As they walked back to the trailer court Dolf looked at Georgie. "I thought you were a colonel in the army."
Georgie felt uneasy suddenly. "Different wars, Dolf. Things were different."
"That's right. We never dressed like girls." Dolf laughed like a horse.
Georgie felt his temper flare. "So where'd you get that polo mallet?" Dolf only shrugged. "Did a horse come with it, 'cause I could sure use a horse right now."
"And what would you do with a horse," Dolf asked. "No, don't tell me." He snorted, amused, under his waxed mustache. "There are no horses in perdition. No cannons, no rifles, just poor sinners like you and me!" The chuckle boomed until it echoed off the rocks.
A tingle went up Georgie's spine. He was quiet for a moment, watching his moccasins on the red dirt. Quietly he said, "There's gators. There could be horses. I wonder— "
"Wonder what?" Dolf walked stiffly, his boots dusty from the work, swinging his shovel like a baton and, on occasion, saluting with it.
"Oh, just was wondering if there'd be a shuffling around now. I could slip down to Big Guy's trailer and no one would be the wiser. He might have better soil. And gator guano to boot."
"What's the matter? Don't you like my cooking?" Dolf asked.
"Well, that burnt bratwurst thing was atrocious. But no, it's just that — it seems like an eternity since I've been anywhere."
Dolf barked his horsy laugh and slapped Georgie on the back. "I hear old Sadie's looking for someone new. And you know how he loves blondes."
Georgie didn't laugh. He supposed there were worse roommates than Dolf. Not many, but a few. As they rounded the corner of the trailer to see the destruction of the garden and its beloved blossoms, Dolf paused. Georgie stopped too. Not that he wanted to see the torn flowers, the trampled ground, the dead leaves and browned petals. No, he was just curious what Dolf would do next. Curiosity was the only commodity left with much potency.
Dolf hung his head as if in prayer. He closed his eyes for a moment then raised them up to the blackened sky thick with smoke and ash.
"Another day, another daylily," Dolf said solemnly. "Let us always remember Big Guy and his miserable animal as the destroyers of beauty."
Georgie felt a lump in his throat.
Dolf smiled the kind of smile that stilled men's hearts. "It won't be hard to remember, will it, Georgie?"
"Oh, no." He leaned on his shovel. "All that digging. Good riddance."
"Going to be hard tomorrow, though," Dolf added, "when he drops by with that crocodile."
"What?" Georgie straightened. Then remembered the essential truth of the place. There was no escape. No rest. No peace. "Oh, right."
"Cheer up, old friend." Dolf slapped him hard on the shoulder again, nearly knocking Georgie to the ground. "I have some terrific rat poison I've been saving for just such an occasion."
"Really? Where'd you get it?"
Dolf headed for the house. "When will you stop asking questions? When will hell freeze over? When you will you stop curling your hair?"
Georgie moved into place, walking behind him. "Gator, Dolf. Alligator, not crocodile. How many times have I got to tell you — this is America!"
Dolf turned at the door. "Is it?"