Swamp Sister

15

Mr. Ferris moved and a spoke of shadow swung across his upper face, leaving his lips and chin corpse white, as though a spectre in the moonlight, when his mouth began to speak.

"I was coming along the creek path when I heard the rumpus. What was it all about?"

Stall, Shad thought desperately. Stall him. I shone God ain't in no frame of mind to play dodge-the-question with him. Mebbe I just better hit him and clean out. But Mr. Ferris didn't inspire physical fear, not as Jort Camp could and did; it was something stronger, more frightening – a kind of superstitious awe.

"Nothing much, I reckon," Shad said. "At least not to me. I guess old Tom hates me worse'n a possum hates a tree dog, though. Thinks I stole his girl."

Mr. Ferris said, "Oh?" and came farther into the moonlight. "What girl is that?"

"Just a girl."

"I see." Mn. Ferris put his hand casually in his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. "Care for a cigarette?"

"No thanks."

Mr. Ferris looked down at the cigarette he was tapping on his thumbnail. "I've been looking for you," he said, "to ask about that airplane – the Money Plane."

Shad's heart had taken a lurch when Mn. Ferris had reached into his pocket. After all, the man was some kind of policeman, wasn't he?

"Mr. Ferris," he said too quickly, "you driving your ducks to a mighty poor puddle if you think I kin tell you anything about that air Money Plane."

Mr. Ferris' smile went a little deeper

"Shad, there really isn't any sense in your trying to maintain this fiction with me. You see, I know that -"

"Mr. Ferris, excuse me, but I cain't talk about hit now. I just ain't myself. I think I done a terrible thing just now. I think I kilt Tom." He hadn't and he knew it.

Mr. Ferris looked up. "Killed him?"

Shad nodded, putting his hands together as though his nerves were ready to fly apart. "Yes sir. I think I done busted his neck. I didn't mean to. I was just fighting him back, was all. But when I left off his neck felt all out of whack." Mr. Ferris stared at him.

Shad looked at the prone figure of Tom Fort. "Mr. Ferris, please sir, you look, will you? I just cain't – cain't bring myself-" His head went down and he hugged his hands again.

There was nothing expressive about Mr. Ferris except his eyes. He stepped easily through the shadows toward the sprawled Tom.

"Are you trying to put something over on me, Shad?" he suggested quietly. "I'm quite certain that other than having a face like a raw hamburger, there's nothing the matter with your friend."

Shad waited until he saw Mr. Ferris' back, then he turned, took one big stride into the bush, ducked down and was long gone on his way. Behind him he heard Ferris call, "Shad! Don't be a fool!"

He didn't like doing it that way; it wasn't in his nature. But he couldn't help it. There was something hypnotic about Mr. Ferris' eyes that beat him every time.

The night and the woods hung still around him now. He trotted, saving his wind, short-cutting to the Colt place. A bat went wing-clicking on ahead and lost itself in the black leaves of the upper branches. Shad could just see Mn. Ferris talking to Joel Sutt-.

I'm afraid we can't waste any more time playing around with that Shad Hark. Don't you have a sheriff or a marshal in jurisdiction over this section of country?

Well now, they's Pat Folley; he's oven to Tanner We kin phone him up, Mr. Ferris. Well, I think we'd better do that then. So you figure to put the law on Shad, eh Mr. Ferris? Yes. I don't know what else I can do. I really don't – Shad stepped up his pace. Yeah, that's how it was going to work. Well, it didn't matter. He was going to make tracks anyhow. He didn't want any lard-head, pistol-toting law after him. And that Pat Folley, he'd as soon shoot you as smile; he'd done it to moonshinens before.

Dorry was waiting under the sagging porch roof of the old Colt shanty, and she'd been waiting for some time and she let him know about it.

"Why you do me thisaway? Standing me up like I was any old body. I ben waiting here and wait -"

"Shet up, cain't you?" he snapped. "I ben busy with your boy friend. He went to stick a knife in me."

"Who? What boy friend? My goodness, Shad Hark, you don't go to tell a girl anything. What-"

But he didn't want to talk about it. She was round and soft in the moonlight glowing nearly. "Just Tom," he said. "It was nothing. Come here, will you?" He pulled her to him, arching her spine and kissing her hard, while his night hand slid down the curve of her back.

She wriggled away from him, all elbows and shoulders, and tossed her hair angrily. "You behave yourself, Shad! Kissing me like that, and me all over lipstick and no mirror er light to see how my mouth looks afore I go home."

He grinned at her. "You ain't going home. Not no more."

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What you mean?"

"Dorry, you love me?"

"Course I love you. Think I'd let you do the things you do to me if'n I didn't? What you mean I ain't going home no more?"

"We got to clear out a here, Dorry. If I hang around much longer I don't know who'll git to me first, Jort Camp, Mr. Ferris, en mebbe the hull damn village will come at me. Seems like even'body wants to know where at's that money. So you'n me is leaving fen the swamp tonight."

For a moment she couldn't say anything. She just looked at him as if discovering he was crazy. "Me?" she wanted to know. "Go in that old swamp? Why, Shadrack Hark, I wouldn't be caught dead in that spooky old place."

Shad nodded impatiently. "I know it ain't nice, but we don't have a choice. I cain't afford to come back here again after I git that money, just to pick you up -"

"Just to pick up me? Well, I like that, I don't think so. Let me tell you, Shad Hark -"

"All right, all night," he wagged his hands at her. "I didn't mean hit just like that. What I mean is I'll be loaded down with all them bills and how kin I come sashaying through the woods here to find you like that? But if you come with me now, we won't have to come back here a-tall. We'll just kindly go on our way with that -"

"No." And she started shaking her head, not looking at him. "I ain't going in that old swamp fer love er money."

"Oh God," he said. "Yeah, but look here, Dorry -"

"No." And the head-shake.

Shad shut up and looked at her. He had a pretty fair idea just how much good it was going to do him to go on arguing with her.

"Uh-huh," he said. "And suppose then I decide not to come back fer you after I git that money?"

She slowly rolled up her eyes, giving him the look that went nearly everywhere except straight on, and her smile was a smirk that could mean a lot of things but none of them decent, and her voice was pure honey.

"Oh, you'll be coming back. That's one thing I ain't in any stew oven."

Yeah. And how far would he get arguing that? He didn't even try. He grinned and reached for her again. "Dorry – Dorry -"

"Shad, this ain't the time ner – aw Shad – aw Shad honey -Now just hold on, Shad Hank! Not down there in all that dirt and ruck. My goodness!"

Those boys. She'd seen timber wolves that weren't near so crazy. But it was going to be nice, real nice, like nothing else she'd ever had. First off she was going to get one of those Natalie Renke silk outfits in the leopard print, because the ad in the magazine said they captured a primitive mystery in exotic design; and she might just have her hair tinted auburn like the girl in the ad too, and shoes with the open toes and made of-.

"Goddam, Dorny," he complained. "You act like you wasn't even there."

She moved toward him. She put her arms around his neck again.

"I was just thinking how it was going to be, Shad. That's all."

"How what's going to be?"

"You and me and our life together."

Yeah – if he could live through it.

"Well," he said, "I best git shagging. I got my skiff hid out and I got to leave while hit's dark."

The thought of all that money suddenly so close to her, almost within reach, was overwhelming. "You be back tomorry, Shad?"

"God no, you think I got it hid on some hummock in the lake? Tonight I'm just goan take me to the head of the lake and then git some sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll go on in there; but I'll be lucky if I git back by the next morning. And then I got me to wait around in the bush until it gits dark afore I kin come fer you."

For a moment she was almost sorry she hadn't said she'd go with him. She would see the money two days before. My goodness – "Well, the sooner you git started the sooner you git back."

"Yeah." He looked at her in shadow, feeling the hint of something lost. "Look here, Dorry, want you should do me a favour." He dug in his jeans and brought out his roll of tens. Dorry stirred closer.

"I ain't goan see my old man no more – so you take one of these tens and give hit to him, will you? Tell him hit's from me, and tell him I'll send him more later on."

She took the ten, its tactile crispness sending a thrill of excitement through her, and watched him put the others back in his jeans. She really didn't see any reason why he shouldn't leave those with her as well. They weren't going to do him any good out in that old swamp, were they?

"All right, Shad. I'll tell him."

He looked at her and compulsively ran his hand over the smooth melon bulge of her left breast, where it threatened to spill over the rim of her blouse.

She pushed his hand down impatiently and said, "Now, Shad, don't you go to start that again. My goodness, we'll never git that old money if you keep fooling your time away."

He looked at her. "All night, sugar doll, but Sally Brown never treated me thataway."

Instantly she was jealous. "Who's she? Who's Sally Brown?"

"Just a mulatto gal I knowt once."

"Well, Shadrack Hark! The idee of comparing me with some dirty little -"

Shad laughed. "Hit's just a joke, Dorry. Honest Injun, that's all. She's just the girl in the old song."

"Well -"

"You goan kiss me goodbye?"

"Well, I suppose." But she wasn't really mollified, and he knew it when he kissed her Her mouth was nothing. Some day soon, he thought, he would have to swing her into line. She had a disposition like a bobcat dipped in boiling water. "Well -" he said.

"You git back soon's you kin," she said. " I'll be waiting to home."

"See you," he said, and he started for the woods.

"You be careful, hear? You take care, Shad," she called. And then – "Shad, you got something to tote that money in?"

The stillness of the night was like nothing around Dorry. She was unconscious of it. She strolled languidly through the pale phantoms that the moonlight threw on the road, head down and humming softly thinking of herself at a dance; the fiddler's fingers adroitly highstepping over the violin's neck, the bow dipping and rising and swooping, making the box sing, alive; the caller all Adam's apple and mouth and red silk shirt, beating his right foot on the platform, doing a vertical sashay with his right hand, his left in his pocket jingling change – I wish I were in the Dutchman's Hall! Lowlands, lowlands, hurrah, my boys! All the girls whirling by, skirts a-swirl; herself in her new dress, light of leg and tappy toe, cakewalking like a queen.

Away in the distance the palmettos were ebony silhouettes, and closer in a hooty owl challenged her but didn't really seem to care, and she didn't even realize he'd asked. Through a stand of oak saplings she could see the sombre black shack where old man Hark lived in drunken befuddlement, and her hand made a small fist around the crumpled ten-dollar bill.

Now it was just plain foolishness, she rationalized, to go and give good money to that disgusting old man who was never sober enough to remember to button his own pants. My goodness, if a girl didn't watch her pennies she'd end up in nags and barefoot like any poor white, and where was the sense in that she'd like to know. After all, something might happen to Shad in the swamp – or maybe someone else had found his money – or maybe someone would take it away from him. And ten dollars was ten dollars, and right now it was a bird-in-hand.

Her lacquered fingernails dug into her palm, and the bill was as captured as a coon in a drop-trap and had as much chance of getting away.

She went on down the road, humming the play-party tune, secure in the self-righteousness of personal conviction.

Two shadows separated themselves from the woods and stepped, dark and ominous, into the road before her. Dorry stopped with a jolt and her heart went whunk in her throat.

"Well, look a-here what we come at, Sam," Jort Camp said.

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "Yeah." And he began edging to the left, gradual and smooth and inhuman in movement.

She started to turn back, and with a flicker of motion he had her by the left arm and his fingers were like damp narrow bones in her bare flesh. She caught her breath and raised her fist to hit him, and then Jort had that arm and she saw his teeth white in the moon and she was being lifted from the road, and before she really knew what it was all about the black shadows of the woods had closed oven her and she was standing with her back to a tree and Jort Camp and Sam Parks had her fenced in.

"What's wrong, Miss Dorry?" Jort asked. "We didn't go to scare you none, did we?"

Sam was fidgeting, dry-washing his hands, shift-footing himself like a horse in a stall, husking air through his mouth. "No – no, we don't want to scare you none," he whispered, and he tentatively reached for her arm to soothe her.

She jerked back as though he'd offered her a lizard.

"What you want with me, Jort Camp? I got nothing fer you."

"Oh, now that's where you're wrong, Miss Dorry. Be dog if you ain't. I got me a fat type idee you know something I want to know: and I'm God sure you got plenty that old Sam here wants. How about that, Sam?"

Sam giggled as though he couldn't help it. She was all dank in the shadow and reminded him of an unbelievably beautiful coloured gal, and her dress was all crinkly sounding when she moved.

"You leave me alone, Jort Camp. I'll – I'll sic my boy friend on you!"

Jort seemed interested. He straight-arm leaned himself against the tree, bringing his big face within six inches of her mouth.

"Who's that, Miss Dorry? Huh? Old Tom are you talking about?"

She didn't say anything to that.

Jort shook his head in a reflective manner. "No. Laugh at myself fer thinking so. Hit would be Shad Hank, now wouldn't it be, Miss Dorny? Yeah, I reckon it would be old Shad. Sam, don't you reckon it would be Shad?"

Sam's eyes were busy. He mumbled, "Yeah – yeah," absently.

"Tell you how it be with Sam and me, Miss Dorry," Jort offered. "We got us a fat old problem. We don heered about all that money Shad got hisself and we was thinking mebbe you could tell us where he's got it hid at."

"I don't know nothing about that money. I don't know nothing about Shad neither. And I'm goan tell my pa you holding me here, Jort Camp, and he'll cold come at you with his shotgun."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll worry about that later. Let's talk about Shad right now. You know – the fella you shack up with down to the shantyboat."

"You hush your dirty mouth, Jort Camp!" The tears were starting to come now.

"What you hiding there behind your back?" Jort asked. "What you got in your hand back there – a play-pretty?"

She forgot about crying. "That's my nevermind."

"Let's have us a look." He caught her wrist and twisted her arm out of the shadow. She winced and said, "Don't-"

"Hayday," Jort whispered. "Looky here, Sam. A ten dollar she got here. Now I wonder where that come from?" He glanced at Sam. "By juckies, Sam. Will you kindly remember we ain't here to play peek-a-boo! Don't you see what this means? Shad must a just give this to her – er – yeah – er she knows where at he keeps hit hid."

"Well, where's that?"

"Dunno. She might a ben coming from the old Colt place. Yeah. How about that, Miss Dorry? That would be a good place fer Shad to hide his money, wouldn't it?"

She shook her head, panicky now, trying to wiggle her arm free from Jort's bear paw. "I don't know about no money! He ain't got none. I got that from my ma!"

Sam clawed the top of her blouse. "You tell us, you little devil! You tell us night out where he got that money hid!"

She jerked violently to one side, the blouse tearing, her left breast bobbling against Sam's hand. "You – you dirty little -" And she screamed, twisting and strildng at him.

"Shad!"

Jort grabbed for her hair, but missed as she ducked down pulling herself free. "Shad!" Sam's lips snapped wide from his clenched teeth and he swung at her backhand, clipping her hard across the mouth. Her head whipped away from the blow, slamming into the tree trunk, going thonk! against a knot, and – The stars were suddenly glazed and brilliant like splintered ice and they were spilling into her eyes, and the fiddler's fingers were cakewalking furiously over the violin's neck, and the bow was leaping and squeaking and all the bright dresses were flashing by and twirling away with the stars and her dress was torn and that's the last thought she had.

Sam stood agape, watching her tilt slowly and stiffly away from the tree, leaning right at him, her eyes wide open and staring at his, fified with a glassy awe. He leaped aside with a gasp as she toppled past him. And then she was down, all of her and all at once.

She lay in a great opaque swath of moonlight.

"Sam, Sam," Jort whispered.

Sam's head jerked. He looked at Jort.

"Jort – Jorty, is – is she – she ain't -"

"Shet up." Jort squatted down and looked at the pale, still girl. "Dead as a mule-kicked tad," he muttered.

Sam was drying his hands at his sides, wagging them up and down witlessly. "No – no – no, Jorty! All I done was to try to stop her squawking. I didn't hardly – I only -"

Jort got up and came at him fast, grabbing one pipe-stem arm to give it a shake. "Stop that ruckus! We ain't got time fer you to have a case a hop-about fits. She's cold dead and that's that."

Sam went limp, dropped to his knees by the dead girl, his left arm still cocked grotesquely in Jort's hand. "Oh, God, oh my, Jorty – I didn't mean to do her. I didn't, Jorty. She was so young and soft and -"

Jort gave the scrawny arm another shake. "Will you stop yipping about her? We got us bigger fish to fry."

"What'll they do to me, Jorty? What're they goan do to me?"

"Neck-swing you, if you keep a-going like a chicken with a gator egg up her box. Now git away from that, Sam. Sam – you hear me? We got things to do."

Sam looked up and caught Jort's pants leg with his free hand. "Jorty – you goan help me, Jorty? You goan stand by me?"

"Well, I ain't got no choice, and me one of them what you call 'ems -'complice. Now here's what we're a-doing Sam. I'm going to pick her up and tote her, while you swing on ahead and see do the woods be clean. We'll tote her down to my skiff."

Sam's head was bobbing like a marionette. "Yeah, yeah. And then what do us do, Jorty? And then what?"

"Why then we haul-tail out'n the swamp."

Sam felt a shiver tremble through him. He hated the swamp at anytime; but he nodded. "Yeah – and weight her down in a slough."

Jort looked disgusted. "No, we don't do no such fool thing. You think I want the first butt-nosed gaton that comes along to haul her back up again? No, we takes her way out to a sink-hole I know of. Hit's big and hit's just as soft as fresh cow pie with quicksand. And what goes in there don't never come up again."

Sam looked down at the dead girl. He didn't hanker any going out into that old swamp at night, but if it would save him from being neck-tied with hemp, he'd cold go at it like he'd been born there. Already he was feeling better The claw crazy bobcat that was inside his chest was starting to relax a little. Everything would come out clean as long as Jort handled it.

Jort was staring at Sam, and all of a sudden he started to grin.

"You gaddam wood-colted little idjut!" he whispered. And then he began to laugh, and Sam went panicky, hiss ing, "What? What's wrong with you? What you meaning?"

He swung Sam up and around, and Sam felt as helpless as a checker piece being moved to a new position on the board. Jort gave him a flat-of-the-hand prod in the back. "Git to snooping," he ordered.

Sam went off like a deaf mute lost in a fog, his equilibrium running down a hill that wasn't there. He squinted at the darkness as though he didn't recognize his surroundings, but all he was really seeing was that new dress – pale white in the moonlight, pushed up and crumpled. genesis

In the Silurian ending was the swamp.

The sea made it and it was everywhere. The earth buckled, mountains reached up, land as soggy and porous as wet sponges spread out, and the sea drained back to its ocean basin and never returned. The weeds and plants, abandoned in this abrupt manner, cast about desperately for substance, and settled for the next best, the in-between of land and sea, the marsh; and the world was warm and damp and green, and the swamp stretched from Greenland to Antarctica.

One period followed another and each in turn brought something new-the anthropods, the amphibians, and the plants learned how to develop seeds and breed them on the wind, and this reproduction created land food. The Penmian days came in with a slam, with the Appalachians and the Urals, and inland waters receded; ferns, rushes and plants died and covered the earth in huge rotting clumps, swamps drew in on themselves and glaciers crawled across the land, and everywhere the swamps were doomed; but not yet, not for a few million more years.

The Indians came and felt the soggy earth and it trembled, and they were superstitious and gave it a name, and when they went away they left a legend; and the white men followed and found the grave mounds, found the legends and the superstitions, and saw where it was written that the Great Spirit had sent his son down to earth to teach the red men right from wrong. And they said, "Why, look a-here – them Injuns had them a Jesus." But they didn't really believe it, because God made the swamp and He wasn't an Indian, and went away scoffing and spread some superstitions themselves.

And the swamp continued to not and to wait for the end, and everything was as it had been in the beginning.