Read Online Snapper by Brian Kimberling - Free Book Online

more flowery iteration of American purpose and aspiration. When I read in the newspapers about interrogation techniques or civilian casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan I always picture Dart’s open hand landing on the pecan dinner table his grandfather made. Despite his selective history and dubious theories he was a man of such integrity that even when he was wrong, he was right.
    When I told them both about my birds he got into the Cadillac wordlessly and drove away.
    “Where’s he going?” I asked Loretta.
    “Hell if I know,” she said. “We’ll find out when he gets back. Come into the kitchen.”
    The whole house aside from that dining table was furnished in antiques made in Box County; the kitchen table was a spindly sparse maple thing and the chairs were worn and wobbly. They suggested the modest charm and comfort of the Midwest, in stark contrast to their lavish oak and pecan furniture back in Texas, and Loretta, sitting at that table, seemed taller, broader, and less delicate than she ever had back home. She looked harassed and exasperated, too. I wondered if she and Dart had been arguing before I arrived.
    “Sit down,” she said. I sat.
    “Tell me what you are going to do when your friend comes to visit you in the forest again.”
    “Same thing, I guess. Rory’s a good lookout even if he is a preening, self-satisfied Yankee.” She did not laugh.
    “I have another project upstate in two weeks anyway,” I said. “Breeding season is nearly over.”
    “So for two weeks you’re going to wander around alone while a man with a shotgun looks for you.”
    “I expect he’s already made his point.”
    She stood up and crossed to a drawer next to the sink.
    “I told your mother not to name you Nathan. Did she ever tell you that?”
    “No,” I said.
    “She ever tell you your great-great-grandfather was named Nathan?”
    “No,” I said.
    “He is a blot on the family name I would like to expunge,” said Loretta.
    “Why?”
    “Never mind.” She fetched a long-nosed black revolver from a drawer beneath the table and placed it on the tabletop.
    “If you come across that man with a shotgun again,” she said.
    “I’d probably shoot myself in the ass,” I said. She didn’t laugh at that either.
    “If he had meant business he would have brought dogs,” I added.
    The revolver sat between us, emblematic of something I couldn’t name, for several silent minutes.
    “Dart and I have decided to return to Texas,” she said at last.
    “Because of all this?”
    “Because of all this and some other things,” she said. “Dart needs to work. I can’t have him under my feet all day.”
    “But mainly because of the business with the neighbors,” I said.
    “Mainly, yes. Can you see any pretty way out of all this?”
    “Call the police?” I said, but then I remembered that I hadn’t done that myself. They were Box County police, after all. Even if they weren’t involved themselves, they surely knew people who were, and they let them be.
    “We have good neighbors in Texas,” she said. “We’d settle for likable neighbors here. I can’t see that happening.”
    “What about Dave and Elia?”
    “Working on that. Elia would give anything for a hand-pressed tortilla right now. David knows he’s always welcome to work the ranch. He thinks he may be able to work on his computer stuff from there, though I don’t know how that’s possible. It all remains to be seen.”
    “I’ll be sad to see you go,” I said.
    “I’d feel better about it myself if you would take this,” she said, pointing at the revolver.
    “To be honest, Loretta, it would freak me out just to have it in the house.”
    I have since discovered the names of five of my great-great-grandfathers. Nathan is not among them, and I think Dart’s questionable genealogy may have been at work in Loretta’s mind. The Nathan she referred to was Nathan Bedford Forrest: Memphis slave trader turned peerless Confederate cavalry commander