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The Forgotten Life

Part 1

Joe Cartwright had been in St. Louis for less than an hour when two men approached him from a side alley a little after dark and asked for money. He immediately knew that the men were dangerous, that their polite request was a disguised demand. They didn't carry guns but he knew that each one had about twenty-five to thirty pounds on him. And he was also aware that St. Louis was not Virginia City; he couldn't depend on his reputation to help him if he shot an unarmed man in self-defense. Even Sheriff Roy Coffee, having no jurisdiction in St. Louis, wouldn't be able to help. So Joe's mind raced as to how to handle the situation. He had two thousand dollars cash hidden inside his jacket in a secret pocket. There was a bull in the stockyard that Joe was to buy and have shipped to Virginia City for breeding stock-and what a beauty it looked in the pictures that had been sent ahead by the seller. Ben Cartwright, Joe's father saw the pictures in the Cattleman's Association book, wanted the bull, and had to own it. Adam had teased his father about lusting after the bull as if it was a woman and Hoss had teased his Pa that he would probably kiss it on the lips, that is, if the bull didn't hook him and toss him flat on his back first.

"Here's a dollar, silver money," Joe said, handing the men the coin. "That's all I can spare." Joe started to turn away when one of the men grabbed him by the arm and swung him around.

"This measly dollar ain't gonna be enough," the bigger of the two men said.

Joe was determined to sound authoritative. "Well, it's going to have to do because I…." Joe couldn't finish his sentence before the man swung him around by his arm. Joe saw the man pull back his fist and he felt the blow land on his jaw. Joe went flying backwards into the alley and landed on his back and before he could recover, the other man grabbed him up by his jacket front and punched him in the solar plexus. Joe's breath left him. Joe couldn't even gasp; he was in a void as his body struggled violently to breathe. The larger man, still holding him up, pummeled him in the ribs and then punched him again and Joe felt his head snap back. He felt helpless, he couldn't even raise a hand to defend himself, and then the man shoved him against the brick wall of one of the buildings and Joe felt the back of his head hit it with a sickening thud. Waves of nausea came over him and Joe's last thoughts before the blackness came upon him was of his father and his brothers and how they wouldn't know what had happened to him and how desolate they would be when he never returned home.

Joe eventually came back to consciousness and felt near-blinding pain in his head; he could barely open his eyes. And then the smell of vomit hit him; he had been lying in his own vomit, for how long, he didn't know. Joe managed to pull himself up but the world began to spin about him. He could barely stand upright and only by holding onto the sides of the building, did he manage to stay on his legs. He pulled himself along until he was back on the street but he still had trouble focusing his eyes-everything was now dark and blurry. He struggled along and noticed that the few people who passed him, avoided him as he reached out for help. And then he felt the wall give way and he fell through it and landed on a floor.

The light was so bright he couldn't open his eyes-the stabbing sharpness hurt and there were loud noises. 'A piano,' Joe thought, "someone is playing a piano." But then the music stopped and there was no noise except voices and he peeked through his eyes and saw boots, men's boots and then a set of slender ankles in the smallest, most delicately strapped red shoes. Then the person dropped to her knees-he saw the satiny, red fabric of a dress and he felt a soft, stroke of a gentle hand on his hair and a female voice murmuring over him. What she said, he wasn't sure but he felt men's hands pick him up and carry him somewhere and soon, there was a softness under him and a cold, wet cloth on his forehead and he drifted off to blessed relief.

Joe felt as if someone was sticking needles in his eyes. The light that was coming into the room caused him pain, so he rolled over and threw an arm over his head. He felt bile rising again and swallowed repeatedly to keep from vomiting.

"Hey, cowboy," a woman's voice said, "don't go spewing on yourself again. I already washed your shirt, pants and cleaned that jacket you were wearing-and it wasn't any too pleasant neither. That's one of the reasons I never did get married; I don't like cleaning up piss, poop or puke and, buddy, you both pissed and puked-now don't push it."

"Please," Joe mumbled, "the light."

"Oh, too bright, huh?" Joe heard curtains being drawn and could see and feel the room get darker. The heat from the sun retreated.

Joe turned over gently; he didn't want to disturb his stomach with any unnecessary motion. "Where am I?" Joe managed to utter.

"You're in my room upstairs at the Red Lion saloon. You came falling through the swinging doors and landed flat on the floor. Looks like someone practically beat the life out of you. You must have really pissed someone off."

"Feels like it was a whole brigade of someones." Joe still kept his eyes closed.

"What's your name, handsome?" Joe felt the bed sink slightly. 'She must have sat down,' he thought.

"My name…I mean, I'm…" Joe began to panic. 'Something's wrong with my head,' Joe thought. "I know that I'm…" But he didn't know. Joe sat up, breathing heavily, ignoring the pain in his head and neck, and he looked desperately at the young woman who sat beside him. "I should know, shouldn't I? My name, I should know that but I can't remember. I don't even know where the hell I am or how I got this way. I should know these things, I should know!"

Joe tried to get up but the woman put her hands on his forearms and stared into his face. She thought he was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His hair was dark and curly, 'Like David in the Bible,' she thought. And the night before when she had undressed him, she had just stared in admiration of his physique and softly ran her hand over his chest, gently touching the purplish bruises on his ribs and then she pulled her hand back and was ashamed of herself; she wouldn't want a man to take advantage of her if she were in this condition. So she had blushed deeply and then placed a folded towel beneath him in case he needed to wet again. Then she had pulled up the sheet and blanket and just stood and stared at the face that was both masculine and angelic at the same time, despite the swollen jaw and the blue-black area developing under one eye.

"Calm down, cowboy, just lie back down," she said. "You just need to rest. It'll all come back to you. It's probably like a hang-over, you know. A guy with a really bad hang-over can't remember what he's done. But if you just rest, it'll all come back to you."

But Joe wasn't so sure and he felt unutterable fear; he was in Limbo and remembered hearing as a child about Limbo being a state of nothingness-neither happiness nor unhappiness- neither joy nor pain- just nowhere and nothing. And that was how he felt.

TBC