Blind Your Ponies Read online

  When exhaustion and the late hour finally propelled most of them toward their pillows, Axel got off his feet and dropped his body heavily into a chair beside Sam, removing his robust demeanor like an apron. He leaned close, and Sam picked up the aroma of fried onions and accrued fear. In a subdued mood, Axel spoke as though the man didn’t want others to hear.

  “I tell you, Sam, I’d need a night like this every week to keep it going. Once the basketball season is over, we just won’t make it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. This place means a lot to the town.”

  “Just not enough people. We’ve tried to draw them from the valley, but we’re off the beaten path, too far off.”

  “What’ll you and Vera do?”

  “I don’t know, it’s a worry, we’ll try to keep it going as long as we can. Maybe something will happen.” He sighed. “You know, all my life I thought something would ‘happen,’ something would come through. It never did.”

  “Well, the boys’ll try to give you a few more nights like this,” Sam said, attempting to lift the brawny man out of the despair.

  “Thanks, that would help.”

  “The past few years I used to feel that way with the boys, when there was no way we could win, that we were just going through the motions on a sinking ship.”

  “Vera and I are scared, Sam. It’s hard to get started again when you’re our age. Sometimes it seems to us that that’s all life is… just rearranging furniture and keeping house on the deck of the Titanic.”

  They sat silently for a minute. Then Axel rubbed a hand across his bald dome.

  “What the hell, Sam,” he said. “Here I am crying in my beer when you’ve just taken us to the Divisional Tournament! What more could we ask for, and by God, our boys aren’t finished yet. We’re going to kick ass up in Helena, aren’t we, Sam? You betcha, we’re going to kick ass.”

  It was after two in the morning when Sam made his way home down the middle of Main Street. With the slush from the snow squalls melting quickly, a steady southwesterly blew in his face and a williwaw of emotion whirled in his stomach. Axel’s mood clung to him as premonition. By God, he wasn’t going to let it go down after coming this far.

  CHAPTER 63

  Everyone at school on Tuesday trudged through the schedule of regular classes though their minds and spirits had already packed their bags and run off to Helena. At the Blue Willow things were no different. The inn, normally quiet during the day, was hopping, and quickly became a rallying point for the community.

  Newspapers had taken note of the upstart team from the southwest corner of the Gallatin Valley. The Billings Gazette called them “a likeable underdog that didn’t have the needed troops to survive the trench warfare at Divisionals.” The Butte paper described their Monday night victory as “a courageous effort by an outmanned team that won with savvy and guts.” The Bozeman Daily Chronicle shared its surprise that the perennial losers had ousted the likes of Manhattan Christian and Gardiner but hinted that every year there’s a fluke or two.

  AFTER SCHOOL SAM had several items to finish at his desk before he joined the boys in the gym for practice. He heard what sounded like two or three kids scuffling in the hall and he knew who was coming before Dean floundered through the doorway. Something was up.

  “What’s the matter, Dean?” Sam asked softly, standing from behind his desk.

  “I got something to tell you,” the boy said. He stared at his worn-down work boots. The silence began to suffocate Sam.

  “What?”

  “It’s my fault that Tom’s knee is so bad.”

  “What?” Sam asked.

  “It’s my fault,” the freshman insisted, glancing hang-doggedly into Sam’s face.

  “How do you figure that?”

  Dean shifted from foot to foot, tugging his tattered Kamp Implement cap over one ear. “I got Curtis to go with me after the game Saturday morning.”

  “What’s that got to do with Tom’s knee?”

  “Well, we were supposed to go right back to the motel. I got Curtis to go to McDonald’s with me. I didn’t have any money.”

  “Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

  “Well, if we’d gone right back to the motel them guys wouldn’t have started to beat us up.”

  “What guys?”

  “Three guys. They pushed us in an alley. Scott was catching up and he saw them. They started slapping Curtis and was going to beat us up. But Scott ran and got Tom and Tom smacked the fat guy, you should’ve seen it, and then the other guys came and Pete pounded one kid to pieces and Rob smashed the other kid and they beat up all three of them until they turned chicken shit and ran away and the fat kid had bad breath—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Sam said. “This all happened in Butte Saturday morning?”

  “Yeah, while you was at the mall, and Tom got kicked and Pete and Rob hurt their hands and I know that’s why Tom’s knee is so bad, and if I hadn’t got Curtis and Scott to go to McDonald’s, Tom’s knee would be okay.”

  Sam slowly eased himself into his chair. “Why are you telling me this, Dean?”

  “’Cause something bad will happen to me if I don’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I don’t do right, I’ll be punished, God’ll be mad at me.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  “Yeah, He will.”

  “Well, you didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault that those goons, whoever they were, threatened you. It wasn’t wrong for you to go to McDonald’s.”

  Dean stared out of his thick lenses at his coach, his self-reproach retreating from his face, and Sam felt a fierce hatred for the dehumanizing vicissitudes of life that offer no amnesty to unprotected children.

  “You have done nothing wrong, Dean, so don’t worry about it.”

  “Sometimes I think I’ll end up like my sister.”

  “Why?”

  “When I do something bad. Sometimes when I feel sick, or my legs hurt, I get scared. I think I’m gettin’ it too.”

  “Dean, I don’t think you can get what Denise has.”

  “They just say that so I won’t be scared, but I know I can.”

  Sam rose from his squeaking wooden swivel chair and stepped from behind his desk. He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and walked him toward the door.

  “Thanks for telling me about the fight. I won’t mention it to anyone, but I’m proud of all of you. You are a terrific kid and I’m happy as hell that you’re on the team. We couldn’t win without you.”

  Sam stopped at the doorway and squeezed Dean’s shoulder.

  “You go dress now. I’ll be right down. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  In his scruffy patched jeans and shirt, the bandy-legged hatchling lit out down the hallway. Sam watched him go. He was an English teacher. What did he know about confession and forgiveness and the love of God? Maybe the gullible schoolboy was closer to the truth than Sam. All he knew at that moment was that he loved the Cutter kid.

  WITH SCHOOL OUT, the boys were relieved to arrive at practice and reaffirm—after agonizing through the day—that they could still hit a jump shot or find out if, as they feared, they had lost all ability to do anything with the dimpled leather. Sam showed up with a new curiosity in his boys, and he observed them with a growing admiration and sense of humor.

  Sam had seen the boys on the brink of debilitating exhaustion Monday night and he wanted them to recharge. At practice, he and Diana had them stretch and warm up with light running, but nothing that would wear them down and sap their endurance. Tom sat and watched much of the time. They worked through offensive sets with a spirited enthusiasm, and Sam could sense a growing confidence in them, a sense that they were a tournament team.

  Though Grandma said she wasn’t feeling up to it, Diana, Dean, and Scott played defense, as well as Axel—who showed up in those ancient black high-tops that after forty years had come back into fashion. Sam wanted to
run picks and screens that would free each of the boys to positions where they were most comfortable and most consistent shooting the ball. People began drifting into the gym and settling in the bleachers. At first it was only a handful, but the stands along the east wall began filling and the spectators began clapping when a shot was made. They cheered as though the team were playing an invisible opponent in the Divisional Tournament. Most amazing to Sam was the fact that John English and Truly Osborn were sitting there totally absorbed watching not a run-of-the-mill conference game, not a tournament game, but a practice. He blew his whistle and gathered the boys at midcourt.

  “Get a good night’s sleep, eat well, and we’ll see you tomorrow in school. We’ve drawn Noxon for the second afternoon game on Thursday. I don’t know anything about them except they have a 17–3 record, so they must know how to toss the pumpkin in the well. We’re staying through Saturday night so you’ll have to bring a change of underwear.”

  Sam glanced at each of them, their faces bursting with happiness and anticipation, and he yearned to possess some magical power that would capture this moment and make it last for the rest of their lives.

  “We’re going to have fun in Helena. But remember how much fun it is to play better than you can, that besides staying in motels and eating in restaurants and hanging out in the city, the only thing you’ll always remember will be how you played. We’re going to remember how we won.”

  “Yeeaaahhhh!” the boys shouted and the spectators applauded and cheered.

  “Are there any questions?” Sam said.

  “Are there any McDonald’s in Helena?” Dean said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Yes, Dean, there is at least one McDonald’s,” Sam said, “and you can have McBreakfast and McLunch and McDinner if you want.”

  “I want McNoxon,” Pete said. “I want a Divisional McChampionship,” Rob said.

  “I want McStone’s McBalls,” Tom said, but so quietly only the huddle at midcourt could hear him.

  “Ya, the Twin McBridges I am wanting,” Olaf said with an uncharacteristic steely-eyed glare. They shouted and clapped, a gesture that spread to the bleachers where soon everyone was standing and applauding with the boys. The spontaneous outpouring touched a nerve in all of them, and a chant rose against the confines of the gymnasium’s block walls and wood-beamed ceiling.

  “Twin Bridges! Twin Bridges! Twin Bridges! Twin Bridges!”

  Sam stood observing the fervor of his team and their boosters, painfully reminded that Twin Bridges would travel to Helena, too, leaving their coach with a McLump in his stomach.

  GRANDMA KNELT ON a chair with her elbows on the kitchen table. She was working a jigsaw puzzle when Pete sauntered in and slid into a chair.

  “Hungry?” she said without looking up, wearing two pair of glasses. “A little.”

  He picked up a piece and pressed it in place. She took off one pair of glasses and looked at him. “Get your homework done?”

  “Yeah, just some fishy math.”

  “Fishy?”

  “Every time I get close to Mr. Grant I can smell fish—even some of the papers he hands back smell fishy.”

  “That’s all that’s keeping him here: brookies, browns, and cutthroat.”

  Grandma got up and cautiously opened the door of the refrigerator, casting one eye to see if Pete had the transmitter in hand. She took out a half gallon of milk, poured a glass, and set it on the table.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Miss the dance?” Parrot squawked from the front room.

  “I forgot to cover that mangy bird. I wonder if it will ever remember its old lines?”

  “Maybe he knows he’s going to die and he’s cleaning up his act,” Pete said. He pulled his feet onto the chair with his knees under his chin.

  “He’ll probably outlive me and you and the whole town,” she said.

  She kneeled on the chair and slipped on the second pair of glasses, studying the puzzle.

  “I talked to your mother today. I told her to get out here and watch you make history.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Didn’t think she could get away. I told her to call your dad. He and I never did see eye to eye. It’s a shame they aren’t seeing this.”

  She picked up a piece and tried to force it.

  “Does it bother you to see the other parents at the games?”

  “Naw, Tom’s don’t come, and Olaf’s aren’t here. They don’t even know he’s playing.”

  “And yet,” she said, glancing up at him over her glasses, “the Painters never miss and Olaf isn’t even their son.”

  She worked the puzzle and Pete drained the glass of milk. “Are Tom and Dean going to stay eligible?” she asked.

  “I hope so. With Tom it’s just U.S. history, with Dean it’s every course he’s taking.”

  “He’s not a stupid kid.”

  “No, he just goofs around and never studies.”

  She plopped the glasses on the table and stood stiffly. “I’m worn out, time to hit the hay.”

  She was in the front room when Pete spoke.

  “Grandma.”

  “Yes.” She paused and turned to regard him.

  “It bothers me, the other parents at the games. It bothers me a lot.”

  She stepped back into the kitchen.

  “You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t.”

  “But when I’m bumming about it, before a game, I look over at Denise and then I’m okay and I want to win for her, for all of us.”

  “You’re a sweetheart, Peter Strong. This has been the best year of my life, thanks to you.” She bit her lip and turned away.

  When the lights were out and they were in bed, Pete called.

  “Good night, Grandma!”

  “Good night, Pete!”

  Silence. Then he called again.

  “Good night, Parrot.”

  “Good night, Parrot,” Grandma said.

  “Good night, Tripod.”

  “Good night, Tripod.”

  “Good night, John Boy,” he called.

  “Good night, Jim Bob!” she shouted.

  Peter could visualize the Waltons’ house going dark and hear the theme music at the program’s end. He missed his father. Just once he wanted his father to run out onto the floor after a game and hug him and tell him how proud he was.

  “Good night, Dad,” he whispered.

  Tripod leaped onto the bed and curled up beside him.

  AFTER ANOTHER LIGHT practice Wednesday, Diana and Sam went to the Blue Willow for dinner. She stopped for her mail at Mavis Powers’s post office while Sam got them a table, no easy task with everyone at this end of the valley hanging around the inn. He found a small one on the tavern side next to the pool table and settled there, contemplating the next opponent. He had to look up Noxon on a map, a small dot on a secondary highway along the Montana boarder with Idaho, sheltered from the west by the Bitterroot Mountain Range. He knew that northwest Montana country had a history of logging, and he guessed that many of the boys on Noxon’s team had fathers with family histories of cutting down magnificent jack or red pine.

  He waved at Diana when she came in looking for him. She hurried to the table, peeling off her coat and giggling like a child.

  “I got the job! San Diego, they hired me! I don’t believe it, the school I told you about, they have a class in oceanography. Oh, Sam, I can’t believe it. Do you know how many applicants they’d get for an opening like that?”

  She waved the letter in the air and glowed in a way he’d never seen, shaking her long hair out of her face and waiting for his response.

  “That’s terrific. I knew you’d get it.”

  He fought furiously to keep the dying smile on his face, and he wished he had his old glasses on to hide his eyes.

  They ordered and ate. She talked about San Diego and he tried to subdue the dread and sorrow in his chest. Would it only be a season for them, too? Would he go to San Diego with her? Wo
uld she ask him to?

  “Hey, you two. Hiding in a corner?” Andrew said as he approached from the packed dining room.

  “Hello,” Sam said, trying to regain his composure and thinking how much he and Andrew had in common, each sitting in the Blue Willow with the woman he loved and then losing her forever.

  “Everything’s taken care of. The team has reservations at the Colonial through Saturday night. A lot of us will be staying there, too.”

  “Thanks, Andrew,” Sam said. “That’s a pretty fancy joint.” “Nothing’s too good for the team. Hell, how many times will we get this chance? Is there anything else you need?”

  Sam could think of several but Andrew couldn’t provide them. “No, nothing I can think of right now.”

  “Great, if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the game.”

  OUTSIDE THE INN, he kissed her at her car. She didn’t have her heart in it.

  “Can I come out later?” he asked.

  “Oh, gosh, I think we both need a good night’s sleep. Besides, I’m going to call my folks. They’ll be excited, I think, and a couple friends. I hope I’m ready to go back to San Diego.”

  She drove away, and he knew there was something he needed much more than a good night’s sleep. He had thought they were seeking some mutual stability in their lives, some firm ground in one another, when in reality they were simply cosmic specks being hurled into outer space at the speed of light. It was a familiar turn of events in his life, feeling as though he didn’t matter to someone who mattered so much to him, including her in his plans when he wasn’t included in hers. He noticed the bicycle built for two in the shadows leaning against the wall. He rolled it off the porch and pedaled up Main toward the school. Andrew was right. Sam caught a whiff of lavender. Could he pedal all the way to San Diego?

  THE TEAM AND cheerleaders scurried to pack the bus with their suitcases and overnight bags for three nights in Helena. Everyone had arrived except Dean. With the added luggage, Rozinante was stuffed. Sam had them get aboard when he spotted the Cutters’ old red pickup banking up Main from the south. The Ford rattled to a stop and Dean jumped out. He dashed to the bus, dripping wet with perspiration and hugging a brown grocery sack containing his entire traveling wardrobe. Sam nodded through the bus window at Sally Cutter and everyone cheered as the nearsighted freshman plopped into the right front seat next to Curtis. Sam closed the doors and made a U-turn in front of the school. He honked continuously as they rolled down Main past United Methodist, Willow Creek Tool, the volunteer fire barn, and the Blue Willow. People hurried out onto the porch of the inn and waved, they themselves about to lock up the town and hit the road north.