As I sat there feeling the weight of the bottle in my hand, it suddenly occurred to me that here was another fine example of something that had been carefully crafted for one purpose, yet was perfectly suited to another. Hundreds of years ago, the whiskey bottle had been designed to have a body that was big enough for holding, and a neck that was narrow enough for pouring. But if you happened to invert the bottle, taking hold of the neck, suddenly it’s as if it had been designed to hit a blighter over the head. In a way, the whiskey bottle was sort of like a pencil with an eraser—with one end used for saying things, and the other for taking them back.
Fitzy must have been reading my mind because he was suddenly very quiet. And from the expression on his face, I could see that he had become frightened. His face had grown pale and the tremor in his fingers had gotten noticeably worse.
It may well have been the first time in my life that someone had become frightened of me. In a way, I couldn’t believe it. Because I hadn’t the slightest intention of hurting Fitzy. What would be the point? When it came to hurting Fitzy, he had the whole concession.
But under the circumstances, I figured his trepidation could be used to my advantage. So when he asked if we could just call it water under the bridge, I made a show of slowly setting the bottle down on the table.
—Would that I could, I mused. Would that I could turn back the clock and allow you to undo what you have done, Patrick FitzWilliams. But alas, my friend, the water isn’t under the bridge. It isn’t over the dam, for that matter. Rather, it is all around us. In fact, it is right here in this very room.
He gave me such a look of woe that I almost felt sorry for him.
—Whatever the reasons you did what you did, Fitzy, I think we can agree that you owe me one. If you tell me where my old man is, we’ll call it even. But if you don’t, I’ll have to use my imagination to think of some other way for the two of us to settle up.
Sally
I found my father out on the north corner fixing a stretch of fence with Bobby and Miguel, their horses standing idly by and a few hundred head of cattle grazing on the range behind them.
Turning off the road onto the shoulder, I skidded to a stop right where they were working and climbed from the cab as they shielded their eyes from the dust.
Always the comedian, Bobby made an elaborate show of coughing while my father shook his head.
—Sally, he said, you keep driving that truck over rough road like that and it’s going to give out on you.
—I imagine I know by now what Betty can handle and what she can’t.
—All I can say is that when the transmission falls out, don’t expect me to replace it.
—Don’t you worry about that. Because if I know what to expect from my truck, I know even better what to expect from you.
He was silent for a moment, and I suspect he was trying to decide if he should send the boys on their way.
—All right, he said, as if he were coming to an understanding with himself. You’ve barreled out here for a reason. I can see that plain enough. You might as well tell me what it is.
I opened the passenger-side door, took out the For Sale sign that was lying on the seat, and held it up so he could get a good long look at it.
—I found this in the trash.
He nodded.
—That’s where I put it.
—And where, if you don’t mind my asking, did it come from?
—The Watson place.
—Why would you take down the For Sale sign from the Watson place?
—Because it’s no longer for sale.
—And how would you happen to know that?
—Because I bought it.
He said this in a curt and definitive manner, trying to show that he’d been about as patient as he intended to be, that he didn’t have time for this sort of talk, that he and the boys had work to do, and that the moment had come for me to get in my truck and head back to the house, where, surely, I should be in the middle of making supper by now. But he was talking to the wrong person if he thought he knew something about patience that I didn’t know.
For a moment, I bided my time. Without taking a step, I looked off in the distance in a thoughtful fashion, then I turned my gaze right back upon him.
—The speed with which you bought the place . . . It makes one wonder just how long you’ve been lying in wait to do so.
Bobby pushed the dust on the ground with the tip of his boot and Miguel looked back at the cattle while my father scratched the back of his neck.
—Boys, he said after a moment, I suspect you’ve got some work to do.
—Yes, sir, Mr. Ransom.