Ebner Scholtz' Farm.
Two miles outside of Doone, Oklahoma Panhandle.
July, 1935. Early sunset.
Hot, dry desolation as far as the eye can see.
A short ways off to the East is a dilapidated two-story house
with a large farm equipment shed squatting adjacent to it.
Parked in front of it is a filthy, broken down 1928 Ford Truck.
Next to the truck, in striking contrast,
is a brand new 1935 Ford DeLuxe Roadster
coated with a thin film of prairie dust.
Two men stand on part of what once was
deeply furrowed, arable farmland,
now saturated with black dust
and barely able to produce even a few meagre weeds.
One of the men is Ebner Scholtz, 60,
arms crossed, looking slightly stooped and raggedy
in his faded overalls and stained white cotton shirt,
with a drooping cloth hat covering his head
while on his damp, unshaven face sits a perpetual scowl.
Just behind him, hat in hand, stands his nephew Pete Scholtz, 39,
a stout man wearing a stylish but rumply beige suit.
He mops his usually jovial but flushed and tired face
with a white handkerchief
as well as habitually smooths his ruffled, thinning black hair
and, glissando-like, his pencil mustache.
He stands arms akimbo and stares hard at his uncle,
or rather, at his uncle's back.
Pete (donning his hat): All right, Ebner, I've had enough now. It's gonna git dark real soon, so fer the near hundred time are ya gonna come with me or not?
Ebner: An' you already got my answer near a hunderd times back, boy: naw, I ain't! So you kin tell yer Maw, God bless 'er, that you drove alla way out here from yer fancy-pants foreman job at that apple orchard fer nothin'!
Pete (unruffled): You know I kin still get ya a place there, dontcha? My offer still stands. Besides you remember Lucy Smalls over in Sitlow, the gal who was (clears his throat) was one o' Aunt Bessie's best pianny students?
Ebner (after a pause, softly): Yeah, I remember. She was real good. Purty, too.
Pete: Well, I give her an' her Ma an' Pa places at that orchard now, and they're doin' a swell job. Bunch o' other Sooners I know are there, too. So we got some of our own folk there, at least. (leans closer to him and grins) An' it pays a dollar a bushel!
Ebner (spins around to face him): A dollar a bushel! Goddamn, boy, then you can't really get no place for me, can ya, if that's the goin' rate! Ain't no one else gonna pass that up, are they? Might as well jes' stay here an' live off this here dust 'n' dirt! An' yeah, I mean eat it!
Pete (wearily): Yeah, Ebner, like I tol' ya fer the hundreth time I can git ya somethin'. I meant that. An' we both know ya ain't gonna eat any o' that, though after I seen that your pantry's less'n half full now ya just might need to soon. (chuckles) Guess the Doone Ladies' Lutheran Alms Society, or whatever th' hell it was, either washed their hands o' ya or skipped out west like most ev'ryone else.
Ebner: Sheddup, I got enough! An' I ain't above gettin' some charity, at least not when ya take this (pointing down to his land) into consideration! Don't wanna starve when I ain't got nothin' ta buy groceries with! An' at least I ain't takin' a dime from the gov'mint! Still proud o' that!
(Pete stoops to pick up a handful of the dust and gazes at it as it seeps through his fingers.)
Ebner: What th' hell are you doin' down there, boy?
Pete (after a short pause, somberly): Wonderin'. Say, how much o' this did they say they found in Aunt Bessie's mouth an' throat?
Ebner (taken aback): Th' hell? What'd you say?
Pete: After th' big storm. What'd th' docs and cor'ner say 'bout it?
Ebner: What th'-? I don't see-
Pete: Forgit it, guess it don't matter. They couldn't save 'er. (stands) I'm real sorry, Ebner. Damn. That weren't right at all. Not at all. (choking up a little) Poor Bessie!
Ebner: Yeah. It's been-been real hard goin' without 'er. (pause) You don't wish it'd been me instead, boy, do ya?
Pete (quickly recovering, surprised): What? Oh, naw, Ebner! Goddamn, what a thing ta say! Wouldn't even wish that on that crazy Hitler fella! Well, how's 'bout this? (keening theatrically) "Poor Ebner! Oh, poor, poor Ebner! A good man gone way, way too soon!" (smiles sheepishly) Naw, it ain't quite th' same 'cause yer still here. But it's still jest like I done fer Bessie, sorta. I'd still say it 'cept with lots more feelin'.
Ebner (skeptical): Right. Well, I'm headin' inside 'fore it gets any darker. (He starts to walk towards the house.)
Pete (surprised but hopeful): Oh, so are we goin' then? You need to pack some things or-
Ebner: Naw, I ain't goin', jes' like I said. Gotta light the lamps. So, 'night, boy! (pauses to look back, smirks) Better get goin'. You prob'ly gotta long drive ahead o' ya!
Pete: Really, Ebner? Is that-? Is-? (growls and abruptly pulls out an Army service revolver from his pants pocket and levels it at Ebner) You-you goddamn, stubborn ol' sonofabitch!
Ebner (turns in surprise): Huh?
Pete (gritting through his teeth): Jesus, ol' man, you got nothin' left here t'all! Nothin'! An' yer still-!
Ebner (eyeing the gun suspiciously): Hey. Hey, where-where'd ya get that?
Pete: What's it matter? Found it inside.
Ebner (hotly): Where inside?!
Pete: In th' strongbox with th' busted lock that ya keep under yer bed. Yeah, I know. I'd seen it on yer dresser once a few years back when we had that family gatherin'. Figured it was still there, and so... (pause) yeah, I know this is Thad's gun, Ebner.
Ebner (inching slowly towards Pete, his hand beckoning): Gimme it, boy! Right now!
Pete: How you even got this at all? I thought it fell in the crick when-
Ebner: Sheddup, boy! Don't you even-don't-jes' gimme the gun!
Pete: But how-?
Ebner (ferociously): I SAID GIMME THE GUN!!! NOW!!!
Pete jumps slightly at this burst of anger. He warily considers his uncle for a moment, then carefully tosses the gun underhand like a horseshoe so it lands near Ebner's feet. Ebner quickly scoops it up and holds it tenderly with both hands.
Ebner: Bastard!
Pete (a little shaken, but casually): Aw, hell, Ebner, it ain't even loaded!
Ebner: I know it! An' it ain't gonna be ever again!
Pete (pause, softly): Ebner, I-
Ebner: You saw 'im, Thad, when he come back after you did! You remember, right?
Pete: Yeah. I was only an' ambulance driver but I'd seen some...real godawful shit. (bows his head and sighs) Most o' it too up damn close.
Ebner: Right. But yer okay, ain'tcha? You still makin' it in the world well an' good, with no problems with yer brain or body all these years later, right?
Pete: Now see here, Ebner, I ain't exactly without some scars, least on my own heart an' soul. But...yeah, I guess I been doin' okay since then.
Ebner: Alrighty, then. Now suppose you jes' tell me, boy, how th' hell was my son gonna come back, nary a scritch on 'im, an' he ain't even just the tiniest bit like Bessie an' I remembered 'im, huh? Shakin', staggerin' 'round like a wind-up toy, couldn't talk, couldn't feed or clothe or really do anythin' hisself, an allus had this-this scared look in his eyes. Don't think he even rec'nized us no more. Oh, you saw 'im. You remember. An' Bessie an' I surely did our best by Thad but-Jesus Christ! (pause, chokes up) Oh, Bessie, Bessie! I shoulda stayed home that day!
Pete (confused): Bessie? Wait, so it warn't you that saw-?
Ebner (shakes his head vigorously): It was back in 'bout April o' '19. Thad hadn't been home that long. You remember, right? I hadda go into town ta buy some feed fer the horses I still can't b'lieve I don't need no more. Jesus. (glances sadly down) One day Bessie was gettin' ready ta fix Thad some lunch, an' last time she checked on 'im he was jes' sittin' in his bedroom starin' out th' window. She tried talkin' ta him a little, but he was mute as usual. (long pause) An'-an' then later, th' first thing I hear when I'm drivin' up is Bessie screamin' and cryin' somethin' awful! Christ, I ain't never heard a wooman sound like that afore! Then I foller her voice an' see her strugglin' mightily ta haul Thad out o' that crick by his belt, 'cause he were near ta halfway in already. Course I ran like hell over there ta lend her a hand, an' when I looked at the crick I saw all this red in the water, flowin' downstream. Blood. (Pause) An' some o' what I thought was his...(winces)
Pete: What? His...brains?
Ebner (pause, in a hoarse whisper): Yeah.
Pete: Aw, Jesus!
Ebner: So as I'm pullin' on 'im I'm thinkin' at th' same time that I really dint want Bessie ta see how bad he mighta looked. So we finally flop him on his back an'-naw, naw, I can't. All-all's I'll say is Bessie fainted dead away, an', well, it was almost too much fer me ta take. (pause) I came real close ta bein' hauled off ta th' nuthouse, ya know that?
Pete: Naw, I dint.
Ebner (pause): Thad's death was called a suicide by th' cops. They were really sorry 'bout it, too, Thad bein' in the war an' all. Real nice, respectful guys. But they were also kinda sore they couldn't find th' gun and said it musta tumbled in the crick. (looks down at the revolver) Almost did.
(Pete opens his mouth to speak but resists.)
An' tho' I been grievin' fer the last fifteen ought years I've also been o' the opinion that Thad...well, there was somethin' left o' him up here (taps his temple) decidin' that it was just...enough. That a shell shock life ain't a life worth livin'. Still don't unnerstand it, but that's been good an answer as any, least for me. (pause) I-I hated Thad, at first, fer what he done to hisself. I admit it. An' yeah, I know I shouldn't even be sayin' that, or that he woulda been better off if the fuckin' Krauts just kilt 'im, or the docs, spite o' their 'first do no harm' bullshit. An' I still dunno how the hell he got ta th' crick without his Ma seein' 'im, or how she got there jest in time ta keep 'im from bein' swallered up in it. (pause) But she warn't th' same after that, 'cept she seemed happiest when playin' th' pianny or teachin' it ta th' local kids. But...now...(sighs deeply)
(Pete grimly purses his lips in thought as he faces south, eyes downcast as he mops his face and head. Then he looks up and gazes thoughtfully, but with some sadness, out into the distance. As Pete begins the following monologue Ebner pulls out a small cylinder from which he takes some bullets to load the gun, but he does this as quickly and quietly as possible while glancing off and on at his nephew.)
Pete: Hmm. Cricket Crick! Ha ha ha! Yeah, that was Thad's own name fer it, 'cause there seemed ta be lots o' 'em around that one year. Y'know I still can't b'lieve we tried this, but one day when we was both like 'bout thirteen, fourteen we stripped down nekkid an' swore we was both gonna swim that crick all th' way ta Washington D.C. an' try ta woo Miz Alice Roosevelt, th' President's famous peach o' a daughter! Ha ha ha! Me an' Thad was both pretty sweet on 'er, got a friendly rivalry goin' on, an' one day we decided on swimmin' out to Washington ta plead our cases before 'er, an' if need be duke it out fer th' honor of bein' 'er husband. Well, we jumped in an' got in a good 'nuff start, when suddenly we hear Aunt Bessie's whistlin' somethin' loud! An' when she whistled ya better had pay 'er heed, right, Ebner? (He turns around briefly and smiles at Ebner, who by this time has finished loading the gun and just as before holds it with both hands. Ebner nods stoically in agreement and offers a quick, tight smile.) Heh. Well, we swum back without climbin' out, 'cause we was nekkid, an' she asked us what in th' worl' was we swimmin' out so far fer. We tol' 'er, an' she jes' laughed so damned hard fit ta bust. Ha ha ha! Man, I sure do miss that big laugh o' hers! Even her ol' whistlin', too! But we was impatient ta set out, an' when she was done laughin' 'bout it, jes' big tears rollin' down 'er bright, happy face, she tol' us of the huge impr'priety of it. 'Cause, she said, what refined lady like Miz Alice Roosevelt could see th' sense o' two poor nekkid Okie boys dukin' it out fer her on, say, th' White House lawn, makin' a spect'cle o' themselves in front o' 'er busy daddy an' 'er family, ta boot? Ha ha ha! Oh my God! (Ebner, frowning darkly, slowly raises his gun and points it squarely at Pete's back.) Jesus, an' she said -ha ha ha!-that not only did that crick jest barely reach Enid-"barely" meanin' not at all! I checked it on a map! Ha ha ha! Not only that, but-but we was actually swimmin' west 'stead o' east! Ha ha ha ha ha! Hey, Ebner, what'd ya think about...that?
(Pete spins around right before he says the word "that". He freezes in horror as Ebner slides back the gun's hammer.)
Pete (suddenly recollecting the gun being unloaded, smiles with relief): Aw, put that damn thing away, Ebner! Shoulda never took it out an' used it like that ta begin with, seein' how it was Thad's, an' I'm real sorry 'bout that. But now we really gotta think 'bout headin' out! You'll be real glad ya did, Ebner, trust me. Dunno 'bout you, but I wanna take a nice long shower back at th' hotel 'fore we have a bite o' dinner. Ahh, can't wait fer that! An' th' sun's lookin' a lot lower now...(finally sees Ebner's quiet, unblinking glare, tenses)...an' we-an' we gotta maybe get ya...packed some too, right? (pause) R-right, Eb-?
Ebner (barely audible, in a breathy growl): God. Damn.
Pete: Huh?
Ebner (through gritted teeth): God. Damn. God. DAMN!! GODDAMN!!! GODDAMN CALIFORNY!!! (He spins around and fires off a bullet at the waning sunset.)
Pete (cringing): Jesus God!
(Ebner turns and aims his gun at the house but hesitates, his hand shaking, a flicker of pain suffusing his damp face.)
Ebner: GODDAMN THAT USELESS OL' TRUCK!!!
(He shoots at the back of his truck and the bullet rips a hole in the spare tire.)
Pete (nervously): Unc, please stop!
Ebner: GODDAMN THIS WORTHLESS PIECE O' SHIT LAND!!!
(He pivots back West and shoots a bullet into a furrow a few feet away to his right, kicking up a large cloud of dust. Ebner then lifts his arm up at a 30 degree angle and fires into the air.)
Ebner: AN' GODDAMN GOD!!! (fires again) GODDAMN GOD!!
Pete: ENOUGH!! (He lunges for the gun but Ebner jams the muzzle against his own temple and again slides back the hammer. Pete stops in his tracks and meets his uncle's determined eyes.) Oh, yeah? Hey, dint ya say it warn't gonna be loaded again?
Ebner: Yeah. Guess I lied.
Pete: (chuckles humorlessly): Really. Ya know what, ol' man-jes'do it. Do it. (pause, vehemently) DO it, Unc! (Ebner remains frozen, long pause) Naw? Heh. Yeah, I know ya won't. An' o' course ya shouldn't tho' ya ain't got shit much ta live for. But it-mostly it's 'cause, well, 'cause ya really can't, can ya? An' not fer any holy reasons, neither.
Ebner (puzzled, raspily): Naw?
Pete: Uh-uh, 'cause I'm bettin' ya dint have six, Unc. Never had. Least not fer that partic'lar gun. (pause) Not fer fifteen damn years.
(Ebner hesitates and whimpers a little, then pulls the trigger. A loud metallic click sounds in the stifling air, startling both men. With a sudden frustrated, primal roar Ebner violently flings the pistol south at the dried up creek bed and collapses to the ground in kowtow fashion, sobbing heavily and clutching at handfuls of dust.)
Pete (after a minute or two has passed, softly): Unc...
(Ebner's sobbing gradually abates and he sits up, dust plastering his anguished face. Pete fishes into his inner coat pocket for a fresh handkerchief which he hands to Ebner, who haphazardly cleans his face with it.)
Ebner (muttering): Thankew.
Pete: Yeah, sure.
Ebner (pause, half-whisper): Pete...
Pete: Yeah?
(Ebner raises up an arm as the signal to be helped to his feet, with which his nephew readily obliges.)
Ebner: Let's jest go.
Pete: Yeah. O-okay.
(Ebner appears more stooped and aged as Pete carefully curls an arm around his shoulders and slowly leads him to the Roadster.)
Ebner: Dollar a bushel, dollar a bushel.
Pete: Yeah.
Ebner: Goddamn it, a dollar a bushel.
Pete: It's true.
Ebner: Hmm.
Pete: Say, wh-what about yer clothes, an' th' food left in yer pantry?
Ebner: Leave it. (sighs deeply) Leave it all fer th' Livin'.
Music: 'Tomorrow Is A Long Time' by Bob Dylan (Thanks, Kaycie!)
This one may not have much relevance here, but I also suggest 'Houses In The Fields' by John Gorka.
DB/2015
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