When he awoke, his mouth was thicker than usual and his temples were throbbing. The sun was already high, judging by the light coming from the trailer window. He lifted his strong body from the bed and looked at the old mercury thermometer on the wall. Fifty degrees. He slowly blinked his swollen lids and clicked his tongue against the dry roof of his mouth. Five degrees warmer than yesterday, he thought, walking out of the trailer, still in his underwear and t-shirt. The pale sand burned beneath his calloused feet; you forgot your flip flops It wasn’t bad, he had been used to the heat for some time, twenty years and two weeks to be exact.
He stepped listlessly into the tall, bumpy kiosk next to the trailer, dragging his face to the sink behind the counter. The water came out in fits and starts as usual, yellow and rusty water. Raymond rinsed his sun-worn face and rubbed the yellowish water over his half-shaven head. He turned on the neon lights of the sign. The letter “R” in “bar” was held together by a double knot of fabric.
He placed a few stools on the sand in front of the counter, then scanned his bar from the bottom up, right to left, doing so with a cigarette in his mouth, half a cigarette from the night before. Judging by the sound of barrels on the roof, he must have gone to town for water. And then there was that damn “R” that needed to be replaced; how the whole building had to be replaced, a jumble of rusted sheet metal and recycled pieces. Was he or wasn’t he one of the few bartenders left in the whole fucking United States? Of course, and the next day he would go to repair at least one of those things, or he would be out of money in a short time; and he would never end up digging wells in the middle of the desert for water companies for four dollars an hour.
He threw the cigarette on the floor and went to the trailer to put on his pants. The old wall clock showed half past four. Soon the first customers, the well workers, will arrive. The first to appear at the counter was one of them, a worker at a nearby well. “Hey Ray, give me the usual please. So Raymond took out a prepared Martini in a chilled glass from the fridge and handed it to her. Then other workers who were working nearby arrived. Raymond knew them all; they used to do normal jobs like delivery boy, teacher, butcher, tailor. This was all before water companies dominated the economy with desertification. Now they were all dressed the same, dirty, with tired faces and standardized laughter.
After several hours, Raymond was cleaning his used glasses when a few meters from the kiosk he saw a woman, visibly upset and dirty, in the company of a man sprawled out next to her. As the woman approached the counter, Raymond growled, “I don’t serve drinks to animals, ma’am.” And he pointed to a sign hanging on the outside wall of the bar that read “No Animals” with a stylized male figure on all fours. The woman looked down. Long black hair like greasy threads separated from the dirt; then he leaned over to Raymond and said “we have been walking in the middle of the desert for hours please give us some water…” shaking his head towards the man on all fours he added “my brother is very sick the thing came… oh , this is terrible… listen to me please!” The woman wrapped her arms around Raymond’s, but he forcefully pushed them away.
«Do you see that?» he asked, pointing a thick finger at the long keloid scar that started on his neck and ended near his earlobe. “People like your brother or whoever the hell they are did this to me! Those damn animals!” His eyes, like small and deep slits, stared at the woman and then moved to her brother. The four-legged man was wearing a T-shirt and worn-out pants, and his green eyes rolled along with his head.
“Please, I know this may seem strange, but my brother wouldn’t hurt a fly… please listen to me! Give us something to drink!”
Raymond looked into the woman’s eyes. They were green like his brother, but a wild green in which his wit still shone. She started crying and begging him. The workers looked up from their glasses and stopped talking, watching the scene as if bored by yet another heat hysteria.
Raymond looked around and pointed a finger at the woman. “Look, don’t make me call the authorities! He doesn’t like me very much and it’s mutual. So go away, you and your animal!’
The woman crouched down next to her brother, hugging him and stroking his black hair. He was staring into space, green eyes empty. He rested his chin on his brother’s head and at the sight of Raymond’s old Chevrolet convertible with its peeling paint, he gave a wide, desperate smile. Then suddenly he jumped up and wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand; her eyes lit up. “But she… has a car! He could walk us into town… of course… I have an aunt in town!” her eyes trembled like leaves shaken by the wind.
“You’re a fool to think that . . .”
“Please!” she cut him off, “Then we’ll leave her alone, I promise.”
The desperate determination in the woman’s eyes caused Raymond’s conviction to waver. It wasn’t pity, he didn’t feel compassion for anyone, least of all animal-humans like her brother, whose brains were screwed up by the heat. No, maybe it was admiration. It was already sunset; he could close the bar early and go into town that evening instead of tomorrow.
“Okay, I have to go to town on some errands anyway. But I warn you,” he said, pointing to the man on all fours, “I’ll gag that beast, I don’t believe it.
The woman pounced on her brother and ran through his hair. “Of course, of course we will clog this treasure!” Then she got up, put her arms around Raymond’s neck and thanked him through her tears.
“Okay, okay…” he muttered, pulling away from her, “give me a minute.” Then he began to close the kiosk and send away the herd of customers who left crying. He loaded barrels of water into the trunk of the Chevrolet, gagged the four-legged man and made him climb into the back seat of the car, tying a rope around his wrists and ankles. The woman sat next to Raymond on the passenger side. “I didn’t even ask her name,” the woman told him.
He started the car, which responded with a rumble of exhaust. He walked a few meters, turned to her, then looked directly at the street and answered, “Raymond, my name is Raymond.”
“I can’t believe it! My brother’s name is Raymond too, isn’t he darling?” and with a smile he turnedman-animal. Raymond looked at him in the rearview mirror. Tied up and half lying down, he stood with his head half resting on the edge of the door. His dull eyes trembled to the rhythm of the suspension.
Alyssa Iori