Half of Paradise

He swallowed down the rest of the beer and motioned to the bartender for another.

“Can’t you do anything without getting high first?” she said.

“I feel like getting blind.”

“After we come back you can pass out in the lobby if you want to.”

“You’ll be a sweet wife.”

The beer came. He watched her over the top of

the mug as he drank.

“Pay for it and let’s go,” she said.

“Did you ever have a boilermaker? This seems like a good day to have one.” He called the bartender over and had him put a double shot of whiskey in the glass. He drank it down in two long swallows and put a dollar on the bar.

They took a taxi to the courthouse. They went into the clerk of court’s office to fill out the applications. He paid the license fee to the clerk and left April in the office. He walked down the marble corridor towards the front entrance. He heard her high heels clacking on the floor behind him.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“There ain’t nothing else, is there?”

“Why did you walk off and leave me alone in there?”

“I’m going somewhere, and I don’t reckon you want to come along,” he said.

He walked out the front door and down the wide concrete walk to the street. The sun was very hot now, and the glare from the cement hurt his eyes. He heard the high heels clacking behind him again. He didn’t look back. He signaled a taxi and got in and slammed the door before she reached the street. He saw her face go by the window as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

“What are you laughing at, mister?” the driver said, looking at him in the rear-view mirror.

“It’s so goddamn funny you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’d tell you about it, but you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Where did you say you wanted to go?”

“Jerry’s Bar, back of the depot.”

The driver looked at him once more in the mirror and drove down a side street through the old part of town and across the railroad tracks. They slowed down behind the station and stopped in front of a bar across from the freight yards. The bar was a two-story board building with dirty front windows and a shorted-out neon sign that buzzed loudly and lighted up only half of its letters.

J.P. went inside. It smelled of flat beer and the sawdust that was spread on the floor. The mirror behind the bar was yellowed, and the rough-grained floor was stained with tobacco spittle. Some of the chairs were turned over on the tables, and two railroad workers were drinking at the other end of the bar. A middle-aged man in a dirty apron was drying glasses behind the bar. His hair was combed over the bald spot in the middle of his head.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winfield,” he said.

“Give me a whiskey and water, Jerry,” J.P. said.

“Yes, sir.”

He mopped the area in front of J.P. with a rag and set down the drink.

“We ain’t seen you in a while. You must be busy in politics.”

“When are you going to stop cutting your whiskey?” J.P. said.

“We don’t do that here, Mr. Winfield. I can give you another shot if it’s too weak.” He filled the jigger and poured it in J.P.’s glass.