The Water Trough

By Richard Lutman

Richard Lutman has a MFA in writing from Vermont College. Over thirty of his stories have been published.  A short story collection was a finalist in the 2020 American Book Fest: Best Books.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Lutman
• Release date: Oct 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223726708

Book preview

Dedicated to:

Surfside Chapter

South Carolina Writers Association

Contents

RODEO

TEN MILLION DOLLAR DAY

THE MYSTERIOUS MISS TCHASIS

DIRTY WORK

A LITTLE OF THE GREEK

THE CLOWN

ALPHABET

THE GREEN ANGEL

INCIDENT AT CEDAR FORK

THE CAROLINA WONDER BEAN

GOLFING BUDDIES

BELLS AND WHISTLES

THE FISHERMAN

WORDS

THE NUT TREE

Acknowledgements

Rodeo: Blue Mountain Review: The Pineapple Princess: Green Silk Journal: The Carolina Wonder Bean: Dew on the Kudzu; Golfing Buddies: October Hill; The Water Trough; Undivided Magazine; A Little of the Greek: Sangam. The Nut Tree: Bicycle Review. Bells and Whistles and Alphabet: thewise Owl. Incident at Cedar Fork, The Clown: Pettigru Review. Dirty Work: eastoftheweb.

RODEO

If I could just ride once more, I'd be all right. Hank’s eyes flashed with life. You'll  see.

No, said Gina with a worried frown. You'll be killed,

I don’t care, he said and slammed his fist against the truck’s dashboard. On the dashboard the fold of a newspaper showed a picture of a cowboy on a bucking horse and the words: CEDAR FORK RODEO. June 13-15.

Hank opened the door of the pickup, kicked at the two half-eaten bags of French fries lying on the floor, and stepped stiffly onto the sidewalk. The passenger door opened, and Gina stepped around the front of the truck.

Damn all of you, he said. If I want to die ridin’, it’s my business.

A gust of wind unfurled a long stream of dust and swayed the caution light that hung across the intersection of Main and Route 109.

From the nearby fairground, the noise of the crowd permeated the evening. To the west across the plains, distant lightning broke the sky. Beside the railroad tracks, two grain elevators rose into the clear twilight, their corrugated sides gleaming in the sunlight's last light.

Some place, said Gina, shaking her head.

Yeah, it is, said Hank. Hasn't changed much since the first time I came here in '93. It was cloudy, was bettin' the clouds would turn to rain. Towns like this never change. I didn’t want to ride that day. I had a date with the queen of the rodeo who liked bronc riders.

Just like you. She playfully pushed his shoulder. What happened?

Nothing. He shrugged. She wanted to drink strawberry daiquiris, got drunk and passed out.

Gina burst into laughter.

You sure knew how to pick ‘em.

Didn’t know any better. I was just a top bronco rider looking for a night of fun. He stared at the ground. Didn’t even place.

Hank angled his hat over his head and limped off toward the fairgrounds, with Gina close behind. An old man was framed against a fire in the grass parking lot as he lifted a bottle to his lips. Coffee was brewing somewhere, and the air quivered with excitement.

Hey Hank, said a voice. Where you been?

A tall, thin man stepped out of the shadows, tipping his hat to Gina.

Around, Benson, around.

How’s the leg?’

Gonna try ridin’ later.

You foolin’?

Just stick around.

You always were a crazy bastard.

Sure was.

Hank looked at the sky. With his body full of whiskey and hummers, he felt just right. Nothing else mattered but riding broncos again. The night was clear, and once the lighting had passed would be full of stars. The wind smelled of sweet prairie hay, like the first night he’d met Gina.

He remembered how he’d been staring hard at her as she rode her horse in the barrel race. She was fast and clean as she rounded each of the barrels for a near perfect score. She circled the arena on a high stepping bay wearing a blue sequined outfit with a big white hat on her head. Stopping briefly in front of him, smiled and moved on, looking back once more to give him a wink.

Half an hour later, he'd waited for her outside the arena, smoking cigarettes and crushing them out with the toe of his boot. He saw her coming toward him and watched as she tossed her hair and knocked a cigarette out of the half-empty pack. He remembered for an instant the look she'd given him in the light of that moment and the smile that had followed.

The shrieks of children brought him back to the fair. They started down the brightly lit midway. Ahead, the carousel spun in a whirl of color and calliope music. Gina squeezed his hand as he looked at the bumper cars where a tall cowboy sat with his long legs sticking up and around a small child, whose frightened screams were almost laughter. Hank stopped and watched as she walked ahead of him.

Better watch out for how you move there, he said.

Oh.

Hey, pretty lady, said a barker to Gina. You alone this time of night? I get off in a couple of hours. What do you say?

I'll think about it.

I'll be here, he said with a wink.

Told you, said Hank.

How about you, cowboy? asked a second barker. Win your little lady there a prize. Only three throws for a quarter. Come on, how about it? Don't be afraid. If she's not your wife, I won't tell. If she is, I still won't. Three throws for a quarter. Step right up and show her you're a man.

You a man? she asked coyly.

Give me fifty cents and I'll see.

I knew there was a catch.

She smiled, shook her head, and searched through her jeans until she found the quarters. A ticket stub fell to the ground.

What's that?

The first movie you took me to.

He bent down, picked it up, then gave it to her.

Do you really keep things like that?

Thought I lost it.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek as he stepped up to the booth where the three pyramids of wooden bottles had been placed. Hank wound up and threw. The first ball went high, hitting the back of the tent with a thud. He grabbed another and rocked back; the ball bounced in the dirt behind the bottles.

Damn, he said and picked up the last ball, which he threw so hard he lost his balance and staggered backwards. The ball hit the stand the bottles were on; they shook and fell.

Hey, I won. Look at that. Knocked 'em over.

Don't count, said the barker. Have to hit the bottles.

They fell, didn't they?

Not the same. Who's next? Who's next?

Some prize, he said as Gina dragged him away. Damn game was probably fixed, anyway. Let's get out of here.

They pushed back into the crowds where, for a moment, they watched the action at the other games, then headed toward the chutes by the grandstand where they were bathed in the steamy smell of livestock. With slaps and kicks, the horse in the chute was forced into position for the bronc riding. Hank stared at the other riders mingling around the chute. He knew they were trying to hold back their nerves and thinking about the horse they’d drawn and how it would buck.

He remembered how tensions united man and mount. The rider in the chute nodded. Horse and cowboy erupted into the arena. Earth flew from under its hooves. The horse leaped high and to the left, surprising the rider as he tumbled into the dirt.

For a moment Hank remembered what it had been like lying in the dirt counting the stars to keep his mind off the pain. A sour taste had filled his mouth. And how the wind had smelled of hay, the moon, and the soft lights of the arena in an aura around him.

Gina saw his face and squeezed his arm.

He smiled, took her arm, and steered her toward the empty carousel. The ticket seller slouched in a chair was busy reading the paper.

Hank studied the action of the horses, took off his hat and faced the whirling carousel. Then mimicking a rodeo announcer, said: Help us, Lord, to live in such a way when we take our last inevitable ride to the country up there where the grass grows lush and green and stirrup high and the water runs cool, clear and deep that you as your last judge will tell us when our entry fees are paid.

He put his hat back on, laughed, and climbed up on a spinning brown horse.

Yahoo, he said as the horses pumped up and down. He took off his hat and hit it against his leg. Yahoo.

Trying to regain the bridle as he put his hat back on, he fell off and rolled to the ground. Gina ran to him.

Hank-

He sat up slowly and shook his head. That bay could buck every direction, he said. "he'd fall backward, he'd jump straight up into the air and twist until his belly looked

Straight up at that sky and all four legs would be flailing the air. Oh, he was fast.... And I had too much whiskey in me."

He leaned heavily on her as she helped him up and led him to a broken-down bench beside the ticket booth.

Yahoo, he said weakly to the people who had gathered to watch. Yahoo. As long as this carousel is on the circuit, I'll ride that horse again. I really will.

He shook off her arm and took a wobbly step toward the spinning horses.

TEN MILLION DOLLAR DAY

You don’t like the look of Ruther as he comes out of the tin-roofed hut and squints into the sun. You sense a real troublemaker. Just what you need right now. You know it was going to be one of those days when you woke up and your coffee maker shorted out, your CD player jammed, and Jean was late because she couldn’t find her left shoe. Over coffee on the way to Ruther’s, she says nothing.

She knows you’re annoyed with her. First Ryan and now you. The shoes are my business.

She twists her hair and pouts. You know the discussion has ended. Ruther is thin and withered like one of the lizards you see crawl above his doorway. Behind you, Jean snaps her gum. The sound annoys you, but you excuse her because you think you are in love with her even though she’s engaged. She has one of those open and innocent faces you like and might marry the third string right tailback Ryan Tibbles, whose father owns a tire store. She smiles at you and she moves her body in a way that you like. You wish you were ten years younger.

You never found out if Ruther was his first or last name. It doesn’t make any difference because he will become another survey statistic for the company you work for. Jean is your assistant. She takes good field notes and you like the way she writes. Her As are

round and sensuous, her T’s are straight and her J’s have lovely curly tails.

He studies your car. It’s new and red. Jean likes the way it smells. The way she wrinkles up her nose when she sits in the front seat makes you fantasize about her.

What do you want? asks Ruther. I’m a busy man. Unless you’re from Publishers Clearing House, I’m not interested.

You shake your head. A real wise guy. Here’s where the trouble starts. There always has to be someone like Ruther to make your day.

I’ve been buying magazines from them for years. It’s about time I won something.

We’re doing a survey, you say.

I’m not interested in any surveys. I want my money.

He looks at Jean. She smiles at him. It’s one of her Hi, how are you? Let’s have coffee sometime, smiles.

It bothers you she smiles like this at Ruther. You wonder whether she is doing this to get back at you for what you said earlier about her shoes. It doesn’t please you. She can be this way sometimes.

"If I don’t get the money, I’ll call the sheriff. He’s won nothing