Bindlestiff by Wayne Holloway

Author:Wayne Holloway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Influx Press

AMERICAN SPIRITS

Oregon to Idaho, 2036

A goods train cuts through an open plain bordered on both sides by forest. Seen from behind the treeline it flickers past, black and gold livery arrested into consecutive frames between the trunks of the trees. An armed guard sits on a flatbed, smoking, legs dangling. He raises his hand to shade his eyes, eyeballing the Coos warrior band weaving in and out of the treeline. He waves to them, wishing he could have as much fun. Eventually the train and the Coos converge at the Oregon border yard.

Frank is riding shotgun on one of the quad bikes. The guard now up on his feet whoops the posse on, especially the horses which are not so common a sight, and they wave back at him.

The Coos are picking up a delivery from the depot. Jerry cans of ethanol, a consignment of irrigation pipes in sections that they lash to a trailer behind one of the quads. Smaller items go into the horses’ saddle bags. Frank watches all this commerce, appreciates and absorbs the energy of it. The leader pulls up alongside Frank.

‘Guard here will let you ride, next stop is Boise Idaho.’ The man chucks up a package which is caught by the guard, who nods, pocketing a carton of American Spirit cigarettes.

‘Thanks, appreciate it.’

‘You ever back this way, come up to the Rez, north of here maybe fifteen miles. The Three Rivers Casino is open for business. We got slots working, card tables, dancing girls, shit there’s even a museum.’

‘Damn. I stopped gambling too.’

‘Too bad.’

‘Way too bad.’

They shake hands.

Frank gets up on the train. The guard smokes and they watch the Coos take off. As the train pulls away they both whoop and wave as they disappear back into the forest, caught up in the energy of the moment, the kinetic excitement of being in the world.

Later dozing under the stars Frank thinks of the tin box Larry gave him and he retrieves it from his pack. Before reading one of the letters, he thinks whether Larry had told him he could read them or not. He flashes on the old man dead, keeled over in a row of strawberries or other fruits and catches his breath. The letter was dated March 2, 1991.

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