By: C. Gabriel Dominguez
When the lawman entered the facility, he had one demand for the staff and doctors.
“You can call me Marshal.”
He was a charismatic but forgetful fellow of few words in his first days before his condition deteriorated. He walked tall and with an air of power surrounding him that people always felt. Most could never guess the man was getting sick.
Now, the weary Marshal sits on his chair alone in his stale room. He looks out his window to the sun’s rays with little reaction. His body is old and frail with eyes even older. What The Marshal’s eyes had seen still leaves its marks even when those sights have left his mind. His mouth shuts tight as his arms rests in his lap. The Marshal just softly taps the wooden floors below him in a galloping rhythm with left foot.
TAP TAP TAP.
A man frozen in time, still as a statue. The facility bell tower’s chimes echo into The Marshel’s room, bouncing off its walls. It’s noon, but The Marshal doesn’t know it.
Few things are on display on the room’s dull grey walls, photos as faded as The Marshal’s mind, paintings of passenger pigeons, and a calendar that hangs next to the window. The calendar is marked with visits that never came, or ones the old lawman doesn’t even remember. His dresser next to his bed is filled with letters that the nurses read to him before bed once a week. There in that room, The Marshal taps his foot.
TAP TAP TAP.
The only item that gets some sort of reaction from The Marshal is a frame holding a US Marshal’s badge and an old revolver, hanging over his bed in a bright gold oak frame protected by clear glass. Whenever someone asked about his badge in the early days, he’d flip a switch. The stone-faced Marshal cracked the slightest smile and trapped any bystanders to his tales. The old man told of a time of outlaws and gunslingers, a new frontier. It was a land filled with as much opportunity as there was crime. Residents and staff gathered around the Marshal as he described his daring adventures in thrilling detail. The Marshal described that time as some of the happiest of his life and took pride in every second of it. Over time, the stories repeated with less detail than the last retelling, but The Marshal never lost his enthusiasm.
Until he did. Then the stories stopped completely. The man who walked tall now flailed on his chair. It’s clear as day to anyone with eyes, this is a man at his end. Many of the staff are still amazed that The Marshal has made it this far. Yet still, the old man taps his feet at the pace of a stallion, only responding to Marshal.
So there sat the Marshal, both mind and body at its last stages with only his spirit racing. Where is the spirit going at this point? And where will it stop? His left foot taps along.
TAP TAP TAP.
A knock at the door comes. A young nurse enters with an eager attitude. “Hello, Marshal. How are you on this beautiful day?”
The Marshal gives no response.
TAP TAP TAP.
“I have good news, Marshal! You have an unexpected visitor. He says he’s someone from your days in the service. Isn’t that exciting?”
TAP TAP TAP.
“Maybe you guys will get to talking and you get to tell us about those adventures again. Right, Mr… I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
The Visitor answers. His voice is hoarse and sickly but with a smooth timbre.
“Mr. Cooper, Ma’am. But he knows me by a different name. Isn’t that right, Marshal?” The Marshal’s foot stops.
“Riiight. Mr. Cooper is here, Marshal,” the nurse giggles.
“Excuse me, but I would like to be alone with the good ol’ Marshal. If that is alright?” asks The Visitor.
The Marshal’s jaw tightens.
“Of course, I’ll leave you two at it. Let me know if you need anything, ok?”
“Very kind of you, thank you. Actually, can you get me a chair, my knees are tired from the journey.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be right back Marshal!”
The young nurse leaves. The door closes. The Visitor saunters over to the Marshal at a hesitant pace. The Visitor’s breaths are heavy and fast. He takes off his hat and gives a look of quick relief. It then twists into a look of fear. His voice becomes awkward.
“Pretty young thing you got caring for ya, Marshal. Reminds me of those girls at New Providence, you remember them?”
The Marshal’s hands begin to slowly roll up into little fists. Something has awaken in the formerly catatonic lawman. The Visitor stands in front of him. The Visitor looks to be the same age as the Marshal. His body hunched and his pale skin hanging from his bones. His glasses take up half his face, eyes just as worn as his “friend”. But something resembling a spark was lit in the lawman’s eyes once again. The Visitor saw this and gave a wrinkled smile.
“Yeah, you remember, Marshal. Not the girls, but you remember something. I heard you was dumb as mule at this point, but I know better. Doesn’t matter how long in the tooth you get, you won’t ever forget me alright. Your type of ugly stays that type of ugly. Those damn eyes, I’ve seen rats with more light in their eyes.
The Visitor inches closer to The Marshal’s face. The Marshal gives nothing. The Visitor laughs.
“Yeah, you recognize me, Marshal. You recognize me. C’mon, you know my name. Say it. C’mon. Say at least one of ‘em. Brass Knuckles. Two-Shots Stan. C’mon, Marshal. Say it!”
The Marshal says nothing and just sits in his chair.
“Ahhh, you know my name. You know it. Just don’t want to give me the satisfaction. I see. Ah, Marshal. How long has it been since the El Toro? Has to be more than four decades. Five decades sound right?”
The Visitor begins to cough violently. He turns away from the Marshal and grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. Then, after coughing out his lungs, removes a now blood specked handkerchief from his lips.
“Ah, that’s embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
Another knock comes.
“Oh, come in!”
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Cooper. But I found you a chair! Let me just bring it over.”
“That’s nice of ya, miss. Just set it in front of him.”
The nurse plants the chair right in front of the Marshal.
“Is there anything else? Say, you alright Mr. Cooper?”
“I’m fine darling. Just tired from the journey. I just have to sit. Go along.”
The Visitor grabs the nurse’s hand gently, while slipping her a very substantial tip. The nurse tries to refute, but The Visitor doesn’t allow for it.
“Let an old man spoil young gals such as yourself.”
The nurse gives in and thanks The Visitor. She then skips out of the room, chirping about a night on the town with her girlfriends. The Visitor smiles.
“Ah, if I was younger. Then I could really put that tip to good use. Ha! Oh, you’re no fun Marshal.”
The Visitor pinches the Marshal’s cheek. A symphony of cracks starts as The Visitor sits in his chair. A loud roar of relief from the old man fills the room.
“Oh, I’m old Marshal. Seeing you now just drills it in my head. I used to jump from balconies running from you, and you’d follow. Now look at us. God, we were fun. Those other Marshals and lawmen that went after me, heads so far up their rear they can hear their heart beating. Not you. You and your gang knew where they were. Say!”
The Visitor howls and claps his hand. He points at a picture frame of a group of young men.
“There they are! I knew you were a sentimental bastard. There’s that skinny fellow with that wild beard. What was his name? Started with a G… Gary! Marshal Gary! And there are those Fisher brothers. And I see that tiny Buck. We actually crossed paths once on a ferry in New York. I was taking a vacation when I saw him with his wife. He ain’t recognize me due to me being in nice suit but that didn’t stop me from almost ruining that suit. Beautiful girl he married though. I never thought the man had it in him, wanted to applaud him when I saw them.”
The Visitor’s eyes brighten as he laughs. Any appearance of illness disappeared with each name yelled out. He pats The Marshal’s shoulder as if The Marshal laughs with him. The Marshal isn’t laughing; just stares. There was no anger nor joy in that stare but maybe acknowledgement. That was enough for The Visitor.
“Good men. Good men. You’d probably thought I’d call them every curse in the book. No, they were playing their roles and so was my crew. I never took it personal when your boys shot little Richie. It was him or them at that cave. I hope you didn’t take it personal when I had to kill Marshal Gary. It hurt, it really did. Again, it was him or me. He was a good man, a better man. It hurt.”
The Visitor sighs. He waits for The Marshal to respond. He prays for the Marshal to respond. Nothing comes, only heavy breathing from The Marshal. The silence that follows suffocates The Visitor. He starts rubbing his left pocket like it has gold.
“Yeah, who wants to talk about the past. You were there. Don’t need reminding of it. You probably want to talk more about what I’ve been up to since El Toro. I’ll tell ya, it’s been grand. Hard to imagine it wouldn’t when you run away with fifty-five thousand dollars, but you’d be surprised. When the three of us that were left split the cash, we went our separate ways. You know about Curly, deciding to buy a nightclub at Chicago without even knowing the club was near a police station. Oh, when I read that in the paper, I had half a mind to shoot him in the head. Good Lord. I didn’t have the time though. Bitter idiot got himself stabbed the first week in the hole.”
The Marshal’s eyes hang over every word from The Visitor. As if they were trying to speak for The Marshal. They say everything but nothing.
“But I don’t believe you knew what happened to Ol’ Johnny, Marshal. He was smarter than Curly, went off to a place far East. Yeah, Johnny sent letters to me, don’t know how. He said he got himself wives, that’s right, wives. He started a rice farm or something along those lines. The letters stopped around twenty years back. Last one said that some of his wives took off with the cash and left him in debt with some shady folk. Johnny said he’ll take care of it and write again soon. Johnny was a smart one. Smart except with money and women.”
The Visitor’s voice becomes raspier. He fidgets with his hands before tapping Marshal’s knee like a war buddy.
“Now, me? Oh, I never settled farther than St. Louis. Why go to all those civilized folk? You know me, Marshal. I’d like to build something. I went to those coastal spots in California, opened my own hotel. That’s right. You thought I’d go low, huh? Now Marshal, You should’ve known better. I opened it right on the beach. I called the place ‘Salvation Peak.’ I know, it wasn’t my idea. It was actually Shelly’s. Yeah, that Shelly! Unbelievable, that we stuck together even after all that. We even got married, though I wasn’t sober during that part. It’s funny, all three of us believed what you said about me and her. That I’d leave her behind without a second’s thought when it came to it.”
The Visitor’s lips began to quiver. He tries to hide from The Marshal’s stare. The Marshal’s eyes seem to soften.
“And I almost did after that day, but I just didn’t. I still planned for years after, but there she was still.”
The sickly man cleared his throat.
“Over at California, we weren’t outlaws. We were Mr. and Mrs. ‘Silus Cooper’. Oh, you should’ve seen us, Marshal. I would’ve loved to rub it in your face. That was a fairytale ending, us at that beach. The hotel did well, real well. I thought I would get bored being legitimate, but it kept us busy enoough. I met all types of folks from all over. I met some real big shots in Washington while they were vacationing in the area. Those times were good.
“Never had kids, Marshal. We didn’t have the time or the real fire to have ‘em. The hotel was the closest we got. Unlike you. Good Lord, Marshal. No way all those kids you have up on your walls are yours. Shelly always thought you was some type of eunuch. I wondered what you did after that day. Now I see you were plenty occupied. Good for you.”
The Marshal still stares at The Visitor. He fights, but that little spark is dying. The Marshal slowly begins tapping his feet again. The Visitor’s breaths begin to be heavier again.
“You ever thought about me, Marshal? Even after all that time? I’m not ashamed I thought about you Marshal at random times. More often, nowadays. It keeps my mind going after Shelly, I suppose. God, what a woman she was. She gave me enough excitement to keep… me… going.”
The Visitor wheezes out the last few words. His eyes plead to The Marshal for something. Something that The Marshal can’t give.
“You. Remember. El Toro. Yeah, Marshal? What you said to me at that train car, holding that pistol you got up on the wall. C’mon, Marshal.”
The Marshal’s eyes lose color. The tapping begins in full force. TAP TAP TAP. The Visitor’s face contorts into an expression of grief. Each tap is a blow to his head.
“No, you don’t. You don’t remember a damn thing, do you Marshal?”
The old outlaw reaches into his left pocket and takes out a revolver.
“Oh, I’m an old fool. A dreamer after all these years. Shelly would give me a tongue lashing right now. I wish she could. She’s dust now. I spread her ashes at that beach near Salvation. I wept like a baby the whole time. I don’t know why. She went peacefully and happy. She found the Lord in the end. I thought I had too, went with her to every service. I thought I heard God at some point. Then after she was gone, I realized I was just hearing her.”
TAP TAP TAP goes the lawman.
“Oh, Marshal. I’m a sick fool. I got tuberculosis. I found out a month ago. It’s funny. I was living but I wasn’t alive again until I knew the end was coming. It’s like I was a ghost. The day after the doctor, I sold Salvation. It wasn’t the same without Shelly anyway. I knew I had to see you, Marshal.”
Tears slip from The Visitor’s eyes as he rubs his thumbs against the revolver. The cold steel comforts The Visitor.
“I thought about those words you said to me, Marshal. That train car coming from El Toro. You’d said you’ll kill me. Not arrest or bring me to justice, no. You said you’ll kill me and while I was dying, you’ll say you got me. Then I laughed and said, ‘not if I kill you first.’”
TAP TAP TAP
The Visitor leans back in his chair.
“I came here to give you that chance. One last duel, like those knights you read about. I’ll admit, I got the idea from one of them moving picture shows. You know how many of them are about our little time? I never thought they’d live on like that. Regular folk taking time to watch outlaws and lawmen duking at each other. They might do us one day. That’d be a sight.”
A slight smile returned to the old outlaw.
“When I was young, I thought I was unstoppable, that nothing could hold me back. Now, I know only my limits. You, well you don’t know anything anymore. Not even your own name. Probably not my name. Not my outlaw name. My real name. The name you always called me. It used to annoy me, but now… that’s all I want. I don’t wanna be a ghost. I want to be a man. A man who was very much loved by a woman. A man who lived. I want to hear the name of that man!”
The Visitor gets up from his chair and limps to the Marshal’s treasured frame. The old outlaw shatters the glass with a pistol whip and takes out the old revolver. He loads it with a bullet from his pistol and walks back to sit. The Visitor lays the old piece into the Marshal’s boney hands, making it ready to fire.
TAP TAP TAP.
“Marshal, here we are after all these years! Our pistols ready!”
TAP TAP TAP.
“One last shootout! Please! You got to remember!”
TAP TAP TAP.
“Stop. Tapping. Your. Damn. Foot.”
The Visitor hacks out his final breaths. His body convulsed with each cough. His revolver falls from his hand. The Visitor looks into the Marshal’s eyes. And then he looks farther beyond.
“Oh, I’m scared Marshal.”
The Visitor wheezes and wheezes. The dying man grasps the Marshal’s hand tight.
Then, the Marshal’s foot stops. The Marshal grips The Visitor’s hand back with what little strength he has left. They look. The outlaw lets out one last breath.
The Marshal is alone again. The lonely lawman opens his mouth.
“I got you, Ernest.”
Gabriel Dominguez is an English Major at Kennesaw State and Marietta native. He hopes to continue to publish work across genres and mediums.