Montana 1948 by Larry Watson

Author:Larry Watson [Watson, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Milkweed Editions
Published: 2010-08-15T12:00:00+00:00

Because Daisy kept the curtains drawn and windows closed to keep the heat of the day out, the McAuley house was dark and stuffy. The house always had a strange smell, as though Daisy had found some vegetable to boil that no one else knew about.

I stood over the pie, wondering how I could make myself eat a slice when I had no appetite.

From another room a voice called out, “Who’s there?” It was Len.

I went into the living room, where Len sat in an overstuffed chair, his long legs extended. In the room’s dimness Daisy’s white lace doilies on the sofa and chairs glowed white, as if they were hoarding all the available light.

On the table beside Len was a glass of whiskey. I recognized its brown color and smelled its smoky-sweet odor in the room. This was a bad sign. At one time Len had been a heavy drinker, given especially to week-long benders when he would plunge so deeply into a drunken gloom that it seemed unlikely he would ever climb out. In Bentrock Len McAuley was so well liked and respected that everyone was relieved when he quit drinking. I felt as bad seeing that glass of whiskey as I had when I’d first heard Marie cough.

He turned his gaze to me. It seemed, to my untrained eye, steady and clear. But it remained on me a little too long before he greeted me.

“David. Quite a commotion over at your place.”

“Marie died.” The words—and the fact they conveyed—popped out so easily they startled me.

Len nodded solemnly. “Yes. I believe I’m aware of that. Yes.”

The room’s heavy, dusky air seemed to insist on silence, and speaking was a struggle. “My dad’s going out to talk to her family.”

Len continued to nod. “Yes. Your father would do that. Yes.”

I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that would serve as an exit line. And then it was hopeless. Len kicked their old horsehair hassock—the first sudden move he had made—and as it tumbled my way he said, “Sit down, David.” I couldn’t refuse.

Len stared at me for a long time, and though his gaze was steady there was something unfocused about it, as if an unseen dust in the room was clouding his vision.

He took a swallow of whiskey and that seemed to start his tongue. “You know, David, how I feel about your family.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have this job. Deputy sheriff.” He looked down at his shirt as though he expected to see his badge there. “Which I owe to your granddad and your dad. You know what your granddad said it means to be a peace officer in Montana? He said it means knowing when to look and when to look away. Took me a while to learn that.” Len leaned forward and pointed a long, gnarled finger at me. “Your dad hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Not just yet.”

He slumped back in his chair and looked intently around the room at floor level as if he were watching for mice or insects.

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