“Drink,” he says, pushing the jug at me again. “A fight between us and them. Show folk and rubes. You ready?”
I take another sip of the moonshine, which, despite Walter’s assurances, still goes down like mustard gas. I set the jug on the floor and close my eyes. “Yeah. I think so.”
Walter holds my chin in one hand and turns my head left and right, assessing the damage. “Holy hell, Jacob. What on earth happened?” he says, picking through the hair at the back of my head. Apparently he has found some new atrocity.
“He pushed Marlena.”
“You mean physically?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He just went nuts. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“There’s glass all through your hair. Hold still.” His fingers investigate my scalp, lifting and separating the hair. “So, why did he go nuts?” he says, depositing glass shards on top of the nearest book.
“Damned if I know.”
“Like hell you don’t. Did you mess with her?”
“No. Absolutely not,” I say, although I’m pretty sure I’d be blushing if my face weren’t already ground beef.
“I hope not,” says Walter. “For your sake, I sure hope not.”
There’s shuffling and banging to my right. I try to look, but Walter holds my chin tight. “Camel, what the hell are you up to?” he barks, his breath hot on my face.
“I wanna see if Jacob’s all right.”
“For Christ’s sake,” says Walter. “Just stay put, will ya? I wouldn’t be surprised if we had company in a bit. It may be Jacob they’re after, but don’t think they won’t take you, too.”
When Walter has finished cleaning my cuts and removing glass from my hair, I creep over to the bedroll and try to find a comfortable place for my head, which is battered both front and back. My right eye is swollen completely shut. Queenie comes over to investigate, sniffing tentatively. She backs up a few feet and lies down, keeping an eye on me.
Walter puts the jug back in the trunk and then stays bent over, riffling through the bottom. When he straightens up again, he’s holding a large knife.
He closes the interior door, and wedges it shut with a chunk of wood. Then he sits with his back to the wall and the knife at his side.
Some time later, we hear the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves on the ramp. Pete, Otis, and Diamond Joe speak in hushed voices in the other part of the car, but no one knocks and no one tries the door. After a while, we hear them dismantle the ramp and slide the outside door shut.
When the train finally chugs forward, Walter sighs audibly. I look over at him. He drops his head between his knees and remains there for a moment. Then he climbs to his feet and slides the big knife behind the trunk.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” he says, working the chunk of wood free. He swings the door open and walks to the row of trunks that obscures Camel.
“Me?” I say, through a haze of moonshine.
“Yeah, you. So far.”
Walter hauls the trunks away from the wall and retrieves Camel. Then he drags the old man out to the other part of the car to take care of the evening’s ablutions.
I DOZE, FLATTENED by a combination of trauma and moonshine.
I’m vaguely aware of Walter helping Camel with his dinner. I remember propping myself up to accept a drink of water and then collapsing back on the bedroll. The next time I surface, Camel is lying flat on the cot, snoring, and Walter sits on the horse blanket in the corner with the lamp beside him and a book in his lap.
I hear footsteps on the roof, and a moment later there’s a soft thud outside our door. My whole body snaps into awareness.
Walter scrambles across the floor, crablike, and grabs the knife from behind the trunk. Then he moves to beside the door, gripping the knife’s handle tightly. He gestures to me, waving me toward the lamp. I dive across the room, but with one eye swelled shut I have no depth perception and come up short.
The door creaks inward. Walter’s fingers clench and unclench around the knife’s handle.
“Jacob?”
“Marlena!” I cry.
“Jesus Christ, woman!” Walter shouts, dropping the knife to his side. “I nearly killed you.” He grabs the edge of the door. His head bobs as he tries to see around her. “You alone?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry. I need to talk to Jacob.”
Walter opens the door a bit more. Then his face falls. “Aw jeez,” he says. “You’d better come in.”
When she steps inside I lift the kerosene lamp. Her left eye is purple and swollen.
“Jesus Christ!” I say. “Did he do that to you?”
“Oh God, look at you,” she says, reaching out. Her fingertips hover near my face. “You need to see a doctor.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Who in blazes is that?” says Camel. “Is that a dame? I can’t see a thing. Someone turn me around.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” says Marlena, startled by the sight of the crippled body on the cot. “I thought there were only the two of you . . . Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll go back now.”
“No you won’t,” I say.