When Doyle went out front, he was only wearing his boxers. He could see Ray’s silhouette over by the chain-link kennels where the dogs were so stirred up. Before going over to find out what the hell Ray was doing out here in the middle of the night, he pissed from the front steps onto the dirt in front of the cabin.
He skirted the wet spot on the ground and walked over to where Ray was. The pine duff felt damp and springy under his bare feet. He could hear Ray talking to the dogs, saying things in a low voice, but with urgency, almost like he were some kind of coach, trying to fire up his team but not wanting the other side to hear. He was calling them out by name — Dixie and Mylo, the Catahoulas; Otis, the bulldog; and Hammer, the pit bull. “Come on, Dixie, we’re gonna find us a good ole hog. Hear that, Otis? Hear that, Mylo? Come on, Hammer, were gonna catch us a big motherfucker. A big motherfucker of a boar. Tusks four inches long.”
Doyle stood there, and Ray went on like that for some time. Doyle didn’t know what the hell Ray was trying to do. The dogs didn’t need to get excited about going hunting. They needed their rest just like everybody else. In fact, he doubted that what Ray was saying was having any effect on the dogs whatsoever. They were just riled because they didn’t like Ray. They’d hunt for him and all, but mostly just because they liked to hunt. Leave them alone in a room with Ray, and it would be interesting to see who came out the door.
Finally, Ray looked back at Doyle. “Little brother,” he said.
“The hell you tryin’ to do, Ray? If we had neighbors youda woke ’em.”
“You sound like Ma. She didn’t know shit either.”
Ray could always use Ma to get under Doyle’s skin. He didn’t know whether it was purposeful or not, but Ray was full of sharp little jabs and fond of picking at sores where Ma was concerned. Doyle had only known his mother to be loving, but she left when he was six. Ray was ten. He couldn’t argue. Ray had known her better. Thankfully, Ray steered away from the subject.
“That’s the beauty of livin’ out here, Doyle. Raise holy hell and it ain’t nobody that gives two shits. I sure wouldn’t mind it, Doyle. Not one bit. But, hey. You was always the good boy. What the hell was Daddy supposed to do? It ain’t like he was goin’ to leave the place to me where I was.”
This was the same conversation they’d had over and over again. The one about Daddy drinking himself to death while Ray was locked up for cutting a guy’s neck with a broken bottle. Doyle knew already how it would play out, but he always tried to avoid it anyway.
“Come off it, Ray. You know it ain’t like that. Daddy was just tryin’ to do right by both of us. You got that money he saved up all that time.”
“Yeah, but money gets spent, little brother. Now look. I’m livin’ in some fuckin’ trailer park. Polly don’t respect that. I can see it. She’s thinkin’, Ray, why don’t we live in some nice house like a fuckin’ respectable family? You think that don’t hurt? She knows it hurts. That’s why she don’t never say nothing when I get too mad sometimes. You ain’t got them problems, little brother. Land and houses don’t get spent. They just get history in ’em. That’s what’s respectable. History.” Ray looked hard at Doyle. His eyes appeared clear now. Sober.
“Don’t be getting all deep on me this late at night, Ray. You know I can’t argue with you. You always was the smart one.”
“Don’t you forget it, little brother.” Ray slapped Doyle on the back of the neck. Squeezed a little too hard and gave him a shake. “Don’t you forget it.”
Next morning Doyle lay awake in bed, just listening. The house was quiet. Birds were singing outside. He could pick out the song of a mockingbird that he knew was sitting in that old longleaf pine right out back. He heard the whistle of a red-shouldered hawk not far away. He felt Sheila roll over next to him and closed his eyes, hoping to buy a few extra minutes of silence.
“I know you’re awake, so don’t even pretend you can’t hear me.” Sheila leaned up on one elbow, smiled down at Doyle.
He opened one eye. “Now you’re just talkin’ to spite me. I’ll bet you ain’t even got nothing to say.”
“You should know me better than that, mister.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“It’s Ray. I think he’s getting worse.”
“I didn’t know he was ever any better.”
“You know what I mean, Doyle. Polly barely talks. It’s like she’s scared to death of him. And I heard the dogs last night too. What was all that about?”
“What can I do? Ray’s family, whether we like him or not. He’s the only family I got left.” Doyle rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretched and yawned. He meant that he was getting tired of the subject.
“All I’m saying is maybe you should talk to him, Doyle.” Sheila put his hand on her breast, clutched it there like she was trying to send him a message.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get us sorted out.” Doyle moved as if to get up out of bed, but Sheila squeezed his hand tighter to her chest. Maybe he’d just lay there another minute.
When Doyle made it out to the kitchen, Polly was sitting there at the table, knees to her chest, perching on a chair like a bird. Doyle noted that she had her clothes on. “Polly,” he said.
“Mornin’, Doyle.” When Polly talked, it always sounded like someone had turned her volume down. “Made some coffee. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Hell, Polly. Mi casa es su casa.” When Polly didn’t respond, Doyle said, “Means my stuff is your stuff. Do as you like round here, don’t have to ask nobody’s permission.”
Polly frowned at this. “You’re a good man, Doyle.” She furrowed her brow, as if it were painful to say this.
“No, just family is all. Don’t go overestimatin’. I’m not likely to live up to your thoughts of me.” Doyle poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip. “You always did like it strong. This is likely to get a person movin’ in the morning. I’m fixin’ to whip up some breakfast. What’ll you have?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Nonsense. How’s eggs and sausage for you? Put some meat on those bones.” Doyle rummaged through the cabinets, fishing out a big skillet. Polly made no more objections, so he got some extra eggs from the fridge. “You should always fry up the meat first, sausage, bacon, whatnot. That’s the way Ma always did it. That way the eggs’ll soak up the grease when you cook ’em afterwards. Soak up the flavor too.” He glanced over his shoulder at Polly, saw her looking at him. “Hell. Look at me, just ramblin’. You know all this stuff. Just tell me to shut up.”
Ray emerged from the extra bedroom, crossed over to where Polly sat, put a hand on her shoulder without affection. “What are y’all two talkin’ about?” He looked to Doyle for the answer. “Sounds mighty friendly out here, like y’all was havin’ some real fine discussion.” He chuckled a little, looked down at Polly.
“You know me, Ray. Always blatherin’ on about something or other. Your little Polly there’s quiet as a churchmouse, but real friendly. Won’t even tell me to shut up when she knows I oughta.” Doyle put some sausage links on a plate, set the plate on the table. “Eat up, guys. Don’t wait for me.”
Polly got up, took a plate off the counter for Ray, got a fork and knife from the drawer, a napkin. She set his place at the table, loaded his plate with sausage links, and returned to her seat. Doyle looked at Ray. “Like you’re king of the castle or somethin’.”
“That’s how I raised her.”
After breakfast Doyle went out to the kennels to get the dogs set for the hunt. He felt optimistic about the results. He had seen pigs, and the signs of pigs, all over his property. Seemed you just couldn’t get rid of them if you tried. He let the four dogs out of the kennels one by one, buckling thick leather collars on Dixie and Mylo, his bay dogs, and strapping Otis and Hammer into cut vests. They were the catch dogs, the ones that did the gritty work of running in and seizing the wild boar by the ear and holding him until the situation could be reconciled in some way. Most of the time that meant the hog would be tied, taped up, brought back to a pen where its meat could sweeten up a while before slaughter. Sometimes the hog would be shot where the dogs trapped it. Doyle liked to make sure that part went quickly. Ray sometimes had other ideas.