights on but I didn’t hear or see any of the usual night insects. I didn’t see any bugs at all except for small gatherings of midnight flies.
Pammy drained her third highball and ran her finger in the dripped condensation. We were sitting at the concrete picnic table. I was holding Cookie, then Peanut, née Snarla. It was Auntie Doris who named her Snarla, the Sequined Genius who named her Peanut, and me who named her Cookie.
I had my nose on the top of her head and I was inhaling her calming fragrance. The fragrance of dogs and the feeling of my face against their fur puts me in such a relaxed mood. A comforted mood. The father and Auntie Doris were glugging and re-glugging and re-hashing old times. On the table was a plastic container full of melting ice and an assortment of bottles and an ashtray that said STOLEN FROM LOU’S EFFICIENCY APTS. SPARKS, NEV.
Auntie Doris said, “Goddamn it, quit shooting your butts all over my asphalt. The ashtray is six inches from your elbow. You say he hung himself?”
The father said, “You know he hung himself, Doris.”
“Well. You scared the living crap out of Gy-rah.”
“I just wanted to give him a little half-brotherly kiss is all.”
“He don’t want to know you. He said you’re a pollution.”
“Pollution?”
“Don’t ask me. He’s the genius.”
“What do you think about it?”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I could give a French shit.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Pammy was staring at her engagement ring. I was starting to feel sad for her. I knew all about trying to hang on to certain words said by the father. She wanted the words to be true. And I could tell she loved him. And although she was an evil