Quarrel with the Moon Page 16

  "... She whacked that sucker right in two!"

  "Not yet. Come back to my house. I'll boil water an' give you a good bath."

  "It was the biggest copperhead ever seen in these parts."

  "You'll bathe me yourself?"

  "Set some kind of record."

  "Yes," whispered Roma. "I'll bathe you with my own hands."

  "Pa was going to have it stuffed, but being that it was chopped in half...."

  "How can I resist such a tempting offer?"

  "It began to stink before nightfall an' he had to take it out in the yard an' bury it."

  "An' I'll give you fresh clothes to wear."

  "Just whacked it right in half, she did."

  "Where did you get a closet full of men's clothes?"

  "Faye was always braver than me. At least I think she was."

  "Not a closet full, just a few things."

  Josh smiled thinly. "What are we waiting for?" He drained his glass and turned it upside down on the table.

  Jewell rambled on. "... Cut it right in half."

  Roma stood up. "Jewell, we're going to go now. Will you be all right?"

  "Surely, surely. I'm goin' to stay an' watch over Faye. I must do that. You understand, don't you, Roma?"

  Roma kissed the old woman. "Yes, of course, you must."

  Josh got to his feet unsteadily. The rigors of the afternoon combined badly with the alcohol, but his desire for Roma far surpassed his exhaustion. He nodded to Jewell, knowing that his words of goodbye might very well tumble out as words of lust.

  Josh walked very close to Roma as they headed toward her house, but he did not dare to touch her. He would not have been able to restrain himself from completing the sexual act, once it was started. They crossed the covered bridge; Josh realized they were nearing the Community Center. Josh asked, "Where will Faye be buried?"

  "Why, in the graveyard," replied Roma.

  "You mean the one behind the church?" She nodded. "But it's in terrible condition."

  "I know. There's underground erosion. We think it was brought about by the diggin' of the mine an' the explosion, but there's some plots which are still good."

  "I don't understand about the church, Roma."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, doesn't anyone attend anymore? I thought mountain people were very religious."

  "We have our own kind of religion," Roma replied sharply. "We don't need churches. Besides, the preacher went crazy an' closed it up. We couldn't go even if we wanted to."

  "Is he still alive?"

  "Oh yes. He lives in the church."

  "Lives there!" exclaimed Josh. "But how does he exist?"

  Roma did not answer. "Here's the pathway to my house." She turned and lightly brushed her breast against his arm. He forgot the church and the preacher.

  ***

  Orin and Sophie stood on the porch of Sophie's General Merchandise Store. He spoke with a forced smile: "All safe, Sophie. No goblins, no haints."

  "You must come in, Orin." She saw the hesitation in his eyes. "Please, just for a moment. Let me make you a bite to eat."

  "I'm not hungry, Sophie."

  "Some dandelion wine, then. I make it myself, and if I say so, it's the best I've ever tasted. Uh huh, the very best."

  Orin sighed. "I'd enjoy a glass of your dandelion wine, Sophie. But just one. I got a lot to do before mornin'."

  "Mornin'," Sophie repeated. "Oh, yes, the buryin'. I just don't think I'm up to goin'." She led him through the shop and into the back where she kept house. "Sit down, Orin, an' make yourself comfortable. Take off your boots if you like. I know how men like to take off their boots, uh huh. A little comfort never hurt nobody."

  Orin scowled and looked away. "I'm fine as I am, Sophie. How about that wine?"

  Sophie offered a coquettish smile to her guest and hurried to the pantry. A bottle of wine was handy, and so were jelly glasses, but Sophie took the time to open a dusty box labeled "Seneca Glassware." The box contained half-a-dozen goblets which a now-forgotten relative had sent her as a wedding present. They had been used once on her wedding night, and then had been packed away along with her expectations for a happy life with Kalem Balock. She returned to Orin. "I'll just be a moment. This glass wants rinsin'."

  "Any glass will do, Sophie."

  Taking his remark as politeness, Sophie elaborately washed and wiped the crystal goblet. She set it down on the table, then uncorked the wine and poured a taste into the glass. Orin looked at it questioningly. "You're supposed to taste it," she bubbled, "an' let me know if it's all right. Then I'll pour you a proper glass. That's how they do it in movies."

  Orin tossed down the wine, smacked his lips and pronounced, "Ahhhh, right fine." Then he held out the empty glass to Sophie.

  Sophie sat down opposite Orin and gazed at him appreciatively while he drank. "It's nice havin' a man in the house." She rattled on. "The sound of heavy boots, the smell of leather and tobacco."

  Orin stood up. "I don't smoke, Sophie."

  Looking for any excuse to delay him, Sophie held up a length of cloth she had just woven for Orin's approval.

  "Now, that's a nice piece of work," he said politely.

  "I was thinkin' maybe you'd like for me to make you somethin', Orin. Perhaps a poncho, uh huh, like they're wearin' now."

  This time Orin did not conceal his irritation. "That was a long time ago, Sophie," he said. "Nobody wears ponchos anymore. I have to go now."

  "Yes, you must go. You have things to do. Uh huh, things to do." There was a note of envy in her voice.

  After Orin had gone, Sophie was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming loneliness. She told herself she had acted silly with Orin, but it wasn't that she had been trying to seduce him. Really she wasn't. It was only that Orin stirred something within her, something which had been dormant for so many years that Sophie could no longer identify it.

  ***

  Orin walked through the village toward the Jericho Falls road, intending to check for more landslides. But then he turned around and walked in another direction, the length of his stride increasing with every footstep. Orin knew where he was headed, where he had been headed all along.

  16

  "You may now kiss the bride."

  She lifted her wedding veil and pursed her lips. No one kissed her. The congregation stirred. Sibilant whispers rustled the pages of prayer books, a child giggled, a parent hissed a reprimand.

  Cresta was standing alone at the altar, a bride without a groom. Puzzled, she looked around. She was beneath the wisteria arbor in Central Park. Slowly she turned. Middle-aged widows served as her bridesmaids, faces blank, eyes hollow. They were dressed in black and carried bouquets of dead flowers held by black, serpentine ribbons trailing to the ground. There was a rustle of material. The child Marinda, clutching Cresta's train with her hideous four-fingered hands, grinned at her. Cresta scanned the wedding guests. They were the deformed young people of the Ridge.

  These aren't my friends.

  A mountain tune began playing, slightly off-key. The musicians were the six who had performed at the Community House social - the three old men and their younger counterparts. That's the wrong music, she wanted to scream. It isn't appropriate.

  "You may now kiss the bride."

  It was Alex's voice, speaking in a singsong manner like the caller at a square dance.

  Where was Josh? Cresta began to cry. She ran from the grape arbor and into the park. A sudden wind whipped around her, pressing the organdy and lace wedding gown against her body like the petals of an unopened flower. Completely alone now, she stood in the center of the running path and listened to the sound of approaching footfalls, running shoes slapping against hard earth. Josh!

  But the sound of the running feet passed her by. Cresta wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivered and exhaled. Her breath floated on the air like a puff of dandelion down. Underneath, the damp carpet of grass chilled her feet. Why hadn't she worn shoes?

>   She felt so alone. She began to tremble, bit down on the inside of her lower lip and was surprised by the taste of her own blood. Her heart was pounding, and she felt a sharp pain underneath her breast.

  "Josh!"

  Cresta woke up gasping for breath. For a time she was unable to shake off the dream, and then she saw the band of light, and beyond, the living area of the camper and Avarilla asleep on the sofa. She remembered. She was sick and the old woman was caring for her. But where was Josh? Where - was - he?

  The small bedroom blurred. She pressed her damp cheek against the pillow. Time stopped for Cresta and then carried her away on its endless journey.

  ***

  Roma moved about the kitchen, making preparations for Josh's bath. He watched her. Buckets and pots filled with water sat on top of the stove. The wood fire was burning with a furious intensity, providing an orange light. She had given him a glass of whiskey.

  "Where's the tub, Roma?" he asked. She crossed the room to a flowered curtain which hung from a length of clothesline and concealed the far corner. With a flourish Roma pulled it aside, revealing a unique bathtub. It was a large scoop of copper balanced on four claw feet and higher by at least a yard at the back. The tub was one of the few things that Roma bothered to clean; it gleamed like a treasure from a Pharaoh's tomb.

  "It looks like an antique," said Josh.

  "It belonged to my Ma an' her Ma before her. Come all the way from Boston."

  "It's a very interesting piece."

  The words were conventional, but their tone and cadence were filled with hidden meanings and taut emotions. Their voices were husky and the words were broken by the effort of breathing. The inevitable conclusion was at hand.

  Roma moved back to the stove. The glow surrounded her and cast her body in silhouette. She had changed from her black mourning dress to a pale shift worn shadow-thin by too many washings. She tested the water. "It's hot enough. Not yet boiling, but hot enough." Then she began carrying the buckets and pots to the tub. As she emptied them, a white mist rose to dampen her hair and her dress.

  Josh began unbuttoning his shirt. Still watching Roma, he removed his muddy boots. Roma turned to him, holding a cake of homemade soap in the palms of her hands like an offering. Josh stood up, undid his belt and peeled off his jeans.

  Roma's eyes flickered as she dropped her gaze. Her lips separated and her cheeks flushed red. Josh walked toward her, took the soap and stood in front of her. Still they did not touch. It was as if a strain of masochism caused them to put off something pleasurable for as long as they could stand it.

  Josh stepped into the tub and as Roma watched, he slowly immersed himself in the water. Roma took off her shift and was completely nude. She walked to the copper tub. Roma had much more body hair than most women. A light spray of hair shadowed the valley between her breasts and still more, fine as down, covered her rounded stomach. Josh did not find it disagreeable; rather, it heightened his desire. Roma knelt by the tub and, using a natural sponge, she began to wash Josh, starting beneath the surface of the water.

  ***

  Orin stood outside the camper and listened. No sound came from within. He looked in the window and saw Avarilla asleep on the couch. Then he moved to the far end of the camper and looked inside. In a pale half-light he saw Cresta asleep on the double bed. Sliding his hand down over his abdomen, he began to stroke himself through his trousers.

  He tried the door. It was unlocked. As he stepped inside he glanced at his grandmother. She didn't stir. Orin walked softly into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Cresta turned over so that she was on her back and her beautiful face was lit by the pale moonlight streaming through the high window. Her flesh glistened as if powdered diamonds had been sprinkled over it. Orin removed his vest and let it drop to the floor. Then he bent over to take off his boots. Because of his erection his pants were difficult to remove. He walked to the edge of the bed. Cresta's hair was spilled across the blankets. He rubbed his knee against her tresses. They felt softer than anything he had ever imagined. He touched her face, and she smiled in her sleep. Then he unbuttoned the top of her flannel nightgown and cupped her right breast in his hand. His thumb and forefinger secured the nipple and he began exerting the slightest pressure. Cresta groaned, her eyes partly opened. "Josh," she said. Her voice sounded detached as if it were coming from somewhere else.

  "Yes, Cresta," Grin replied. "I'm here." Then he lifted the covers and climbed into bed.

  ***

  Jewell's hand reached out in her sleep and knocked over the glass of whiskey. The amber liquid spilled across the tabletop and washed against her cheek. The sting of the liquor woke her up.

  "Faye? Faye? I was dreamin' about that time you an' me an' Avvie decided to enter that quilt makin' contest at the County Fair." She chuckled in remembrance. "It was the Lone Star design. Pretty ambitious, considering that you an' me couldn't sew a decent stitch. We all agreed to do a third of the quilt an' Avvie got real angry because we couldn't keep up with her. Then the night before the contest, we pasted all them triangles into place. Avvie was just amazed that we got our part done. Hah! Then when they hung it up at the fair the weather was so hot an' dry that those triangles began fluttering off the quilt like leaves from a tree." Jewell began to cry. "Oh, Faye, Faye, you're dead. You can't hear me. I loved you better than my own family. You stayed, they all went away. An' now you're gone too." She stood up, sobbing, and looked around the kitchen until she found the jug of liquor. She poured herself another drink. It made her gag, but she drank it anyway. She went to the sink for a rag to sop up the spill on the tabletop and saw that her garnet ring was still on the windowsill.

  "I wanted you to have that ring, Faye." She picked it up and held it to the light. "I want you to have it."

  Jewell looked under the sink and found a hammer and the metal wedge Faye had used to split logs into kindling. Going into the parlor, she shoved the wedge between the top and side of the coffin and said, "Oh, dear Lord, forgive me for disturbin' sweet Faye, but I just got to give her the ring. Please, please understand."

  She pried the coffin lid open an inch or so. Setting the tools aside, she gripped the lid and, working it to the left and right, managed to free it. She pulled it aside and laid it on the floor. Then Jewell looked into the casket.

  A terrible cry flew from her throat. The garnet ring slipped from her grasp and spun away from her. She staggered backward, clawing at her eyes, trying to obliterate what she had seen.

  Faye Brooks was hardly recognizable. Her hair was matted with blood. Her cheeks had been torn away, so that the bones were visible. Her lips had been ripped away, and her teeth hung loosely from discolored gums. One of Faye's eyes was missing. The other, hanging from its socket, was staring at Jewell. A jellied mass of gore was all that was left of her throat, and her chest was rent by wounds so deep that part of her spine was exposed.

  Jewell stood motionless, staring at what had once been her friend. She denied her eyes, convinced that what she was seeing was a figment of imagination and liquor. But the ghastly vision refused to change. Jewell at last had to accept that the mangled thing in the casket was Faye Brooks. Her soul could not do so.

  Jewell spun around and fell to her knees. Sobbing and screaming, she crawled into the kitchen where she sought shelter beneath the table. She held onto one of the wooden legs and bared her teeth. She worked her jaws against the wood with such force that finally the table leg began to splinter.

  ***

  The sound of the camper door closing awakened Avarilla. She rubbed her eyes, unsure of where she was. Then, realizing she was in the camper, she hurried into the bedroom to check on Cresta.

  The young woman was sprawled across the bed, lying on a tangled mass of quilts and blankets. The flannel nightgown was around her waist, and her flesh was covered with perspiration. Avarilla touched her skin. Cresta was more feverish than ever. After pulling the blankets and quilts over her charge, Avarilla hurried into the kitchen to
make a poultice. In her experience it had never failed to rout a fever. She combined kerosene, turpentine and pure lard, the latter to prevent blistering. Then she soaked a wool cloth with the mixture.

  Avarilla managed to get Cresta in a sitting position. She lowered the nightgown, placed cheesecloth on her chest for protection, and added half of the wool poultice. Cresta became conscious. She spoke in a hollow voice. "Josh was here, Aunt Avvie. He came to see me."

  "That's nice, darlin'."

  "He - he made love to me."

  Avarilla shook her head with pity. The fever was causing the poor girl to hallucinate. "Now, just lean forward."

  Avarilla drew in her breath. Cresta's back was covered with deep red scratches. "Goodness, darlin', how did you hurt yourself?" Cresta said nothing. Avarilla stared at the markings. They were evenly spaced and were in series of fives. She dabbed the wounds with alcohol before applying the other poultice. "The poultice will help heal those marks." Then she gave Cresta another cup of the tea. Once again Cresta fell into a deep sleep.

  After tucking Cresta in, Avarilla returned to the living room. It was then she saw the damp footprints which stained the carpet. The prints were made by a man's boot. Avarilla became troubled. If Josh had been here, why didn't he stay? It seemed unlikely that he would take advantage of Cresta's illness. Or was it Josh?

  ***

  The stars were fast losing their sparkle - diamonds becoming glass - as dawn bleached the sky. Josh, racing the daybreak, hastened through the forest with heavy steps and aching thighs.

  Never before had Josh experienced such intense passion. And yet, the act of their lovemaking was indistinct, amorphous, like a half-remembered dream. What remained was exhaustion and guilt. He knew that Avarilla would have stayed with Cresta throughout the night. But what would Cresta think if she awoke and didn't find him there? As Josh increased his pace, he began manufacturing excuses. He spent the night with Jewell Runion, giving her comfort and support. No, Cresta wouldn't buy that. He got lost in the forest and slept in a tree. No good; his sense of direction was phenomenal. Perhaps he could just say he got drunk and passed out. That she would believe. Josh wondered if she would suspect that he had spent time with Roma. He would deny it vehemently, of course, but he was so tired. Could he convince her? It required effort to lie.