Quarrel with the Moon Read online

  She tore off her nightgown and turned on a cold shower. She had to do something, anything, to shock herself into action. In the shower Cresta pounded her head against the wall and screamed in despair, the sounds muffled by the falling water. She eased on the hot water, and gradually she stopped shaking. When she stepped out of the shower, she knew what she had to do. She dried herself, hurried into the bedroom, and dressed. She would be out of the camper before Josh returned.

  Even when she had accused him of being unfaithful with Roma, she had never, never really believed that it was true.

  Cresta took a wicker suitcase down from the closet and began to pack, thinking of the apartment, the lease, the furniture, the magazine subscriptions....

  She searched for her credit cards and found them, along with the neatly folded fifty-dollar bills that she had brought with her. That was all that she really needed to get back to New York City. She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided that she needed a bit of rouge and lipstick. The camper door shut. She dropped the lipstick tube. Cresta sucked in her breath, closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her own heart beating. Her anger overcame her hurt.

  Why am I acting so guilty? I wasn't screwing in the wide open spaces. He was.

  She picked up the lipstick and used it, took a deep breath and braced herself. Josh was just scrambling under the covers as she entered. Employing a sleepy voice, he said, "You're up early."

  "And you're up everything," she replied acidly.

  His eyes traveled from the expression on her face to her clothing, and finally to her suitcase. He sat up. "Where are you going?"

  "I'm leaving, Josh. You see, I got up in the middle of the night and decided to take a little walk myself. I...." Her voice broke. "I saw you and Roma." Josh opened his mouth. "No, don't say anything. There's nothing you can say."

  "Cresta," Josh began miserably, "don't do this."

  "Oh, you want me to stay? I see, Roma and I could draw lots for your services. No thanks, I'm not into open relationships." She shook her head sadly. "I thought you knew that."

  Josh whispered. "I'm sorry."

  Cresta turned on him. "Are you? Or are you just sorry I found out?" Her lips formed a twisted smile. "Well at least you don't need to use alcohol as an excuse anymore for screwing around." He looked up. His eyes were filled with tears. "Don't cry, Josh. I don't believe it. Oh, I wish I could hurt you. I wish I could. But you can't hurt someone who doesn't love you. And you don't love me, you don't love anybody. I just don't think you're capable. I thought you loved me, but that was self-delusion, something like that. I'll ask my shrink. I imagine your name will be cropping up from time to time."

  "Where are you going, Cresta?"

  "Where? Back to the discos, the theater and the nightclubs. That's where I belong, not here in the sticks."

  "How do you intend to get to Jericho Falls?"

  "The same way you did. I'll ask Orin to lend me his horse, and I'll pay some yokel to bring it back to him. Then I'll take a bus to wherever there's a plane back to the Big, rotten Apple."

  Josh stood up, and Cresta saw the marks on his chest. "I see you've graduated from hickies." He stepped toward her, his arms outstretched. She slammed the case against him. "Don't, Josh. Don't demean yourself any more than you already have." He sat back down, holding his head in his hands. Cresta left.

  Josh went to the door and watched as she made her way toward the village. He kept hoping she would turn around, but she didn't.

  ***

  Cresta couldn't face Avarilla. Let Josh explain her absence, using whatever lies he wished. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting back to home ground. When she got to Jericho Falls, she'd call Jason. He would be pleased that she was coming back early. Perhaps he could still arrange that European deal for her. All that money plus side trips to St. Tropez and Monaco could erase a lot of pain.

  Who was she fooling? She wasn't going to get over Josh as easily as a cold. He'd infected her. It would be a long time before she would be able to get him out of her system. Anguish overtook her with its full and brutal force. She sat down on the wicker suitcase and sobs wracked her body. "Oh Josh, I love you so. I'll never love anyone else." When she was cried out, Cresta dried her tears and blew her nose. She smiled thinly to herself. "I can't go to Orin looking like this. He'll never loan me the horse."

  She fixed her makeup and realized that she didn't know exactly where Orin lived. She followed the road until she came to a house. In the front yard a child was playing in a swing made from an old rubber tire. Cresta realized that it was the little girl who had given her a flower the day they had arrived. "Why, hello," she called.

  Marinda rearranged her face into a beatific smile and came to lean against the tumbledown fence.

  "I used to have a swing just like that," said Cresta.

  "Did you?" replied Marinda noncommitally. "What are you doin' carryin' a suitcase?"

  "I'm going on a trip."

  "Really."

  "I'm going back to New York City."

  "Why?"

  "Well, I - have to go back to work."

  "What do you do?"

  "I'm a model."

  "I'd like to be a model." Framing her oddly pretty face with her grotesque hands, she asked, "Don't you think I'd make a good model?"

  Cresta swallowed. "Well, yes, I think you'd be very photogenic."

  "You don't think my hands would get in the way?"

  "Well you don't always see the model's hands. I remember once when I was a bride, the bouquet I was holding covered them." Cresta hoped she was convincing.

  "Then," Marinda went on, "I should only appear in pictures with bouquets." She looked at Cresta sharply. "What do you want?"

  "I was looking for Orin's house," Cresta said. "Is it near here?"

  Marinda's smile returned, meanly. "Orin's house?" she repeated, making it sound dirty. "You got to cross the covered bridge, then after a stretch of cornfield there's a branch in the road off to the left. You can't see his house though." She grinned. "It's hidden by a bouquet of trees, but it's there all right."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome ... Cresta," Marinda replied and waved goodbye with both of her hands.

  Cresta walked on, feeling guilty that she didn't like the little girl. But it wasn't because of her deformity, but rather her acerbic personality. Cresta felt she had been mocked. She thought that Marinda must have given her the wrong directions when suddenly she saw the house appear behind the trees. Cresta was surprised to find it so plain and unassuming. Not like Orin at all. But what did she expect? A mountain version of a sultan's love palace?

  She was out of breath when she reached the porch. She knocked on the door. No answer. Then she called, "Orin? Orin?" He didn't appear. Cresta opened the door and entered the parlor. It was like stepping into a surrealistic dream.

  The room was completely empty. There was no furniture, no rug, no curtains, not even a lamp, and nothing of a personal nature. Sunlight filtered through the dirt-streaked windowpanes, capturing dust motes in its piercing shafts. Cresta felt a cold breeze stir around her ankles. One of the windows was broken. Leaves and pine needles had drifted in and filled the corners of the room. It was empty, and yet there was a life force here, an unmistakable odor of habitation. A pungent, human aroma of sweat and desire.

  The walls, plain wood planking bereft of paint or varnish, were scarred with deep scratches. Fingerprints tarnished the window panes. They resembled a strange breed of insects which were attempting to escape to the outside world. Parts of the floor were more worn than others, and there were stains, dark and wine-colored like giant birthmarks.

  Cresta, standing in the center of the room, had the unsavory feeling that she was standing at the bottom of an open grave. An acute wave of nausea swept over her, causing the entire room to shimmer and pulse. She was suddenly aware of movement behind her. She turned her head. Orin was standing in the doorway, wearing tight leather pants.

 
"Orin," she gasped weakly.

  "Yes, Cresta." He smiled. "I'm here."

  Part Three

  Be sober, be vigilant;

  your adversary the devil

  walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.

  2 PETER, 5:8

  19

  September arrived and the mountains underwent a subtle metamorphosis. Mornings came later, wearing a cloak of crisp, invigorating air. The ground was laced with spiderwebs spun overnight and decorated with dewdrops, like misplaced strands of pearls. Pigments of fall paint began to dapple the trees with blazing color. Creeks flowed faster, and the water bubbling against the rocks created a distinct musical message for the inhabitants of Chestnut Ridge. It said that autumn was coming early and would only have a brief stay. Winter would make its appearance sooner than usual and, like a thoughtless guest, it would wear out its welcome.

  The message was understood by all, and preparations were begun for Summer's End.

  It was ten days since Cresta's abrupt departure.

  Josh had spent every night with Roma, as well as most of each day. With her as guide, Josh explored his own sexuality as completely as a zealous explorer might investigate a newly discovered territory. When he happened to encounter one of Cresta's left-behind possessions - a scarf, a pair of panties, her unplayed guitar - he gave her nothing more than a passing thought. He was utterly preoccupied with Roma. He did not even reflect upon his purpose in coming to Chestnut Ridge. The mountain road had been cleared, but it did not occur to Josh to leave the community, even to inquire about the safety of Harry Evers and company.

  ***

  A series of sharp raps on the camper door stirred Josh. He got out of bed and slipped into a pair of shorts. While passing through the kitchen, he noticed the time and groaned. It was ten till eight. He and Roma had been awake till past four.

  Avarilla, accompanied by a gust of chill air, stepped inside. "Go put on somethin' heavier, Josh, while I make coffee. Roma's here, I take it?" Josh was surprised by Avarilla's question.

  "Yes, she's here."

  "Then wake her up. I don't want her lingerin' about. I want to talk to you."

  Josh scanned the old woman's face. "You sound serious."

  She returned his gaze without blinking. "I am," she replied. "Very serious."

  After putting on jeans and a flannel shirt, Josh sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed his lips against Roma's cheek. "Roma, Roma, wake up."

  She opened her eyes and yawned. Her yawn turned into a frown. "Oh, Josh, I'm still so sleepy."

  "Aunt Avvie's here."

  Roma stretched. "She's probably angry with me. I was supposed to help finish the quilt for Summer's End."

  "She wants to talk to me. I'm going to chase you out after you've had your coffee."

  When they entered the kitchen Avarilla was pouring freshly perked coffee into cups. There was a note of disapproval in her voice as she spoke: "I was expectin' you last night, Roma. We won't get the quilt finished unless you help out."

  "I'll come by today, Aunt Avvie. An' this evenin' too." The old woman nodded.

  "Hey, Aunt Avvie," said Josh. "What about this Summer's End Fair? I thought you didn't approve of tourists swarming all over the Ridge?"

  Avarilla eyed the young man. "There's lots of things I don't approve of," she replied. "The fair is necessary. By sellin' our goods we make enough money to buy those supplies which we need to keep us through the winter."

  "I see," grinned Josh. "Double standards."

  Avarilla nudged Roma. "Drink your coffee, Roma. I want to speak to Josh alone."

  Roma hurriedly drank her coffee and left.

  "Pour us another cup, Josh, an' sit down here next to me." Avarilla stroked her forehead and began. "Josh, there are things that need tellin'."

  "I don't understand...."

  "Why did you really come to the Ridge, Josh? I'm nobody's fool. You told me you came to join your friends at the Indian burial mound. You made a brief trip down there an' that was that. Your friends are gone an' you've stayed."

  Josh looked sheepish. "I should have confided in you, Aunt Avvie, but I didn't want to alarm you."

  "You'd better explain yourself."

  Josh told her of Harry Evers' discovery. The testing of the skull and bones for authenticity. His assignment to investigate. When he finished, he tried to read the expression on her face. He had expected surprise, even shock. Instead, her face was filled with a terrible sadness. "I must ask you to keep my confidence."

  "Yes, I will," she replied dully.

  "You don't seem surprised by my story."

  "Josh, I'm an old woman. Nothin' surprises me anymore. I've seen many, many things which I can't explain or understand. But I accept them. There's nothin' else to do." She touched Josh's cheek. "I'm concerned about you an' Roma. It seems to have gone pretty far."

  "Yes, it has."

  "I should have known. I should have heeded the signs. Even when Cresta left, I was sure that the two of you would make your peace, but now I know why she left. It was because of Roma, wasn't it?" Josh nodded. "Josh, you must give up Roma." She looked at him sadly. "An' I'm goin' to tell you why."

  "Please do," said Josh, barely controlling his anger.

  Avarilla spread out her hands in a helpless gesture. "I've lied to you, Josh."

  "Lied? How?"

  "You're not my nephew. I'm not your aunt." She touched his hand. "You are my grandson. You an' Orin are brothers, not cousins."

  "We're twins, then?"

  "Yes. Twins."

  Josh shook his head. "If ... if we're twins, then Sissy is my mother. Jesus, you're saying that idiot down there is my mother?"

  Avarilla slapped Josh hard across the mouth. Her voice was level, but there was no mistaking her rage. "Don't you ever call Sissy an idiot. She wasn't born that way. I told you that. Her affliction came later. That has nothin' to do with you. Nothin'!"

  Josh rubbed his mouth. "I'm sorry. That wasn't right, what I said. I - I didn't mean it."

  "Then don't say what you don't mean."

  "But my parents ..."

  "Kind people, my brother an' his wife."

  "But why?"

  "Because of Sissy. She couldn't care for both of you. She had no husband, an' I was a middle-aged woman at the time. So I made a very painful decision. I gave one of the twins, you, to Harley an' Leoma to raise. You see, they had just lost their baby, an' oh, they loved you on sight."

  "You gave me away," he muttered, shaking his head.

  "I had to Josh. It was hard. I still don't know if it was right. But I knew that that child would have a better opportunity for education an' a better opportunity for life. An' I selected you, the firstborn."

  Josh held his head in his hands and mumbled, "Sissy ... my mother." He looked at Avarilla sharply. "Does Orin know?"

  Avarilla shook her head. "I don't think so. I think he believes what I told him."

  "Just as I did," Josh replied bitterly. "Who else knows?"

  "Just myself an' Sissy, but she hasn't quite put it all together yet, even with your comin' back to the Ridge. An' the granny women, Jewell an' poor Faye, they assisted in the birthings. An' Reverend Hooper."

  Josh managed a grin. "Well, I guess the secret's pretty safe. Sissy's not all there, Faye's dead, and Roma tells me the preacher's only rowing with one oar. Do you plan to tell Orin?"

  "I don't know."

  "What do you want me to do? How am I supposed to react?"

  "I want you to promise to say nothin' of what I've told you."

  "Not acknowledge my own brother, my own mother?" Josh was incredulous, "and who, may I ask, was my - our father? Or is that a secret too?"

  "That is even a secret from me, Josh. I don't know. Sissy's husband, Ben, did not give her children. He was drafted into the army an' was killed overseas." She measured her words. "He was already dead when Sissy conceived."

  "Wait a minute. This is too much for me to follow. You mean you haven't any idea who fa
thered Orin and myself?"

  Avarilla bowed her head. "None. An' Sissy denied bein' with another man." She lowered her voice. "I suspect that she was raped an' the poor thing could only live with it by forgettin' it."

  "Jesus, what next?" groaned Josh. He looked up. "But what has this got to do with Roma and me?"

  The old woman licked her dry lips. "I don't know how to say it except to say it plain, Josh." Then the words tumbled out. "Orin is Roma's father."

  Josh sat back. The flesh beneath his tan paled. "Then that makes me Roma's uncle." He slammed his fist down on the table again and again until Avarilla got up to comfort him.

  "Josh, I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you."

  "Then tell me this. Isn't it true that Roma has been ... intimate with Orin?"

  "Yes, that's true."

  "Jesus! Are they aware of their relationship to one another?"

  "Roma wasn't, at the beginnin'. But Orin has always known."

  "What happened to Roma's mother? Who was she?"

  "Martha died givin' birth to Roma."

  "Then who raised her?"

  "Why, Josh, we all did. I've explained how things are here on the Ridge."

  "Then why didn't somebody explain to Roma ... about incest?" Avarilla flinched at the word. "Or do we call it something different up here in the mountains? 'We take care of our own.' Isn't that what you said? Hah! Some care you took of Roma!"

  Avarilla touched Josh's shoulder, but he pulled away. "Sometimes, Josh, there's no stoppin' somebody from gettin' what they want."

  "You mean Orin?"

  She nodded. "I don't know what makes Orin the wild thing that he is. It seems like I could never control him. He always took what he wanted. God forgive me for sayin' it, 'cause he's my own flesh an' blood, but sometimes I - I don't like Orin."

  Josh looked at his grandmother with suspicion.