A Country for Old Men - #66
CW: abortion & violence
The following recontextualizes pieces from Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men. Only 52% of these written words are mine. The rest are McCarthy’s. Consider this a remix.
Enjoy.
I sent one girl to the gaschamber at Huntsville. One and only one. My arrest and my testimony. I went up there and visited with her two or three times. Three times. The last time was the day of her execution. I didn’t have to go but I did. I sure didn’t want to. She’d killed a fourteen week old and I can tell you right now I never did have no great desire to visit with her let alone go to her execution but I done it. The papers said it was a crime of passion and she told me there wasn’t no passion to it. Said that she’d never do it again. Said she knew she was goin to hell. Told it to me out of her own mouth. I don’t know what to make of that. I surely don’t.
Here a year or two back me and Loretta went to a conference in Corpus Christi and I got set next to this woman, she was the wife of somebody or other. And she kept talkin about the left wing this and the left wing that. I ain’t even sure what she meant by it. The people I know are mostly just common people. Common folk in the suburbs. I told her that and she looked at me funny. She thought I was sayin somethin bad about em, but of course that’s a high compliment in my part of the world. She kept on, kept on. Finally told me, said: I don’t like the way this country is headed. I don’t want my granddaughter to be able to have an abortion. And I said well mam I don’t think you got any worries about the way the country is headed. The way I see it goin I have much doubt she’ll be able to have an abortion. I’m goin to say that not only will she not be able to have an abortion, you’ll be able to have her put to sleep. Which pretty much ended the conversation.
Mary Hays was speeding along the 10 in a ‘09 Toyota Camry that morning. The desert’s hot horizon was filled with old pistons pumping oil. Her life’s things were in the backseat and her mother was in the passenger and her child was in her body. Mom and daughter didn’t talk much to each other on the ride. It was July 4th and nobody was on the road. No one.
A police cruiser had been tailing them for the past thirty miles since Odessa. Mary dodged her eyes between the road in front of her and the cop car in the rearview mirror. The cruiser’s lights were off. Her forehead had a thin veil of sweat and she looked one more time in the rearview and the red and blue lights came on and Mary eeked.
She pulled the car over to the side and gripped the wheel hard and turned to her mother. Do you want a mint? Mary said.
The old woman didnt answer.
You aint speakin, I reckon.
I dont know what there is to speak about.
Well I dont guess I do either.
Whatever you all done you done. I dont know why I ought to have to run from the law.
We aint runnin from the law, Mama.
A finger tapped on the glass and Mary turned her head and rolled down the window. The man was tall with black sunglasses and dark hair. License and registration, he said.
Mary handed them over. What seems to be the problem, officer?
Where are you driving today?
We’re off to see the folks up in El Paso. For the Fourth.
Coming from?
San Antonio.
He checks her ID. Mary Jeannine Hays, he said. Turning twenty next week. Happy birthday. He handed back her license.
Thanks.
Where are you going?
I told you, El Paso.
When will you get there?
Tonight.
Okay. The man studied Mary for a moment. When is she due?
What officer?
Your baby. When is she due?
Mary shifted in her seat. Oh. He. And in seven months.
He did not respond.
I dont know how any of that is your concern.
The man pulled out a notebook and pen and written down the front license plate and came back to her window. Tell me, he said. What time do you think you’ll cross into New Mexico?
Sir?
He whipped off his sunglasses and hung them on his pearl snap shirt. Mary saw his eyes for the first time. Blue as lapis. At once glistening and totally opaque. Like wet stones. You’re leaving Texas for California, he said. For the child.
I reckon there’s been a mistake. I dont got the slightest idea what you’re talkin about. I ain’t goin to no California. It’s the Fourth and me and my Mama are fixin to see the family tonight.
He stared at her. Turn off the engine and put the keys on the dash.
She hesitated but then did so.
The man then bent and leaned into the window. I have all the time.
Mary looked at the man and noticed he did not have a badge or name tag or any such police uniform. Just jeans with a nine millimeter Glock hanging by the belt side. You dress pretty casual for a cop, she said.
He didnt answer.
The wind whistled. Well. We best be goin now.
Mary went for the keys on the dash but the man grabbed her hand and she froze.
When I went down on the border I stopped in a cafe in this town and there were some men in there drinking beer. I didn’t pay any attention to them. I ordered my dinner and ate. But when I walked up to the counter to pay the check I had to go past them and they were all serious and one said something that was hard to ignore. Something about having a baby with a girl too young. So young that it would ruin everything in his life. Do you know what I did?
No. I don’t.
I asked him about it. He paid my bill and I gave him a little gesture with my head. For him to come outside with me. And then we went out. And he told me everything in the parking lot. I was just standing there picking my teeth with a toothpick and listening. He runs an oil company and has a wife of twenty years and three kids. Donates to the church and all that stuff. You know him.
She choked up and looked to her mother sitting in the passenger seat. Mama didn’t utter a word. Mary was shaking and turned back to the man. Who are you? she whispered.
He let her go and carefully grabbed the car keys and leaned back out of the window. I’ll ask again: Are you going to California?
She cried. Marty told me he didnt want our baby boy. That we cant be together if he’s around. But he promised me we were meant to be together and that he’d leave Emily for me if I just done this. He said that. I cant get any of them early termination pills or do any of that stuff here in Texas or anywhere nearby so I’m goin to the closest place that can and that is California.
Okay. Thank you for telling me the truth.
He’s payin for all this. That was the deal. Mary put her face into her hands. I’m sorry. I’m sorry God. I’m sorry Mama. I didnt want any of this.
The mother leaned forward to speak with the man. I told her not to get involved with that rich son of a bitch.
Mary sobbed. I didnt want Marty to be mad at me. So here I am.
Hey. It’s okay. You’ll be all right. Try not worry about it.
Mary lifted her face from her palms and looked at the desert through the windshield. What do you mean? she said.
He met me. And he accepted my services. And here we are.
Mary shook her head. What are you talkin about?
He swung up his Glock and switched off the safety. None of this was your fault, he said. You didnt do anything.
Her eyes dilated and tears fell. No. This can’t be.
It was bad luck.
Please. No. I cant. I cant.
He watched her as she sobbed. All right, he said. This is the best I can do. He searched his pockets and they came up empty. Give me a quarter.
Mary and her mom searched their purses and scoured the car. Not a single coin. Sir, Mary said, we dont have no quarter.
The man had his chin in his hand. Then that is that, he said. I used to do this thing. It gave those a final glimpse of hope in the world to lift their heart before the shroud drops the darkness. Now nobody has a quarter. Not even me. Maybe it’s for the best. He had the gun ready in his hand. Is there anything that you’d like to say?
To who?
To me. Your mother. We’re the only ones here.
She gulped a bit to compose herself. You don’t understand. This abortion is torture enough already. I’m wantin to have this boy and I’m goin to lose him. You dont know how this feels. Marty was the final decision over our boy and it hurts me bad. I begged him and begged and swore on God we could be a family and he still said no. So I told him about Numbers 5:11-31. In the Bible. God had used abortions as punishment. It says right there. God gave women an abortion for those who went and cheated on their husbands. I took eight years of Christian school, I know what I’m sayin. And I told him he was no different than them priests in Numbers 5:11. Do you get what I meant by that?
He did not reply. Mama was silent.
I’ll never see him again if that’s what Marty wants. I promise. I’ll stay in California and aint nobody will know about what we done. Just let me call up Marty. Please.
I’m sorry. Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape is drawn. No line can be erased. You can say that things could have turned out differently. That they could have been some other way. But what does that mean? They are not some other way. They are this way. Do you see?
No, she said, sobbing. I dont. I truly dont. You dont have to do this. You dont.
I have only one way to live. And it doesnt allow for special cases. I’m sorry. Then he shot her.
And then I woke up. I wake up sometimes way in the night and I know as certain as death that there aint nothin that can slow this train. I dont know what is the use of me layin awake over it. But I do.