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256 57 I reached Grey bull and found a camp ground. In the morn ing, I went look ing for break fast and saw the town was on a river. “What river is that?” I asked my waiter at the diner as he de livered my pan cakes. “That’s the Big Horn River.” “As in Cus ter?” “No. That’s the Lit tle Big Horn you’re re fer ring to. That’s north of here a spell.” “So is there like an even bigger big horn or a middlin’-size big horn?” “They come in all sizes, son.” And he walked away, as if he’d heard that joke one too many times. Or maybe he was se ri ous? I dug around in my bags for my map, to chart the day’s course—and maybe even get a straight an swer to my smar tass ques tion. I re al ized in doing so that I hadn’t looked at a map since Idaho Falls; I had just let Louis guide me east ward. When I found the maps, there were other papers folded up with them I didn’t rec og nize at first. But when I opened them up I saw they were draw ings Eu gene had done. They were sex ual draw ings of us fuck ing and suck ing, and yet they weren’t nasty at all. They were full of spir i tual sym bols: man da las or med i cine wheels, with cherubic-looking thun der birds shoot ing thun der bolts while we did the same from our cocks in the very cen ter. There was an other of our two mouths open, 257 our tongues tan gled as great snakes, with buf falo, horses, birds, and stones pour ing out. In that pic ture, my eyes were ce ru lean blue and his were black as lava. Some were blue truck draw ings. I could tell from the lines being shorter—ex cept for when he drew my hair, which, since it was a curly mess, was un im peded in the ren der ing by blue trucks or any thing else. That made me laugh. Bet ter not laugh too hard, or I might cry. Pull. I tucked them away for later, and un folded Jimmy’s map to chart the day’s course. I’d be head ing south to Wor land, then east over the Big Horn Moun tains. I put the map away when the waiter re turned with the cof fee pot, and I asked for the bill. He didn’t look at me, just kept look ing out the win dow into the mid dle dis tance. In the bath room be fore I left, I looked in the mir ror. My eyes were bluer than I’d ever seen them. The sink looked like the one Jimmy and I’d first made love on back on Shot well Street. I splashed water in my face, and looked at my eyes and my cheek bones and my scruffy chin, try ing to con jure up his. I kissed the mir ror, but I couldn’t see or feel him. There was just the prom ise left: Take me back the way I came . . . road’s the place for lost souls. ...
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