Eventide by Kent Haruf Page B

Come on. The bull snorted once more and at last moved away.
    Raymond fastened the gate and hobbled across the corral to the corner where his brother lay in the dirt. Harold had removed his gloves and he was touching at his chest very carefully.
    How bad is it? Raymond said, kneeling over.
    Bad, Harold said. He was only whispering, his voice raspy and tight. I can’t get my breath. I’m all busted inside.
    I’m going to run up to the house and call somebody.
    I ain’t going nowhere.
    I’ll just go up and call.
    No. Stay here, Harold said. I mean I ain’t going nowhere ever.
    I got to call the ambulance.
    I won’t last till you get back. They can’t do nothing for me.
    You don’t know that.
    Yeah, I do, Harold whispered.
    He looked up at his brother kneeling beside him across the fence panel. Raymond’s face looked scared and dirty. His own face was chalk white now under the dirt and blood.
    Pull me out from under this fence. I don’t want to die cramped up in here.
    I don’t dare to move you, Raymond said. I got to call somebody.
    No. Start pulling. I can’t wait for you to get somebody else.
    Hold on then. Goddamn it anyway.
    He took Harold’s canvas jacket at the shoulder and gripped his belt and began dragging him slowly through the loose dirt. His brother grunted and gritted his teeth, tears started up in his eyes, and there was blood trickling from the corner of his clenched mouth. Raymond slid him out from under the fence and Harold lay on his back at the edge of the corral, breathing in shallow gasps, with his hands moving at his chest, squeezing and pushing at his ribs as if this might help him breathe more easily. He opened his eyes and reached a hand up and wiped at his mouth. I’m missing my hat, he said.
    I’ll get it. Raymond stood and limped out into the corral and picked up the hat and slapped it against his leg and then limped back and knelt again. When Harold raised his head he fit the hat onto his short iron-gray hair. His hair was filthy. The back of the hat was crumpled so Raymond smoothed it out.
    All right, Harold said. Thanks. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe. It’s getting cold, he whispered.
    Raymond removed his canvas jacket and spread it over him.
    After a while Harold opened his eyes. He shivered and peered around. Raymond?
    Yes.
    Are you here?
    I’m right here, Raymond said. Right next to you.
    Harold looked up into his brother’s face and Raymond took hold of his thick calloused hand.
    You got to take care of her by yourself now. His voice was just a thin raspy sound. That little girl too. I won’t be here to see how they come out. I was looking forward to it.
    You’ll see them, Raymond said. You’re going to come out of this.
    No. I’m done here, Harold said. I’m about finished.
    He closed his eyes and shivered again, his breaths coming slower and harder. Then he stopped breathing. After a while he breathed once more, a long single rattling suck of air. Then he seemed to settle into the dirt more comfortably. After that he didn’t breathe again. Raymond watched him and his brother’s eyelids fluttered once, that was all, then Raymond began to weep, the tears ran down his face in dirty runnels. He held on to his brother’s hand and looked out through the corral toward the pastures and the blue sandhills beyond. The hills lay far away in the distance on the low horizon. The wind had started up again. He could feel it now. He looked again at his brother and pulled the canvas coat up over his blood-smeared face. He knelt for a long while beside him, not moving, an old man with his old brother scuttled down in the loose dirt of a plank corral under an overcast October sky.

 
    13
    I T WAS AN HOUR AND MORE BEFORE RAYMOND ROUSED himself. Then he pulled himself up and limped across the gravel drive to the house and made the call. When the ambulance from Holt drove up in front of the house he told them to go down and collect his brother. The two men in their shiny jackets