About two miles later the volunteer fire department passed us.
· · ·
We rode through the center of the city, out toward Lake Imperial. The storm grew stronger, causing the windshield wipers to struggle, then, as is often the case with East Texas storms, it blew out and was gone and the sky turned light and the moonlight filtered through the wet haze and purple shadows slanted across the truck like falling timbers.
Off in the distance, moving away like a train, I could hear thunder and see the now and then eruption of lightning.
“Where are we going, Daddy?” Sammy asked.
“A cabin,” I said.
I caught Bev’s eye out of the corner of mine and could see she was confused, but she didn’t say anything. I thought about her lying there on the bed with Snake on top of her, his horrible smell filling her nostrils, and then maybe Fat Boy, his weight on her, and I gripped the steering wheel so hard my forearms cramped.
We went up a high hill and dipped down on the other side. The trees were tall here and the moon appeared to be speared on the tops of the pines on the right hand side of the road. We went down the deep hill and JoAnn said that it got her stomach, and then she talked for Fred, who said much the same, and then we went around a bend in the road and on the right the tall trees went away and there were rows and rows of living Christmas trees in various sizes.
As if nothing had gone wrong tonight, Bev said, “Look kids, a Christmas tree farm.”
“Is that where we got our tree?” JoAnn asked.
“No, stupid,” Sammy said. “We bought ours from the Rottery Club.”
“Rotary,” I said. “And don’t talk to your sister like that.”
Just past the Christmas tree farm, we turned right, onto a red clay road. It was slick and dangerous and I slowed considerably. I turned us onto another, smaller red clay road and we drove up behind the Christmas tree farm, and went slower than before.
Through a break in the trees on our left, you could see a moon-shiny glimpse of Lake Imperial. All along that side of the lake were terribly expensive, deserted lake houses that had been built chiefly by out-of-town rich folks. The lots had suitably spaced trees, lawns kept by weekly caretakers, satellite dishes, and long, redwood docks that stuck out over the water and begged for boats. The smell of fish and storm-stirred waters drifted into the pickup and settled on us like a damp cloud.
On our right, the Christmas tree farm continued, then dwindled away and the pines grew up tall and wild again. Finally we came to the driveway I wanted. It had been black-topped at one point, but the years had worn the topping away. A little gully cut across the drive and sharp stones heaved out from under the black-top in spots, like subterranean monsters poking their snouts through the dirt in search of air.
Some bushes had grown up in the drive. I drove over them, and we came to a cabin much smaller than I remembered. It sagged a little to the right and had a long front porch with an old weathered swing glider on it. The cabin was at the top of a slope that fell off dramatically behind it. To the left, where the trees were thin, you could see the lake. The water was rolling and tumbling, as if on a high boil.
I parked near the front porch, got out and went up and felt for a key at the top of the door jamb, but didn’t find one. I went around back and was a little stunned to find a creosote fencepost sticking out of the ground with nails driven into it and empty wine and beer bottles with their necks stuck over the nails. The wind made a noise in the bottles like a big man blowing air through wide-spaced teeth.
A completely artificial bottle tree. Arnold’s old girlfriend had been here as well.
Farther down the bank, jutting over the lake, was a short, weathered dock. I remembered fishing off the dock with my Dad.
I tried the back door with no better success. I picked a pane in one of the windows and took the. 38 out of my coat and beat the pane out with the butt of it and found that the back of the window had been covered with sturdy screen wire. I used the butt of the. 38 to hammer on and loosen the wire at one corner, pushed it up and peeled it back enough that I could get to the latch and raise the window and work myself through.
I went through the house banging myself against things. I tried a light switch by the front door, but it didn’t work. I felt around the door until I found a latch. I threw it and opened up.
Bev brought the kids onto the porch. I went back to the truck and got the flashlight I should have carried in the first place, pulled the shotgun down, and even the ball bat. I removed the shells from the glove box and carried all of the stuff inside the cabin, and my family trailed behind me.
I put the shotgun, ball bat and ammunition on the floor next to the door, turned on the flashd oly traillight and poked it around. The place was dusty and smelled like mold. “Where are we?” JoAnn said.
“My Daddy’s old cabin,” I said. “Arnold’s place now.”
“Who’s Arnold?” Sammy asked.
“Your uncle,” I said.
“I have an uncle?”
“Shush,” I said. “Let me look around.”
I pooled the light around the front room, which was a combination den, dining room and kitchen. Everything had been redone from the way I remembered it, and I didn’t remember it that well. The linoleum buckled near the sink cabinet, and a spiderweb large enough to have supported one of those radioactive spiders in the kinds of movies Snake liked, was stretched from a wagon wheel light fixture over the warped table all the way to a moldy corner.
I opened a cabinet and discovered a row of ancient rust-rimmed cans with loose labels. The labels bore out that these were the last of the food goods. They read: Beets, Green Beans, Spinach and Pumpkin.
A midnight snack did not seem in order.
I went into the bedroom through which I had entered. The place was a mess. Old newspapers lay about along with a few beer cans. The blankets and sheets on the unmade bed were covered with dust and smelled dank. There were more blankets stacked on a dresser across the way.
The bathroom was off the bedroom, and the door to it hung slightly ajar off its hinges. The sink had a rust- colored stain around the drain. The toilet bowl was dark with dried urine stains and there was no water in it; there was the faint aroma one associates with unattended filling station restrooms. I pulled back the shower curtain and flashed my light into the tub. Enough thumb-sized roaches to have fed the reptile community of East Texas scurried down the drain. I tried the tub faucets and nothing happened. I tried the bathroom sink. Same results. I made an attempt to flush the commode. No water to flush.
I came back to the kitchen where Bev stood with a kid on either side. They were leaning against her.
“Daddy,” Sammy said. “What happened to the house? Why’d it burn down?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll worry about that another time. Right now you got to go to bed.”
“Daddy,” Sammy said. “Did all my stuff burn up? My comics and things?”
“Yes, son. Most likely.”
“Wylie?” Sammy asked.
“Yes,” I said.
He tried not to cry, but didn’t make it, and JoAnn followed suit.
“It’ll be all right,” I said.
I bent and hugged them, then Bev took over. I flashed the light on a door that led into a little storage room. I went inside and left the door open so Bev and the kids could see my flashlight jumping around in there. I figured any kind of light right now was a reassurance. a rins The room contained a box of bed clothes, cooking utensils and some rat shit. Against the wall was a hot water heater. Built into the opposite wall was a metal box. I opened the box. It contained electrical switches, a screw driver and a few fuses. I remembered Arnold said he kept the electric bill paid out here, so I made a little wish before I replaced a missing fuse and flipped a couple switches. The lights came on in the storage room and the kitchen.
I heard Sammy cheer.
Under one of the switches was a piece of white tape with faded black writing on it that read: pump. I flipped it and was rewarded with a humming noise.
I rejoined Bev and the kids.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” I said. “It’ll be like camping out, kids.”
