spacious skies - 9. reilly

by american joe

part 9 of 40

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the rains came. and the mud. dang, turtle pelwood thought, i better get on up the road to baxter’s hole. i ain’t had this good a chance for nigh over a year. turtle put his boots and britches on. he strapped his weapon on, and covered himself with an old faded oilskin. to protect the weapon, not himself. and headed on out. the sky was black as night. there was nobody much on the roads, such as they were, most of the time, but now he expected to find nobody. just the way he liked it. because he was a man on a mission. a mission he had been on for nineteen years.. he had almost despaired the last few years. times had been dry, and the water in baxter’s hole had gotten low. with no sign of old reilly. folks told him, turtle, you ain’t never going to see old reilly again. ain’t no fish seen in baxter’s hole at all hardly. that is because old reilly is eating them, turtle would reply, he is getting bigger than ever. the boys at mock’s store would just laugh - then why ain’t nobody seen him? and turtle would say - because he is afraid to show his ugly face - he knows i am waiting on him. and the boys, especially sluff bangheart, would laugh even harder. and turtle would point at the sky - a mighty rain will come - we all wish - and the water will come down and cover the earth making noah’s flood look like a puddle, and old reilly will float to the surface and i will be waiting for him. sure you will, turtle, sure you will. and the boys would get tired of riding him and go back to talking about the politicians in the state capital and in washington. and whittling. glong cabernathy whittling his endless little statues of president william mckinley. mckinley had been dead for many a year. but old reilly was still alive. swimming in the bottom of baxter’s hole. and laughing as only a big fish can laugh. next

spacious skies - 8. cigar store

by american joe

part 8 of 40

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it was a cool, calm, and collected night, almost certainly in chicago. henry morgan, a philosopher of sorts, stood behind the counter of his cigar store. professor williams came through the door. good evening, professor. good evening, henry. what can i get you tonight? how about a box of lords of englands? we don’t have any of those in stock right now. oh well, then i will have a pack of parodis. this was the professor’s little joke, which never got old. he would ask for am extremely expensive cigar which he knew henry did not carry, and then “settle for” a pack pf parodis or even a single parodi. henry produced the parodis and the professor paid for them with the exact change. anything else, professor? yes - it’s about the indian. henry was taken aback. you mean the indian outside? yes. what about it? it just does not look right. right about what? it is just a cigar store indian. what is there to say about it? you never said anything about it before. no, but i read something about the local indian tribes and it just does not look right to me. what doesn’t look right about it? tell me, do you know what tribe it is supposed to be? ojobe, odawa, potawatomi? hell no, it is probably not supposed to be any tribe. whoever made it and painted it probably didn’t know any more than you or me. excuse me, any more than me. but you did buy it from somebody? i bought it when i bought the store . it came with the store. it is just a cigar store indian. might it be miami, ho-chunk, illinois? those were all tribes in the area. we are a long way from miami. illinois sounds good to me. after all, chicago is in illinois. who did you buy the \store from, do you remember? isaac solomon and sons real estate. last i heard they were still in business. you might ask them? i might, i just might. your suggestion about the illinois is a good one. the professor paused, then recited - illinois men hunted deer, wild turkeys, and small game. sometimes they would also have large communal buffalo hunts. they often wore very little clothing in the warmest months of the year. sometimes they would wear breechcloths or leggings made of bison hide or woven buffalo fur. thank you, professor. that is very interesting. well, henry, i won’t take up any more of your time. i was just curious about the indian, that’s all. good night, professor. good night. the professor departed, clutching his pack of parodis. the door closed behind him. how can you listen to that old fool? he is a customer. a steady customer. and i try to do a steady business. next

spacious skies - 7. a trip

by american joe

part 7 of 40

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when baron foster childe was sent away to school at the age of six, he was quickly classified a milksop by the other boys. he took up swordsmanship, or maybe it was quarterstaffing, but he was not very good at it. he never rose in the scholboys’ hierachy. when his education was complete, his uncle, “the baron”, and the head of the family, declared him unfit to participate in the management of the family empire, even at the lowest level, and he was turned loose with a small allowance. he considered the allowance inadequate, and attempted to live “by his wits”, i e, off women, but with little success. such was baron foster childe when he first met ozzie kenilworth at madam johnson’s high class establishment in pittsburgh, pennsylvania. foster attempted to strike up an acquaintance with ozzie in the way he did with every human male and many women he met, in the only way he knew how - by offering a wager. do you fancy the horses? why, do you want to sell me one? no, i was thinking of the fair at harrisburg. a fair? do they have games of chance, where one wins stuffed ducks and bears? they have horse races. one bets on the outcomes of the races. i am not a horse person, although descended from a very long line of them. but what is one if not a horse person? a mule person? a balloon person? a riverboat or raft person? perhaps an ocean liner person? i am a motorcar person. oh, of course, of course! how obtuse of me. motorcars are quite the coming thing, i understand. they are not coming, they are already here. i myself am planning a trip driving one from st louis to san francisco. really? that sounds jolly. i am trying to find someone to accompany me. you do not fancy solitude? i would think someone who set out on such a venture would want to set his soul afloat in boundless space, and all that sort of thing. actually i want someone to drive when i sleep, so that we can move more or less continuously. and not have to pack so much food and drink, which take up so much space. oh, if you know where to go, excellently packed foodstuffs of the highest quality can be had for a reasonable price. i myself am descended from the purveyors of such goods, to the most refined gentry and even royalty. you do not say so? i thought you had rather an assyrian cast of feature. and you, of course, look like your ancestors crossed the english channel with william the conqueror. yes, and crossed the atlantic to maryland, on the dove, in the service of good king charles. young gentlemen, please! no politics or genealogy in madame’s establishment! and no religion, either. we are sorry, cecily. it won’t happen again. where were we. i was looking for someone to help me drive to san francisco. i tried driving a motorcar a couple of times. i was afraid of bumping into things, like trees and people. oh, you would not need worry where we are going - the proverbial wide open spaces. you could practice doing cartwheels with the vehicle. does the vehicle have a name? alexandra - not very original, but i like it. next

spacious skies - 6. across the plain

by american joe

part 6 of 40

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the motorcar sped bumpily across the deserted plain. oscar “ozzie” kenilworth, a young anglo-saxon male of impeccable lineage, turned to his companion, a swarthy, slightly older fellow of less peccable ancestry and drawled - you know, old bean, i am starting to get a wee bit tired of your company. baron foster childe, the heir to a fabulous fortune amassed over the centuries in the counting houses of central europe, suavely retorted - you do not say so. what other company did you expect, out here in this vast expanse of nothing? i thought we might encounter a wandering prophet or two, or at least a wandering minstrel. we still might. we have a few hundred miles to go before out next fuel stop. i fear if we find no one between here and denver, we will never find one between denver and tombstone. since you mention it, how do you think the fuel is holding up? do you trust that fuel gauge? can you read it? i know i can’t. i trust it. would you like me to stop and actually look in the fuel tank? oh no, that sounds like a great bore. but to return to your prophet and minstrel, do you have a preference between them? which would you prefer? for my part, i would prefer a damsel in distress. she need not even be particularly comely. of course. you swarthy meditteranean types are all alike. the baron laughed. no need to get personal, old chap. suddenly an enormous dark cloud appeared in the horizon. that settles it, ozzie announced. oh? settles what, exactly? that it will rain? no, that we will encounter a prophet before a minstrel. i think i might have preferred the minstrel. by the way, would the minstrel be expected to sing for his supper? his supper? are we running a restaurant? it was just a manner of speaking. will our prospective singer need to entertain us with his repertoire in exchange for our giving him a lift? a lift? i thought we might simply stop and unpack aunt claudine’s picnic basket and listen to the minstrel while we savored its bounty. i see. and might the minstrel be granted a slice or two from our luxurious meal? oh, i suppose so, if the food is not too rich for him, and if he happens to be hungry. if he is wandering out here in the wilderness, he will be hungry. and not too finicky to pass up pheasant. if you say so, based on your apparent experience in these matters. and you keep referring to the singer as “he”. i continue to hold out hope for a she. the cloud on the horizon expanded and came closer, and the chattering chums for the first time saw flashes of lightning. the baron sighed. i do hope it is not a tornado. next

spacious skies - 5. ordinary

by american joe

part 5 of 40

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something is going to happen to me today. something already happened to you today. you got up and got dressed. then you come over to the barber shop, and then it got too hot to stay inside and you come out on to the porch. ain’t that something? i meant something a little more out of the ordinary. who is to say what is ordinary? a chinaman living in africa or philadelphia might think this here is quite extra-ordinary. someone is coming. someone who is going to change your whole way of living. more likely someone who is going to try to sell me something. and are you going to buy the something? not likely. but i feel somebody coming. i am looking down the road i don’t see nobody. and no dust. too hot for the stagecoach. andy ain’t coming out on a day like this exceptin with a shotgun at his head. this feller ain’t coming on the stage. or on a horse. damn, it’s hot. what then. on one of then new motorcars maybe. no motorcars coning out here. ain’t no roads for them. and they need to be gassed up, you know how much gas they would have to carry even from denver, let alone from chicago or paris france? maybe he is coming on one of them balloons. need a breeze for that. how do you know it’s not a woman? now that’s a thought. hold on to it. a woman that is going to sell me something. herself, most likely. if she ever gets here. i just felt it again. somebody is coming. in the distance, the hills did not move. neither did the road. the sun moved, if you cared to look at it. next

spacious skies - 4. the philosopher

by american joe

part 4 of 40

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you know what they say. no, what might that be? if you sit on a log long enough, henry will come along. is he coming long now? here he is now, hello, henry. hello, guys. what’s going on, henry? i was just walking past sadie’s and she has a really tasty sounding special today. rabbit stew with peas. and cheap. i don’t doubt it. cheap enough for you to buy it? well, you see, that is the problem. cheap as it is, i do not have quite enough to cover it. sounds like a story old as man. old as me anyway. well, henry, as you probably heard, mister khan the oil man is planning to clear out some of the wilderness and build a new pleasure dome to which folks will flock from far and wide, and there will be all sorts of opportunities for strong men to make an honest dollar working on it. listen to the man, henry. and while the pleasure dome is being built all sorts of enterprises that the hard working men can spend their money on will sprout like the proverbial mushrooms. forget rabbit stew - steak and fried potatoes every night - not to mention champagne and roulette wheels and women. that is all very well, mister frank, but that is all in the uncertain future and i am hungry right now. and besides i am not what might be called a strong man, and never have been. and i got other things on my plate. besides sadie’s rabbit stew, you mean. exactly. i got my magmun opus to work on. oh, right, your maggot popus. working on it hard, have you? i been thinking about it. thinking real hard. and all that thinking makes you hungry. come on fellows, it is too warm a day to be picking on a poor philosopher. can you spare a couple of dimes, or can’t you? we will think about it. and thinking makes us hungry. and thirsty. next

spacious skies - 3. the stranger

by american joe

part 3 of 40

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it was the day after the fourth of july, and brother, it was hot as hell. it was so hot in the barber shop that wyatt earp took his copy of the carson city gazette out on to the front porch, where he would have to listen to jack slade and roy bean gassing, but might at last get a bit of breeze from the mountains. roy was asleep in his chair, but jack was palavering with - mostly to - chingachook, who seemed to be paying him no nevermind, the way he had. there was nobody else on the porch, and wyatt took one of the three remaining chairs, without speaking to the bad man or the indian. but jack immediately started in on him. ain’t seen no strangers lately, jack opined, in the matter of fact way he sometimes affected. might be one coming along now, now that you mentioned it, how so? how do you figure? just the way it always is. you say something ain’t going to happen, then it happens, sure as shooting. why is that, do you think? because things always happen. that is what things do. you do not say so. i just said so. wyatt turned the page of the carson city gazette. look here sheriff, how about a friendly wager? on what? on whether a stranger comes to town. a stranger will come to town sooner or later. i mean in the next two days, if a stranger comes to town in the next two days, i will give you a brand new shiny silver dollar. that you came by honestly. how else would i come by it? and if no stranger shows up? you let me shoot fish in the river for a whole day - sunup to sundown. wyatt thought about it, and turned another page of the gazette. make it three days, and you have yourself a friendly wager. done. shall we shake on it? no need. i will take your word. i am most gratified. and stop riding on that poor indian. come on sheriff, i thought we was friends, it is hot, i have to pass the time somehow. next

spacious skies - 2. mike and jane

by american joe

part 2 of 40

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mike dink was a little bit annoyed when he came home that night. his wife was home, and he had expected to find her gone. why are you here? mike enquired exasperatedly. mike and his wife, whose name was jersey jane jones, had agreed to part ways. mike was a timid soul, but had a violent temper, and collected comic books. jane was from the hill country, but years in the metropolis had both inflamed and deadened her ambition. king john lived across the hall from mike and jane a year earlier, mike had been waiting for a bus and it had started to rain. he took shelter in the doorway of a doughnut shop and jane hit him in the back with the door when she exited the shop. jane first encountered king john when king john was having trouble getting his multiple shopping bags out of the elevator, and jane helped him. mike was not considered a sympathetic character by very many of his fellow humans. his interests were narrow, and he communicated them poorly. next

spacious skies - 1. power

by american joe

part 1 of 40

eugene dobbs dreamed of power, but nobody took him seriously, not even his personal trainer, christopher columbus. eugene ran for class president in his senior year of high school, but he did not receive a single vote, not even from his girl friend, because he did not have one. his failure at the ballot did not unduly unnerve eugene, but a curious incident at mrs dalton’s bakery, where he worked after school, did. a woman entered the bakery just as the sun was setting over the mountains. eugene had never seen such a woman before, in humberville, where he had hitherto spent his entire uneventful existence. eugene was an ungainly boy, with little interest in sports and games, and despite his overweening ambition, in any kind of competitive activity. he would have been hard put to explain exactly why the woman who entered the bakery made such an expression on him. her name was cassandra j rapunzel, and she was an attotrney with the fourth largest law form in the nearest nearby metropolis. she looked at and through eugene, and in a husky voice - did she smoke? emile wondered amazedly - asked for a cup of black coffee and a birthday cake. eugene recovered his wits sufficiently to ask - did madam want a name and/or number on the cake? and did she have any preferences as to the cake’s color and frosting? as long as it says happy birthday on it, that is all that counts. something about the way she intoned the words “that is all that counts” almost caused eugene to pass out. but he managed to say, in that case we have a cake all ready for you, if you care to look at it. i don’t have to look at it, just box it up. yes, madam. and stop calling me madam. next