(GK: Garrison Keillor; SS: Sue Scott; TR: Tim Russell; TK: Tom Keith)
(WESTERN THEME)
SS: THE LIVES OF THE COWBOYS....brought to you by Paradise Brand
Air Freshener for use on the trail.....As we join Dusty and Lefty, they're
camped near the frontier town of St. Peter, along with a herd of ten-thousand
turkeys. (GOBBLING, HORSES IN DISTANCE, OUTDOOR NIGHTTIME AMBIENCE. GOBBLING
CONTINUES SPORADICALLY)
TR: Sure will be a relief to get off this dusty desolate barren
tedious windswept god-forsaken prairie and ride into the town of St. Peter
and find the woman of my dreams or a reasonable facsimile. Might strike
up an ad hoc romance.
GK: Don't forget, this is the Midwest, pal. Not the Wild West. If you think of the mind as a highway, here it's limited-access. Lot of guard rails. And a speed limit of 25.
TR: No saloon with buckets of beer and cheap floozies with painted faces ready to throw their arms around a stranger and make him feel welcome?
GK: You're thinking of Mankato. Just down the road. Different town. No floozies in St. Peter. Only thing open all night is the mailbox.
TR: Kind of a conservative town, huh? (TURKEYS)
GK: Yeah. That's why we're herding turkeys instead of beef. And people who are that concerned about cholesterol are not people who go in for impulsive romantic liaisons.
TR: No wonder the population ain't growing. (TURKEYS) Hey, shut up, you turkeys! Qwitcher gobbling or I'm coming out there with a stick! (TURKEYS) Guess we better save our frequent rider miles for a trip to Vegas.
GK: I came to St. Peter to see a woman named Amber.
TR: Who's she?
GK: Woman I used to know. Years ago. Cheyenne. Beautiful woman.
TR: She's here in St. Peter now?
GK: Yep.
TR: Fell in love with her, didja?
GK: Yep.
TR: One of those weekend romances?
GK: Yep.
TR: And you're still carrying a torch for her, twenty years later?
GK: Yep.
TR: She musta been some woman.
GK: Yep. (TURKEYS)
TR: Hey, I said to shut up out there! (TURKEYS)
GK: You know if you want turkeys to be quiet, you don't yell at them.
TR: What are you doing? (GUITAR CHORD) Oh no. You're not going to sing to em---- please----
GK: It's an old turkey herding song.
(STRUMS)
Lay your heads down, all your turkeys.
Close your little turkey eyes.
Rest your drumsticks and your gizzards
And your dark and tender thighs.
Some of you will become hot dogs,
Even though you are a bird.
But when you grow up as a turkey,
You know that life can be absurd.
Go to sleep, you little turkeys,
With the fading of the light.
Tomorrow you will meet St. Peter,
So try to say your prayers tonight.
YODEL
An old turkey herding song. See? They're all quiet. Dusty? --- Where'd you go, Dusty? (BRIDGE)
GK: Well, we got to St. Peter and sold the herd and I headed down to the Mozart Cafe to meet Amber. It was a classy place. Sort of old and dim. Books and magazines. (STRING QUARTET) Good strong coffee. Interesting people. Conversation. And a string quartet playing. ---- When you're out on the trail, you sort of come to miss string quartet music. I know I do.
(QUARTET PLAYS, THEN FADES SLIGHTLY)
SS: Lefty?
GK: Huh?
SS: Lefty, it's me. Amber.
GK: Amber----amazing to see you.
SS: Same here.
GK: Twenty years, and you've only become more beautiful.
SS: You're sweet.
GK: Haven't seen you since that party. Arbor Day. 1983. In Yellow Gulch. A town with no trees.
SS: I remember. You brought me flowers. A whole pot of begonias.
GK: It was kind of dangerous for a cowboy to go riding around with begonias back in those days. I had to stop a couple times and defend my honor. So you remember?
SS: I remember everything.
GK: Everything?
SS: Yes.
GK: I must say it was a high point in my life.
SS: I remember you sang "Nessun dorma." And an aria from Mozart.
GK: It must've been the wine.
SS: You were standing on a boulder, holding a flaming torch, with begonias in your hair. .
GK: I remember. La ci darem la mano. Vorrei e non vorrei.
SS: It was nice.
GK: A great night.
SS: You were pretty amazing.
GK: You too.
SS: Then you left town.
GK: I told you I was coming back.
SS: I waited. For six months.
GK: Yeah.
SS: Then I met Norman. From St. Peter.
GK: Somebody told me he was nice.
SS: He is. I love him. We have three beautiful kids together. I like my life a lot.
GK: Good. Glad to hear it.
SS: How about you?
GK: What about me?
SS: You happy?
GK: I'm okay.
SS: Ever think of settling down?
GK: Yep. All the time.
SS: Ever try settling down?
GK: Briefly.
SS: What happened?
GK: It made me nervous. You like it here?
SS: Yes.
GK: You don't miss Wyoming and all that carefree revelry and sheer excess and------..
SS: Nope.
GK: I brought you something, darling. A little souvenir from our weekend together.
SS: What's this? (UNFOLDS PAPER) Looks like a marriage license. ---- Is this--- (STING) ---- oh my gosh. Oh Lefty. (STING) I must've been terribly drunk.
GK: I guessed maybe you'd forgotten.
SS: How did this ever------
GK: It was the morning after I sang you "Nessun Dorma". We went to that justice of the peace's house and----
SS: I don't know what to say. ----oh my gosh----- I'm so ashamed.
GK: Don't worry about it.
SS: Don't worry about it? What am I going to tell my husband?
GK: Don't tell him a thing. I'm sorry I showed it to you.
SS: We've been married all these years and you never came to find me?
GK: I just wasn't sure how I felt about marriage.
SS: Oh my gosh. What am I going to do? My kids are illegitimate. I'm living in sin with a Lutheran minister and I've had three kids out of wedlock. What if people find out? I'll be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail.
GK: No, you won't.
SS: You don't know these people. I do. They'd never forgive this.
GK: They're never going to know about it.
SS: I've got to tell them.
GK: You don't either have to. It was a dumb thing we did twenty years ago. It means nothing.
SS: But we're married--- you and I----
GK: No, we're not. We just shared a little whiff of begonia, long ago and far away. Your true love is the one you make a life with. Everything else is just an interesting story. But you sure were a wonderful story.
SS: What's that?
GK: A match. (STRIKES MATCH)
SS: What are you doing?
GK: Setting things right. ---- There. It's all gone.
SS: Lefty?
GK: What?
SS: Behind you.
GK: Oh.
TR: Hi. I'm Norman. Marilyn's husband. You must be Louis.
GK: Yes.
TR: Marilyn's told me about you. You were classmates at Concordia. Right?
GK: Concordia? Oh right. Concordia.
TR: Nice to meet you. So you're a singer? You were in choir together?
GK: Yes. Right. Sort of, yes.
TR: And you write poetry?
GK: You could say that.
SS: Louis has a lovely voice.
TR: Oh, really. You sing in church?
GK: No. - ---- I sing to my horse.
SS: Sing us a song, Louis.
TR: Sure. We'd like to hear one.
GK: Well, I don't know much sacred music. Just music about what I think of as sacred.
SS: Sing me "My love is like a red red rose."
GK: Okay. (TO QUARTET) You folks know the cowboy version of "My love is like a red red rose"? Not too fast. (QUARTET: WHOOPI TI YI)
Well, my love is like a red rose that's sprung in June
My love's like a melody that's sung in tune.
My love's like a rose, and so deep in love am I
That I will love her til Montana goes dry. WHOOPI TI YI YO
Get along you roses
You know that St. Peter will be your new home.
There was a time when grove and stream
Had all the beauty of a dream.
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendid grass and glorious flower.
So gather rosebuds, whilst ye may
For time so swiftly is flying.
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
WHOOPI TI YI YO SAY FAREWELL TO ME
FOR MY HOME IS ON THE LONESOME PRAIRIE
Goodbye, Amber.
SS: So long, Lefty.
GK: Did I really sing "Nessun dorma"? Puccini?
SS: Not real well, but you sang it. (THEME)
TR: THE LIVES OF THE COWBOYS......brought to you by the American
Cowboy Liberals United......the ACLU ---- show your card. (MUSIC OUT)
© Garrison Keillor 2003