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Authors: Larry McMurtry
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slipping into bed.
“Duane, I’m not the one that’s depressed,” Karla said.
“Maybe you are depressed and you just won’t admit it,” he said. “A few trips to the counselor might teach you a few things about yourself.”
“Candy says what you’re doing now is a strategy, Duane,” Karla said. “We weren’t talking about me, we were talking about you. Candy says that’s a strategy depressed people always use. They try to pretend that it’s the person who’s trying to help them that’s depressed.”
“Even if it’s a strategy it could be true. Good night,” Duane said.
“Don’t just roll over and go to sleep,” Karla said. “We need to talk this through. Why can’t you just be normal and get up and get in your pickup and drive off, like you’ve done our whole marriage?”
“Because when I’m in my pickup I am depressed,” Duane admitted. “Just the thought of having to be in my pickup makes me depressed. Don’t you understand? I’ve spent my whole life in a goddamn pickup and what do I have to show for it? Just the thought of having to get in a pickup makes me feel crazy.”
The vehemence in his voice surprised him a little. He hadn’t realized, until he started talking, how much he hated pickups.
The same vehemence surprised Karla a lot.
“Duane, don’t talk so loud,” she said meekly. “It scares me when you talk loud.”
But, now that he was started, Duane found it hard to stop.
“What I’d really like to do is burn my pickup!” he said. “I’d like to burn my pickup and burn all my trucks, too. I never want to ride in any of them again.”
Then he stopped, realizing that he must, indeed, sound a little crazy. Pickups were the commonest vehicles in that part of the country. Almost everyone he knew owned one or two. If someone at the filling station heard him talk about wanting to burn his pickup they would probably consider that he had lost his mind.
As for his wife, she just looked shocked.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Go to sleep,” Karla said.
9
D UANE WOKE AT THREE . Karla had the bed light on and was reading catalogues. She didn’t seem particularly upset.
“Remember when Neiman’s offered those his-or-her camels in their Christmas catalogue a few years back?” she asked.
“I think I remember hearing something about that,” he said. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Karla said. “I was just wondering if those camels were still available. I think I’ll call Neiman’s and ask them, as soon as it’s time for the store to open.”
“That won’t be for seven hours,” he pointed out.
“I know, but I was just thinking that if we had a pair of camels to ride around on maybe you wouldn’t be so depressed,” she said.
Details of the Neiman Marcus offering of matched riding camels were beginning to come back to him—or rather one detail in particular: the price.
“Honey, those camels cost a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and that was years ago,” he said. “If I had to pay a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars for two animals I don’t even know how to ride I’d be a lot more depressed.
“Besides, camels spit on you,” he added, by way of a clincher.
“Oh well, it was just a thought. I bet you’d look cute on a camel,” Karla said. “Besides, if you’re depressed enough thatyou’re thinking about burning your pickup, then something needs to happen quick.”
“It won’t be riding camels,” Duane said. “I know you’re just grasping at straws, but maybe you ought to try grasping somewhere besides the Neiman Marcus catalogue. Their straws are too expensive.”
“Okay, forget the camels,” Karla said. “Do you think it’s because of our sex life that you’re depressed?”
“What sex life?” Duane asked, and then immediately wished he had phrased his response differently.
“That’s what I meant,” Karla said. “We don’t have one. Maybe you’re just so pent up that you’re trying to
“Duane, I’m not the one that’s depressed,” Karla said.
“Maybe you are depressed and you just won’t admit it,” he said. “A few trips to the counselor might teach you a few things about yourself.”
“Candy says what you’re doing now is a strategy, Duane,” Karla said. “We weren’t talking about me, we were talking about you. Candy says that’s a strategy depressed people always use. They try to pretend that it’s the person who’s trying to help them that’s depressed.”
“Even if it’s a strategy it could be true. Good night,” Duane said.
“Don’t just roll over and go to sleep,” Karla said. “We need to talk this through. Why can’t you just be normal and get up and get in your pickup and drive off, like you’ve done our whole marriage?”
“Because when I’m in my pickup I am depressed,” Duane admitted. “Just the thought of having to be in my pickup makes me depressed. Don’t you understand? I’ve spent my whole life in a goddamn pickup and what do I have to show for it? Just the thought of having to get in a pickup makes me feel crazy.”
The vehemence in his voice surprised him a little. He hadn’t realized, until he started talking, how much he hated pickups.
The same vehemence surprised Karla a lot.
“Duane, don’t talk so loud,” she said meekly. “It scares me when you talk loud.”
But, now that he was started, Duane found it hard to stop.
“What I’d really like to do is burn my pickup!” he said. “I’d like to burn my pickup and burn all my trucks, too. I never want to ride in any of them again.”
Then he stopped, realizing that he must, indeed, sound a little crazy. Pickups were the commonest vehicles in that part of the country. Almost everyone he knew owned one or two. If someone at the filling station heard him talk about wanting to burn his pickup they would probably consider that he had lost his mind.
As for his wife, she just looked shocked.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Go to sleep,” Karla said.
9
D UANE WOKE AT THREE . Karla had the bed light on and was reading catalogues. She didn’t seem particularly upset.
“Remember when Neiman’s offered those his-or-her camels in their Christmas catalogue a few years back?” she asked.
“I think I remember hearing something about that,” he said. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Karla said. “I was just wondering if those camels were still available. I think I’ll call Neiman’s and ask them, as soon as it’s time for the store to open.”
“That won’t be for seven hours,” he pointed out.
“I know, but I was just thinking that if we had a pair of camels to ride around on maybe you wouldn’t be so depressed,” she said.
Details of the Neiman Marcus offering of matched riding camels were beginning to come back to him—or rather one detail in particular: the price.
“Honey, those camels cost a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, and that was years ago,” he said. “If I had to pay a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars for two animals I don’t even know how to ride I’d be a lot more depressed.
“Besides, camels spit on you,” he added, by way of a clincher.
“Oh well, it was just a thought. I bet you’d look cute on a camel,” Karla said. “Besides, if you’re depressed enough thatyou’re thinking about burning your pickup, then something needs to happen quick.”
“It won’t be riding camels,” Duane said. “I know you’re just grasping at straws, but maybe you ought to try grasping somewhere besides the Neiman Marcus catalogue. Their straws are too expensive.”
“Okay, forget the camels,” Karla said. “Do you think it’s because of our sex life that you’re depressed?”
“What sex life?” Duane asked, and then immediately wished he had phrased his response differently.
“That’s what I meant,” Karla said. “We don’t have one. Maybe you’re just so pent up that you’re trying to
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