Carnal Innocence

backseat for the binoculars Della, and almost everyone else in Innocence, carried.
    When he brought them up and focused, the concrete hump of the culvert jumped in front of his eyes. Slowly, he scanned, but saw nothing at the entrance, nomovement along the slope of the Little Hope. Nothing in the field beyond.
    He caught the glint of silver from the roofs of the mobile homes in the trailer park three miles away. Lowering his sights, he clearly saw Earleen’s sister Laurilee step out of her trailor, take a swing from a can of Mountain Dew, and give a holler.
    Calling the kids in for supper, Tucker thought absently, and slowly swung the binoculars away. He saw pigs rooting in the pen at Stokey’s farm and the wash hanging on the line at the Marches’, and a plume of dust toward town that might have been Burke riding out.
    But on the fields and flats, nothing stirred. And the silence hung heavy, disturbed only by the stream croaking its way over rocks and mud and a few birds that sang disinterestedly in the hazy heat of the evening.
    If Austin was waiting, he was waiting in the dim, dirty shadows of the culvert. There was only one way to find out.
    Tucker took time to shove a few extra shells in his pocket, though he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to use them. Keeping low, his eyes trained on the shallow entrance, he circled the culvert. When he got within five feet, he dropped down on his belly, the shotgun nestled on his shoulder.
    “God, if You want to do me one favor in this lifetime, don’t make me have to shoot this thing.”
    He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly.
    “Austin! I reckon you know I’m out here.” It wouldn’t occur to him until later that his skin was bone dry, his hands rock steady. “You went to a lot of trouble to invite me out for a visit.” He bellied his way to the slope of the bank. “Why don’t you come on out and we can talk reasonable, or we can wait awhile until Burke comes along.”
    There was only silence from the culvert and the scream of a crow overhead.
    “You’re going to make it hard on me, Austin. I’m going to have to come in there, seeing as how you tormented that boy. I just can’t swallow that. Then we’re going to start shooting at each other, and one of us islikely to be dead.” With a little sigh Tucker reached over and picked up a stone. “I sincerely don’t want it to be me.”
    He tossed the rock down and waited for the ripping report of a gun. Silence.
    “Shit on toast,” Tucker muttered, and slid down the slope into the stingy trickle of the Little Hope. There was a roaring in his head now, a steady wall of sound that was his heart and his fury. He swung the shotgun around and charged the entrance, fully expecting to be dodging bullets.
    But the culvert was empty. Tucker stood there, feeling more than a little foolish with his shotgun at the ready and his heart beating like a brass band. He could hear his own rushing breaths bouncing off the concrete.
    “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay, there was nobody around to see you make an ass of yourself.” He started back toward the entrance, then stopped short.
    Could Austin be hiding somewhere? Somehow have found a hole just big enough to crouch in? Was he waiting, just sitting out there for Tucker to come back out so he could pick him off?
    That was stupid, Tucker assured himself, took another step, then stopped and swore.
    It was better to be stupid than dead, he supposed, and wondered what the hell to do now.
    He had a ridiculous image of the final scene from
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,
where Newman and Redford had been freeze-framed in that last, hopeless gun battle.
    The slick ending didn’t fool Beau Longstreet’s son Tucker. No indeedy. He knew just what had happened. Guns had fired, and Butch and the Kid had been blown to glory.
    He stood in the narrow culvert thinking he was neither outlaw nor hero, but it was mighty hard on the pride just to huddle there and wait.
    Before he had to make the decision, he heard the rumble of a car, then the quick, sharp slam of doors. “Tucker! Tuck, you all right?”
    “Down here, Burke.” Tucker leaned the shotgun against the wall. “He ain’t here.”
    He heard Burke give Carl orders to look around, then the light at the entrance was blocked by the sheriff’s broad shoulders. “What the sweet fuck is going on here?”
    “Well, son, I’ll tell you,” Tucker said, and did.
    “Couldn’t understand half of what that boy was saying.”