“The Death of Stonewall J. Howell, Tombstone, Arizona” (c) 2007 Stu Jenks
Stony walked out of the whorehouse dissatisfied. He knew he would be,
but he went anyway. Tomorrow is his 26th birthday, and it’s been a good week
at his claim. Good six months actually. Anyway, he felt like giving
himself a present and that present was Crystal. But while he was
thrusting into her from behind, watching her breasts sway, he had a
passing thought of Henrietta back home. He came quickly, gave Crystal a
kiss on the cheek and paid her double her usual rate. Seemed rude that
he had thought of Henrietta when he was inside of Crystal. Crystal
smiled and kissed him on the neck and told him to come back any time.
He’d left Henri a year ago in the Valley of Virginia. She still
lives with her widowed mother on those fifty-two acres that they
pretend to be a farm. Singing in the church choir every Sunday, she
said in her letters. Wishing he would call for her, to board that train
to Tucson, she wrote twice already. It just wasn’t time yet.
Henri
turns every man’s head on the Saumsville Road when she takes the wagon
to town. The prettiest girl in the county. Top three at least. Bright
smile and full lips, long blond hair the color of straw, cheeks like
red apples, a body thin yet strong like a rail fence. The night before
he left for Arizona he promised her that if he struck it rich, he’d
send for her. They kissed each other long and hard on her front porch,
their hands all over each other’s bodies, as if by touching everything,
they would forget nothing. He’s made some good money now, but it hasn’t
built a house yet. He needs to have a house for her to come to. He
needs also to hire someone to help him start that house, soon at that.
The muddy street is filled with cowboys and miners, going from hotel
to saloon, spending their week’s earnings on whores, poker and whiskey.
The Full Moon is almost directly overheard. He stops in the street and
looks up at the Moon, thinking about Henri and thinking that all he
really wants right now is a hot bath. He turns and as he’s walking
across the street toward the Chinese bathhouse, he hears his name
called.
“Stony! Hey, Stony!”
He turns. It’s Merle Johnson. The luckiest, stupidest, funniest man in town. He’s also his best friend.
“Hey, Merle. How are you doing, this evening?”
“Mighty fine. Hey, are you going to the The Grand to play poker tonight?” Merle seems a bit agitated.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Stony.
Merle looks a little disappointed, then bites his lower lip. He
does that when he’s thinking hard. What’s the big deal? He usually only
goes to The Grand a couple times a week, not every night.
“Can I find someway to persuade you to come play poker with me tonight?” Merle asks.
“Merle, what going on?”
“Hell, Stony. Just come over to The Grand Hotel tonight.”
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on. I need to get a bath
and then I was thinking of turning in. Unless you got something special
planned, I think I’ll pass.”
Merle bit his lower lip again, then smiled to himself and shook his head.
“Just like you, Stony, to spoil the fucking surprise. A bunch of
us are waiting for you over there. Tomorrow is your fucking birthday,
as if you don’t know, and we thought we’d throw you a little surprise
party at Midnight. Both Bobbys are there, young Bobby Christiansen and old
Bobby Lopez! Mexican Bobby came all the way from Fronteras, Stony, to
celebrate your goddamn birthday.”
“Bobby Lopez is here in Tombstone?”
“Do I fucking lisp? Yes, Bobby Lopez is here. And Charlie McLean
left his claim in Charleston for the night, to raise a drink to you,
too.”
Stony’s mouth dropped open.
“Charlie came
to town?” Charlie rarely comes to town. Only when he is down to his
last pound of flour and his last jug of shine.
“Yes, yes,
yes, you dumb cocksucker. Charlie’s here and Harry Wood has even closed
up shop at the newspaper to see your birthday come in, and he’s brought
Millie Benjamin with him too. And Karl Eisenfelder and his wife are
there as well. God damn it, Stony! I’ve been waiting a fucking hour for
you to come out of Madame Clarice’s.”
Merle now looked puzzled, biting his lip again.
“I suppose we could invite Crystal, couldn’t we? She is a whore but she’s a good woman, and I know you like her,” said Merle.
Stony stood dead still in the middle of the thoroughfare. He
look at the bathhouse. He looked at the whorehouse. He looked down the
street toward The Grand Hotel. Bobby Lopez was on the front stoop of
the hotel, his arms crossed, his sombrero silhouetted against the
golden light coming from the hotel. Stony felt his eyes mist up. He
smiled. I’ll be God damned. Bobby’s here.
He started to walk
toward the hotel when he heard a clap of thunder. Little late in the year for a monsoon. Then he stopped walking. He felt short of breath, and oddly
warm and wet. He grabbed Merle’s shoulder to steady himself. He then
looked down and saw the large red hole that was his stomach. He
collapsed in the mud.
Next to the last thing he saw were the
tears in Merle and Bobby’s eyes, as they look down at him in the muddy
thoroughfare, the Full Moon above their heads.
Then he saw a
beautiful ball of purple light being born out of the Moon. The purple
ball seemed to come down Fremont Street and surround him, engulf him in
its light. He no longer saw Merle or Bobby’s faces. He no longer saw
anything or anyone. He just felt fine. Fine for the first time in a
long time. Then, suddenly, he was above Tombstone and flying in the
night sky, heading fast and true, due East, toward the Valley of
Virginia.
