ROAD TRIP (7) Still 1895 Little by little Zeke moved the conversation back to the subject of the desert lights. “Jus’ once or twice in the year,” Clem said. “Mos’ly jus’ once, but sometimes folks passin’ this way sez they seed them other times.” “When are they due?” Zeke asked. “’Bout a week,” his companions said in unison. “You come at just the right time,” Belle said. She left the men at the counter and wandered across the room to the piano. Sitting at the keyboard, her hands began to move across the keys and a gentle melody filled the room. “Belle’s a real good pianer player,” Pete said, “she’s real good.” It was true. Zeke had heard many fine pianists back east and Belle’s playing, even after hearing it for just a minute or two, was the equal of anyone them. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of hearing such music in a place like this; maybe the cactus beer was effecting his brain; whatever it was, the music spoke to him. The other men were quieter than they’d been since he’d entered. There were no friendly insults exchanged, no raucous laughter, they all listened in silence. “What’s wrong with you boys?” Belle called out. “Come on, let’s get back to our sing-song. You too Zeke, I want to hear what kind of voice your lungs give you.” “My wagon and horses,” Zeke said, “I need to go see to them.” The beasts had been standing outside in the dark, still harnessed to his wagon, for at least forty minutes he reckoned—and that was too long. “I’ll take care o’ them,” it was Clem speaking, “I owns the liv’ry stable. It’s twenty-five cents a night for each nag, for that they gets water, hay an’ shelter. I ain’t got nothin’ else t’offer.” “That ain’t no livery stable Clem, that’s a rickety ol’ barn. You’s gettin’ ideas above you,” Pete said. “Well, leastways it ain’t old, nothin’ in this here town is old. Shall I do it Zeke?” Zeke again thought about the few dollars he had left, about how much he’d already spent here, but he had no option. “Yes,” he said, “Do it Clem. Please.” “You can settle-up later,” Clem said over his shoulder as he headed for the door, “an’ I’ll let you park up your wagon for nothin’.” “Where’s you a’goin’?” Pete asked as Zeke followed Clem through the door. Zeke didn’t answer, but he returned a few minutes later with his bag. He set it on the floor and joined the three remaining men around the piano. Belle was playing a pretty tune he didn’t recognise. They all listened, silent again, until her hands were resting in her lap and the last of the music had gone to wherever sounds go. “What’s next?” She asked. “You choose, Zeke. These others have had plenty of choices before.” “Shenandoah.” Zeke replied. He didn’t know where that had come from, he hadn’t thought about it, but it was a song he loved. “A fine choice,” Belle said, “we know that one well, don’t we boys?” Before anyone could answer the familiar tune rose into the air and someone started to sing. Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you, A second voice joined in, then a third. Away you rolling river. Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you, Away, I’m bound away, ’Cross the wide Missouri. Finally Zeke’s inhibitions left him and his tenor voice wrapped itself around the well-worn words, embraced the melody and became one with the voices of the other men. Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter, Away, you rolling river. For her I’d cross, Your roaming waters, Away, I’m bound away, ’Cross the wide Missouri. ’Tis seven years, since last I’ve seen you, And hear your rolling river. . . They sang on to the end of the song, allowed Belle a piano interlude, and then sang it again. “Tarnation, I missed Shenandoah, you all knows that’s my favourite.” Clem returned and stomped towards the piano appearing to sulk, but everyone knew it was a sham. “You choose next Clem,” Belle said, “if it’ll make you feel any better.” Clem chose The Girl I Left Behind Me. “Used t’ sing that when I was in the army,” he said. As the minutes wore away they all got to choose a song, even Belle. She chose something they didn’t know and there was much laughter and risqué comment as she tried to teach them the words. Eventually she gave up and just played them the music. They went to the counter and drank more cactus beer. It now tasted pretty good to Zeke. They laughed, they joked. Zeke felt comfortable with these people, perhaps life here wouldn’t be so bad after all. After another round of songs, another round of beer, they just let Belle play. Finally someone asked what time it was. Zeke thought at least three hours had passed since his arrival, he reckoned it to be between nine and ten p.m. “Why, it’s just afore three o’clock,” Pete said, “lookee there.” He pointed at the clock. “Is that in the mornin’ or afternoon?” Clem said, echoing Zeke’s earlier thought. Everyone laughed. This was a well worn routine with these men and Zeke was sure they laughed every time, that was the way of things. “Whatever time it is it’s time to go boys. I need my beauty sleep.” Belle said. “You don’t need beauty sleep, Belle, you’re always beautiful.” “Why thank you Ben, you’re a real gentleman, not like these others. A woman appreciates a man like you.” Everyone laughed again. Ben hadn’t said much across the hours, but he’d joined in the songs, his lusty baritone providing a good counterpoint to the tenors of the other men. Zeke had already decided that Ben was a man with knowledge. He’d seek him out tomorrow and try to discover what he knew about the desert lights. “Anyone up for a poke?” Belle shouted. “You know what it costs. How about you Zeke? The first one’s free, to see how you like me, then it’s a dollar a go. I could do with someone new in the sack, these boys are more worn out than you know.” “I ain’t worn out Belle, you knows that from experience.” Clem said. “Nor me,” Pete followed. Ben stayed silent. Zeke thought about Belle’s offer, but was embarrassed to accept in company; he’d take her up on it when the others left.
Posted on: Sun, 07 Jul 2013 11:31:57 +0000