Percival Everett - Wounded

BY DEFINITION a cave must have an opening large enough to allow a human to enter. The cavity can be wind- or water-eroded. It can be miles and miles deep. But it must let a person enter. And that is what is scary about caves, that one can enter.

My heelers ears cocked. I was holding the left hind hoof of my antsy mare. The bay kept leaning on me and swishing her tail in my face. She was a good horse, had good manners, but she was a little old and she got cranky when asked to hold up her foot for too long. I was rasping smooth a notch near her heel, trying to use long, efficient strokes, and wondering if I needed to put shoes on her. The break was nice and round and she had decent wall, so I wasnt too worried. I wasnt riding her much anyway, just a couple spins around the arena once a week to keep her in a semblance of good condition. My dogs ears perked again.

Is that you, Wallace? I asked. I didnt bother to look up. I continued to work, making another long rasp. I used my knife to whittle down to live hoof. I rubbed the smooth, white surface with my thumb.

Yeah, its me.

You know, its hard to sneak up on a man with a dog.

I wasnt sneakin.

I gave the hoof a last long look. I guess not. Something wrong with the tractor, Wallace?

Why does something have to be wrong because Im here? I let the horses foot go and stood up straight, my bones cracking. I considered that I felt like the horse and felt bad for having her hoof up for so long. My joints never used to complain like that, I thought. I watched the horses foot settle back to the ground and gave her aging haunch a firm scratch. You getting a little arthritic, old girl? I asked her. Then, to the man, Okay, whats the problem, Wallace?

Aint no problem.

Then, Wallace, why arent you mowing the pasture? I looked out the barn doors at the trees alongside the field.

Takin a break. Wallace shuffled his long feet, then stopped, his dusty boots together, pointing his toes straight ahead, awkwardly. Thought Id stop for a while.

Thats reasonable, Wallace. Its really hot out there. I was thinking about taking a break myself. I pushed my sleeves back up my arms, pulled out my kerchief and wiped my neck.

Why dont you like me? Wallace asked.

I looked up and down the barn alley. Wallace, Im afraid Im having trouble following you, son.

Why dont you like me?

Wallace, I like you fine. I hired you, didnt I?

That dont mean nothing.

I called my dog over and rubbed at her ears. Zoe groaned and leaned into the attention. Wallace, I like you just dandy, okay? I dont want to go to town with you and dance and get drunk, but I like you.

Very funny, Wallace said. Youre always making fun of me. How come you say my name every time you say something to me?

Wallace, its your name. I didnt think youd respond to Cisco or Fred.

No, I mean every time you say something, you say my name. Every single time.

Do I, Wallace? I caught myself as I said it.

See.

Im sorry, Wallace.

Whats that all about?

Im sorry. I wasnt doing it on purpose. I blew out a breath and watched the man. He was tall, wiry, and what my father would have called a finger sandwich shy of a picnic.

Wallace shuffled in his tracks for a second time. The mower blade broke, he said.

Didnt I ask you if the tractor was okay, Wallace?

Yes, sir. The tractors fine. Blades broke. I guess I hit a big rock.

I reached down, picked up a bit of hoof trimming, and tossed it to Zoe. Guess so. Didnt I tell you to walk that field first? Damn. I collected myself. Well, Wallace, I emphasized saying his name, things happen. At least you didnt whack off your leg or some other part. Ill take a look at it later. In the meantime, go on in the house and have Gus make you a sandwich.

If you want I can try to weld the blade back on.

No, no, no, thats okay, Wallace. You need lunch. The words felt too quick in my mouth and for a second I worried that Id insulted the thin-skinned man again. Ill take care of it. Go grab yourself some lunch.

I watched the man cross the corral, then walk through the yard to the back door of the house. He knocked on the screen door, perfunctorily, before entering. I thought Wallace was okay, a little dumb, but okay. I didnt know much about the man; I didnt care to know much. Id hired him in spite of his obvious surprise at discovering I was black. Hed come to the house and stood on the porch for near five minutes without knocking. Gus looked out the window and shook his head, laughing. That white boy is gonna stand out there till winter.

I opened the door and stepped out, asking what he wanted. He could barely get out that he was there about a job.

My name is Wallace Castlebury.

Okay, I said, trying to help him.

I heard you need a ranch hand. He looked at his long feet, glancing up quickly to catch my eyes before looking away again.

Yeah? Whered you hear that?

At the feed store. The one in town, he stammered. The woman who works there told me.

You ever do ranch work before?

Some. Over near Shell.

Whod you work for?

Man named Fife. The Double R.

I know him, I said. Mind if I give him a call?

The man shook his head. You can call him.

I looked away from him toward the slope at the end of the large pasture. Can you drive a tractor without killing yourself or others?

So far, sir. The sir came hard. Ive mowed and pulled a disc. I can work on them a little bit, too.

Know anything about horses? I asked.

Which end kicks, thats all.

I think I smiled. I reckon youll do. You got a place to live?

Staying with a friend in town, Wallace said.

Can you be here at seven in the morning? And I mean seven, not seven-thirty, not seven-fifteen. Every morning?

Wallace said he could and I hired him. Then he stood on the porch, looking at his shoes, waiting.

Wallace, you can go now. Ill see you in the morning at seven.

Okay.

That had been our first meeting and for a month the subsequent encounters were not so different. Wallace wasnt completely inept, but he was as close as a man can get to it and still be alive. He did what I asked for the most part, not much more, thank god, and when he did show some inkling of initiative, his instincts nearly always turned out to be wrong. One time he used my ranch Jeep to pull the two-wheeled trailer I had filled with cut firewood to the back of the house. Once there he decided to uncouple the trailer. I watched him, not quite believing it. He, with almost complete focus, flipped the lever. Before I could shout out, the trailer seesawed back, throwing high the hitch and dumping the wood. He was lucky he didnt lose a finger, or more.

He stood there gawking at the spilled wood like that might clean it up. Geez, Im sorry, Mr. Hunt.

Thats okay, Wallace. I stepped around the mess. Just empty the wood and stack it all here. I imagine that I was not successfully covering my expression of exasperation because he said, Im really sorry. I can reload it and put it wherever you want. That was stupid, werent it?

Just stack it here, Wallace. I walked away a few strides, then turned back to him and said, Wallace, yes it were.

The afternoon sun was burning into the west side of the barn where I was repairing a waterline. The white PVC was a great invention, but sunlight made it brittle. Id sawn off the cracked section and was trying to couple in a new piece without covering my hands with the blue adhesive that I was certain would poison me somehow. The roof vents were spinning from the heat. Id sent Wallace home early because of the broken mower blade and so he couldnt cause any more damage. The break in the blade wasnt bad, near the back, away from the cutting surface. I was glad for the quiet. I planned to weld the blade back on once the sun was down and the air had cooled some. I finished with the pipe, put my hacksaw, pipe pieces, and glue in the shade and walked through the barn, out and across the yard to the house. Gus was resting on the porch, sitting in a straight-backed chair.