“Damn shame,” he said. “Eugene was a good boy.” A.J. had to agree. He had had his ways, but plenty of worse specimens had strolled down the long corridors of time. Red began to walk to his car. Halfway there, he stopped and turned. There was a rueful smile on his lips.
“If Slim sees that bus, he’ll be wanting to shoot somebody,” Red observed.
“He does tend to be high-strung,” A.J. allowed. “If you can keep him out of here a day or two, I’ll take care of it.” He intended to dig a pit with the dozer and fill it with the remains of the cabin and its occupant. Then he proposed to raise a large mound. It would be a funeral ceremony in the old style-about two thousand years old, in fact-but he figured it would be just odd enough to appeal to Eugene. Red nodded and climbed into his car. He U- turned and headed for the lights of the big city, leaving A.J. alone in the twilight with the ashes of his brother.
A.J. had arrived at the clearing that New Year’s morning struggling with a sense of premonition, and he had been somewhat out of kilter since blowing the hole in Eugene’s wall. As he pulled up, he saw Jackie sleeping in his truck, so he fully expected to encounter Angel when he entered the cabin.
“A.J., you look pale,” she had said with concern. “You better sit down and have some of this soup.” Death, taxes, and Angel’s soup were the three constants of life.
“Maybe just a small bowl,” he agreed, banking on its medicinal properties to clear his head.
Eugene awoke and was bathed and medicated by Angel with help from A.J. Then he went back to sleep. Wormy checked in but had to immediately leave. He was having labor difficulties down at the beer joint. Bird Egg was plastered and in the spirit of the season was attempting to give away all of the stock. He had plenty of takers.
“We really should let him go,” Wormy said. Management was coming easier all the time to the former pilot.
“We don’t pay him,” A.J. pointed out. “How can we fire him?” Wormy shrugged in the time-honored tradition of middle management and left to go keep an eye on the grizzled retainer before he literally gave away the store. Angel and Jackie departed shortly thereafter, but not before securing A.J.’s promise to remain until Wormy returned.
So he sat at Eugene’s bedside and read the
A.J. was rocking quietly while reading about the effects of deforestation when the trouble began. Eugene groaned and startled awake. He began to pant, and his eyes had a hunted look. A.J. twisted the top off of a vial of morphine and dosed his brother. He calmed as the medicine did its work.
“That was a bad one,” Eugene slurred. His eyes were closed.
“I know,” A.J. said with sympathy.
“…getting worse,” Eugene croaked as he drifted back off.
“I know,” A.J. said quietly, lamely.
Doc had said the pain might become unbearable before the end, and just as Doc had predicted, it was taking Eugene a while to shut down, and his pain was becoming devilishly hard to control. A.J. picked his book back up but could no longer enjoy its contents. Beside him lay Eugene, suffering mightily through his final days. He moaned and gasped, twitched and panted. A.J. could smell urine, and knew Eugene had once again lost control of his bladder. The cruelty of the situation was absolute. Nobody deserved an exit like this.
He sighed and stepped out for a cigarette. He knew what he should do, what he should have already done with the Navy Colt. He was sick at heart. He had never actually agreed to kill Eugene, but the task had fallen to him, nonetheless. He had failed in his duty on the first take, but his responsibility was not relieved. Rather, it was increased, somehow. The pact had been made somewhere along the road, and now was the time to be his brother’s keeper.
His cigarette pack was empty. As he rifled through the glove box of the truck for a fresh pack, his hand struck an object. It was the bottle of pills Doc had given him before Thanksgiving, the ones he had indicated would end Eugene’s pain. A.J. shook them out. They were small and blue. He looked at them for a long while. Here was his answer. He knew it in his heart. Doc had never mentioned them again, had acted as if he had completely forgotten them. But the old man had known what was in store, and A.J. held the contingency plan in his hand. He dropped them back into the bottle. His cigarette stretched to three while he steeled his resolve. Then he reentered the cabin.
He put on some coffee to brew. While it was warming, he dumped all of the tablets onto the countertop. He ground them fine with the handle of Eugene’s butcher knife and brushed the resultant powder into a coffee mug. The coffee boiled, and he poured the steaming liquid. Then he added two spoonfuls of sugar and set the potion aside to cool. He resumed his seat by the bed and waited for Eugene to awaken. Rufus had followed his every step.
Eugene drifted awake, and A.J. made short work of the necessary cleanup thanks to the diapers Eugene now wore. He slid him up to a semi-sitting position and gave him a cigarette. Eugene accepted it gratefully.
“How are you feeling?” A.J. asked.
“Feel great,” Eugene responded slowly. “Let’s go bowling.” His face was pinched with effort. His right eyelid drooped, and A.J. wondered if he had suffered a stroke.
“What you need is a good cup of coffee,” he said, moving to the counter. His affect was not even nearly right, but Eugene was too far gone in several senses of the word to notice. He sat back down with the cooled coffee and held the cup while Eugene took several sips.
“Your coffee really sucks today,” Eugene noted. Then his eyes closed. The cigarette fell from his fingers and dropped to the floor. His chest rose and fell a few more times. Then his breath rattled to a stop.
A.J. was surprised it had been so quick. He had thought they might chat awhile, maybe speak at last of their brotherhood. But it was not to be. He sat for a long while. He had done it, but he held no feelings or thoughts on the matter. He was a blank page, an empty vessel. It had been too terrible and too easy to do. Finally, he arose and crossed to Eugene’s desk and retrieved the unmailed letters. They were addressed and stamped, and he had every intention of mailing them. He placed them in the truck, then stepped behind the cabin and returned with the two five-gallon cans of gasoline Eugene always kept there for emergencies.
He reentered the cabin and began the business of finishing what he had started. First he cleaned Eugene, who had fouled himself when he left this world. He had to run out in the yard twice before the job was done, but he was determined Eugene was not going on to the much-touted better place in an embarrassed condition. Next, he slid Eugene’s Grateful Dead jacket onto the pitiful, bony arms. In the pockets he placed a pack of Pall Malls, a Zippo, and pictures of Diane and the boys. He cradled a bottle of Jack Daniels under Eugene’s arm and placed the grips of the Navy Colt in his lifeless left hand. Finally, he laid his hand on Eugene’s brow.
“Sorry it took so long,” he said. He lingered while he looked at Eugene’s face, ravaged but now at peace. Then he doused the cabin with ten gallons of high test and sent Eugene out in style.
A.J. emerged from this reverie and found that it was dark in the clearing. The glowing embers before him were the only remnant of the earlier makeshift crematorium. Honey and the boys had come and gone, as had Red, and only he and Rufus remained. He sighed and made for the truck. It was cold, and it was time to go. He supposed he would drive home via the beer joint and break the news to Wormy.
He stopped when he reached the truck. Something was nagging at his mind. Then he knew. He turned and looked at Rufus, formerly the hound from hell and now just another unemployed dog. He held the truck door open.
“Are you coming with me?” he asked his old nemesis. The dog looked at him a moment, then trotted over and hopped in the truck. His business in the clearing was finished as well.
EPILOGUE
A.J. SAT ON THE PORCH OF THE FINN HALL AND awaited the arrival of his employer, Truth Hannassey. From his perch on the side of the mountain, he oversaw a valley of color. It was early spring following a long winter season that had marked many transitions, Eugene’s departure chief among them. So he rocked and considered the months just past, reflecting on the changes, the endings, the beginnings.
