The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

“Good?” Jesse asked.

Bob grinned. “Good as baby Jesus in velvet pants.”

Jesse scowled at the blasphemy but then sat back on an elbow, clicking stones in his palm. “Your people God-fearing, Bob?”

“Oh heavenly days, yes. My daddy’s a part-time preacher.”

“Rich or poor?”

Bob thought about it. “Prosperous, I guess. He could give me plenty of money but he’s got this philosophy that his boys ought to feel some hardships or else they’ll all spoil.”

“A man of principles;” Jesse said.

“People say that about themselves when really they only want to make you unhappy.”

Tim swatted the river with a washed-up board but when Jesse called, “What’re you doing down there?” the boy said he was letting minnows tickle his fingers. Jesse called, “Don’t get yourself all soaked now, you little honyock.” And on second thought, in a voice meant only for Bob, Jesse asked, “You ever meet Zerelda? Mrs. Samuels?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“The Good Lord really accomplished something. Giant woman; eight feet tall. If she’d been a man she’d be governor now.” Jesse looked for his red socks and rolled them onto his feet without brushing the silt off his ankles and soles. He then lunged his stockinged feet into his high boots and stuffed his gray trouser legs inside. He said, “You ever hear any gossip about my father and Frank’s being two different men?”

“Yes.”

“They say that was the reason my papa went West in the gold rush: he couldn’t support the shame of it. What do you think of a story like that?”

Bob said, “I’m personally more interested in what you think about it.”

Jesse glared at him and in a growl of a voice said, “I think it’s a goddamned lie.”

“I’m with you then; and I won’t hear another word of it if the subject ever comes up.” Bob removed his stovepipe hat and scratched at the circled indentation of his ginger brown hair. “Since we’re telling stories, have you ever heard the one about the James gang robbing this one railroad?”

“You’re not giving me enough clues.”

“It’s a funny story.”

Jesse shook his head in the negative and then raised the mason jar, swallowing a long sentence of the lager beer.

Bob continued, “You see, the James gang is robbing this railroad train like you do, and going through the passenger cars and on board is this Quaker minister or something, some old coot with a long beard and, you know, a mean disposition? You can tell he’s no joy to be around, but he’s got this pinched-up wife with him and she’s shivering with fright and clutching the preacher’s sleeve and so on. You’re sure you haven’t heard this?”

“I would’ve stopped you by now.”

“How’s it go? I’ve gotta get this right. Oh! I guess it’s you. You stand in this railroad coach and everybody’s cowering, of course, and you holler, ‘I’m Jesse James! And here’s what I’m gonna do! I’m gonna grab all your money. I’m gonna grab all your watches and jewelry! I’m gonna grab everything you own!’ The preacher’s wife is cringing now and the old coot’s guarding her and you say, ‘And then I’m gonna go down the aisle and rape all you women!’ ”

Jesse said, “I don’t like the way this story’s headed.”

“Well, everyone knows it’s not true, Jess; it’s just sort of comical. You see, after you say what you do about raping the women, the Quaker ups and says, ‘Surely you wouldn’t rape a preacher’s wife!’ And this is the funny part; his wife gets mad and gives her husband an elbow and says, ‘Shut up, Homer! It’s Jesse’s train. Let him rob it the way he wants to.’ ” Bob’s eyes slanted to Jesse and he saw the man wasn’t laughing. “You don’t think it’s funny?”

“Well, hell, how could I if it isn’t true?”

“Jokes don’t need to be, Jesse.”

“You’re gonna have to explain “why I oughta laugh then.”

Bob said with great impatience, “Why don’t we just forget it,” and instantly felt in jeopardy, for his impudence was plain and Jesse’s countenance was stern and it seemed just possible a boy might find Bob chambered in the river some morning. His hair would float in the water, his body would yeast until his clothes’ buttons popped, an elm blowdown would bash out his eye, and then the river would abandon him on a levee where snails would feel his skin with cold horns and red crawdads would cling to his ankles. He said, “I didn’t mean to sound sharp just then.”

Jesse simply adjusted his jacket sleeves on his arms and said, “I’ve got a good story for you that’s true as a razor. This’ll give you an example of Frank and me putting a man in his place, and it don’t depend upon any prevaricating. Once me and Frank were riding in the countryside and got hungry, so we went up to this farmhouse and asked would this widow lady make us some supper.”

“Oh, that one,” said Bob.