West With Giraffes(67)

With that, forgetting all about the Old Man’s forbearance and my own lying treacheries, I threw that punch.

Of course, the Old Man knew it was coming. Red wasn’t the only one he was egging on. Grabbing my fist in full swing, he bellowed at Red, “Look at this—you got this boy’s head turned full around. You should be ashamed of yourself for that if nothing else!”

He let go and I stumbled back, landing on my shocked young ass at her feet.

Red’s face turned so white I thought for sure she’d puke down on me. “I told you,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m on the road by myself because I’m taking photos for Life magazine. I assure you, Mr. Jones, it’s normal vomit,” she added, pulling the trench coat tight around her like it was her lost dignity.

“Have it your way,” the Old Man said, “but you’re done here.”

She paused. “Are you saying I can’t follow you?”

“I’m saying I’m onto you. I don’t know what your game is, girlie, trailing us all this way and lying the whole time. But I want you to keep the hell away from the rig and the giraffes, as of now.”

Red went stiff. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re no Life magazine photographer.”

I gawked at him, then back at Red.

“Of course I am!” she said.

I started to get up.

“Don’t you move,” the Old Man ordered, turning back to Red. “I truly cannot abide a liar. I’m going to ask you straight out. Are you with Life magazine or not? You’d better be able to prove it.”

I recall the way Red gulped. Like she was gulping down something more wretched than puke. I was about to find out what.

She started talking fast. “OK, I’m not yet . . . but I will be, I promise you! I couldn’t risk you not letting me follow, because I had to get the pictures first—and I have them! They are amazing! You have no idea!”

Then she remembered me.

Sitting there in the dirt, gazing up at Red gazing down at me, I took in her face and then pushed it far, far away.

“Get up,” the Old Man was saying. “Let’s go.”

I pulled myself up, looking anywhere but at Red.

The Old Man and I needed to take care of the giraffes and get on the road. That’s what we did without another word.

When we left the Wigwam Auto Court, Red was nowhere in sight and I was glad of it. Considering I’d gotten this far by lying my own deceiving self, though, I couldn’t quite let her go. Instead, as I began moving through the gears, I looked over at the Old Man and said, “Maybe she can do all she’s saying.”

At that, the Old Man pulled out a folded piece of paper from his front pocket and handed it to me. “Read it, then I don’t want to hear a thing more about her, you hear?” It was yesterday’s telegram from his Boss Lady, Mrs. Benchley, with these words on it:

...LIFE MAGAZINE COVERING ARRIVAL. SENDING PHOTOGRAPHER VIA AERO-PLANE...

I read it. Then I read it again. As its full meaning sunk in, I was sore at everybody but the giraffes—sore at Red for everything all over again, sore at the Old Man for only now showing me the telegram, and sore at myself for being such a farmboy sap.

Fifty dead-silent miles passed before I could look at the Old Man. The only reason I did, even then, was the sign up ahead:

TEXAS STATE LINE—1 MILE

By the time we crossed the state line, I was so light-headed I must’ve been holding my breath the full mile. The sign greeting us as we passed into my home state was as big as all get-out, like you’d expect.

WELCOME TO THE LONE STAR STATE

Taking deep breaths, I began aiming to be into New Mexico before nightfall. I kept thinking that if we could make it across the Panhandle with nothing bad happening that I’d be fine—that everything would be fine—all the way to California, and all that thinking made me so fidgety that the Old Man noticed.

“Your twitching is giving me the motion sickness,” he said. “Is it the girlie or being back in Texas?”

Corralling myself, I cut an eye his way. “Sorry I tried to sock you again.”

“You telegraph your punch,” was all he said, looking back at the road. “You should work on that.”

As we got deeper into the Texas Panhandle, though, I started fidgeting again. Not until we passed the abandoned road that was causing it could I stop, yet soon as we did, I let out a sigh of relief so loud it got the Old Man’s attention right back on me.

Eyeing me, he said, “Your home anywhere near here?”

I stiffened. There it was. He was going to make me lie to him, and we all knew what he thought of liars. Besides, I was still stinging bad from Red’s lying load of crap myself. The last thing I wanted to do was serve the Old Man a new lying load of crap of my own—especially after I’d just tried to slug him again. All I want is to get through Texas still driving the giraffes and on the Old Man’s good side, I kept thinking. That’s all I want.

Like so many times before, though, the road forced us to forget everything but it. Traffic was downright heavy for the Texas Panhandle, something that never happened. Odder still, it came to a full stop right by a sign that said SIDEWINDER WASH. Two patrol cars were parked sideways across the concrete, and I was sure it was somehow my county sheriff come for me. But they were highway patrolmen. They were standing in the middle of the road and they were stopping all traffic, here in the middle of nowhere.