Cruising Paradise by Sam Shepard

Author:Sam Shepard [Sam Shepard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2017-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

7/91 (BELVIDERE, SOUTH DAKOTA)

The

Package

Man

* * *

The man in the suit was a smoking fool. He couldn’t last thirty seconds between cigarettes. Even while he was smoking one, he was already fondling his wrinkled pack of Blue Trues on the bar, as though reassuring them that their time would come. He didn’t once turn to Ray. Didn’t even so much as cast a sideways peek at him. Ray peered down between his own knees to the splatters of calf blood on his boots. He rubbed the toe of each boot across the back of his ankles, but the blood remained. He didn’t much care. He was beyond embarrassment where men in suits were concerned. He didn’t know the guy from Adam anyhow.

‘Cigarette?’ the man piped up. Ray glanced over at him, but the man in the suit’s eyes stayed fixed on the blue and white pack of cigarettes he held up in front of him. Ray wasn’t even sure if the offer had been directed to him or if the guy was just blurting it out to himself in a drunken daze. Lots of loonies passed through this little town. It was ninety miles from nowhere, and the little yellow lights from the Hole in the Wall were like a magnet to the desperately road-weary.

‘Thank ya, no,’ Ray said. ‘Got my own pack.’

‘These I been smokin’ for twenty-five years now. Blue Trues. Shoulda called ‘em True Blues by now. That’s a good long while to be faithful to any one brand in particular, don’t you think? A good long while.’

‘It is,’ Ray agreed, and watched him now, but the man still didn’t turn to meet his gaze. He jiggled the pack of Trues and watched the plastic filters rattle around against one another.

‘Some guys like to skip around, but I’m more like the Canada goose.’

‘What’s that?’ Ray said.

‘Mated for life. Wolfs the same way, I understand. They say that about the wolf. Loon’s another one. I find that pretty amazing.’

‘Yeah,’ Ray said, hoping to close the subject. The bartender slid Ray’s drink toward him and asked if he’d like to see a menu. ‘Yeah. Just throw a steak on and a baked potato.’

‘That’s my game,’ the man in the suit persisted.

‘What’s that?’

‘Beef. Meat.’

‘I see.’

‘Package man. That’s my game. I’m a package man. Total carcass. We use it all.’ Ray kept silent. The man started rapidly bouncing both his knees up and down and lit another cigarette while the first one still smoldered in the ashtray. ‘Ground beef. Rib eyes. T-bones. Chops. Tenderloin. Entrails. Offal. We package the whole damn works.’

‘That’s something,’ Ray muttered.

‘Pays the rent. What’s your game?’

‘Me? I’m a hand. I’m just a hand.’

‘Ah, bustin’ yer ass on horseback! I know the feelin’. I’m from here.’

‘You are?’ Ray peered at him, thinking maybe he’d forgotten a face.

‘Born and raised. Not a whole lotta future here, though. ‘Less you think rubbin’ yer butt raw on broncs is some kinda romantic way a life. I’m not talkin’ about flying around in some Learjet and poppin’ along the rodeo circuit.

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