The Kingdom Land Read Online Free PDF Page A

Erik took the
further opportunity to land a blow to the farmer’s face that
brought the sound of gritting teeth.
    Erik knew that would be his last easy shot. The
farmer, who had now dropped his beer, jumped behind Erik and he
felt a fist hard against his kidney. The pain was so deep that it
drove his knee to the ground. Erik felt someone else pull him to
his feet, first by a firm grip on Erik’s short hair, then by a
twisted arm. Erik knew he didn’t have a hope. The fat farmer coming
towards him was snarling with his need for revenge. His punches
came hard and fast with Erik’s only hope of passing out to void the
pain.
    Finally another member of the table pulled the farmer
back. “You better stop before you kill the kid. He ain’t worth the
trouble.” Erik fell limp to the floor.
    Erik was in a haze but still saw Laura pick up the
$18.00 left on his table and shout, “Yeah, guys, the kid’s sorry
and he wants to buy you a round of beer.”
    Erik tried to stand, but he couldn’t. The bar owner
and a farmer each took a leg and pulled him face down toward the
door. Erik felt the wetness of the broken beer bottles and a few
slivers of glass cut into his face. Someone stopped them just short
of the door.
    He only saw her canvas shoes, but knew it was Laura’s
voice, “I don’t know what you’re doing or who you think you are,
but I don’t need anyone’s help, and I sure won’t ask it from a
loser like you even if I did.” She picked up his head by his hair
and looked straight into his eyes. “You’re a loser. You understand?
You’re a loser, and I hope I never see you again.”
    Erik was thrown face first down the steps, hitting
three then rolling down the last one.
    He crawled around the side of the building until
darkness covered him and unconsciousness seized him.
    Â 
    When he came to, he was lying on the ground. He
recognized the rough wood siding of the tavern and ascertained that
he was on the dark alley side of the bar, hidden in the shadows;
left there like a heap of garbage. He coughed up the dust from
which he had been lying face first in. Mud from the mixture of dust
and blood covered his tongue and the side of his face. As he got up
from the ground, his back screamed in protest, but he pulled
himself to the pickup, afraid that the border police might find him
and cause him deeper trouble. He was glad he had parked his pickup
away from any bright lights.
    When he reached the pickup, Erik drove straight to
the rodeo grounds where he knew there would be an unlocked
restroom. His headlights shone on the “Whoop-Up Days” sign painted
on the side of the building. In the concrete restroom, the water
smarted as he attempted to clean a long cut across his cheekbone
and pulled out the remainder of what looked to be glass from a
broken bottle. The cut wasn’t deep, but that was no consolation
right now. The pain was almost welcomed as atonement for his
stupidity. He could endure the cold water for only a short time.
Its effect and his bruised kidney combined to make him feel faint
again. A grab to the side of the chipped sink turned his knuckles
white but kept him upright. He looked at himself in the polished
tin mirror and saw his stupidity.
    Afterward, he drove. He drove away from the town and
into the country, making no attempt to miss the chuckholes. Several
times the thick gravel caught his tires and attempted to drag him
to the ditch. He drove recklessly, not because of the effect of the
fight, but out of indifference. His head no longer had dreams or
even thoughts. He wasn’t mad or sad or feeling pain or feeling
anything. He was as blank as the fields he worked every day.
    Reality was all that was before his headlights. There
were no dreams or illusions. He had lived off dreams for years, and
now he knew there was nothing, only his foolishness. All week his
only hope to fight the boredom of the farm was Laura. He