A Congregation of Jackals

by S. Craig Zahler

Elinore looked at him, her bright green eyes agleam in the lowering sun. “You received a telegram.” “What’d it say?” “I didn’t read it. I didn’t know if you’d want me to, so I brought it out here for you.” One of the seventeen reasons Elinore made such a good wife was that she did not snoop. Another was her Oklahoma accent that sounded like honey to Oswell even after fourteen years of marriage.

The casino was Dicky’s second-favorite place in the world (although he admitted that “wrapped in the arms and legs of a woman” may not be considered a place by some).

“What was her name?’ “I’m not telling you that.” Dicky laughed at Godfrey’s guarded reply. “I’m not going after her. I was just curious.” “Just the same, I’d prefer to play it safe. You’d pull the cross off a church steeple if you needed firewood.” “Some have claimed that I’m not a devout adherent to the faith of selfsacrifice.”

The gambler’s view was obscured by a blanket of steam that was blown east by a strong western wind. For a moment, both sides of the car were aglow with roiling bright white exhaust. “It’s like we’re flying up in the clouds,” observed Godfrey. “Enjoy the view. I’m pretty sure we don’t have angels making beds for us in heaven.” “You like jokes.” “That wasn’t one.”

Dicky thought of Allison. He remembered her sleepy eyes in the morning, her long cool fingertips on his chest, and the kind way that she corrected any words that he mispronounced when he read to her in an effort to improve his powers of elocution. Something burned the edges of his eyes like the bites of fire ants, and his vision blurred. “You’re taking this a lot worse than I expected,” chided Godfrey. “You could always go for her friend—she’s glanced this way a couple of times since the one with black hair dozed off.” “I am thinking about something else.” “You want to talk about her?” “I don’t.”

When the bride-to-be was two hundred yards from James Lingham’s property line, she heard the sound of his hammer pounding nails and knew exactly where he would be. She adjusted the basket on her arm, circumvented his house and crept upon the laboring carpenter. Jesus and Joseph saw her approach, but did not bother to remark upon it to their master, which was either a sign of growing familiarity or a subtle canine insult.

Usually people go to church more often after they’ve lost someone close like you did. I certainly went more when my wife died. I felt it was the best way I could talk to her.” “I am of a different type of thinking. The Lord took a part of me that I miss daily. That piece should suffice Him until I ascend myself.” “The sermons can be inspiring.” “Your derby espouses more profundities than does Minister Caulding.”

“I’d like to dance as well,” said Beatrice, who then pulled Lingham after T.W. to the raised area of the dance floor. Oswell, Godfrey, and Dicky stood for a moment silently watching the celebrants. “He knows we’ve been on the wrong side,” stated the rancher. The plump man nodded. “He does.” “That perilous anatomy of his companion may keep him occupied for the remainder of the event,” observed the gambler. “Let’s hope so.”

The foundation of every enduring love was trust, absolute and unqualified, and she loved him very, very thoroughly.