Benediction (Plainsong #3)(32)

She got up in the cab and slid over to the middle and John Wesley got in next to her. The man was wearing his pajama top and he’d put on jeans and boots. Where’s your car at?

Down here a ways.

To the south here?

Yes.

He looked at her. What’s your name?

Genevieve.

You got a last name?

Larsen.

And you?

John Wesley Lyle.

The man looked at him. Your father’s the preacher that just come to town.

Yes.

I see. Well, I don’t guess I have to ask what you was doing out here in the country at night. I noticed the car stopped down here before. Your folks know about this?

John Wesley didn’t say anything.

No, the man said. I don’t guess so. Well, it’s a nice night. A nice cool summer night and all these stars out.

That’s the car, Genevieve said.

He looked at her. I figured it would be.

He pulled up to where it was pointed out crossways in the road.

What were you doing, trying to turn around?

I was trying to back up.

You don’t ever want to get off the road. That ground’s pretty soft off in the ditch.

Can you get us out?

Oh, I imagine so. Don’t you think?

She didn’t answer.

What if I can’t? What then?

I’d have to call somebody to tow it.

Maybe you wouldn’t care to do that.

No, I wouldn’t.

No, ma’am. I wouldn’t if I was you.

They all got out of the pickup. The dog leaped from the toolbox onto the road and ran off into the dark field. The man walked over to the car and stood looking at the rear wheels.

Well, you tried, he said. You give her what for, didn’t you.

It just dug in deeper.

It does that, he said. You get in now and start it up and turn your front wheels this way. I’m going to tow you out on the road and you want to be turned in the direction we’re going. But not yet. Wait till I tell you.

He got back in the pickup and the dog came up running, panting.

I’m not going nowhere, the man said. Stay down. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving. I ain’t going nowhere without you.

The dog stared at him. It’s all right, go on. The dog trotted out in the field again. The man backed the pickup in the road and came forward and backed again and came forward and backed up once more, until the rear almost touched the front bumper. He got out and brought the tow chain from the toolbox and crawled down in the gravel and hooked the chain underneath the car and stood up and brushed off his hands and knees and hooked the other end of the chain to the pickup hitch.

Now you tell me when that chain gets tight, he said.

Do you mean me? John Wesley said.

That’s right. I’m talking to you. He turned to the girl. And you go ahead and get in and start your car now and put it in gear. When I start pulling, you ease it forward. Don’t come racing out of there, you’ll run into the back of me. He looked at the two of them. We all set?

She got in the car and the man stepped up into the pickup and eased forward very slowly, watching John Wesley in the side mirror. The boy gave him the sign that the chain was tight. It tugged against the pickup. Then the man drove forward gradually, steadily and the car came right up out of the ditch. When they were lined up on the road, he backed up to put slack in the chain, and got out and unhooked and dropped the chain back in the box.

Well. I imagine that’s going to do it.

Thank you, the girl said. Thank you very much.

You probably don’t want to do that again. He looked around at the fields and looked up at the sky. Well, like I say, it’s a pretty night. He gave the boy and girl a long look. Then he whistled. Here! Buddy! Come here. The dog raced up out of the dark. Get up, the man said. The dog leaped into the back of the pickup onto the toolbox and they drove away, the man’s arm out the side window, casually, as if it were the middle of the day. They watched the red taillights disappearing. Dust rose up from the road and hung in the night air.

This doesn’t change what we talked about, she said. Don’t think it does.

They drove back toward town on the county roads. He could see the lights of town ahead, the streetlights and the red warning lights on the grain elevators and the light at the water tower, and all around them the farm lights dotting the countryside.

What are you stopping for now? he said.

I’m going to do this last thing for you. She slid out from behind the steering wheel and began to unbutton his pants.

Don’t.

Yes, she said. You know you want me to.

No. Leave me alone.

She brushed his hands away and finished with the buttons and pushed his underwear down.

Put your head back, she said.

No.

Do what I say. Lay your head back. You want to remember this, don’t you? He shut his eyes and leaned back against the seat and she bent over and put her head in his lap. He began to cry. She went on anyway and after a little while it was finished. She sat up and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her black shirt. There, she said. Remember I did that.

Then she drove them into town and stopped at the parsonage.

There’s nothing more to say, she said. Go on. Get out.

I don’t care. I still love you, even if that doesn’t mean anything to you. I want to kill myself.