|
Henry and Winston
by Ellen Devlin I'm not really sure where we stopped the car, somewhere off 177. It was all trailers and skinny dogs, humid. That’s what I remember, the dogs barking, the fog. Henry gave me the box to hold, the whole long 173 miles from The University of Oklahoma, Norman, no stops. Henry pulled over, grabbed his rifle from the back. "Is that really necessary?" No answer. "Henry! Do we have to take that?" "Yeah. You have never seen crazy like this.” He stepped in front of me. I followed him past the trailer park into tall prairie grass that clung to my bare legs. He didn’t use the flashlight. There was no moon. He seemed to listen his way there, lifting his head, standing still, and then changing direction. We had been living together in an apartment on Stafford for four months. I was still making up my mind about him. He was smart and funny and cooked for me. If you saw him wash dishes— lavish, slow, sudsy, caressing a tumbler, for god's sake, turning around from the sink smiling at me, well-- Whenever I asked about his family, or what it was like growing up in Tulsa, he'd pick up his six- string and make up an old-timey oilman's song about life in the boom towns. He wasn't a Getty, but had family money. I'm used to guys I grew up with, who have no money or secrets. Henry and I were both Anthropology majors, both wanted research in the field, New Guinea. He knew why I wanted to get as far away as I could from Park Slope, I really didn’t know much about his family until he asked me to do this thing, carry the box. The box was small but getting heavy. Whatever was in there was packed in tight, no amount of jostling yielded a sound from inside. Paper of some kind? Photos? We were in a National Preserve. How could anyone just park an RV and live there? Henry banged on the door. "Hey Winston! Wake up! You got company." No movement from inside the trailer. Henry put one foot on the second step leading to the door. "I know you're in there. Come on, Winston, I got my lady with me, she wants to meet you." Nothing. "Let's go Henry, I said, no one is here." Henry lifted the rifle and fired into a roof vent. Winston opened the door. She was a little taller than Henry, maybe five years older, same curly dark hair, dark eyes. She had to turn sideways to get out the trailer door— had to be 300 pounds. She smelled sickly sweet, like a decomposing animal. "Did you bring them, Henry?" Winston didn't even look at me. "You told her?" "Not everything. Enough." Rich people are so weird. Who calls a girl Winston? "Well,” she said, looking over our heads, "Come in.” Winston grasped the sides of the trailer and heaved herself up. When her back was turned I looked at Henry with what he calls my what the hell? face. “You ain't seen nothing yet," he whispered. Inside was a sea of containers with candy in them—Tupperware, wine glasses, goldfish bowls, coolers, teapots, shoe boxes. Every table and chair, counter, held them, M&Ms filled the kitchen sink, shoes and boots, lined up on the floor were filled with mini chocolate bars, gumdrops, jelly beans; the drawers were open in the kitchen, the dresser, like treasure chests, filled. There was one chair that was clear, with a laptop on it. “I’m a writer, um...” "Marion." "Yes, well Marion, I am an expert in the Fairytales of Western Europe," Winston said with obvious pride. "Well, here, Winston,” said Henry. "You get this, 100k a year and I get the rest of the money—that's our agreement. Don't care what you write or who you tell, we're done. You never attempt to contact me again." "Do you like to surround yourself with the objects of your study for inspiration?" I asked, trying to make a normal conversation out of this. Winston laughed. "You didn't tell her, Henry? You didn't tell her, how misled we were, as children?" “All children are misled, Winston. Got to lie to them sometimes, same tongues sing lullabies." She offered me the fishbowl. "They left us right here, Marion, in the Tall Grass. They didn’t have any supernatural powers. Some versions make them witches. They had ordinary weariness and great lies. Henry took care of them, so I could stay here.” He took the box from me and handed it to her. "Here are their tapes, like you asked." Henry opened the box. Inside were about 8 reel to reel tapes, old ones, about six inches across. Winston took one out and pulled a Pioneer player from a drawer under the built-in bed. She threaded a reel and began to listen to her parents’ laughter. She didn’t notice them leaving. Henry was already opening the door, guiding me through. "What’s on the tapes, Henry? Why does she want the tapes?" “Conversations between our parents about us. Terrible stuff— including their plans to get rid of us. They both died in a psychiatric residential facility in Atlanta. I was told they played them every night." |
|
|
|
|
✕