Bullock completes the awful task of building his son's coffin, and he and Martha prepare for William's funeral. The rest of the camp prepares as well. Everybody takes baths, no lie -- even Jane. The whores of the Gem are particularly beside themselves with grief over the innocent boy's death. They are allowed to go to the service with Trixie. Al further messes with Jarry's head trying to ramp up Yankton's offer on the annexation. Bad things are afoot between Wu and Mr. Lee. The San Francisco Cocksucker is burning the bodies of the dead Chinese prostitutes, and Wu is in a rage about it. Andy Cramed takes a few knocks from Cy, and then goes on to conduct the funeral service, at which Martha loses her mind, just a little bit. Later, she and Bullock agree to try to live through it, together. Meanwhile, Mrs. Garret accepts Ellsworth's marriage proposal.
Something... smelly is going on in Deadwood. Al walks through the thoroughfare when an odor wholly unpleasant hits his nostrils. Behind him, a plume of smoke goes up into the air, and I guess we can go on and assume it's not a cookout or something, organized by the neighborhood dads.Because, no. No, it isn't. It's Mr. Lee. Burning the bodies of the Chinese prostitutes. Behind him, we hear a scream of outrage and Wu stomps up, mad as hell. Lee does not even turn around as Wu gets more and more upset, gesturing and yelling in Chinese. I guess he says something pretty insulting, because Lee's henchmen tackle him and knock his hat off. Ooooo, Wu's mad. He spits on the ground at Lee's feet, yells some more, and leaves, visibly stressed.
Speaking of stress, Bullock is across the way, building a coffin for his son. He's all alone when Al comes up, saying, in perhaps the least heartfelt tone of all time, "Sorry, Bullock." Actually, the tone doesn't bother me, now that I think of it. When something awful happens to someone, it really is better just to say to them: "I'm sorry," rather than bullshit around about feelings and whatnot. No, really, I tell you this on the two-year anniversary of the fiery demise of my worldly possessions. There's no right thing to say, I guess, is the point I'm trying to make, not that Al should win any prizes or anything, since he most likely really isn't even sorry.
Al takes out a dirty handkerchief and offers it to Bullock, who apparently hasn't noticed that one of his hands is bloody. He doesn't take it, instead distractedly lifting the coffin up on his shoulder and heading toward the house. Al hangs back a little before asking if Bullock can abide him walking along and talking to him for a minute. Bullock kind of clenches, by way of answering, and Al tells him that "Yankton's man is among us." Al's worried that Jarry, even under these terrible circumstances, will come to Bullock to see if he's really allied with Al on the whole Montana story. "If he does," Al says, "your nod would advance the cause." Without even pausing in his sad walk, Bullock says "all right."
Mose Manual is waking up at the Chez Amie, hacking and coughing. "Yeah, you fat fuck," Jane says, kind of sweetly, "you're alive." Mose is less than thrilled to hear this. "Let me die," he wheezes out, and Jane asks if that's "thank you, in whale talk." She offers him something to drink but he tells her no. "Drink it..." she says, faux-menacing, and looks over at Joanie, wordlessly asking her to have a go at him. Going over to Leon and Con who are asleep against the wall, she tells them to get up and get the Doc, "and tell him he's got a live one." The two toadies are in rough shape, and Jane is making it no better. She throws them out and goes back to Joanie, who is now leaning over Mose, trying to soothe him. "time he opens his eyes," Jane says, "he's gon' think he died and went to Heaven." Aw, we love the ladies, and we love the ladies who love the ladies.
Inside the Bullock's house, more caretaking is going on, except here, Martha Bullock is washing the body of her little son, readying him to be buried. Awful. The awkwardness of grief is something no one really ever tells you about, and Timothy Olyphant and Anna Gunn are playing it just right. Bullock brings in the coffin, and then kind of wanders a few steps in, not knowing what to do . Without a word, he passes her and goes upstairs, where he sees open suitcases full of Martha's things. Going to the washbasin, he pours some water and cleans his wounded hand.
In Al's office, Wu is trying to illustrate (GET IT?! HA!) his problem with Mr. Lee and is bonfire of the trampities. It's like an episode of Captain Kangaroo up in here with the Picture Pages. I beg you to tell me I'm not the only person in the world who remembers Picture Pages...time to get your markers and your pencils...? Anyone? Come on! It was the Cos! Before he drugged people and did bad things to them! Fine. ["I remember them!" -- Sars]
Al is not in the mood for Wu today, it seems. Wu is trying to tell his old buddy "Swedgin," with the aid of his drawings, about Lee's activities of that morning. Al is impatient. "Swedgin fuckin' knows," he says. "I know about the burned-up whores; I know about the San Francisco cocksucker setting a match to them, now...here's the part you've got to listen to, Wu." But Wu's not here to listen. No! This is Show & Tell, not Show & Listen! From his vest, he pulls a dish with a map of China printed on it. He points to it, as if by way of explanation. Al says, yeah, he gets it, it's China, and wonders if Wu's trying to say the women's spirits won't rest until their bones are back in the motherland. The thing is, whatever Wu's trying to say, he doesn't care. Al wants to know if Wu has come to him to get back up on a showdown with the SFC. He tells him, again, that Swedgin fuckin' gets it, and further demonstrating his meaning with the International Sign for Wank, explains that "Swedgin doesn't give a fuck." Wu is speechless. I mean, he can't even speak in Chinese. He is confused, and stands there, even after Al tells him to get back to the alley. "I can use the plate, if you're wanting to leave that," Al digs, unnecessarily I think, and even Johnny and Adams, who are in the room along with Dan, look ashamed. Embarrassed, Wu grabs up his drawings and leaves without another word.
Al takes a moment's pause to shake his head before gesturing his three lackeys to sit down, and whipping out a bottle of whiskey to pour shots for all. "Why don't I back him?" he asks, rhetorically. Dan takes the plunge, saying he figures it's because Al knows that Hearst is in Lee's corner. "Meanin' Wu has to lose," Johnny says, kind of sad. Al does a little postulating. It wouldn't be the worst thing, he says, to back Wu -- sure, they'd get beaten in the end, because Hearst is more powerful, but Al gives the impression that the fight would at least earn them Hearst's respect. However, "Hearst's chink, bossin' that alley, ain't to my fuckin' taste."
So, Al goes on, what if something delays the impending showdown between Wu and Lee? Hence, he engages in a veeeery complex bit of monologue, putting forward the following scheme: Al's going to kind of make an ass of himself to Hearst a few times, reducing the chances of Hearst seeing him as a threat. Meanwhile, Wu will start importing his own disposable Chinese people at half the price of Lee's, to work in the mines for Hearst. Dan and Adams are listening closely, brows furrowed, putting the pieces together. Johnny is getting none of it, by the way.
Adams asks what delays Wu from going after Lee. For that matter, Al says, what delays Lee from going after Wu? "That too," Adams says. (Secret side note to Titus Welliver, who plays Adams and whose actual name sounds more put on than his character's name: Please, for the love of God and...me, never, ever shave your beard. DON'T DO IT, you DELICIOUS MAN. Thank you.)
"The other chink can be dissuaded," Al says. "Wu, we can put on ice." Johnny asks how they're going to dissuade Lee. "I suppose laying eyes on him might be a start," Al says. Dan nods, getting the message, and the three henchmen get up to go and fetch Lee.
"My only question is," Al says as they go, push comes to shove, "wearing them Chinese dresses...how well can you ladies fight?" Good one, Al. Johnny looks confused as ever, as Dan chuckles and pushes him out. Al tells Adams to stay, and as he sits, shoves the whiskey at him in a perfect barman's slide.
At the Grand Central, E.B. is dusting off his funeral wreath when Blasanov comes to the open front door. The Russian announces himself, rather formally: "Cheyenne & Black Hills Telegraph Company. Telegrams for Delivery." E.B. smiles, all snakey. "Our acquaintance is established, Blasanov," he says, "and for my part, our friendship." Blasanov thanks him, but with suspicion in his eyes, and rightly so. E.B. goes on to say that Blasanov needn't announce himself every time, nor bother going upstairs to make his deliveries -- "interrupting the rest or secret depravities of well-armed guests" -- as E.B. will be happy to hold the telegrams downstairs behind the desk until the guests come down. Blasanov smells the very obvious, E.B.-shaped rat. "It is not permitted," he says coldly. E.B. says he understands, and insults this upstanding telegraph professional further by suggesting that if his problem is the thought of lost gratuities from the deliveries, E.B. would be happy to pay him five dollars a day. He spits out that last part as Trixie comes in, shooting him a justified accusing glance.
Blasanov pulls himself as upright as he can muster, and says again with Soviet dignity that he himself must deliver the telegrams, and such a thing as E.B. is suggesting is not permitted. He heads upstairs, much to the chagrin of E.B., who mutters behind him about the injustice of avarice being numbered among the seven deadly sins, while stupidity is omitted. E.B., I could not share that sentiment more. For example, sure, I'm wrathful and have been known to be a lazy AND a glutton and, yes, like former President Jimmy Carter, I have lusted in my heart, but yeah...why should the stupid people get the breaks and be free of eternal damnation when being stupid can be far more damaging than merely, say, lustily regarding pictures of Titus Welliver in his longjohns? I mean, that's just a hypothetical, but I feel you, E.B.
Upstairs in Mrs. Garret's room, Trixie is having a bit of a time getting down off her high horse. Looking out the window, she notes that there are no Gem whores out on the balcony, today. Mrs. G asks why that is. "Al won't permit them on the balcony," Trixie explains. "He lets them on, they'll be leapin' off. Very dramatic we get at the passin' of the fuckin' young." Mrs. Garret smiles consolingly, and says that yesterday was indeed a difficult day. Trixie apologizes, in her way, for barging in and getting all up in Mrs. G's face about answering Ellsworth's proposal. Alma asks if Trixie still feels she should accept the proposal. "My new opinion is," Trixie answers, leaning down over Mrs. G's chair, that as "few choices as are ours to make...others should stay the fuck out of the process." Mrs. G demurs, silently indicating that the apology is accepted. Trixie notices Sophia moping over in her CORNER, playing a one-sided game of checkers, and asks if she's been "quiet like that since the boy's accident." Still leaning over Mrs. G, Trixie takes her water glass from her hand, without even looking at her, sniffs it for laudanum and, satisfied that it's just straight-up water, gives it back. She leaves now, stopping to kiss Sophia on the way out.
Elsewhere in the hotel, Blasanov is delivering his telegrams. He brings one to Wolcott, who thanks him by absentmindedly shutting the door in his face. Down the hall, Jarry receives a telegram as well. He rather more purposefully gives Blasanov the brush.
At the Bullock's house, Martha is staring out the window. Sol is outside, seemingly keeping watch or waiting on Bullock, or something. Bullock comes into the kitchen. "You've packed your things," he clenches, truly lost. "Thrown them, it looks like." She turns and asks him what it is he wishes to say. He hopes, he says, that she isn't jumping into any hasty decisions, "in the throes of this day." She tells him she can't bear to stay. He's absorbing this when Sol knocks on the door, accompanied by Andy Cramed, who has come to discuss the service.
Sigh. There is no shittier a task than planning a funeral service for someone who has unexpectedly died. The Bullocks look totally shell-shocked, which is completely accurate and very, very sad. Andy extends his sympathies to the Bullocks, and starts going through the service plans. He suggests they have it outside, in front of the Bullock home, so that the whole town can pay their respects. Martha says that's fine. Andy goes on, listing out all the possibilities for the service itself: songs, Psalms, readings, hymns, more readings...Bullock interrupts, saying, "Let the service be brief." Martha agrees. Andy's inexperience shows here, when he doesn't pick up the clear signs that Mrs. Bullock is about to flip out on him. He asks if there's anything they'd like him to say about William, and she says she doesn't want that. What about a reading, he wants to know, and Bullock quickly steps in again, asking him to choose something, and please announce that the burial is private. He nods, and it seems like he's going to get out the door without any keening, but he has to be a dumbass and ask if there will be a passing by of the casket after the service. Now Martha breaks down, a tad, saying "NO" in a sobbing voice, while Bullock stares ahead. Andy leaves quickly now, and Martha goes to resume her post staring out the window.
This must seem like a good idea to Bullock, who goes to another window to stare out, where he sees none other than the rat, Jarry, ratting his ratty way down the street to the house. No doubt wanting to spare Martha an introduction, Bullock steps outside to meet him. Jarry starts up the stairs, giving his empty condolences, but Bullock strides down, causing him to back up. "The answer is yes, Commissioner," Bullock says, "[about] what you want to know." And GOD, Jarry can't just scurry away, he has to get confirmation. "Having to do with Mr. Swearengen speaking with your voice?" he asks. Bullock is in Full Clench, and answers, "Yes, that's all now." Jarry finally leaves, saying his reluctance to intrude nearly kept him from coming at all, and all but RUNS down the thoroughfare back toward his evil colleagues down at the Bella Union.
Cy is there, talking to Leon, who is jonesing. Leon fitfully reports that Mose Manual has been successfully operated upon. "Thank heaven," Cy drones. Leon also says that Doc has fixed Con Stapleton's rupture. Cy finally tells him to go take a hit of dope, and Leon scurries off, thanking him and saying it's been one hell of a tryin' evening.
Jarry comes in with a fifty-thousand-dollar check he wants Cy to cash. Thing is, Cy's at kind of a low point, right now. He knows this whole Wolcott/Hearst/Jarry thing is not going to go his way, and he's drinking down his sorrow. He declines to cash the check, saying he shows that courtesy to men who gamble in his joint. Jarry has the upper hand, and smarmily tells Cy that he is giving him a chance to show Yankton that his rivalry with Al will not keep him from doing what the greater good requires. Cy: "So, you'd deliver the fifty to Swearengen?" Jarry: "Who'd no doubt prefer the check so he can have the bribe on record." Al's going to be mad he didn't think of that one. Cy sarcastically implies that Jarry is just cashing the check in his joint to rub his nose in it. "Shall we transact our business in the cage, Mr. Tolliver," Jarry snarks, "where I was attacked the other day, and where you failed to come to my aid?" Good one, Commissioner.
Down at the Gem, the whores are wailing and gnashing. Trixie comes in and has a little bit of a staff meeting with Al, who is behind the bar. "I see you made it through the fucking night," he says. Trixie asks if the whores will be allowed to pay their respects. "By who?" Al asks. "By you, most important, as always," she says. "And, should you in your greatness, consent, will he let them in his fuckin' house?" Al says he won't object, "but it's yours to keep them she-apes from disgracing me. As to Bullock's feelings, get the Jew to find them out." Trixie nods, and asks if she should ask about Al, also. He gives her a hard look before answering her question with a question: "What the fuck would I want to go there for?" She doesn't bother wondering any further, and walks out as Al yells at the still-weeping whores to shut the fuck up. Man..."she-apes"? I can't even think of anything to say about that. Of all the insults slung at women on this show in two seasons, I consider it the most contemptible, and that's saying something, y'all.
Down at the Chez Amie...are y'all sitting down? Jane is about to take an actual bath, like, in water. I know. Oh, and P.S., we're about to see her naked. And, by naked, I mean, you know, all of it. And by...oh, come on. You know what I'm saying.
Taking a pot of water from the stove, Jane sets it down to test the bath water already in the bath. She sticks a finger in, and immediately flails around, yelling, "HOT! HOT!" at the door. Joanie sticks her head in and Jane says she knows it's supposed to be hot, but she's just not used to it, is all. Joanie suggests that Jane wait a little while before getting in. Jane says yeah, she'll wait a little bit. She's kind of pacing around in her union suit, uncomfortable with the whole idea of a bath. "Did it ever occur to you strange," she says, "bathing in a tub you've dirtied, coming out thinking you're clean?" Joanie just sighs at all this stalling. "You need a bath, Jane." Jane gets mad, and yells that she's going to take one; she's just raising the "general fuckin' question" of baths. You know, in general. Joanie sighs, again and says that if she wants any boots to wear that are different from her current boots...Jane interrupts, all frustrated now, and says that no, she'll clean her fuckin' regular boots, and tells Joanie to turn around so she can get undressed. Joanie rolls her eyes and starts to leave when Jane nervously calls out for her not to go. She stays, trying to be patient.
Jane disrobes. Now she's feeling embarrassed at asking Joanie to stay, so she sabotages the moment by snarking at her. "Dumb fuckin' luck it must have been," she mutters, "me living this long without your fuckin' guidance." Joanie doesn't fall to the bait, though, and instead just sighs and says she doesn't like new boots, either. As she steps into the bath, Jane says it's not the newness that bothers her, but the blisters. She lowers herself down, only to leap immediately back up: "I BURNED my fuckin' SNATCH!" Heeeee. And with that, this show has now completed the unholy trifecta of swear words associated with women's genitals. Congratulations.
Joanie ignores Jane's outburst and says, in relation to all this boot talk, that she likes funerals about as much as she likes new boots -- which is to say, not at all. Jane still pissed about the snatch-burning, and yells out that she just loves funerals: "I can't get to enough of 'em!" Finally, she settles down in the water.
At the hardware store, Trixie has come to ask Sol to find out if it's okay for the whores to come to William's funeral. Sol tells her everybody's welcome, as the service is outside the house. "They'd be sure to keep to their place," she tells him, all quiet. Aw, Trixie! Your place is with Sol! Right? Yes!
Changing the subject, he asks her why she seems to have gone back to Al. For once, she keeps her temper, but explains, "Now, hold onto this counter as I reveal this, Mr. Star. I've lived most of my life a whore. And as much as he's her misery, a pimp's a whore's familiar, so the sudden strange or violent draws her to him. Not that I wouldn't learn another way." I have personally seen this borne out in the so-awful-you-can't-look-away American Pimp. Dude, Ice T is heavily featured in that film, and now he's on NBC. Let it soak in. I mean, do I have to point out the ridiculousness of Ice T, who suggests that "bitches get my money before you get dropped," whose claims to fame were two songs called "Fuck the Police" and "Pimp Anthem," playing a cop who goes after sex offenders for a living? Just...has anyone else noticed it? Is he doing community service or something? Because, what's up with that? Damn, you know, I can't bust on him too hard. Especially when he did provide the world with the following lyrics: "Respect my technique of pimpin', minus all simpin'/ Check it bitches, it ain't nothin' nice/ You're gonna seal or sell pussy if you roll with the Ice." If that ain't poetry, what is? Pimpin' and simpin'?
Adams and Al are having a quiet drink at the bar when they see Jarry coming in. "Look fuckin' mournful," Al says to Adams, on the sly. Adams: "Even more?" Jarry slaps a bag up on the bar. "A sad day, gentlemen," he says, "on which commerce must intrude." Al wants to know why it must. Jarry pauses, wondering if Al's putting off the deal because of the death of the sheriff's son. "You need to ask," Al says, feigning drama, "you don't deserve an answer." Jarry is not buying the sorrowful Al. He tells him that even in his hour of grief, Bullock confirmed that Al has his proxy. Al controls his reaction to this, moving smoothly through his deception. "And as his proxy," he says, "I don't do business on the day of my godson's passing." Man, can you imagine if Al was your godfather? I mean, your actual godfather, not like the kind that would put a horse's head in your bed -- he is already that kind of godfather. What if he had to help you with your confirmation or something? Help you learn catechism? "And it came to pass in the City of David...whatever the fuck, who cares?"
Jarry wonders aloud if all of this grieving on Al's part isn't some sort of ruse to up the ante on the Yankton deal. Adams straightens himself out at this suggestion, looking like he is ready to throw down. Slowly, Al turns. "What a type you must consort with," he says, "that you not fear a beating for such an insult."
"If Montana, for example," Jarry says, all business, "had sweetened the terms in annexing this camp, and you delay the closing of our business not for piety, but to pursue your other negotiations..." Al is incredulous. He demands that Jarry "leave here with your sick, fucking ghoulish thinking!" Brilliant.
Jarry says that he'll be back later, and that even if personal honor won't make Al keep their original deal, at least he should be practical and allow Yankton to make a counteroffer to any other offers, say, from Montana. Once again, Jarry has played so stupidly well into Al's scheme, Al can have a little fun. "Come back here offering one more dollar than that fifty, you'll find yourself face down in the horse shit."
Somehow, Jarry reads between the lines, though he feels he has to spell out everything right then, which Al ain't about. "You would entertain enhancement of the offer other than cash?" he asks. Solemnly, Al tells him again that he will not discuss business on this day, and wearily gestures to Adams to make Jarry leave. "You're buying yourself a bum's rush, Commissioner," Adams says, backing Jarry out of the joint. "When Mr. Swearengen says go, he means it."
Jarry is justifiably afraid and says he'll go, but that "a counter without currency is in the offing." With his back turned to the door, Al's eyebrows shoot upwards, silently saying "gotcha."
At the Bella Union, Cy seems less than pleased to see Andy Cramed coming into the saloon. He immediately starts chatting about old times -- the three scams they pulled together before they made it to Deadwood. Andy's not much in the mood for the history lesson. "I've changed," he says. "You're bound to resent my presence in the camp."
Cy does the low voice of doom on him, saying that he himself has not changed. Nor have the rules changed, which are "fuckin' inviolate against you runnin' a game in my territory without prior arrangement, and on my fuckin' terms." Wearily, Andy tells him he's not running a game. Cy laughs at this. "I fuckin' schooled you, Andy Cramed, to the variety that can be played." Andy says he doesn't practice deception anymore, which Cy knows is the opening pronouncement of a dozen scams they both can name. Andy gets holy, saying he was nursed back to health in the sick tents to be born anew and preach the risen Lord. Cy does not care for this talk. He raps Andy on the head with his knuckles. It's totally juvenile, but it gets the point across. He does it a few more times, as a matter of fact, but Andy is unmoved -- he'll suffer any indignity, he says, to do God's work.
Cy's had enough. He GRABS HIM BY THE BALLS, and DRAGS him through the room, BY HIS BALLS, to the door, saying that as an employee of the Lord, he doesn't get to "fuckin' operate" in the camp. "Don't let me catch you trying, Andy," he continues, "or it's into the woods once more. Only this time, left nailed to a tree."
Back at the Gem, Al's having his meeting with Mr. Lee. Al's doing all the talking. He doesn't know if Lee understands him, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care what the bonfires are about either. "A white man's son is dead," he says, "that you will be doing business with. On the day of his son's burial, the smell of burning flesh ought not offend his nose."
Al says that the only show Lee needs to make that he understands this whole talk is to put a stop to the fires. "And you might want to put off other violence while you're at it," he adds, "as a decency to the day, you heathen fucking cocksucker..." He ramps up the speech, here, throwing a chair aside and pointing to the SFC. "There will be no violence between you and Wu while the grieving goes on. My God," he says, with disgust, "act civilized, even if you ain't." Lee is stoic throughout this tirade, and clenches out that he is a "civirized" person. "Then take your civilization," Al says, "and get the fuck outta here." Lee leaves. Al tells Johnny and Dan, who are also in the room, that Lee got the fucking message, and that they can "wait on Wu" if they want. "Wait until what?" Johnny asks. Al sighs. "You want to go to the fuckin' service, or fuckin' not?" Johnny and Dan scurry out, Johnny saying that Al doesn't have to ask them twice -- except most of the time, Johnny, yeah, he does.
Alone in his office now, Al pours a shot and mutters, to no one, "What the fuck'd I want to go for?"
Back at the hotel, Wolcott descends the stairs with business on his mind. He asks E.B., with no introduction, what price he'd take for the hotel. "Why do you ask?" E.B. wonders. "Because I want to buy it," Wolcott answers.
E.B. is immediately frightened and getting all nervous, saying that he presumes Wolcott is asking on behalf of other parties. "Presume away," Wolcott tells him. Poor E.B. He begins to visibly sweat, asking if it's warm in the room. Wolcott says he actually finds it chilly, and E.B. sees his out, yammering on about needing then to dispel the chill. He runs into his little back room, panting and fanning himself. "Cocksuckers...think that they can take away everything," he laments, in anguish, "oh...cocksucker..."
At the Gem, Dan is shining his boots behind the bar when Johnny comes up, holding a bird he's found outside "dead, under the window." Dan: "Well, why'd you bring it in-side?" He tells Johnny to throw it out and wipe his hands, but Johnny explains that there's more to it. If a bird taps on a window, he says, or crashes into one, that means that there has been a death. Dan says they already know there's been a death. "We know NOW," Johnny says, using his country logic, "but that bird crashed into that window and died before we knew...for all we know." This is an old superstition, and it even sounds stupid to Johnny, so he shuts up. Dan tells him that he's shined his own boots and Al's, but he's not going to shine Johnny's. Johnny says that's fine, because he's got new boots to wear. Dan's face goes pale. "Johnny..." he says, "you can't wear nothin' new to a funeral! Especially not new footwear!" Johnny says he ain't never heard that. "Maybe because when they was tellin' it to you," Dan yells, "you was too busy listening to that bullshit about birds flyin' into windows!"
Trixie walks up at this moment with a box of the whores' stuff "to be kept after the funeral fuck-rush is over," she says. It's a bunch of drug paraphernalia she doesn't want the whores using on themselves before the funeral. As he takes the box, Dan sets his newly shined boots up on the bar, causing Trixie to all but cross herself. "Boots on a BAR?!" she says, "what is the fuckin' matter with you, Dan?" She tells him to give her a bottle of whiskey. "I'm sprinklin' it at the fuckin' doorways," she yells at them, "or would you rather evil traipse past this fuckin' threshold?" Oh, Trixie, maybe you haven't noticed the evil that traipses past that threshold every day? All the whiskey in Deadwood couldn't reverse the evil Al alone brings into the place. The little circle of superstition in this great scene comes to a close when Johnny turns back to Dan, rolling his eyes at Trixie and saying she "must have brought that one over from the other side."
Back at the hotel, Mrs. G is still sitting with the sad Sophia in front of her checker board. This show is so beautiful sometimes -- Sophia's blond hair and green blanket against the greenish walls of the room make her look so freshly alive as they sit and talk about the death of another child. It makes it even more sad. Mrs. Garret tells her that she has often wished she had learned how to play checkers, or something like it, to be able to occupy herself against seeing and feeling the laborious nature of life, and how difficult things are, sometimes, to understand. "I sometimes felt I couldn't live with them," she says, "but I found I can, Sophia. I've found I am, even when I think I'm not, or that I can't." A fine philosophy on grief, this is, and one I have found to be quite true: you have to keep moving. Alma asks Sophia if perhaps they can look to each other during this and all other times of trial. "I will be so grateful, if you will trust me with your sadness," she tells her. "And I will trust you with mine so that even when we are sad, we will be grateful for how much we love each other...and know that we are, in the world, as much in our pain as in our happiness." Sophia, in tears, moves into her arms and kisses her cheek. It's so sweet and Molly Parker is so incredible that I'm about to drown in my own tears.
But I don't have time. Trixie has the Gem girls lined up like a drill sergeant, giving them their orders. "Let no one that's turned in a needle," she says, moving down the line, "try eatin' the dope or shoving it up theirselves, as I will be checkin' eyes for signs before we fuckin' leave." She stops in front of the last girl, adding a personal note. "And no bein' drunk, either, Jen," she says, holding her by the face, "and wash your fuckin' mouth -- you've got seven kinds of cock breath." Jen confirms this by doing the old breath trick with her hand in front of her face, and I slide to the floor laughing.
Trixie goes upstairs to tell Al they're leaving. "Underarms clean?" he asks, "C*nts braided?" Ha. He tells her she's responsible for all the whores and is not to let them act out. She asks why he doesn't come and make them accountable to him. "Shut the fuckin' door behind you," he says, as an answer.
Siiiiigh. The funeral is beginning. Sadness, sadness. The town is gathered in the thoroughfare behind Martha and Bullock. Martha is wearing full mourning black. Andy starts the sermon, and immediately, I miss ol' Reverend Smith so much. Andy's new on the job still, and just doesn't have the delivery so charming in the crazy Rev. He stiffly reads from Psalm 23 as we look around the crowd, an assortment of Deadwood's finest and worst. Mrs. G has also donned her mourning dress, complete with a conservative neck ruff and fantastic hat. Sophia is there, looking sad, holding some flowers. Everyone is pretty much staring at the ground. We see down the thoroughfare that Al has come out on his balcony and is pretending he's not trying to crane his neck to see the funeral.
Andy continues, now reading from Job, which I recognize...because I AM Job, and because I can bring the scripture knowledge like nobody's bidness. It's a great passage, yet perhaps the most inappropriate one ever for the funeral of a child -- all about knowing your Redeemer lives and how you will stand beside Him on the final Day of Judgment despite your body having been consumed by worms. You know, real uplifting. Martha, who has been holding it together as well as could be expected, snaps on the worms thing. She bolts from her post to Bullock, breathing hard and panting, running for the front door of the house. Halfway there, she falls and has to scramble herself back to her feet. No one moves to help her. No one does anything. Andy keeps talking, trying to pretend it's not happening, and Bullock is clenched in utter, desperate confusion. Awful. Inside, we see her throw herself at the coffin, keening. Pulling herself up, she continues to sob, but in a more resolute way, now, like reality is sinking in. She pulls herself away. As Andy starts Psalm 121 -- lift thine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh help -- she reemerges from the house. Bullock goes to meet her and verily tenderly leads her back to their original spot. She whispers to him that he should let the people go through the house, after all, to view William's body, as Andy conveniently closes with the last verse -- "the Lord will preserve thy going out and coming in from this time forward, and even forever more." Nice touch. Maybe a tad of the Biblical anvil, there, but I'm all for it.
Andy starts thanking the crowd, saying all the stuff the Bullocks had asked him to, before, about the rest of the funeral being private, but Bullock slowly walks up in the middle of it and whispers to let them all come in and see William. Andy himself seems about to break down as he invites the crowd inside to pay final respects "to the corpse of William Bullock." Andy..."corpse"? Thanks. Maybe a bit more practice before you do another one of these would be a good idea.
The crowd mills around and we see plainly who will stay and who will choose to go. Johnny, Dan, and Adams head back to the Gem. Also declining to go in: Mrs. Garret. She has Sophia pass off her flowers to Jane, and takes the girl aside, to lead her back to the hotel. I really like that moment, showing Mrs. Garret making that decision not to intrude on the Bullock's grief, rather turning and moving on toward something else.
In a cutaway moment, we see that Doc has not attended the service at all. He's down at the Chez Amie, looking over his patient, Mose Manual, who seems to be in pain, but recovering well. Back at the Bullock house, Tom Nuttall joins the line of mourners, stepping in behind Trixie and carrying a large wreath.
Adams, Johnny, and Dan are almost around the corner in front of the Gem when Al sees them and hurries back inside, to then fake himself back outside, like he was just coming out for the first time. Johnny calls up that the girls are still at the service, viewing the body. Al tells them to get Wu now, please. "At the ice house..." Johnny says. "How should we set up the shifts?" Al swings back around in confusion. "What does he mean?" he asks the other two, who are hanging their heads in shame over Johnny's dumbassery. "'Put him on ice,'" Dan says. "It's a figure of speech, Johnny." Johnny still doesn't quite get it. Adams tries to help: "Like 'gotcha by the balls.'"
At the hotel, Mrs. G and Sophia are coming in with Ellsworth. It's been a long day, and he picks the little lady up to carry her up the stairs. She tells him about picking flowers in the graveyard, "me and Trixie..." Ellsworth says he thinks it's supposed to be "Trixie and I."
"Yes, Ellsworth," Mrs. G says, coming up behind. She is not, as it appears, agreeing with his grammar lesson. She's saying yes to his proposal. He stands there, frozen, with Sophia in his arms, as, back at the Bullock's house, we see Jane laying the girl's flowers at William's coffin.
Ellsworth smiles, shocked, as Mrs. G walks away. Sophia smiles, too, and she and Ellsworth stick out their tongues at each other.
Meanwhile, Wu's doing some pig-slopping and does not want to be bothered. One of his guys comes over to say something, but Wu gives him the verbal smack down and he slinks away as Johnny, Dan, and Adams stroll up to fetch Wu.
They proceed to have the funniest conversation of the episode, consisting of about three total words. "Swedgin," Dan says, gesturing back to the Gem. "SWEDGIN?" Wu says, shaking his head, and points emphatically down, in the international symbol for "if Al wants me, he can come find me." Adams tries another tack. "Naw, Wu," he says, with extra emphasis. "Swedgin." Hee. Wu ain't having it! "HA HA HA," he says, repeating his big point. Finally, the three men just pick him up and carry him through the street, Wu bitching all the way.
Back at the Bella Union, Cy is testing Wolcott's patience. He says he can see that same look in Wolcott's eyes that so recently spelled death for young girls. He pushes Wolcott pretty hard, asking him what triggers the whole murderer thing Wolcott has going on, when he is anviliciously interrupted by Andy in the doorway, holding the Holy Word aloft and warning all to "be ye afraid of the sword." Why Cy can't easily extrapolate that he needs to be ye afraid of the RAZOR, I don't know. He gets mad and starts yelling and has Andy thrown out. Wolcott tells Cy that he's very obviously a desperate man, even more desperate now that he sees his position weakening.
Jarry comes in, all nerves, panicking that Wolcott is sending messages to Hearst trying to get him to have Montana up the (fictional) bid for Deadwood's annexation against the Yankton bid. Wolcott says again that Mr. Hearst is not a party to territorial rivalries, and will himself allay everyone's fears when he arrives within the week. Cy is surprised and disturbed to hear that Hearst is coming, but Jarry blathers on, saying he hopes by the time Hearst arrives, he'll have sealed the deal on Yankton's bid. Cy goes back to nagging Wolcott, saying that he doesn't envy Jarry, who will have a nerve-wracking wait until he gets this annexation thing finished. "Ain't it the idle hours that try us?" Cy asks, looking at Wolcott. "Ain't they what lead us sometimes to the cliff? Sometimes, fuckin' over." Wolcott is looking now like he is just about to whip out an arsenal of razors and go full-on Jack the Ripper on Cy, right in front of everybody. And yet, Cy goes on. "I may have to ask Mr. Hearst if that's his experience, too," he says, "or others that he may know." Cy...damn. Wolcott is GOING to CUT you, and if he can manage to slice through your CoverGirl foundation, you MAY die.
Trixie is standing outside the hardware store, having a cig, when Sol comes by carrying the Bullocks and William's coffin in a wagon, headed for the graveyard. They nod to each other, and he sees her go into the store for the night, where she will be when he returns.
Back at the Gem, Al's having another of his much-missed Blow Job Monologues. Poor, poor Dolly is having to listen to the secret story of his miserable childhood from whence was born his hatred and fear of funerals. Before he gets into it, though, he interrupts her progress to ask her, "Do [you think] you're giving me a treat, drooling on my fuckin' nuts? Because I happen not to enjoy it." Dolly apologizes, and Al explains, "It's a strange fuckin' sensation, distractin' me from my hard-on." Seems Al's dad, or foster dad, beat him something terrible the day his brother was laid to rest. "Smacks coming from every fuckin' angle," he says. Apparently, his foster brother had "falling sickness," which may explain his mercy toward Rev. Smith, afflicted with a similar disorder. Anyway, Al hates funerals. "Let the old man beat you 'cause he was sad, and he has his load on..." he says, remembering. "Anyways," he interrupts Dolly's work to ask, "how was the funeral? Did you carry on? Disgrace yourself?" She says no, she didn't. "Everyone was sad, I expect," Al continues. Dolly dares to express an independent thought, saying the funeral was pretty, too. Al tells her to shut up, pulling her back to the business at hand, or...er, you know...the business. Instead of further berating her, however, he gets a little quiet, breaking the silence to ask if she dyes her hair. We see Dolly's head bob extra-forcefully in the affirmative.
At the Bullocks', Martha is back at her suitcases when Bullock comes into the bedroom. I know it's wrong to say, considering the subject matter, but her hair looks stunning. She stands as he walks in, and he repeats to her a phrase she had said to him, herself, when they first discussed their relationship after she arrived in town. "Whatever will let us live..." he says, as she looks at him and goes to sit down on the bed, "as we are now."