The Night Watchman(74)

“Fine work, fine work,” he said, behind Patrice now. Today, tuna wiggle was on his breath. Patrice longed to punch him, the way Wood Mountain had laid Joe Wobble right down in the ring. The left jab and then the right cross. Classic. Not that it mattered. She pictured Mr. Vold’s eyes rolling as he staggered in confusion down the hall. But of course, that would get her fired. She tried to concentrate. Misery was good for that.

No, she would not be miserable. It was Valentine’s first day in the acid washing room and yes, Patrice was jealous, but she also missed Valentine sitting right there by her elbow, missed the shorthand communication they had developed. It made the hours pass by more swiftly. Today, how they dragged. And no coffee break. Vold really had taken it away in preparation for visits from Bulova and General Omar Bradley, and he’d never reinstated coffee breaks. Her neck hurt, the strain. She focused. She entered the hum of concentration. Then it was lunchtime. Patrice went to the ladies’ room first, because she dreaded listening to Valentine talk about how great her job was. And her raise. Valentine would say she wouldn’t tell, then give in to telling, the amount.

“Buck up,” Patrice told herself. “It’s not like she’s queen.”

She walked into the lunchroom and sat down next to Betty Pye, even though there was a space next to Valentine. Anyway, her friend was absorbed in telling everybody at the table how heavy the rubber apron was and how weird it felt to wear rubber gloves all morning.

“My hands are puckered! Just look!”

I could tell her a few things about wearing rubber outfits, getting puckery, also about turning blue, thought Patrice. She put away the thought. Her lunch was a cake of oatmeal fried in deer fat, and some raisins. She ate slowly, to make every morsel last. She was so hungry, and when she’d finished her stomach still felt painfully empty. Or maybe Valentine was giving her a stomachache by talking about her raise. Still, it turned out to be less than Patrice had imagined, 90 cents instead of 85 an hour, and far less than Patrice had made as a waterjack. A Main Attraction. Everybody’s eyes had been on her as she swanned and dived in the tank. True, the people were smudges, but their eyes were fixed on her. She was being admired, wasn’t she? Or maybe not. She put that thought away too. Kicked it to the back of her mind. Valentine was asking her something. Everybody had turned to her, waiting for an answer.

“I said, Pixie—”

“Patrice.”

“I said, penny for your thoughts!”

“My thoughts are worth a lot more than a penny,” she said.

“Ooooooh,” said a couple of women.

“How much?” Valentine persisted. “Here.”

She pushed a dollar bill across the table.

Patrice picked up the dollar bill, flapped it in the air, set it down, and pushed it back. “Still not enough.”

“Oh well,” said Doris. “Guess we’ll never know who Pixie likes.”

“It’s Patrice. And I don’t like either one of them. You can have them both.”

“I might get one of them,” said Doris. “I’m going out with Barnes to the movies.”

“That’s nice. When are you going?” asked Patrice.

“Sometime,” said Doris.

“What does that mean?” Now Valentine was questioning her.

“It means that I said yes when he said we should go out to the movies sometime.”

“He said or you said you should go out to the movies?” Valentine persisted.

“Okay,” said Doris. “It was the other way around. But he did say yes.”

“I’m happy for you. Tell me when it happens,” said Patrice.

Valentine said, “Some nerve, Doris,” and got up to don her special protective clothing.

“You three should stop squabbling,” said Betty Pye comfortably. “It’s so much nicer to be on good terms.”

“I know,” said Patrice. “And the stupid thing is, all of this is over men. Valentine and Doris won’t be happy until I’m locked up in a tower with a ring on my finger.”

“You’re funny. Try and find a tower around here.”

“Maybe a grain elevator?”

“I’m lucky I have good old Norbert,” said Betty. “We just bumble along.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Oh, we’ll elope if I get pregnant,” said Betty Pye.

Patrice couldn’t speak, she so marveled at Betty’s answer. They were walking back to the main room, putting on their smocks. Patrice wished that Betty was working next to her. She wanted to know more about “if I get pregnant” and hoped that Betty would tell her.



When Patrice stepped out of Doris’s car, she saw Thomas Wazhashk was visiting her mother. His car was neatly parked along the main road. He was, as all men seemed destined to do, holding Gwiiwizens when she walked into the house.

“Have you found out something about Vera?” asked Patrice.

“Yes and no.”

“And?”

“We don’t know where she is, but she was seen. In Duluth. She was taken in for vagrancy and released.”

“She gave her name and disappeared,” said Zhaanat. “But she is living. I knew she was living. She has been trying to call us.”