XIV. After the Blood
The newlyweds travelled to Mexico but it hadn't been solely for honeymoon purposes. H.W. was a chip off the old block: after reading in the local morning newspaper that there were oil prospects south of the border, they mutually decided to take the trip down. Patience and tolerance were virtues Mary was lucky to possess. Preferring to spend the next day in bed indulging in carnal delights with her husband, she opted to smile and make the best of it. The bright side was she'd never been out of Little Boston, let alone out of the United States so everything was new and exotic to her widened eyes.
Mexico strongly resembled California in its unpeopled territory yet its arid landscape was infinitely more picturesque than her native land. It was a wonderland of promise she was eager to accept. The natives were mesmerising, their culture fascinating and she learnt a great deal from them, things that she previously only heard about from Paul during their long hours spent shepherding the flock. These were the people, Paul had once told her, who were exploited in America for cheap labour after they entered the States for a better life; she reasoned that there were bad things in Mexico but there were pros and cons to every place. From her own experience she knew that regardless of country or state, one never needed to go beyond their own front door to face certain horrors. That was why she empathised with these people and after H.W. found a lease he was interested in buying she campaigned that if they set up their own company there then the workers should be paid a fair wage as if they were in America, to compensate for the wrongs their wealthy peers committed against their immigrant workers.
You would want that, wouldn't you? H.W. asked with a smile when she pitched the proposal to him. My Mary, wise and worldly. Of course they will receive the highest possible pay. I am not my father's son.
The words knifed Mary in the heart, for H.W. was not Daniel's son in any way; she had decided to never tell him the father's good intentioned secret. It was the only genuine unselfish thing Daniel Plainview had ever done and she didn't want to ruin it for H.W. who still placed his father on a pedestal even as he pointed out his faults. He ran his burgeoning business deals with the guiding question of What would my father do? which made Mary smile with admiration for his commendable doting on a man who viciously assailed him for a reason unknown to him and she loved him all the more. The incomparable love H.W. possessed for the wayward prospector despite the misgivings soothed her doubts that she married the right Plainview. She knew that Daniel would be far less forgiving if the scenario was reversed.
With life pleasant and quieted down, she sought the one elusive answer to the whereabouts of her estranged brother. So much time had passed that she debated against fear to embark on this search. Was she ready to hear the worst she could never prepare to hear? Only her unshakeable need to know drove her. If a terrible fate occurred to her brother, it was better to find out and put him to rest than to live with the drawn-out demon of the unknown. So she set to work in the library, bracing herself every day, submerged in extensive research using the periodicals. Minimal detective skills surfaced articles about the upcoming young American who struck oil in California on the outskirts of a tiny town near the Californian/Mexican border. It was her long lost Paul. Jotting down the name of the company and town, she furthered her investigation and was able to unearth an address.
Wasting no time, she rushed back to the hotel where it took her three days to handwrite a thick letter chronicling the events that had happened in Little Boston since his departure, even detailing her sexual liaisons with Daniel while she openly courted H.W. because Paul had been her best friend many years ago and would surely still hold that office after all the passed time. She relayed H.W.'s Mexican ventures and asked if he would be interested in visiting to reacquaint himself with her and to meet her husband, for despite meeting as children they were adults now and were changed into brand new people.
Please do not blame Daniel for anything bad that's happened, she petitioned in closing. He did as he was meant to do, what you asked him to do, and, as you see, because of him things have changed for the better. He took away all the bad things, just as you promised he would.
Every day after sending off her cordial novella she starved for a reply in the same hungry way she'd awaited her angel's arrival that distant day more than half of her lifetime ago. H.W. looked at her in a queer manner, asking what she was waiting for; she replied nothing because she hoped for it to be a surprise.
And it was. Rather than receiving a letter there was a knock on the door one evening and when she answered her dearest brother stood on the other side. She knew without second guess that it was Paul rather than Eli because his eyes were differentiated by a lack of the smug, insensitive gleam that was always reflected in the preacher's. Without hesitation she threw her arms around Paul and kissed his face in wild welcome and he returned her enthusiasm, sweeping her into his arms and twirling her around as if in dance.
An hour later when H.W. returned from the fields he was en garde, believing Eli had hunted them down untill Mary explained that it was Eli's twin brother Paul, the one who had sent his father and him to Little Boston. This jogged H.W.'s memory and the men too had a sweet reunion.
"You've taken excellent care of my Mary," Paul told H.W. with Mary happily translating for him. "Her old age is agreeing with her."
The young woman laughed and shoved her brother playfully, then translated H.W.'s signs: "Over the years she has been everyone's darling. My father has always called her his sweet Mary. He loves her very much."
The conversation waned when Daniel was mentioned because the brother and sister knew what the husband and wife did not, making it uncomfortable amongst them. It was clear even to Paul that for the hell Daniel Plainview had dragged Mary and H.W. through both of them still worshipped, loved and respected the old oil man inherently. The trio ordered dinner through room service and had a private party complete with a few bottles of tequila. The lively discussion was primarily about business: Daniel's hostile takeover of Little Boston, his discovery of Mary's untapped aptitude for business, the way he honed her as a successor, H.W.'s own current venture as a wildcatter, and all the minute details of Paul's journey to wealth and achievements. In her increasingly slurred voice, Mary at last suggested that H.W. and Paul join their forces and work together, the dream pairing she'd originally set aside for Paul and Daniel. The men agreed to discuss that initiative after they were sober, perhaps during breakfast. With a light heart Mary realised that she would have her Sunday/Plainview merger between her cherished brother and a Plainview man come to fruition after all. It just wouldn't be with Daniel.
Paul had rented out a room on the floor above the newlyweds and H.W., who wanted to excuse himself to turn in for the night, escorted his wife upstairs to that room, kissed her good night and gave Paul a gracious wave before departing, allotting brother and sister privacy to talk candidly without him.
"He's a great man," Paul softly told her after they entered the room. "You chose well for yourself."
"Yes, I did, thank you. How about you? Why don't you have a lucky woman in your life?"
"I have no time for a woman. I'm always working."
He took off his shoes and stretched out across the bed then patted the empty space next to him, urging her to do the same. She nestled down against her brother's warm body with a content yawn.
"Tell me, then, my stranger brother. Where have you been hiding over these years? I've been worried sick about you. Why haven't you written?"
"Remember when I used to teach you about a man named Karl Marx and the socialist movement?"
"Of course. I remember everything you taught me."
"Well, I met a socialist when I was hiring men to do my drilling. We spent many hours bonding only to discover we had like minds. My entire workforce is comprised of men he knows, other members of the socialist movement. They'd invited me to a meeting and I was enraptured by the discussion. I couldn't describe it to you, Mary. For years I struggled and argued, reasoned and fought alongside my colleagues about these issues: fair wages, better working conditions, equality. I swore to myself that when I broke free and started my own company that my men would have all of this. I was scoffed at, called a Red and a Commie. I was told that there was no room for my beliefs in a capitalist country and my ideas would fail miserably. They warned and threatened that I'd be blacklisted like the other Commies if I didn't shut my mouth. In turn I was miserable and alone. But at this socialist gathering there was compassion and camaraderie that I've never felt before anywhere else. Here I was welcomed and accepted. I was one of them. I'd finally found a place where I belonged."
"You didn't feel that way at home?"
"Not unless I was with you."
"But why didn't you let me know you were safe? I was so worried about you."
He sighed, toying affectionately with a lock of her sunshine coloured hair.
"Socialism is a dangerous game," he explained. "There are deterrents who disagree so strongly with us that they've waged a literal war against us. They accuse us of being a threat to the American dream and way of life. They assault us, vandalise our property, plant moles to sabotage our work from the inside. A few months ago they raided our meeting hall in Beach City while a gathering was in session. It was horrible…" His voice weakened from the memory, distant sounding, and he spoke as if he were hiding from the men he spoke of and didn't want them to find him. "The things I've seen. They tore the hall apart, broke all the furniture with hatchets. They roughed up so many of us. Several comrades were hospitalised, me included. They hit me in the head with an iron pipe. Fractured my skull and put me in a coma for a few weeks. They didn't think I was going to survive. And I was one of the lucky ones. Some of my comrades were dragged away to be lynched. God knows what was done to them or where their bodies are. Often I dream of waking up under a pile of their mutilated, dismembered bodies in a ditch. I scream for help but nobody can hear me because we're in the middle of nowhere and I'm left for dead." His body quaked involuntarily and violently and she clung to him in a desperate aim to offer comfort. But his recollection of the nightmare event was unfinished. "There were children attending that meeting."
"Oh no, Paul, don't…"
"Those monsters threw them into a table where pots of boiling coffee was brewing."
Mary couldn't suppress an appalled gasp.
"It was horrific, Mary. They screamed and wailed as they were cooked alive, the skin sloughing off with the steaming clothing they tried to remove. The most severe victim, a poor toddler who liked to sing for us, even had chunks of raw flesh fall from her traumatised frame. You see, little one, I had no choice but to stay away. If I visited or wrote a letter, they might've come after you. Or mother and Ruth. I was trying to protect you."
The thought of her precious brother injured by men who wanted him dead sickened her. Clutching him hard as if her embrace would ward off their evil, she cried: "I don't like this, Paul! Why do you do it if it's so dangerous?"
"Because somebody has to."
"How did you get that single letter through that Daniel received?"
"I took a chance while I was in the hospital. I had a day nurse who wasn't socialist but she was a sympathiser. She helped me. I directed the letter to Daniel because if he was traced out through it I knew that nobody would go after him." Feeling her sobbing against him, he wiped away the evidence of her fear and insisted, "Don't worry about me, little one. I'm right here. What's done is done. And our mutual friend has taken exceptional care of you."
She was wile enough to know that Paul was using Daniel to steer the conversation off of him. And it worked like a charm.
"You asked him to," she reminded.
"Yes, I did. And look what happened. You and your Electra complex."
"What's that?"
"The propensity of the daughter to sexually desire her father. He raised you as a daughter. You think of him as a father."
"Lot slept with his daughters."
"Lot was drunk. And an incestuous pervert."
"Lucky then that I'm not Daniel's real daughter. Besides, I initiated."
"But he acted on what was already in him or he wouldn't have touched you. The fabric of a man's soul lies in his desires."
"We were consenting adults. He was the best thing that happened to me. The desire was mutual. And I have H.W. now so what's done is done."
Stretching, she yawned and switched topics in the effortless way he did:
"Don't let work stop you," she cautioned. "With finding a wife, I mean. It didn't stop H.W. and me. You just have to treat her as an equal, let her assist you with your work. Daniel saw my potential and nurtured it. He never thought I was inferior and treated me the way he treated H.W. in business matters." She sighed long and dreamily. "Work prevented Daniel from finding his happiness. He lost so much partially because of work…buried himself in an oily grave. I feel sorry for him. And I do miss him terribly."
"You love him still?"
"My love for him will never die. It hasn't in spite of everything and as I speak my limitless love swells my heart to bursting."
"But you do love H.W., don't you?"
"Of course I do! How could you ask me that?"
"I don't want you to make a mistake, Mary. Wed the second best son who is a replica of his father. The second is never as loved as the first."
Mary was offended by Paul's assumption.
"H.W. is not a replica of Daniel. He doesn't imitate Daniel in any way. And it isn't a bad thing that he doesn't."
"There's something in your voice that tells me differently."
A long pause parted the siblings; he waited for her to speak and she harnessed the words to do so. She wanted to explain to Paul without coming across that she didn't love H.W. for being his own separate person.
"I love them each for their own merits," she affirmed.
"For every one time you mentioned H.W.'s name you must've mentioned Daniel five times more. I'm not the brother who delights in finding faults. I'm not saying you're wicked, Mary. Nor am I condemning Daniel. It is possible to love two people. Nobody would be able to move on and be with others if it was impossible. It's clear H.W. means a lot to you, your love for him radiates from your eyes whenever you mention his name or look at him. When you mention Daniel, you're a butterfly completely transformed from the inside out. It's easy to see he means everything to you, the dearest object of your affections."
Indignant, she wrinkled her nose and cried, "I love H.W.!"
The corners of Paul's mouth pulled down in a frown.
"I never said you didn't."
"Do you think I did the right thing? In marrying H.W.? I can't bear wondering if maybe Daniel's life would've changed for the better too if…"
"If you stayed behind with a jealous raging alcoholic? Mary, my sister, my precious little one, I love you and trust that you know better. Just because you love something doesn't mean it's good for you."
"But Daniel loved me, Paul."
"From everything you've told me I believe you: I see that there is good in him and in your relationship with him just by the way H.W. talks about him. Something decent in him had to invoke your undying love and allegiance. But Daniel wouldn't have changed. You know he wouldn't have. Even if his heart had nothing but love for you."
"I know, but…"
"You know you can't save him from himself. You did the right thing by leaving him, Mary. You don't see it now because it's still fresh but you will in time."
"I can't help how I feel."
"Of course not. But maybe you should go back to see how he feels about you now. You deserted him and married his son."
"I didn't desert him…"
"That's your version of the story. His point of view may be different."
"Maybe our story's not completely written."
The sapient wisdom of her older brother lodged in her mind when Mary returned to her room and the only arms she rightfully belonged in. Paul was right; staying with Daniel would've been fatal in one form or another. Even so, as H.W., half asleep, accepted her into his arms, she was aware that nothing short of Daniel would lift her sick heart.
Paul stayed for a month to be at Mary's side, calling his time a long overdue vacation to catch up with her about family and friends. When she questioned who cared for his fields in his absence he informed his very proficient right hand man Chaim Menzies, the very man who'd taken him to his first socialist meeting, Mary's brow raised as she struggled to recall a day when Daniel had taken time off from work. There was the one day when he arrived at the cottage sickly and exhausted from a night carousing with Henry, the night she presumed he killed the wayward, unlucky man who claimed to be his brother, and she sat at his bedside to nurse him. But even on that day he was up and back to work later. He hadn't even bothered to take H.W. to San Francisco himself but instead enlisted Fletcher to do the job, sneaking off the train with a lie, or so H.W. believably informed her years later. It was no wonder the man was driven to drink. He never took time to enjoy the simpler, finer things in life. Greed had corrupted his soul and left it stained with blood and oil. He had nothing in his private life to show for his lifelong efforts outside his mansion walls. He was alone; all he had was her and H.W. but now he didn't have even that.
History repeats itself in different ways and once again Mary felt herself always in the company of one of her men, Paul the substitute for Daniel. She didn't mind, she'd missed her brother. Plus being new to the country and still struggling to learn the language toughened the ability to make friends. When Paul bartered in Spanish at the market for a beaded necklace she liked she was pleasantly surprised then was shocked that she was surprised.
If Daniel had been a member of the Church of the World then Paul was a pupil of the world, taking his lessons not only from books but from life experiences. She was sure that Paul must've been in Mexico during his extensive hiatus from her life. He managed to get the price lowered, excusing that he made the attempt because he carried little money with him out into the towns and advised that she and H.W. to do the same.
The limitless possibilities of where he'd been crammed her mind. Far off and exotic locations around the globe, new people, different cultures, the strange tongues, bizarre food, foreign customs, all experienced by Paul first hand. From Bora Bora to Siberia, she lived vicariously through him as he showed her a treasure trove of postcards, books and letters from faraway lands. Russia was one of them, had been his most favourite place, and he could speak Russian as flawlessly as he had spoken Spanish in the market.
At night she would lie in his arms on his bed much like they used to lie in the pasture carrying out their bucolic routine. Only this time instead of imagining, wishing and hoping, she listened to his personal tales of how things were in the Elsewhere they'd always dreamt of. He taught her phrases and sentences in both Spanish and Russian, telling her that the more language she learnt the more proficient she would be at conducting international business and, hence, make more money with the advantage of breaking the language barrier.
Studying with him into the late hours reminded her of their fond days in the pasture. A few times she'd fallen asleep in his room and, not having the heart to wake her, he covered her and settled for the night himself. In the morning, she tried to sneak back to her own room unnoticed, the maid fouling her with a dirty look. Mary understood that the woman did not know the circumstances or that Paul was actually her estranged brother but as much as she wished the woman would hold her judgements, the ignorant disapproval reminded her of a home she strangely missed.
During the time he was with them, Paul helped H.W. with his decisions and was the newlyweds' link to the language barrier, taking extra care that details did not get lost in the doubled translation. Ever the egalitarian, he helped H.W. develop the guidelines for a successful and fair business that centralised around the workers: reasonable wages, decent hours, good benefits…the things H.W. planned on figuring out himself. The socialist touch Paul added suited the oil prince who couldn't stray far enough from his father's unethical predilections.
After the leases were signed for several acres and the bottom line finalised, a letter was dispatched to George Reynolds explaining why they'd left so hastily and if he could meet them in Mexico with all expenses paid. That was the last touch. It was time for Paul to leave. He wished the young couple the best of luck, shook H.W.'s hand and kissed Mary on the cheek then was on the train back to California. It was a bittersweet parting but at least she now knew he was well and happy and going to a place that was not rotten with brutality.
Days that followed beleaguered her and she became withdrawn which H.W. mistook for losing Paul a second time in her life. In fact, it was a pining for Daniel that caused her misery but was the last thing she wanted to admit to her husband. Conjured visions of the eccentric old oil man alone and in need of human touch, her touch, caused her heart to bleed and she pitied him. She pitied herself, too, for the unbearable longing. Was it selfish of her to want to be near Daniel again after so much lapsed time and she had new priorities with her husband and his business? Was it possible for her to salvage what might be irreparable? As the months crawled by her melancholy worsened and H.W. attributed her deepened sadness to this being her first time away from home. They were foreigners in a land where everything was alien: the language, culture, the race, the way of life. Longing for home was only natural.
Mary took advantage of H.W.'s theory and prevaricated that it was indeed because she missed her family and friends. Refuge was taken in his sympathetic arms but her heart leapt when he confessed that he too missed home and being at his father's side.
We should visit him, she suggested hopefully. It's been eight months. Seasons have passed and perhaps he's changed now that he knows we find his behaviour objectionable and won't tolerate it.
Your invention of him manifested out of childhood assumptions that he was an angel. I know my father very well, Mary. He is no angel. If he's changed it's likely for the worse.
Don't say that! You must give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it's been such a long time. I want to see my family. Mexico is fantastic but I miss home.
Paul gave you a craving for your native land, didn't he?
She nodded with a faint smile and a tear in her eye.
We'll go back soon, H.W. told her. Maybe next month. I want to write Fletcher first.
Fletcher? Why Fletcher?
Scout out the territory to make sure it's safe to move in.
Mary smiled at H.W.'s shrewdness. She kissed him sweetly, enticing him into returning them untill he made love to her and she found a slice of her sought after home.
A week later H.W. received a notice from George verifying that the letter was received and by the time the response was delivered he would already be on a train to rendezvous with them. George's advent was tantamount to having Little Boston transferred to Mexico. There was great joy in the reunion with the teacher, one as sweet as when Paul came, and Mary threw her arms around their friend in greeting. It wasn't untill they were at dinner that Mary swallowed her fears and asked the big question: "How is Daniel doing?"
George was caught off guard and gave her a queer look as if she was breaking a rule by asking after the welfare of her father-in-law. Then clearing his throat he replied, "He's…Daniel. Last I saw him. I left soon after you did. There was no need for me to be around anymore and his drinking increased while his temperance decreased. If you thought his presence was utterly unbearable before then it's the purest of hells now. But I suppose that is his tragedy. He can't ward off his demons. It seems they will never let him go."
Once again deep regret plagued Mary upon hearing the news. She was a cognoscente of demons herself and they kept her awake the whole of the night while she struggled with a way to suggest to H.W. that they shouldn't wait for Fletcher's reply and that she wanted to visit Daniel on her own. After the older man's violent paroxysm it was implausible that her husband would allow her to see him by herself, of course. H.W. was sensible and not controlling in the least but she knew here he would put his foot down because he felt his father was a threat to her safety. It was here where Mary questioned the harm in one more lie, however agonising it was to add another thread to the web.
For the turbulent days of dealing with the problem all she had to show for it was illness from lack of sleep which panicked H.W. when she couldn't get out of bed one morning. Rather than neglecting her for the fields as Daniel had often done with him, H.W. chose to sit by her bedside, repaying an old debt from when he first lost his hearing. Against his better judgement, the worried young husband sent for the local doctor and after several long minutes of painstaking interpretations, dysentery and diseases deriving from unsanitary conditions were ruled out and the doctor ordered her on bed rest. She insisted that it was simple overexertion and bed rest would be sufficient to get her back on her feet. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him that it was nothing more than love sickness.
When they were alone H.W. inconspicuously inquired if she was with child. Astounded by the question and the hope that gleamed in his eyes, she realised the topic of starting their own family had never arisen so it was with an excruciating shake of her head that she answered no. The disappointment was fleeting when this new dream took flight as if he was oblivious of being able to have children prior.
Is that something you would be interested in doing? he asked earnestly.
The air of his gestured words was more businesslike than ever as if he was negotiating on the price of another lease and she laughed at the implication. His complexion reddened and the insult to his ego was evident.
If bearing my children is something you don't welcome…
Before he could finish she grabbed hold of his frantic hands, shook her head then touched an index finger to his lips, immediately lessening his fury.
I would love to have your children, she assured. And I cannot wait to do so. But now is not the time. We are not yet ready. We need to enjoy each other as man and wife for a while first.
With a sweet smile he nodded understanding.
Then what's wrong? he asked, the worry rematerialising.
She shrugged and responded: I miss home.
You miss him greatly, don't you?
Startled by the directness of the question, she saw no malice in his expression and nodded.
I bet he misses you, too. He loved you above all else. Even me.
That isn't true!
But he did. You'd grown so close over the last few years. He was a good father to you. He taught you to be the strong woman you are today, the woman I'd fallen in love with. That is why I could never blame him.
Blame him for what?
For becoming your lover.
It felt as if her soul left her body upon hearing his revelation. Before she could respond with more than her troubled, gaping eyes, he continued.
I love my father. And I love you. Both unconditionally. I always have and I always will. I did not mind sharing you with him or that you both made love so frequently.
How did you know?
He smiled affectionately.
That room of yours. It smelt like you lived inside a rose garden. Deaf ears heighten other senses. My father was always rugged, tough. Very much a man. A man who smelled like roses more often than he would've liked.
A subtle hint was an arrow through her heart. H.W. was deaf by a freak accident, the will of God, but he was blind by choice to her tawdry love affair with his father. He'd known and still loved her any way. And that made her love him all the more.
As if acceding to her heartfelt yearning, a letter from Fletcher came in the post a few days later. His prognosis was not good, just as George had forewarned. Daniel continued to slide down the banister straight into Hell. He was damned near unapproachable by anyone other than Fletcher and his butler who was forced into acting as default caregiver in addition to his regular household chores.
Come to see him if you want, Fletcher wrote, but don't say you weren't warned. A long time has passed since you both left and he is still unhappy about how things went down so don't expect a welcome reception. I can meet you at the railroad station if you still want to risk coming. I know Mary must want to see her family. Her mother talks about her all the time and Ruth drops by once a week with her family. She has another new baby now so she's eager to see you both. I don't know how news of this will be received but Eli has also returned to Little Boston from his latest mission. For all of his preaching about living in humble poverty he's prettier than a girl in his fancy suits. He asked me the same thing that you did and wondered if it would be a good idea for him to call on Daniel at the mansion. I think he wanted something he had no right to ask for so I sent him over with the lie that Daniel would be happy to see him. It's never been a secret how much those two despise each other and I expected it would've set the little weasel straight to send him off to face his old adversary. I believe Daniel really has scared the living daylights out of him because nobody has seen hide or hair of him since his trip to the mansion. Write to me as soon as you can and we will make arrangements.
Mary, whose blood tie designated fear for Eli only when she witnessed Daniel's vicious assault on him in her childhood, had the eidetic details of the memory bubble back to the surface. The admission from Daniel on her eighteenth birthday that he'd murdered Henry for no other reason than his pretending to be a dead brother rustled a sick feeling in her gut when she read the portion of Fletcher's letter stating that Eli had gone missing after visiting with the tempestuous oil man. Did Fletcher unknowingly send Eli to his demise? Certainly her dear friend and Daniel's dearer partner had not that intent in mind by authorising a visit.
He's still my brother! she thought wildly. Something terrible must've happened! Daniel hurt Eli, I know it!
Pictures of her brother lying in the quaggy grave Daniel had threatened to bury him in so many years before would not let her rest.
We must make our arrangements to go to Little Boston, she relayed to H.W. after folding the letter up. My family will be my only cure. I need to see them. Even Eli.
Then she emphasised in her head: Especially Eli!
H.W. stroked her face, kissed her gently on the lips and nodded.
All right, he told her. I suppose the time has come. I'll write Fletcher and tell him we will return to Little Boston in a fortnight.
He kissed her forehead and left her to sink back into the luxuriant pillows and duvet with assorted visualisations of the pattering of tiny Plainview feet and of her brother rotting beneath the floorboards they ran across.
Preparation for their trip back home restored Mary's health as she bustled about packing their things. H.W. and George ventured to the fields to sort through the ranks of men, configuring who would be in command during H.W.'s hiatus. A man named Guillermo was chosen because he was the most dedicated and interested in helping the young prospector to run the fledgling company.
Inside Mary was an agitated tornado of terror for what might've happened and a craving to see everyone, including the exiled miser drinking himself to death in the mansion. Perhaps she was being premature in blaming him for Eli's vanishing act. Certainly her obnoxious brother had other enemies. She had to excuse it if for but a brief moment long enough to greet him. She didn't care if Daniel was lying in a cesspool of his own vomit and filth; she wanted to kiss him fiercely and hold him untill their bodies moulded together as one. Love transcended the soils of life.
During the long homeward train ride she and H.W. held hands almost the entire way. She leant against him and napped fitfully with her head upon his shoulder, wondering what would transpire once they were on the doorsteps of their families. When the train stopped at a midpoint station for a half hour break and H.W. went to smoke and purchase a quick bite to eat for them she stretched her legs. A pair of children streaked passed to get on board, nearly knocking her down. The mother apologised but she brushed off the incident with a mirthfull, "Don't worry about it."
The experience provided an opportunity for her to slip back into daydreams of her own future family. A manifold of thoughts filled her as, touching her belly, she wondered what her children would be like, who they would resemble in looks and in habits. If they had H.W.'s intelligence and drive combined with her tenacity and resilience then they would not want for anything in the world. If they had Ruth's beauty then that would double their chances and make them darlings of the Earth.
No. Not darlings. Angels!
One regrettable thing was that they wouldn't have any of Daniel in them and she was convinced that part of his problem was that he was robbed of the chance at having his blood carried on through his own children. Ambition failed him in that desire. From her first-hand experience she knew he loved children and that made his inability to reproduce tragic. Yes, a biological child may have changed the course of his life but what about the child? What would a child truly fathered by him be like? In review of his character, perhaps Daniel's impotence was nature's way of relieving the world of his uncommon cruelty. Yet Daniel wasn't all bad. H.W. may not have been of his flesh and blood but he was raised by the oil man and there was a time when he – and subsequently Mary herself – had been Daniel's everything. She hoped that this reunion would be sweet for them and that Daniel's old feelings would be moved so that their relationships could be mended.
Fletcher was waiting for them at the station and Mary nearly tripped in her swift descent from the train car and launched herself at Fletcher. Luckily her old friend quickly impeded her fall with arms wrapped around her or else she would've fallen face first to the ground. After his gleefull reacquaintance with her, he shook hands with H.W. and George, the Plainview scion locking him into a friendly embrace. The drive to the Sunday ranch was lively with conversation as H.W. shared with Fletcher all of his plans for a new life in Mexico with his own company and Mary excitedly rambled on about the people she'd met and the things there were to see.
Nearing the town brought an anxious feeling that crept over her body as with every mile in she wanted to exit the automobile and run on foot to the ranch, if for nothing more than old time sake. So much for the church's execration of Daniel's work, she thought when she spied the great forest of derricks that had proliferated the desert like odd manmade trees. Of all the things in Mexico she'd mentioned none of them bore a remote appearance of Heaven as the dilapidated Sunday ranch house did when the car rolled over a mount and it came into sight. Set among the dusty knolls she once cursed as a child and amid scores of derricks that now defaced the property as far as the eye could see, it was a wondrous sight to behold as her time away in a foreign land made the monotony hailed as a sanctuary she was gratefull for. It brought tears to her eyes and H.W., who'd chosen to sit in the rear with her, noticed and embraced her with a solacing arm. She nestled against him and in the snug safety he provided allowed her emotions to purge from her. Only the light caress of his fingers could work a soothing magic on her.
Upon hearing the car, mother stepped outside and trailling behind her were Ruth and Matthew with their children, an infant in her sister's arms. The car barely stopped before Mary was out and in the welcoming throng of her family, openly weeping together. Better still, each and every one of them embraced H.W., mother and Ruth pecked him on the cheek.
"We've missed you so much!" mother exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us you were getting married? I would've loved to have attended the wedding. After you announced your engagement I hoped for you to be wed here with Eli performing the ceremony."
"It was rash and unexpected," Mary explained. "We needed it done quickly, I'm sorry, mother. There are things…"
"You must be glad to have her back, Mrs Sunday," Fletcher interrupted gruffly for he knew well the story behind the impromptu exchange of vows. "It's a happy day, isn't it? Little Mary is back and with her the finest husband any woman could ask to have."
The elopement was dropped and everyone filed into the house where Ruth and mother served a decent meal. Daniel, it seemed, ensured that her widowed mother was taken care of as she now was now the sole resident in an empty nest. One of the roughnecks regularly checked on her and if she needed anything it was provided without hesitation or question. Mary choked on sentiment for her father figure. There was good in him yet and this ignited hope. Eventual mention of Eli's disappearance, however, was an unpleasant reminder of Daniel's incorrigible dark side.
H.W. planned to visit Daniel the next day, declaring that he needed rest beforehand because going to deal with his father was going to be like trudging off to war. He needed to gather his strength and Mary readily agreed. He spent the entire day and night with the remnants of her family, night bringing a new predicament with sleeping arrangements. Mother insisted that she and H.W. take her bed so that they could be together as husband and wife should but the young couple refused on the grounds that it was disrespectfull for a child to lay with the opposite sex in the same bed under the parents' roof. In the end Mary and H.W. got her bed despite their protests while mother took Mary's old bed. Ruth and her family stayed out in the shack formerly occupied by the twins.
Not one for procrastination, H.W. abolished his fear by taking George over to the mansion in the morning after breakfast and concise socialising with the family. During his absence, Mary could not constrain her anxiety and paced the floor unremittingly untill mother assigned her a series of tasks to work it off. It was three o' clock when George returned, terrifying Mary when she saw that H.W. was not at his side.
"Where is my husband?" she asked, her voice frail and strained.
"Out on the beach," George answered, his countenance like death itself. "Waiting for you."
As she sped to the shore as swift as any racehorse, a million thoughts crowded her mind. If H.W. was the slightest bit hurt then certainly the teacher would've informed her about it. A loyal person like George, who'd been with H.W. for most of the young man's life, would not omit such an important bit of information if it was true, she was convinced, so H.W. had to at least be physically intact. With Daniel's unpredictable nature it was difficult to say what occurred between the estranged father and son, after all.
Finding H.W. wasn't difficult once she reached the shore. He was perched on a mammoth rock, mindlessly tossing small pebbles into the foamy ocean. She was almost afraid to approach him. Almost. A hand placed on his shoulder told him that she was there and when he turned around to meet her, her heart broke. His face was red and swollen, evidence that he'd been crying.
He told me that I'm not his son! H.W. expounded, the movements of his hands graceless in the frantic emotion. I'm not his, Mary! After all these years! I was lied to and he ambushed me with the truth when it was most convenient for him, when he couldn't get his way!
Unable to say anything comforting to alleviate the terrific pain from discovery of his spurious existence, she simply clutched him tight as he sobbed against her. Daniel was such a bastard! She dependably kept his secret that H.W. was not his own child but that of a former employee only to have that secret implemented as a weapon against her tender hearted husband who only sought reconciliation. She seethed about the fulsome behaviour; she couldn't imagine how horrible H.W. felt in having his life turned upside down and its contents emptied like a box that had been left in the attic before.
Your love for him was not unrequited, she maintained after a while. He adored you, you know that.
It didn't show today.
He's angry with us. Perhaps it will pass. We arrived as suddenly as we came. He doesn't know any better but to lash out in anger.
He implied he knew that you and I were engaged before we left and he knew where we were after we'd left. How did he find out?
It isn't difficult to see when two people are in love and to assume they marry if they run off the way we did. It happens often in these parts. I'm sure your father has noticed that for as long as he's lived here.
He was exceptionally cruel! He's never been that way with me before! Never!
Yes, I don't question you. But he at least loved you once. It's better that you had it for a while than not at all. He may be a self-serving monster now but there must've been a tremendous amount of love there for him to take you in and raise you as his own. He's always been a covetous, self-centred man but he put that all aside for a child who he did not have any real obligation to. What's more is he did the same thing for me on another level. He isn't all bad, H.W., and you must cling to what you remember was good.
I know, believe me, I know! But I can't help but to mourn what I lost in him!
Stifled with empathy for H.W., she thought she was well aware of what they both lost in Daniel's arbitrary indifference. She allotted H.W. as much time as he needed to regain his composure before recommending that they return to the ranch and maybe playing with her niece and nephew would lighten his downheartedness. He consented but on the condition that they walked together on the beach for a few minutes more first, for old time's sake.
That night she lay with H.W. nestled deep into her arms, recollecting the time when she first noticed the gulf of differences between the father and the son, both physical and mental. Back when Daniel confided that H.W. was not his biological child the news that they were of no relation startled her only because of the extraordinary bond they shared, a bond that exceeded every other father/son she'd ever known. Had she been left to believe that they were of the same blood then she would've written off the transparent contrasts as H.W. resembling his mother, or who she would've mistaken for Daniel's former wife.
The father's misconduct toward the son, for they were undoubtedly father and son, gave her contemplation of how exceptionally lucky she was to have H.W. because with Daniel she was likely to have followed in her mother's footsteps. Like mother, she would've been broken hearted, love starved and following the vicious circle with an abusive husband so like her father in many ways. Somehow, unlike most men, H.W. had not followed in his father's footsteps but travelled down the opposite path. Was it just H.W. following his own nature since he was not related to Daniel? What if he actually had been Daniel's true son? Would he had been his own man then or would he have eventually emerged a replica?
She couldn't help but wonder what manner of a man his biological father had been. For the offspring's behaviour to deviate so far from that of his adoptive parent, he had to be good by nature. Who had nurtured him and the manner in which he was nurtured was all for nought. He couldn't be taught a treachery that he innately knew was wrong. He was not at all a product of his environment. His real father must have been a good, decent man because it was evident in the son. Mary counted herself lucky and was thankfull for that.
I am not defined by the traits of my father but I must always carry their stigma.
Here he slept in her arms: H.W. Plainview, nothing like his adopted father in any aspect, unwanted by the man who raised him because he dared defy him, fragile enough to cry yet strong enough to confront the persecutor he will forever call father. Once she wished she had Daniel in his place; now she was glad he was nothing like Daniel. An adult's eyes never see things the same way as those of a child. Old enough to see in hindsight that her childhood angel had never been quite as magnanimous as she'd once envisioned, the scales of disillusion fell from her new eyes.
The torment of Daniel's ill treatment of H.W. gnawed at her throughout the night. Even after she resolved to meet with Daniel herself she earned no respite from her upset. H.W.'s wounds were not the only things keeping her awake. So had been the fate of Eli, a louse who engorged itself on the blood from a weary host all too often and who no doubt aptly received the justice he deserved but who was her brother nevertheless and she wanted answers. If Daniel had been the last person to see Eli before his disappearance then she would persuade the information she wanted out of him. There was nothing worse than never knowing what happened to a loved one who vanished. It was better to know they were dead than to worry and wonder in a type of purgatory for the rest of your days.
Morning roused new life in H.W. who acted as if the fall-out between him and Daniel never happened. For this Mary was happy but it still did not deter her from an intended council with her jilted lover. She still aimed to set him straight about a few things and find out once and for all what happened when Eli paid him a visit.
After breakfast she walked with H.W. on the beach for an hour as a means to pacify him during her absence. She meant to go to the mansion in secret with the explanation that she needed time alone to sort through her thoughts, of which she knew H.W. would not object. With her whereabouts accounted for, she snuck down to the fields to ask Fletcher if she could borrow his car. Not one bit perplexed by her request, he readily handed over the keys then warned her to be carefull.
The mansion was a short ten minute drive away and had it not been for the unhappy business occupying her mind it would've been an enjoyable ride. Stopping the car outside, she stared at the lavish home as if it was a slaughterhouse made ornate to distract the animals about to be butchered. The proverbial lamb going to slaughter, she took a deep breath and ventured to the door.
The butler had a strained look upon his face when he answered and Mary had no wonder as to why. Being cooped up in a mansion waiting hand and foot on the great and intolerable Daniel Plainview must've been, without question, depleting. He asked if she was positive she wanted to hold council with him, his appearance worsening as if she asked to be put in the front lines of war. But she confirmed her desire and was led by him to the infamous office, through a hallway littered with broken glass from a shattered window crushing beneath her feet. What happened here? she wondered uneasily. If she hadn't known that the news would've been broken by mother if it had happened, she would've mistaken the mess from being done by another earthquake. She knew that Daniel probably was responsible for it while in a drunken rage. Everything Daniel did had seismic consequences.
The door was closed and he knocked, calling, "Mr Plainview? A young lady is here to see you. Mary Plainview."
Seizing the moment as a man would on a business venture, she didn't wait for the reply from inside. Instead she thanked the skittish servant then cracked the door ajar herself. The butler's disbelieving eyes widened at her boldness before he scampered away in anticipation of another infamous Daniel Plainview outburst. Mary was not discouraged; she'd come this far and this was the point of no return.
"Daniel?" she called in a pathetic attempt to not project meekness. She was convinced that, like a wild animal, Daniel could smell fear. "It's Mary, I'm coming in."
Widening the door, she surreptitiously stepped inside, suddenly not certain that she was doing the right thing now that she was there. It was like standing before God on the Day of Judgement and she cursed herself inwardly for feeling that way. Daniel was just a man, not anything to fear compared to God Himself. Yet the feeling would not quiet when her eyes found him behind his desk amid a fog of cigarette smoke, the undisputed solitary monarch of Little Boston brooding behind a desk like the Devil would on his throne of garbage in Hell. He was dishevelled and grubby and it was clear that he hadn't bathed in days, probably still wearing the same rumpled, stained clothing too. His skin and hair were oily, his sallow face unshaven, hands dirty as always, and an atmosphere of foulness wrapped around him. A fitting composite for a fell creature it was and her heart brimmed with compassion for him.
"It's been such a long time, hasn't it, my love?" she began as if she'd been there all along and their paths had just never crossed. "I've missed you every day I was gone."
He glared at her with a malice she'd seen in his eyes before but which had been reserved for others yet never directed at her. For the first time, she knew what Elii must have felt like when trapped in the gaze of Daniel Plainview. She imagined that H.W. had been the recipient of that same feral gaze the day before and it made her flesh creep.
"May I sit?"
Getting no response, she took the liberty to seat herself across from him, gathered her courage and returned his wild stare with one of concern.
"H.W. told me what happened," she stated. "But I'm not here as his ambassador to plead his case to you. I've come here of my own accord, unknown by anyone else, to address my personal unfinished issues with you."
"Is that so?" he spoke at last, his voice a familiar deep growl.
"Yes. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and my time away from you has proved that true. My love for you has grown but my fear of you has risen with it. I'm ambivalent to you yet I come to you with nothing but love in my heart despite fear for my safety. Although my heart trusts you will never harm me."
"Are you so certain of that, Mary Plainview?" he spat in contempt.
"Yes," she squeaked, reduced to the little girl he'd met many years ago.
"Then tell me what you've come to say and leave so that I might never see you or your little bastard husband again."
She choked with heartache.
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I? Ask that boy you ran off and married if you're not sure."
"His name is H.W. and you loved him once. You loved us once." Before you lost your foothold on us in our adulthood, she wanted to add but bit her tongue not to.
His glowering indifference disturbed her beyond measure and would remain immemorial to her for the rest of her days.
"Love is fleeting at first opportunity, isn't it?" he said. "It withers and rots when loved ones are betrayed."
His weakness was children and it always had been. Whereas he detested and scorned adults, he'd always been kind and protective toward the children. Perhaps this was because he saw the quality of innocence in them, untainted souls that were always splashed with blackness and sometimes blood as the children grew into adults. They became corrupt in his eyes, entities he could no longer control as they were touched and changed by the world. Perhaps this was the truth behind why he cast H.W. out of his life: he was no longer acceptable by his standards. The child was forever gone and a man with a separate identity and his own dreams was left before him. With the young man stood the little girl he loved and cared for as his own, now a woman, his former lover…now his son's wife. They grew up as individuals apart from him and he believed it a form of disrespect. He just couldn't comprehend that it was merely growing up and things could never possibly stay the way he wanted them. Perhaps his love for children was the way Daniel Plainview chose to cleanse the blots on his own oil-blackened soul. But they were children no more. And that was the extent of his philoprogenitive love.
"I'm sorry, Daniel," she uttered softly, gently as if he were a child. "I'm sorry you feel that way. H.W.'s love for you won't ever leave him. But you have an unnatural drive, a hunger for power and a greed for what isn't rightfully yours. It isn't enough for you to own something. You always have to take it away. That will never leave you. He knows you're not good for him. For us. I wanted you so badly, to make a life with you. But, in hindsight, you didn't want me. Not really. You wanted me because I was H.W.'s. You wanted your demons more. Now you'll have them and you must learn to live alone with them." She paused, wanting him to respond either in motion or words. When he remained immobile as a statue, she closed, "Besides, I don't believe I would've ever made you happy."
There was silence while she let her words soak into him.
"I heard Eli came to see you," she presented and noticed that his muscles tensed and eyes hardened to stone. "There is a rumour that you frightened him away. Nobody has seen him since his visit here with you." She paused to search for a telltale sign on his face but found none. "What did you do to my brother, Daniel? Did you hurt him? Did you take his life?"
The recollection of Eli often squirming like a maggot on a festering wound he created himself was clear in her mind.
"Eli was here," was his equivocated confirmation. "And he got what he deserved."
An involuntary shiver laddered down her spine as she recalled the words that Daniel had muttered to Eli after his fiery baptism, words he confided in her about on her eighteenth birthday.
Gods can be buried as quickly as they're invented, Eli.
"And what was that? Tell me."
The malicious glint in his still verdant eyes haunted her.
"I think you know," was his reply.
"Tell me. You know I like to hear things straight from you."
"Eli has gone to be with his Lord. Buried with the oil he held as precious as I do, conspiring with Henry on how best to exact their vengeance on me in the afterlife."
So this was the culmination of their legendary rivalry. The schadenfreude Eli received from Daniel's very real suffering at last had taken its toll in an undoubtedly gruesome end. Mary choked on a sob that she could not control; the tears came freely for suffering another loss and wondering what she was to tell the rest of her family. Should she protect Daniel and hide the homicide out of love for him or should she tell the truth so her extinguished brother's body could be properly interred in the Christian way rather than lie restlessly in his murderer's back yard? Yet there was undeniably one reason more for her tears. All he'd been to her died in that confession and all that everyone warned him to be thrived like a fungus choking the tree it lived upon.
"You cry for him?" Daniel snapped testily. "What was he ever worth to you outside of the abuse I saved you from?"
"No. I'm not crying for him," she muttered. "I'm crying for you."
Her revelation stunned him, rendering him speechless for an aeon as he watched her grieve but still unable to grasp that it was his lost humanity that she grieved for. When he spoke it was to strike straight to where he knew it would finish her off.
"Don't you think it's time to grow up?" he asked, brusque.
His inquiry punched Mary in the stomach and she already felt tears welling.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her timidity caught up to her at last.
"You've fawned over me for most of your life, wanting me to give you something that I can't give. It's time to abandon this childish pursuit of yours and move on."
"I never asked you for anything you couldn't give. I told you that those things didn't matter to me so I don't know what you mean…"
"But you do. You do know what I mean." He swallowed the pernicious alcoholic poison she knew was partially responsible for his new cruelty to her. An inordinate drinker, his sobriety had only been in abeyance untill her absence. It broke her heart. Perhaps she'd been what kept him from it or at least from drinking to an ungodly excess. "You're a twenty-five-year-old married woman now. Hardly a child. You don't need a daddy any more. Looking up to me as one is immature. It was understandable when you were a child and abused by your true father but the man who was your father is long dead by now; he can't hurt you and you don't need to hide behind my legs for protection any more."
Mary was stunned and hurt more than she ever thought she could. Everything she'd loved about him disintegrated like a preserved thing that, after being under an air-tight seal, rots from exposure to the air. She chose her words carefully, distrusting his confrontational inebriated conduct.
"A girl always needs her father regardless of her age, Daniel. He must continue to be the standard bearer who she follows over the duration of her life. A father must always be her protector and a comfort for when she suffers. You were that for me and meant everything to me. It's a shame you rescind your paternal office to me. You were and are my true father."
"I'm no more your father than I am the father of that boy you've run off with."
"A father is many things, Daniel. A man doesn't need to reproduce with his body to reproduce with his soul. You understood that once. I owe the woman I am today to your fatherly influences. Yet look what's become of you! H.W. came here for the very reason I've come today. We're both greatly concerned for you. Do not turn us away."
"I don't need your concern. Don't disillusion yourself. I don't need it and I don't want it. You said you did not come here as an ambassador for your husband but it doesn't look that way. Tell him that sending you here makes him a coward."
"I came of my own free will, Daniel. I told you H.W. doesn't know I'm here. There are matters I needed to discuss with you, besides my husband's business, one of them being the whereabouts of my brother. Yet there are other personal matters between us."
Rising from the chair, she walked around the desk, leant down then dared to kiss his sandpapery cheek and when she saw his submission to this intimacy she stole from him, she took the chance to crush her lips firmly, heatedly against his. Everything she had was poured into that single lingering kiss: eleven years of gratitude, adulation and pure love. Despite what he'd become or the cruel words he now uttered, he adored her and saved her from the religious Sunday men's sacerdotal tyranny once. Nothing changed those facts. She only wished it was in her power to return the favour by saving him from himself.
That everlasting tenderness between them dissolved the impersonal way he treated her when his arms circled around her tenderly like they frequently did in the past, enfolding her like fragile gossamer wings she was terrified would rip apart with one wrong move. Old affection pulsed within her fluttering heart and because he returned her kiss with equal passion and a hungry tongue she believed to have broken through to him. Once his hands were upon her she forgot her sweet husband, her vows to him and the binding of fidelity she promised him. All intention to stay faithfull to H.W. evaporated as Daniel's touch weakened her the way it always had. His hands played through her flaxen hair to caress her face then landed gently on her small breasts which he massaged gently. She whimpered approvingly into his mouth when he reached between her legs, determined to gain one final victory over H.W. and over her.
A great satiric twist of fate occurred to her then. Impotent he was in body but not in spirit, for oil – the great Whore of Babylon – spread her legs for him and he lay willingly between them. It did not go beyond her notice to realise that the impotent man had the biggest penis in all of California, his figurative erections standing proud for his Whore in the form of the derricks clustered throughout Isabella County.
But his passion was a broken blister that left her raw and throbbing when he unexpectedly and callously shoved her away, wiping the taste of her from his lips as if she was a bitter medicine. Steadying her balance before crashing to the floor, she gazed at him in a mixture of love, pity and agony at the pivotal moment when Daniel's divulging his true nature to her.
"Must it come to this? Must we severe ties with you? Are we that dispensable to you? I came here of my own accord because I love you. I want you in my life. In some way I want you in my life. And in the lives of my future children…your grandchildren."
The darkness upon his face deepened and her retaliation for the hurt he'd caused her earlier in the conversation was avenged but it wasn't as sweet a success as she anticipated it to be.
"Take your husband and go back to Mexico. Neither one of you are anything to me. Neither of you mean anything to me."
Shaking her head, she told him, "I don't know who you are any more."
Their eyes locked and for one split incendiary second Mary saw a smattering of his affection for her that he did his best to hide and trod down into his inner abyss. It was gone as quickly as it had come and the unbreakable spitefulness returned.
"I am who I've always been," he countervailed.
At this point her desire was just to make a clean break but breaks are seldom clean. Defying his obstinacy, she closed the gap from the few steps he'd propelled her back.
"I will always love you," she murmured in his ear, stroking his grizzled jaw line with honest tenderness. "Far deeper than you're capable of ever returning that love. And that will never leave me."
Bestowing him a final kiss more out of pity than love, she took the cue of her own parting words and walked away. As she reached the door and started to exit the room, she paused for one final glance at the man she stubbornly still found beauty in amid his tragic flaws. But the monarch remained on his throne, unseated, his spirit ossified beyond measure, staring pensively out the window with a cigarette held in his fingers and an intense expression of locked-in emotion. Her heart seized when his gaze relocated and fixed on her eyes but rather than the warmth and affection from her childhood, gelid seething rage mirrored back at her. Frowning slightly, she dropped her eyes to the floor and let the door forever divide them, surrendering him to whatever fate his Pyrrhic victory fitted him with. Fate had not let her down; her own expectations had. Only the ghost of a memory was looking back at her and it was too painfull for her to bear. Angels fall hard when they are only men.
"I read a lot of correspondence dating from that period. Decent middle-class lives with wives and children were abandoned to pursue this elusive possibility. They were bank clerks and shipping agents and teachers. They all fled west for a sniff of cheap money. And they made it up as they went along. No one knew how to drill for oil. Initially, they scooped it out of the ground in saucepans. It was man at his most animalistic, sifting through filth to find bright, sparkly things."
- Daniel Day-Lewis
One Pure Thing