The Cat, The Devil And Lee Fontana

16

The harder Satan pressed Lee, the stronger the cat seemed to grow. No matter how Lucifer tried to manipulate Fontana, either the cat or Lee himself found a way to best him. Misto’s exuberance for life, even when he traveled between lives, the ghost cat’s love for the living human spirit was poison to Satan, Misto generated a joy so willful and strong, so stubborn, that the dark spirit at last backed away—for the moment. Repulsed and defeated, Satan melted from Lee’s cabin out into the night where he restlessly wandered the ranch yard looking for lighter entertainment, seeking some mindless diversion to cool his seething rage.

At last, smiling, he took the form of a coyote, rank and mangy and flea-ridden. Slipping in through the walls of the nearest bunkhouse, he amused himself for a while weaving terrifying dreams among the sleeping workers, bloody nightmares that stirred memories of childhood hunger and beatings in the tired men, of adolescent atrocities, the pain from knives and attacks with broken bottles. He rekindled terrors that made the dreaming men shudder and cry out and made the shaggy carnivore smile, yellow toothed, grinning with the lusty evil that was so easy to press into the simple minds of these otherwise happy-go-lucky men.

When he grew bored with these mind games, he wandered across the ranch yard leaving no tracks in the sand, and in through the locked door of the Ellsons’ house, into Jake and Lucita’s bedroom. They slept twined together, dreaming, after a long and easy lovemaking, and here again he sought to drive fear into his quarry, to shatter their happy slumber.

But in the cloying atmosphere of happiness, his attempt at nightmares failed. The two slept undisturbed and peaceful except for Lucita’s occasional soft moan, her hand brushing Jake’s cheek but then pulling away again, tucking her hand under her own cheek. Her dream was a scenario Lucifer couldn’t read or seem in any way to alter, and that, too, maddened him. The night had not gone well. If he were a human trespasser, armed and in a killing mood, if he had entered the room to shoot them in their sleep it would have gone better, though even then he thought he might have had a battle, eyeing the pistol Jake kept beside his bed.

Annoyed with the recalcitrant attitude of those in the upper world, Satan left the Ellsons’ at last and quit the Delgado Ranch, abandoning this world for the moment in a swirl of wind to vanish down through packed sand and desert rock, through miles of stone and undersea rivers and molten beds of plasma. Fast as the wind he fled down and down into the hot and fiery regions where he could nurse his frustrations in his own surroundings. There, taking his ease among the familiar fires, gathering strength from hell’s searing flames, he laid out plans for his imminent return.

The devil is not one entity. Like the hundred eyes of the fly multiplied ten trillion times, he is everywhere he chooses to be, everywhere at once, growing stronger where he is welcomed, fading and weakening when he is willfully rebuffed. Now down among the flames and comfortable once more, he thought that when he returned to the world above he would attend once again to the events in Georgia, to the Blake family where the scenario he had set in place was developing nicely, to the little family that was so interestingly connected to Lee Fontana. Though he would continue to haze Fontana, too, of course, searching for weaker elements in Lee’s nature. The pieces were coming together very well, the results of his work were gathering in myriad ways toward an explosion of satisfying destruction. With the help of Brad Falon, that lustfully eager pawn, a final retribution was building, a last determination for the heirs of Russell Dobbs, a crushing conclusion to the lives of the final descendants of this one distasteful enemy. Soon he would destroy the last trace of Dobbs, would turn to dust all that Dobbs had begotten in his defiant human life.

The cat, having faced off the devil with a power that seemed to Misto greater than he alone could have mustered, smiled with pleasure at Lucifer’s departure. Whatever had happened tonight, Lee and the cat together had bested the dark one with a triumph that made Misto feel he could whip immense tigers, could defeat blood-hungry carnivores from far crueler ages, long past.

Once the devil was gone, Misto waited on Lee’s bed only long enough to see that Lee slept soundly for the few hours remaining of the night, then he left the old convict and faded out into the cool dark. Above, on the roof of the building, digging his claws into the heat-softened shingles, he was still smiling a sly cat smile at the dark wraith’s retreat, at knowing that he and Lee, armed with a fierce anger born of love, could weaken the prince of malevolence. From the rooftop he watched the coyote enter the bunkhouses, watched the devil’s cold manipulation of the work-tired men, watched Satan’s failure to reach or make any impression on Jake and Lucita Ellson. Above Misto the stars sparked and gleamed, and a low moon hung over the desert hills, its thin curve picking out mirrored reflections in the black and glassy surface of the great Colorado River that flowed away beyond the ranch. Happily twitching his tail, the ghost cat immersed himself in the glory of the earthly world, a world so intricate, so complicated, so dazzling a panorama with its billions of living forms all so cleverly designed, all unique and all so freely given. To the cat, this world was a great and ever-changing wonder, he felt now the same joy he had indulged in while riding atop the southbound passenger train down the coast, a giddy madness of pure pleasure. And now again he let his thoughts turn back in time, let his vision sweep back into a past when this whole vast valley lay deep beneath the sea, when these fields and low hills were part of the sea floor, grazed by fishes instead of sheep, the undersea hilltops scoured by schools of Pleistocene sharks hunting their fishy prey. And then his vision leaped ahead to see the earth heave up and the sea floor violently lift, mountains rising as the earth’s plates buckled, the wrinkled coastal range pushing up and up and the sea draining away from the newly emerged land, sucked away in foaming rivers.

Sitting on the cabin roof, the cat reveled in those vast changes over eons of time. He knew a heady amazement that he, one small and insignificant cat spirit, could be privileged to witness such miracles, that he, in this time between his various lives, could look out upon whatever aspect of existence he chose, on huge events and small, all come together into the endless sum that formed life’s unfathomable tapestry.

Thus, on the roof, Misto waited out the night contemplating the earth’s richness but looking down often, too, beneath his paws through the cabin roof to make sure that Lee rested peacefully, praying that Lee wouldn’t falter, in the future, in his defiance of the dark one.

Only in the matter of Lucita was Misto uncertain, wondering how Lee’s resolve would endure—and well the cat should wonder, for in the days that followed, Lee found any excuse to be near her, any pretense to stop by the house at noon on some trumped-up errand, a need for clean towels, a request to borrow a broom. Or he would stop by the stable as she groomed or worked with the horses, or in the evening he would have an excuse to speak with Jake. Lee was more convinced each day that Lucita welcomed his attention and that she returned his feelings. The cat watched, lashing his tail, but for the moment he kept his remarks to himself; he only knew that Lucifer was not finished yet, as Lucita’s slightest smile, her smallest glance heated Lee’s blood. And though Lee stuck to his commitment regarding the Delgado money, Satan was busy honing Lee’s resentment that Jake stood in his way with the woman he wanted; Lee didn’t like seeing the two together, often so wrapped up in each other that they were aware of no one else.

Lucita kept her Appaloosa mare turned out in a half-acre paddock with Jake’s big sorrel gelding, and they often rode in the evenings, out along the levees. Lee would watch from his porch as she went off with Jake, sitting the mare easy, sleek in a Western shirt, her shining black hair tied in a knot at her neck beneath a white Stetson, and as Lee watched and coveted her, Misto sensed the dark wraith easing in to make his move.

If Satan couldn’t force Lee into the robbery that was against Lee’s deepest instincts, then he would see that Lucita was the cause of Lee’s downfall, he would stir Lee’s lust for her until Lee, one way or another, moved to destroy the Ellson family and so destroy himself.

On a Sunday night when Lucita had made a pot of chili and invited Lee over, the ghost cat followed him. Wanting to see how Lucita responded to him now, he trotted invisibly on Lee’s heels into the Ellson house. The smell of chili and of chopped cilantro filled the cozy rooms, making Misto lick his chops as he gravitated unseen to the top of the refrigerator, as he looked down on the three where they sat at the kitchen table drinking beer, laughing about old times. Misto could as well have made himself visible, could have walked right on in as he had done often these past days as he worked at befriending Lucita, as he sought to establish a bond with her, to gain an inside look at the little, easily missed moments that might arise between her and Lee.

The tomcat found Lucita just as charming as Lee did, just as pleasant to be near, beautiful, tender, soft-voiced. He would come to the back door to beg for handouts, would rub against her ankles, purring when she stroked him, and she always had a kind word. But tonight he remained unseen where he could observe the mood and preoccupation of the three players more closely, could listen and perceive without Lee’s wondering why this sudden, intent observation.

As they served up their bowls in the kitchen and moved into the dining room, where the rest of the meal was laid out, the cilantro and onions and salsa, the rice and beans, the ghost cat drifted to the top of the carved china closet. There he sat tall and bold and invisible looking down at the three, offering no telltale shadow, no hint of a purr to give himself away. He watched them sprinkle cilantro and onions onto their chili, sip their beer, watched the interaction between the three of them: Lee longing for her, Lucita aware but ignoring his glances just as, when they were alone, she did her best to ignore his heated looks though she was indeed drawn to him. Jake remained as unresponsive as if he sat at a high-stakes poker table, no clue to what he was thinking, even when Lucita tried to breach an uncomfortable silence recalling a cattle drive the three of them had made over in Kingman that, for some reason, brought color to her cheeks. She was passing the bowl of chili when they heard, from the nearby pasture, a horse squealing with fear, the Appaloosa mare’s shrill cry. Lucita bolted from her chair and was out the door. Jake grabbed his forty-five and was on her heels. Lee followed wondering if coyotes were prowling outside the paddock, or possibly a cougar, which were seen occasionally. Or maybe a stranger wandering in bothering the horses. Lucita’s leopard Appaloosa was showy and worth stealing, and the sorrel gelding was a registered Thoroughbred worth good money.

Only Misto, following them to the paddock, knew what was there. A dog would have known, would have barked wildly—if Lucita had seen fit to have another dog. In the paddock the mare and gelding were circling and wheeling at a frenzied gallop, white eyed and crazy with fear, rearing, spinning, and ducking as if attacked by hornets, so terrified they were ready to jump the fence or crash through.

Jake, as he passed the tack room, had grabbed his lariat. He managed to rope the gelding, and now he stood quieting him. Lee moved beside the mare as Lucita fought to halter her. When she’d buckled the halter on at last, trying to calm the mare, she led her rearing and snorting through the gate and toward the stable. Jake had quieted the gelding. He brought him to lead beside the mare, helping to steady her. Lucita got her into her stall, still white eyed and fighting. Jake nodded to Lee to stay with her, threw a saddle on the gelding and bridled him, and headed out—hunting a varmint that Lee knew he would never see, and could never kill.

As Lucita tried to soothe the mare, Lee moved quietly into the stall. The Appaloosa seemed to accept him, she didn’t shy away as he stood beside Lucita smoothing her mane. They talked softly to her, and at last the mare eased into Lucita, her shivering calmed, she didn’t flinch when Lee found a soft brush and began to brush her neck, to softly brush her face. Lucita rubbed her ears, and scratched a favorite spot on her withers. Slowly, slowly the mare calmed. If Lucita was aware of Lee’s closeness, she gave no sign. Only when the mare had settled enough to snatch a bite of grain, only when Lucita turned to look directly at Lee, did he see the fear in her eyes.

“What was that, Lee? What’s out there? That was no animal. Where is Jake, is Jake all right?”

Lee knew there was a shotgun in the kitchen, that he could pretend to go looking, but he wouldn’t go out there in the dark when Jake didn’t know he was there. And what was the point? What Jake hunted couldn’t be shot. Lucita looked at him, so shaken; they stood close together, the mare crowded against them for reassurance. “That was no man,” Lucita said. “You saw it, Lee. A shadow, a man-shadow. But not a man.” She turned, pressed her face against the mare’s neck. The mare turned, nuzzling her.

“Something moving,” Lucita said, “something . . . transparent. You saw it.” She turned to him, reached to touch his cheek. At once his arms were around her, holding her. “You saw it, Lee. That wasn’t anything living,” and she was trembling in his arms.

“Lucita . . .”

She lifted her face to him, he held her close and kissed her, a long kiss, felt the heat of her, they remained as close as one being, the mare pushing into them, pressing her nose to them, the three of them needing each other, until they heard the sound of hooves, the gelding coming into the barn. Lee turned away, letting her go. When he looked back, her eyes searched his for a moment, still frightened, still needful. She started to speak but then she, too, turned away, burying her face against the mare’s mane.

“I don’t know what frightened them,” Lee lied. Jake was coming, his footsteps in the alleyway.

Lee knew that this moment with her would lead nowhere, that it was fear that had done this, that she would not have touched him otherwise, would not have clung to him. The dark spirit had done this, and silently he cursed the haunt—and yet he would not have missed this one perfect moment even if he burned forever in Satan’s hell.

It was now that the cat appeared beside Lee’s boot and then leaped to the manger and into the partially filled grain box. He didn’t startle the mare, in fact only then did the Appaloosa settle down completely, nose in beside the cat, and begin carefully to nibble up her oats. The cat rubbed against her then he slipped out of the manger again and down into the stall. Wading across the straw bedding, he rubbed against Lucita’s ankles, his purrs calming the three of them as Jake opened the stall door and stepped in.

“I found nothing.” He looked pale; he looked at the mare, so quiet now, and reached to stroke her neck. “They’re both calm now. Whatever was there, it’s gone.” He looked at Lee, at Lucita. “Whatever that was—a cougar or whatever the hell it was, I hope it doesn’t come back. I took the electric torch, looked for tracks, couldn’t find anything. I’ll try again, at first light.” He touched Lucita’s cheek, took her in his arms as Lee turned away and moved out of the stall.