Here's the first version and I'll post the second version in another post. --R
Interstate
By
Rory McClannahan
Pap
knew about weather. His whole life he kept a weather log wherever he
was living. Most of it logged the weather patterns of the valley,
because Pap hadn’t lived anywhere else. He said once he found the
place where he wanted to die, he decided he would stay there. He was
born in New Jersey and came to the valley in between the world wars.
He grew up in a city and left as soon as he could. On his travels as
a juggler and straight man in a vaudeville troupe he happened along
our valley on the high plains of New Mexico.
“I
can breath here,” he said and stayed. He never went back east
again, except to buy an old Army motorcycle after the second war.
My
father was born on January 13, 1900. He would never tell people how
old he was but tell them he was a Centaurian baby. Eventually, he
began to tell the story that he was actually the first baby born in
the New Year in 1900 in the whole valley. Like most of what my father
said, it was only a half truth. He had his birthday right, but he
wasn’t born anywhere near the valley, which only had a few hundred
people at the time. My father was good at stories and no one ever
really believed all of them. He was an entertainer, he told me once,
and that came with the responsibility to entertain.
I
never really understood that, because as long as I had lived, Pap was
owner and proprietor of Wicked Pete’s Trading Post along Route 66.
I grew up in a small house around back of the store where we sold
Texaco gasoline and oil. Travelers could come inside for a soda pop
and to look over the authentic Indian merchandise available for the
first time to the public. Most of the stuff came from China, but Pap
could talk folks into believing they were buying an “authentic
Indian artifact.” Before I was born, the trading post had an animal
pen in the back with a real life buffalo that Pap would charge 10
cents to look at. He died before I was born and Maam wouldn’t let
him get another.
Pap
was 54 years old when I was born and Maam was 43. My parents had
wanted nothing more than to have children, and they tried for years,
but it never happened. So they gave up and 10 years later, I showed
up. Maam declared it a miracle and, being that I was the product of
this miracle, I was doted on. That lasted a mere three years and 24
days later when the true royalty of the family arrived -- my sister
Ruthie. My days as the golden child were over, but it was okay. It’s
difficult to be jealous of my sister -- she really was as wonderful,
and bright and funny as everyone said she was. It’s just hard to be
the awkward older brother.
Wicked
Pete’s was located about five miles east of town. Pap started the
station before he met Maam figuring, correctly, that lots of folks
traveling on the Mother Road would want to stop for gasoline. My
father was considered by most in town to be crazy, and he did nothing
to discourage that reputation. The rumor around town was that Pap had
had another wife and that she mysteriously disappeared. Maam would
always tell us not to listen to stories from people who didn’t know
anything.
Most
people thought Pap was crazy because he rode the motorcycle
everywhere he went. Not only did he ride to town to pick up the mail
every day, but he would ride for hours exploring the valley. He took
a rifle with him and shot rabbits for dinner. He knew every farmer in
a fifty mile radius, and knew everything about what was going on in
the valley. While on his rides, he would always stop and talk to the
farmers. Each Tuesday night he played poker with four of them. On
Friday nights Maam and Pap would drive to Albuquerque for bowling.
When
I came along in 1951, Pap was already firmly established as the town
eccentric, but everyone knew that if you told something to Pap, that
was where it stayed. He used what he knew to his own advantage and by
the time Ruthie came along, he owned more than 300 acres along the
highway. He was a visionary and knew that roads brought people to
businesses. He saw that after Eisenhower started the interstate
system, towns would be changed. He was gambling on the interstate
being near his property, with a nice exit to get off and buy
gasoline.
“I’m
betting on the future,” he used to tell me, but he wasn’t the
only one.
Pap
may have had land, and a newer model car, but that didn’t make him
rich. The land was bought with scrimps and scraps saved over the
years. There were seven major land holders in the valley, and Pap’s
300 acres were nothing compared to the miles of land the McQueen’s
held. Pap was betting that the town would grow up around the Route
66. Pap was right, but he owned the land on the wrong side of town. A
rich land owner would sell the first couple of lots real cheap and
offer electricity and sewage hook ups if they bought there. Pap
couldn’t afford to put in power lines. The co-op might do it, if
one of the McQueen’s had an interest.
The
summer when I was 10 years old, the talk around town focused on three
things -- the weather, the crops and the freeway. Pap knew about all
three better than most folks in town. He proclaimed, with the help of
his 40 years of keeping track of the weather, that the rains would
start on July 8. He made these pronouncements every year, and no one
ever believed him, even when he was right. In years when the winter
and spring were dry, the summer rains would be unrelenting. And the
winter and spring that year had been drier than usual. While winters
were usually spent digging out of the snow and mud, that year was
spent trying to avoid the dirt swirling around everything. The valley
was always brown, but that year, not even the weeds would grow. The
ground was as hard as concrete and a drop of water would quickly
evaporate. The farmers liked it because the alfalfa they grew was
being bought up by the the ranchers. Irrigation farming worked well
in the valley.
Everyone
knew the freeway was coming, but that didn’t make the appearance of
the road crews any easier to take. Pap cussed like crazy about the
crews who would come into the shop, but he treated each as nice as
you could believe and jacked up his prices 13 percent. Pap hated the
freeway, because he knew it was going to ruin him. His connections
weren’t good enough and when the surveyors were coming through the
year before, the exit for town was planned on McQueen property. The
McQueens were already busy building a brand new Holiday Inn right
where the exit was going to be. Next to that, they had plans for a
truck stop that was going to be open 24 hours a day.
That
spring, Pap spent his days on top of the shed in back by the old
buffalo pen watching the road crews through a surveyor’s glass. Not
a half mile away, the crews clearing the land and building a road
bed. When the bell dinged for a customer, Pap would yell to us.
“Kit,
Ruthie. Customer.” He would call out, not even looking over his
shoulder to see who it was. I pumped gas and Ruthie would check the
oil and wash the windshield. It was a harder job, but Ruthie got it
because it involved more contact with the customer. She had a way of
talking to people. She always got them to buy more than they came
for. She took after Pap who could sell a Bible to the devil. Many a
time there was when Ruthie would pulled in $10 from one customer.
Watching her in action was a thing of beauty.
She
would start a conversation with the person driving, usually a man.
She would tell him that “a fellow was in the other day with the
same sort of car.” The other fellow had had problems with the
engine and was burning a lot of oil because of the desert heat. She’d
ask her mark whether they had any problems, dropping hints that there
wouldn’t be anyone to fix their car. Next thing you know, she was
loading cans of oil into the trunk. When Pap was running the store,
the fellow would come in and be hit with an authentic Old West story.
My favorite was about how Geronimo himself camped nearby. Pap would
point to the arrowheads in the case and claimed they belonged to the
Apache leader’s men. But that spring, it was Maam either Maam or me
in the store, and we just weren’t very good at telling stories.
After
a customer left, Pap would call us over and we would be expected to
give a report of everything, but especially about the freeway. Pap
wanted to know how it was coming, and the best information came from
the folks who were driving it. Long-haul truckers knew the most, but
Pap said he would never trust a man who drove trucks for a living.
“Pap,”
Ruthie told him once, “the guy said he drove from Okie City to
Santa Rosa in two hours on the new road. He said he loved it because
you can’t get stuck behind slower traffic. He said it’s real
safe, too. He didn’t see any wrecks.” As an afterthought, Ruthie
added something that must have broke Pap’s heart.
“I
can’t hardly wait til it comes through here,” she said.
Pap
shook his head sadly and sighed.
“I
reckon one day that road will take you away from here,” he said
ruffling her hair.
“I
think that would be wonderful, Pap. Do you think it will happen?”
“I’d
be surprised if it didn’t.” He hugged her close and told her to
go sweep up the store and check if he needed to order more motor oil.
She giggled and told him he better because she intended to sell the
rest by the end of the day. She climbed down the ladder leaning
against the shed and went running to the store. Pap motioned me to
join him on the roof.
Although
it was hot, Pap had a good set-up. He rigged up a chair and umbrella
set up and a cooler full of water in canning jars. I sat next to him
and looked in the cooler for a Pepsi.
“You
know what that highway means, don’t you, Kit?” I shrugged. I kind
of had a notion, but I was also caught up in the excitement of the
whole thing.
“That
freeway is being built by the government to make our lives easier,
and it will take us out of here after it destroys our lives.”
“Can’t
we make them come by here with it?” I asked.
“It
isn’t that easy, Kit. They been planning this thing for five years.
Up and down that whole road, people been making money, and not
fairly. I’m afraid your Pap doesn’t have the connections to get
them to stop here.”
“The
McQueens do?” Everyone who grew up in the valley knew the McQueens.
Shoot, I had two of them in school with me. Cooper McQueen was a
bully but his little sister Bea was always nice to me. I had heard
that some people who resented the McQueens, but I didn’t understand
why until I was talking with Pap on the roof of the shed.
“The
McQueens were lucky enough to be here first. The Armijos were second.
They bought up the land close to the road. By the time I got here,
we only got this piece here. But we done good with it. The freeway
will make this place obsolete, no one will ever stop here again.
They’ll all pull off at the exit down by the new motor lodge and
truck stop. They won’t have any reason to come down here.”
“Isn’t
there any way to talk them into putting an exit here?”
Pap
looked at me sideways and grinned, and I knew he was about to let me
in on a secret.
“You
be ready to go after your Maam goes to bed. If you don’t fall
asleep, I’ll take you with me. But you have to promise me that
never tell anyone about what you see.”
“Never?”
“Only
after I’m long dead and even then, I don’t think you better.”
I
promised on my mother’s grave and he reminded me that was a serious
promise and Maam had better never find out.
My
mother’s real name was Rachel, but everyone called her Maam. She
was the kind of woman who commanded respect. Pap was 10 years older
than her and it was her that told him they were going to marry. She
always said that if she’d left up to him, he’d still be a
bachelor. I’m sure at one time my mother was a girl, but it didn’t
last long. She took care of her three bothers after her dad died in a
farming accident and her mom went crazy and just disappeared. She was
nobody’s fool, and while I suspect she knew most of what me and
Ruthie were up to, she only made an issue of the things that were
important. While Pap would more or less let us run wild after our
work was done, Maam didn’t believe in idle hands. We loved Maam,
but we did all we could to avoid her. Everyone thought she was mean,
and I guess she really was. I don’t know if she was bitter about
the life she had -- she never talked about her childhood or of any
youthful indiscretions. Pap used to tell me stories about when he
traveled the country with the vaudeville troupe, but only when Maam
wasn’t around. She wouldn’t approve, she especially hated the
vaudeville stories. It was hard for me to love my mother because what
little she had in her worn out soul was given to Ruthie.
I
think Maam knew Pap was sneaking out at night, and I think she knew
why. But me going with him would have put an end to the whole affair.
So that night, I made sure to leave my bedroom window open just a
crack and snuck out when I saw the lights go out under the crack in
my bedroom door. I met Pap by the shed and he already had his
motorcycle pulled out. We were going to ride the motorcycle! My whole
life I wanted to ride on the two-wheeled behemoth, but Maam would
never allow Pap to take me. Pap tossed me a leather helmet and put
his fingers to his lips to shushed me before I could scream with
excitement.
We
pushed the bike down 66 for a mile before Pap straddled it and kicked
it to life. If anyone ever asked me to define happiness I would say
it is holding onto your Pap on the back of an Army issue Indian
motorcycle while it cruised down Highway 66 in the the light of a
full moon.
Soon
Pap screamed at me to hold on tight and we left the paved road and
headed north on a farm road. We rode for miles and I can remember I
nearly fell off twice. Pap would ride on one dirt road, then turn
suddenly on another and ride for what seemed forever. I was expecting
the sun to pop up, and was kind of wishing for it so I would have an
idea where I was. We rode for hours like that, and the thrill of
being on the bike eventually wore off and I began to feel like I
wanted to get off and stretch my legs.
Then
we stopped. When I looked up I could see every star in the universe.
Pap startled me when he tooted the rubber horn on the handlebars. In
the distance, an air horn tooted back, and Pap fired up the bike
again and rode in the direction of the sound. After a few minutes we
came upon a road grader hidden off the road by some juniper bushes.
The cabin was softly lit by a kerosene lantern and sitting in the
seat was Slim O’Rourke. When we got close, Slim jumped out of the
cabin.
“Well
hello there, Kit Carson,” he said when he saw me get off the bike.
I liked Slim, and I especially liked it when he called me Kit Carson.
Slim was older than Pap and long past the physique that earned him
his nickname. I was fascinated by his fabulous handlebar moustache
that held its shape perfectly no matter when I saw him. Since as long
as I could remember, Slim had always offered me a bite off his
tobacco plug whenever we met.
“Hello,
Mr. O’Rourke,” I said.
“You
can call me Slim, Kit. You know that.”
“Maam
got mad last time I called you that and I had a lecture for an hour
about respecting adults.” Slim looked around cautiously as if Maam
might jump out from behind a juniper. She cast her spell far and
wide.
“Well,
you should do what your ma tells you, I guess.” He pulled his plug
out of a front shirt pocket and offered some to Pap, who took a bite
and rolled it into his mouth. He held it out to me. I looked to Pap,
who shrugged his shoulders.
“If
your mother finds out, I don’t know nothing. But keep in mind that
it’ll make you sick.” The desire to take a big bite was immense,
but the pressure of getting sick and getting caught by Maam forced me
to beg off.
“So
where we at as far as our little project, Slim?” Pap asked.
“I
think we’re almost done. I remembered to bring the maps tonight.”
Slim
hustled back to the grader and pulled out the a roll of papers. He
spread them out on the ground and all three of us hunched over the
map.
“You
ever seen an arroyo after a thunderstorm, Kit?” Pap asked me. I
nodded -- me and Ruthie hunted for toads after a rain in the ditch
close to the house.
“Well,
when the rains come -- especially the quick ones, the arroyos around
here fill up so fast that it can wash away half the land before you
know what’s happened. Now arroyos have been around here since
before people were and its kind of like a road map. There’s big
ones and there is little ones. What we’re trying to do is make a
little one into a huge one.”
He
pointed at the map showing me where all the arroyos were and where
they started and where they joined with others. And he showed me how
him and Slim had been putting a little dirt here, a ditch there and
reworking the arroyos 20 miles from home. He explained that when the
rain came, a whole bunch of water was going to end up flooding one
spot. He pointed at it and I looked close. In tiny blue print it
said, “Lands of McQueen.” I looked to my dad with a puzzled look
on my face. He shrugged.
“It’s
nothing personal, son. I just can’t let myself sit by and be
ruined.”
“Bullcrap
it ain’t personal.” Slim stood up and spit to one side. “That
son of a biscuit screwed us all over. He made it so my land was split
in two. I can’t run a ranch like that. Your old man got it all
figured out, Kit. All we got to do is wait for the rains.”
Pap
stood up and looked away into the darkness.
“It’s
more complicated than that, Slim. It’s a race, and they’re
winning.”
“What
do you mean?” both me and Slim asked.
“They’re
going faster because they didn’t have the weather during winter. If
they get that road bed done before the rains, this little scheme is
going to flood both of us, when it does. I think.”
“How
do you know this?” Slim was spitting again and a little more than
worried.
“I’ve
been watching them. The way they’re going, they’ll have the road
bed in real close to when the rains start. The bed will work as a
dike and spread the water out over here and here,” Pap said
pointing to areas on the map. “It’s going to be close. I won’t
lie to you. If you want to back out, now’s the time.”
Slim
ran his fingers across his moustache, spit and took his hat off. He
spit again.
“Goddangit,
Pap. We’re ruined whether we do this in time or not. Can’t be
anymore ruined than ruined. Let’s get this done.” He slammed his
hat back on his head and walked over to the grader and started it up.
We
spent the rest of the night moving dirt and digging ditches. Before
the sun came up, Pap and I got back on the motorcycle and rode back
home. I got back in my bed in time for Maam to come in and wake me.
The
rest of the day, a I kept an eye on Pap on the roof and realized for
the first time he was probably sleeping most of the day up there in
his chair. The only thing that woke him was the ding of the customer
bell. For my part, I was tired and Ruthie was suspicious. We didn’t
share a room -- Maam didn’t like the idea of a boy on the threshold
of adolescence in the same room with her Ruthie . But Ruthie was a
sneak. She was smart enough to keep a lot of what she knew to
herself. She was bugging me all day, and she wasn’t going to let
his one drop.
“Where’d
you go last night, Kit? Did you go with Pap? What did you guys do?
Did you go drinking with Pap?” All day it went on, and I was
getting weary of telling her to buzz off.
“Okay,”
I finally told her as we were cleaning out the store room. Maam was
out front, trying to talk a man into another soda pop. She was also
weary of us that day.
“Pap
took my on the motorcycle last night, but I promised on Maam’s
grave that I couldn’t tell anyone.” Ruthie begged and begged, and
like most people, I could not resist her and I told the whole story.
I had to answer the questions her seven year old mind couldn’t
quite grasp. But she understood that if the freeway was built the way
it was now planned, Maam and Pap would have to move, and her with
them. I told her how the road crews were moving too fast. Then my
sister told me she would slow them down. I just laughed at her.
We
all went on through May pretending nothing was happening, but I think
all of us knew what was going on -- Maam knew I was going with Pap
and Ruthie would always ask what happened on the nights I would
disappear with Pap. Sometimes Pap would take me with him, most time
I laid awake wishing I had gone with him and Slim. During the day,
Pap would sleep on the roof of the shed and watch the workmen through
his glass. Ruthie continued to sell motor oil. The workmen would come
in each morning and buy soda pop and coffee.
Halfway
through June, Pap climbed down off the shed in the middle of the day.
He was grinning, but he was talking to himself as he walked into the
office Maam used to do the books. All he said was, “Puzzling.”
He
told me later on, out at where we were doing the dirt work that it
looked like the work was slowing down. Each day, it seemed like
something went wrong for the workmen. But they were still moving at a
pretty good speed. That night though, was the last of the clandestine
dirt work. Pap announced we were done, and now it was time to watch
and wait for the rains. It was two of the longest weeks of my life,
waiting and watching them build the road.
After
the first week, the road equipment and workmen stopped working. Pap
watched them all day through his glass. He even called me up to the
roof to have a look and asked me what I thought. There were men
scratching their heads and motioning for the men to go away while
they looked at the equipment. They had the hoods up all day long, but
not one machine fired up that day.
The
next day, a man showed up at the store demanding to talk to Pap.
This stranger was mad at my father before he even talked to Pap.
“What
the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man screamed when I
brought Pap. Pap immediately told me to go around back, but Ruthie
got to stay. I’d seen my father and my sister charm people before,
but never together. I kinda felt sorry for the man as I climbed on
the roof and watched from above.
The
man accused my father of sabotage. None of the road equipment was
working and he said he was sure Pap had something to do with it. Pap
had Ruthie bring out a can of oil and Pap opened it into a pan and
both men looked at it closely. By the time he left, he was
apologizing to Pap and he had picked up Ruthie and promising to bring
her some ice cream next time he came by. He drove off and as I
watched him, that’s when I noticed Maam on the roof behind me. I
nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned and saw her also looking
after the car. I knew I was going to be in big trouble.
But
she just sighed and turned back to the ladder she had set up against
the back of the building.
“Just
remember, Christopher,” she said. “Your father and sister took
away any charm we were supposed to get.” She climbed down the
ladder and didn’t say anything else to me about the incident. I sat
thinking. At first I was mad at her suggestion I didn’t have my
father’s charm, but it was true. It didn’t make me love him or
Ruthie any less. I guess that’s the way Maam felt, too. I don’t
know that I began to love my mother at that moment, but at least I
knew we had a common problem.
I
climbed down the ladder and went in search of Pap. Ruthie told me he
went to Slim’s farm. He didn’t get back until long after we had
been sent to bed. My curiosity was killing me, but Ruthie kept
secrets better than I ever did, and over the weeks, Pap rarely talked
to me.
We
all waited. Each day, the sun came up and scorched the earth. The
days passed and there was no sign that it would ever rain. And the
earth movers were getting closer and closer. June ended. July 1 -- no
rain. July 2 -- no rain. The framers were making fun of Pap’s
prediction. July 3 -- no rain, not even a cloud.
On
the Fourth of July, we went to the carnival and saw the fireworks.
The wind blew hard, but no rain. July 6, Pap stayed in bed all day
saying he was sick. The workers were starting to move earth on the
McQueen land and laying out stakes for the freeway exit. It still
didn’t rain. July 7 came and went. No rain.
On
July 8, I woke up and there were clouds. It was cloudy all day, but
nothing fell from the sky. In the evening, the clouds broke and we
watched a beautiful sun setting over the Sandias. Slim came over and
Maam fixed him dinner. We all sat in silence, slowly taking a bite
after bite. Then we heard it, away from the north. It was a giant
rumbling sound like God turning over in the middle of the night. Slim
was heading to the door before the thunder died away. We were all
behind him and he let out a giant “Wahoo!”
Away
to the north, we watched as lighting flashed beyond the horizon.
Maam tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the south. Another
giant storm was lightning up the sky there, too.
Maam
rarely smiled, but when she did, it was magical. Looking up, I
noticed Maam was grinning from ear to ear. She even hugged me and
then fell into Pap’s arms. Ruthie was out in the yard trying to
splash in puddles that hadn’t yet formed.
“You
did it, then, didn’t you?” Maam asked. I was sure he had done
something to the road equipment. Apparently, Maam thought the same.
Pap shrugged and pointed at Ruthie.
“Nope,
it was that daughter of yours. She stopped them from working, she got
it done.”
“What?”
I asked. What about all the work I did, I thought. Didn’t I do more
than Ruthie?
“Cement
in motor oil will keep an engine from starting. Slows them down,
too.” It was now raining fairly hard and Ruthie was trying to
catch raindrops on her tongue.
“Kit,
it looks like you and me weren’t the only ones sneaking out at
night. It seems your little sister was sneaking over the equipment at
night and cutting belts, draining oil, flattening tires. Then she
would sell the parts to those guys the next day. The project manager
figured out what was happening, but somehow, she talked him out of
thinking it was her, or me.”
Pap
and Maam ran out into the rain and picked up Ruthie. Slim was busy
watching the rain and taking a bite off his plug.
Me,
I stood for a minute and looked at my sister. Everyone liked her
better, and despite myself, I did, too.
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