Free Sorrow Floats by Tim Sandlin Page B

the tomato juice, then she got up and went after the coffeepot. I waited like a child while she poured the refill.
    “Here’s the truth, Maurey. You want the truth?”
    People who ask that question generally go on to say something unpleasant. I blew coffee steam at her and nodded.
    “If you stop drinking, you’ll get your baby back, and if you don’t, you won’t.”
    I always knew Dot was stupid. “Look, Miss Holy Righteous Woman, I have problems. My husband is a sadistic prick, my mother’s crazy, my brother must be a pervert although I can’t figure what kind yet. Dad is dead. Drinking is a symptom of something terribly wrong. If you cure the disease, the symptoms take care of themselves.”
    She studied my face a long time. “Did I ever tell you how Jimmy’s grandfather died?” Jimmy had been Dot’s husband. He’s kind of a local legend because he was the first boy from Wyoming killed in Vietnam.
    “Is this going to be a pithy story illustrating a point?”
    Dot went right ahead. “Jimmy’s grandfather Homer had a mean Angus bull that could jump any fence and strut over any cattle guard. Homer and that bull hated each other like lifelong enemies. One day the bull got Homer against a loading chute and stomped him to bits. Broke both his legs, destroyed his kneecaps.”
    “Wasn’t Jimmy raised by his grandmother down in Bondurant?”
    “Homer was Christian Scientist and said the Lord would set his legs. The Lord didn’t and they started to stink, so Jimmy’s dad went against Homer’s wishes and called Doc Heinlein. You remember Doc Heinlein, he delivered you and Petey. He was just a kid when this happened, straight out of Provo.”
    “How much are you charging for this steak?”
    Dot looked at my plate. “You didn’t order it, I can’t charge for something you didn’t order.”
    “If it’s free, I’ll sit through this story. Otherwise Paul Harvey starts soon and I don’t want to miss the news.”
    Vexation skipped across Dot’s face, but she plowed on through her anecdote. “Doc Heinlein took one look at Homer’s legs and said, ‘Homer, you’ve got a problem. Those legs are gangrene and if I don’t cut them both off, you’re going to die.’
    “Homer said, ‘I’ve got a problem all right, but it ain’t my legs, it’s that blankety-blank bull.’”
    I love it when Dot says “blankety-blank” instead of “mother-fucking” or whatever the people she’s quoting really said.
    “Jimmy’s grandfather loaded his Winchester coyote rifle and drug himself by his arms—wouldn’t let anybody help him—drug himself into the yard and across to the feed corral, where he gut-shot that mean Angus twice. Then he lay down next to it and watched for three hours while the bull died. Jimmy’s dad and Doc Heinlein played dominoes on the porch.”
    “Dominoes? What is this, Beverly Hillbillies ?”
    “Finally the bull expired and Homer threw back his head and laughed. He looked over at Jimmy’s dad and Doc Heinlein and he said, ‘There, I solved my problem.’” Dot smiled at me, her face pink with conviction.
    I bit. “So, what’s the punch line?”
    “Jimmy’s grandfather died anyway.”
    “I don’t get it.”

9
    I decided to bag the shower until after Paul Harvey. My only real challenge was to coerce Faith Fratelli into turning the TV off and the radio on, which would be a trick. Imagine the surprise when I walked into the Sagebrush to find her staring glumly at a blank screen.
    “It’s them stupid Watergate hearings,” she said. “They’re on every channel, all day. No game shows, no soaps. I feel like crying.”
    Nobody was in the lounge, unless you count Oly Pedersen. He did the wooden Indian number down the bar, the only sign of life the dull glow coming off his goiter. “Maybe the TV people think Nixon is more important than Concentration ,” I said.
    Faith sent me a disgusted look. “If All My Children isn’t back tomorrow, I’m zipping off a letter to the networks