Quarrel with the Moon Page 5

  Josh smiled warmly at Cresta. "I'd love to have you come with me." He held up his hand. "But you've got to pack fast. I want to leave New York by six."

  "It won't take me any time, and I'll finish yours, too! Oh, Josh, you've made me so happy."

  "I'm glad. Now you get the packing done and call Jason. I'm going to pick up the camper."

  "I promise I'll be ready at six." Josh kissed each of Cresta's tear-stained cheeks. "By the way, Josh, have you seen my guitar?"

  "Your guitar?" he asked warily.

  "Yes, I thought I'd bring it with me. A perfect time to brush up on my chords."

  Josh began laughing. "She only knows one song, and what do you think it is?" He began singing in a wavering baritone. "'I'm leaving on a jet plane.'" Before he closed the door he shouted, "It's against my better judgment, but it's in the hall closet."

  Cresta forced herself to stop laughing, sat down on the bed and dialed Jason Gold, the owner of Famous, Inc. Modeling Agency. She braced herself for the inevitable loud arguments from her mentor. "Jason, it's Cresta. I've got a small problem. Jason, I have to get away, now, tomorrow. I want to take off a couple of weeks ... yes, I know I've got bookings. But there aren't that many. Jason, I'm really tired. Even the makeup man was complaining about the bags under my eyes this morning ... Goddamn it, Jason, I've worked my ass off all summer, booking after Goddamn booking. I. Am. Tired. I'm standing on my nerve ends. My psychiatrist told me I need a rest. Look, Jason, you can scream all you like. Dr. Benjamin will write a letter if necessary ... Don't threaten me, Jason. You know as well as I do that a letter from a psychiatrist will stand up in any court." She held the receiver away from her ear while Jason cursed loudly at the other end. "Are you finished? ... What kind of a deal? ... Oh, no, you're not going to blackmail me. I will not spend the winter in Europe shooting the spring collections. No, I won't do it. Jason, you know I'm involved with Josh. No, I wouldn't consider it and that's final." She sighed and waited out another tirade. "Jason, I'm going, and that's final ... Two weeks, maybe three at the most ... To the mountains of West Virginia, that's where. Look, why don't you give that new girl, Cassie McLaughlin, some of my bookings? ... All right, all right, you make the decisions." Her voice softened. "Jason, I really do appreciate this. I'll bring you back a jug of moonshine. Love you too. See you in three weeks."

  Cresta put the receiver back on the cradle and pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. It had been easier than she had thought it would be. Then she quickly called her lawyer, who handled her business affairs, and her answering service, to make sure they would pick up all phone calls while she was gone. She thought briefly of phoning her parents, but changed her mind. They had never approved of her lifestyle, much less her relationship with Josh, and in turn Cresta had little to do with them. She wrote a note for Esther, the twice-a-week maid, and left her three weeks' salary in advance. Then she dashed back into the bedroom to complete Josh's packing and her own. Because of her work, Cresta kept her closet very organized, arranged according to season and mode of dress. Her shoes were lined up in colors as were her blouses, sweaters and lingerie. She managed to keep Josh's wardrobe and chest of drawers in similar order. She finished the packing with time to spare, treated herself to a quick shower, and, after drying off, began packing her toilet articles in a large straw hamper. She started to reach for her bottle of Valiums, hesitated for a minute and dropped them into the hamper. Humming to herself, Cresta carefully made up her face. She parted her bright red lips and sang with gusto, "'I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.'"

  At the rental agency, Josh signed his name to the forms and handed the clerk his American Express card. Since Cresta was coming on the trip, he had rented a much larger Scamper. This one had a complete kitchen, twice as much closet space, and what was called a bedroom. He glanced at his wristwatch, a thin sliver of gold which Cresta had given him the previous Christmas. It was five thirty-five. He was making good time.

  Josh was in an exuberant mood as he drove toward the apartment. He had been caught up by Cresta's enthusiasm and, upon reflection, now believed that sharing the trip could only deepen their relationship. He handled the camper with ease, moving steadily through the thinning traffic.

  At the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and Eighty-Sixth Street, a blinking neon sign caught his eye.

  "Liquor - Liquor - Liquor."

  Josh quickly pulled over, double-parked and went inside. After all, it was a holiday of sorts. He would just buy a few bottles of wine ... and perhaps some vodka.

  It was ten after six when Josh arrived back at the apartment. Cresta, sitting on a stack of suitcases in the hall, gave him a huge smile. Josh felt a sudden surge of tenderness for her. He knelt in front of her and buried his face in her lap. "It's going to be good, love. I promise you that. It's going to be so good."

  Cresta was completely enchanted with the camper. She walked all the way around it, pausing to stroke the glossy white paint and trace her fingers over the intricate design - a stenciled band of curlicues - which ran the full circumference of the trailer somewhat like a belt. He took her inside.

  "I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "It's like a miniature house on wheels. We should give up the apartment, Josh. It would be much cheaper to rent a parking space."

  Josh laughed. "We'd probably get hijacked by some freaky terrorist group."

  "A shower, a stove, a john - everything really works?"

  Josh nodded. "I tried everything, except, of course, the bed." He pushed open a sliding door leading to the tiny bedroom. "A wall-to-wall mattress. Just the thing for kissing and making up."

  Cresta became serious. "Josh, we're not going to fight on this trip. I promise you. No more bitch."

  "No more bastard." They embraced and held each other tightly. Cresta felt Josh become aroused. "Josh," she admonished, "we can't. Not here on the street."

  "I know, damn it, we're double-parked. We'd better get going. We'll stop somewhere in Jersey at a supermarket and pick up some supplies. If you've noticed, the camper comes equipped with dishes, flatware, pots and pans and so forth."

  "Wonderful. I thought we were going to have to live off of paper plates." Cresta flipped open a cabinet door and saw the collection of liquor and wine bottles. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything, and when she turned to Josh he was already climbing into the cab.

  "Come on, love. At this rate, we'll never make it to Jersey."

  Cresta glanced back at the cabinet. They would be lucky if they made it at all.

  5

  A burial mound is an artificial hill of earth built over the remains of the dead. They were characteristic of Indian cultures of Eastern North America from 1000 B.C. to A.D. 700. The mound on the Cheat River was approximately twenty-two feet high and one hundred and ten feet in diameter at the base. It enclosed several tomb chambers or vaults. Numerous relics had been discovered from two of the burial chambers, and Harry Evers and his assistants were in the process of excavating the third.

  The camp was situated about thirty feet from a palm-shaped cove in the Cheat River. About a hundred and fifty yards to the right was the Indian mound, and beyond that the green curtain of forest.

  The moon was full. Flat and white, it resembled a round piece of paper pasted against the indigo sky. Fast-moving clouds glided across the moon, making it disappear, reappear, and disappear once again like a magician's illusion. The shifting light infused the darkness with a certain life. Shadows moved within shadows, and the silhouettes of trees constantly rearranged themselves into different shapes. It was a setting full of surrealistic images.

  The campfire hissed and sputtered as if protesting the ambiguous night. The trio - Harry Evers and his two assistants, Ted Dwyer and Amy Parrish - gathered closer to the glowing embers, but not for reasons of warmth. It was balmy, and under any other circumstances the three would have found pleasure in the comfort of the tepid air, the rushing sound of the nearby river, the scent of coffee brewed over an o
pen flame. But they were troubled by things that they had left unspoken.

  They glanced uneasily at the dream-haunted sky, then at one another. Suddenly they broke into shamefaced grins.

  "How about a ghost story?" offered Ted Dwyer, a slender, bespectacled young man of twenty-three. Ted wore his black hair shoulder length and sported a full beard and mustache. From his left ear a feathered earring dangled like a bird wing.

  "Ted! That's not funny," groaned Amy Parrish, his lover, a quietly pretty, serious young woman, also twenty-three. Amy's face was covered with freckles, but no makeup. Her curly red hair, parted in the middle, sprang from either side of her head at a forty-five degree angle, giving her the appearance of a hippie sphinx.

  "All right," persisted Ted, "if not a ghost story, how about a love story?" He grinned and looked to Harry Evers.

  Harry, a bulky man of forty-six years, with ginger-colored hair and watery blue eyes, smiled in the affirmative. He was a bit weary of the world, but never of the antics of young lovers.

  Ted stood up and launched into a verbal valentine to Amy. "The young man and woman in this story had what the playwrights call a 'cute meet.' The scene - Berkeley campus, the time - the first day of registration. He and she keep running into each other, since they're both signing up for the same courses." Ted's baritone raised and lowered at the appropriate dramatic spots as he told the tale with all the fervor of a snake-oil salesman. "Now being persons of a friendly nature, they introduce themselves, and bam! A couple of days later, they find themselves sharing the same frog in Biology I." Harry laughed gruffly and Amy, delighted at being the center of attention, clapped her hands together. "Now I ask you, was that or was that not a 'cute meet'?"

  He started to sit back down but Amy protested, "Go on, Ted. Go on with the story."

  Ted lowered his voice. "In addition to their intense physical attraction for one another, they have other things in common. They find that they care for the environment, worry about the preservation of wildlife and enjoy sleeping - together - in the same sleeping bag. They are kindred spirits of the heart, mind and ...," Ted bent over and kissed Amy quickly on the forehead, "body."

  "And then they go to New York," prompted Amy.

  Harry supplied the ending. "Where they come to work at the New York Institute of Anthropology. And after tight-ass Phelps gets a look at them, he promptly hands them over to Harry Evers." He regarded them affectionately. "Who is eternally grateful to the old son of a bitch."

  Harry Evers' deep, throaty voice wrapped around the couple like a warm embrace. For the moment he dispelled the subtle undercurrent of fear which had pervaded their existence since the discovery of the strange skull and bones. Harry's self-assurance was perhaps not genuine, but he was stalwart to a fault and, as such, believed in "nipping trouble in the bud." Hadn't he single-handedly done as much in the past? He had convinced Javanese priests that his excavations would not bring down the wrath of their gods, persuaded angry workers at Luxor to return to the diggings after an insurrection, successfully traded trinkets for shrunken heads in Brazil and managed to keep his own at its original size.

  Harry spread his stubby fingers and held his hands closer to the fire. The heat seemed to infuse him with more confidence. "So we found some remains of an animal we can't identify. Perhaps it's a hoax, kiddos, perhaps not." He paused for effect. "I think it's merely a fluke of nature." He smiled broadly and that smile effectively colored his voice. "On the other hand, kiddos, maybe everything has changed. This just might be the biggest Goddamn scientific discovery of the century. Hah! We'll all be in People. More coffee?" Ted and Amy held out their mugs. Harry filled them with steaming black liquid and then replenished his own. "I'll just sweeten mine up a bit," he said lightly and produced a bottle from his back pocket. "White lightning." He filled the mug to the brim, stirred the concoction with his finger, and took a hearty swallow.

  Ted cleared his throat. "How do you explain that cache of human bones we found buried beneath the floor of the cave?"

  Harry scowled. "I don't explain it. This is mountain country, kiddos. The mountains are populated with plain people who have volatile emotions. They live by their own creed ... mountain justice. If a mountain man finds his wife in the hayloft with somebody else, then look out! Mountain justice is swift, fast, final."

  "Oh, come on, Harry. What about the law?"

  "They abide by their own laws, Amy. You've heard of the Hatfields and the McCoys, of course. For what it's worth, I figure those bones earned their resting place."

  "You don't think ..." Amy began.

  "We've not found any evidence that it had any ... descendants." He stood up and stretched. Despite his burly appearance, Harry was not an insensitive man. He had noticed the furtive looks that Ted and Amy had been giving one another. If memory served him, their expressions were unmistakable. "Nothing has changed except that I'm going to stand watch on the mound tonight." Ted started to protest, but Amy squeezed his thigh to stop him. Harry grinned. "I thought you might agree."

  "I - we - really appreciate it, Harry," said Ted.

  "Hell, kiddos, I was young myself - once." Amy jumped up, hugged Harry tightly and kissed him on the cheek. Harry pulled away, ashamed that he felt the faint stirrings of sexual arousal. "I'll just take my bottle and we'll go keep them dead Indians company."

  ***

  The Scamper left the turnpike at Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Josh checked his watch. It was nearly nine o'clock. "We'll have to find an all-night supermarket. There ought to be one near the center of town."

  "I've been making a list, Josh. No convenience foods, and nothing with sugar or preservatives."

  "Don't forget to strike anything with nitrates and artificial colors and flavors."

  "My God, will there be anything left to buy? How am I going to get through the trip without my 'fillers'?"

  Josh grinned. "I'll give you 'fillers'."

  Cresta playfully hit him. "I've been thinking of giving up meat and becoming a vegetarian like you."

  "Seriously, love, you'll have a lot more energy. Besides, once we get into the mountains we'll do some fishing and catch our own dinner."

  "But we didn't bring any sticks and worms."

  Josh laughed. "I'll buy a couple of poles and lines from the locals. And worms are definitely out. It's dough balls, love. That's what catches the biggest fish."

  "What's a dough ball?"

  "Sort of a sticky cornmeal concoction."

  "Now you're even pushing vegetarianism on the fish."

  The supermarket was not crowded. The cashiers, drained of color by the phosphorescent lights, leaned against their cash registers like a line of poor-quality mannequins. Josh and Cresta hurried down the aisles selecting condiments, paper products and other necessities. They kept their groceries to a minimum. Josh explained that they could buy fresh vegetables and homemade canned goods from the "hillbillies." They passed a haggard woman pushing a baby in a cart. When they passed Cresta said, "Did you see that poor kid? How could she keep it up so late? It's past his bedtime."

  "Maybe she works and hasn't any other choice."

  "I would never let that happen to my child. Ours, I mean."

  Josh silently concentrated on the cantaloupes.

  After loading the goods into the camper, they headed back to the turnpike. Josh's stomach began growling. Cresta asked, "Are you hungry?"

  "Starved. I was tied up with Phelps in the laboratory all day. We meant to send out for lunch, but neither of us remembered it." A familiar yellow arch loomed up ahead. "Let's have one last pigout." Josh pulled the camper into the parking lot of a McDonald's.

  "I'll get the stuff," volunteered Cresta. "What do you want?"

  "Fish sandwich, french fries, and a couple of coffees. We've got a long drive ahead of us."

  Cresta pushed open the door. "I feel like a condemned woman ordering her last meal. One Big Mac, please ... to go!"

  ***

  The river gurgled with what sounded like hap
piness. Ted and Amy, naked except for towels draped around their shoulders, hurried to the water's edge. Ted set the strong camper's lamp on a log and adjusted its position to illuminate their "bathtub." The cove was only moderately deep and retained the warmth of the afternoon sun. Moored nearby were the three canoes which had transported the trio and their equipment to the digs. Amy spread her towel out on a carpet of moss and, soap in hand, gingerly tested the water with her narrow foot. "Ohhh," she shuddered. "It's colder than yesterday."

  "Coward," laughed Ted as he dropped his towel beside hers.

  They joined hands and together waded to the edge of the drop, then took deep breaths and jumped in. They came up sputtering and squealing and held onto one another. They were both slim in build. In fact, to a stranger they would have looked like brother and sister.

  Beneath the water Ted ran his hand between Amy's legs, but she pulled away. She wanted to talk. "Do you think it's all a hoax, Ted?"

  Ted, quickly losing his erection, shook his head. "No. I don't believe it's a hoax and neither does Harry. That thing really lived."

  Amy shivered. Perhaps it was the water. "It hasn't been the same since we made the discovery. Things have changed. The karma isn't right up here any more. Can't you feel it?"

  Ted's erection returned in full force. He slid his penis between her legs and said in a mocking tone, "Can't you feel it?"

  Amy did not respond. She looked first across the river, then toward the mountain slope, then back to Ted. "I feel like we're being watched," she whispered.

  Ted laughed. "That's just old Harry getting his jollies."

  "No, no," she protested. "He can't see us clearly from the mound. And even if he could, that wouldn't bother me. No, it's something else." Once again she looked toward the mountainside. A cool wind rushing down the slope whistled through the pines and came upon them like a sudden cold breath. "There's somebody up there. I can feel it. I can feel their eyes on us."

  Ted shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it's some of the locals spying on us. Perhaps it's that goofy Reuben who sells Harry his 'white lightning.'"