Cropper's Cabin

by Jim Thompson

  I looked at Mary, but of course, there wasn’t any help there. She looked like she was about to keel over herself.

  “You get into some trouble? Is that it?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “They kicked you out?”

  “What’s the difference?” I said. “What difference does it make, Pa? We can’t stay here on ten acres. We’ll have to find a new place to crop, and…”

  “They kicked you out. You got kicked out. I brought you up out of nothing, and pushed you up into something to be proud of, and now you’ve went and pushed yourself back. Almighty God writ His will as plain as day, an’ you set yourself against it. You flouted His will.”

  “Pa,” I said. “I couldn’t help it. All I did was…”

  “He gave me a stone, an’ I was to bring bread in return. An’ you set yourself against Him.”

  He held his hand out, and Mary scurried forward with a towel. He took one foot, then the other, out of the pan, drying them carefully, wiping between each toe. He got up, dropping the towel on the chair, and went into his bedroom. He came out with a long, thick harness strap.

  “Face up to that wall,” he said.

  Mary moaned softly and threw her apron up over her face. Pa shot her a glance, flexing the harness strap. He jerked his head at me.

  “You better do what I tell you, boy,” he said. “You better do it fast.”

  I had a mind to do it. He couldn’t hurt me much more than I already was, and maybe it would give me the push away from him that I needed. Maybe it would take away the maybe about what I was going to say to Donna. If I got to see her.

  But—

  But I couldn’t let him go ahead. It would be mean spite to let him, because I knew how he’d feel afterward when he found out the truth. I knew how bad he’d feel: If I was going to make a break, all right, but it was my job to make it. I couldn’t spite him into making it for me.

  “Pa,” I said, “I didn’t…”

  “Face up there!”

  “But I didn’t.”

  His arm went up in a swift looping motion, and the harness strap zinged and popped. It whipped around my neck, and he jerked on it, and I went down. I toppled forward, going down on my hands and knees. The strap uncoiled and he swung it again.

  And it did hurt. It always hurt. And this time it did something worse than hurt, something evil and sickening. And I knew I’d better stop him fast. It came to me that what I was feeling must be hate, and it sickened and scared me. Because despite all the put-on, I’d guess I’d never known what it meant to hate until then. Somehow I’d never learned how to hate.

  And if it was like this, I didn’t want to learn any more. I knew I hadn’t better.

  The strap came down on my back again—the third, the fourth time. And he swung it again. I started to get up, and he’d shifted ends; and the buckle whipped around my shoulders, nicking me in the corner of my mouth.

  I stood up.

  He looked at me, and he took a step backward, and his hand trembled when he pointed to the floor.

  “Y-you better get down there, boy.”

  I started to shake my head. Then I nodded. “All right,” I said, “if that’s the way you want it.”

  “I seen it coming on. I seen you settin’ yourself up…”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t bother talking yourself into it. It ought to be easy for you by now.”

  “I”—he backed away another step. I guess he’d had to because I’d edged toward him. I’d done it without knowing it, my eyes fixed on his, the blood welling across my lips—“what’s wrong with you, son?”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Go on, Pa. You know what’s wrong. Everything’s wrong, and always was. That’s how you get your exercise, takin’ it out of me. Go on. What’s the sense in stopping now?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, boy. You better…”

  “Make me,” I said. “Make me tell you, Pa.”

  He brought the strap up fast. It whistled and popped as he swung it up above his head. And I grinned at him, feeling the bad feeling that was now good to feel. It was like a coon must feel when a trap gets him, and he has to chew off a leg to get out.

  I laughed, and the strap came down.

  It fell from his hand to the floor.

  “Tell me, Tom. I’m asking you to…”

  I told him, watching what happened to his face, and for a little, I guess, it felt good. But I knew it wasn’t good, so I stopped looking at him. I talked as fast as I could, and still make it clear, so’s it would be over with fast for him.

  I finished, and he stood clenching and unclenching his hands, his head sagged lower than I’d ever seen it on his turkey-gobbler neck. Then he pushed it back, so’s he could look at me, and his lips moved.

  “That—that’s just the way it was, son?”

  “You know I wouldn’t steal anything, Pa.”

  “No—what I meant—I mean you didn’t tell ’em? You didn’t tell ’em you—we—was hungry?”

  “No,” I said, “I didn’t shame you, Pa. I just let ’em think I was a thief.”

  He nodded, and some of the pain went out of his face. It seemed to leap from his to mine. And I turned quickly, before he could see it, and went out the door.

  I ran across the yard, ducking under the clothes lines, and into the old cowbarn that we used as a woodshed. I sat down on the chopping block and buried my face in my hands. And I tried to work up into tears. I tried as hard as I could, and the tears wouldn’t come; and it was worse than learning what hate was.

  I guess it’s the worst thing there is when you lose everything you’ve lived by, and you can’t even cry about it. Because it’s not even worth that much, a single solitary tear.

  And it never was.

  I didn’t look up when I heard him coming. He hesitated in the doorway—I knew he was there because he was between me and the light—and he cleared his throat. Then he came in, stumbling a little as he stepped over the lintel. And after a minute or two he put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Tom,” he said. “Tommy, boy…”

  I moved my shoulder a little. His hand fell away.

  His feet scuffled in the wood chips, and pretty soon I could sense the semi-darkness and I knew he was standing back in front of the door. He was staring off across the long broad fields, raising his eyes above the red clay soil to the horizon, looking across the fiery-red plains of Hell with its endless gauntlet of dead-brown imps—the cotton, the cotton, cotton, cotton—closing his eyes to them and seeing only the horizon and its towering ranks of derricks. Steel giants, snorting and chuckling amongst themselves; sneering wonderingly at the cotton and the bent-backed pigmies amidst it. Huffing and puffing and belching up gold.

  “Look, Tom,” he said, softly. “Come an’ look at ’em.” And I stayed where I was.

  “You hear me, boy?” he said. And I got up.

  You do things out of habit. You keep on for a little while.

  I went to the door and stood with him.

  “Look at ’em,” he whispered. “Just lookit that.” Then he said, “Tuh-wenty-fi-uhv thousand dol-lars!” He said it just like the oil scout had said it. He repeated it a second time, and he started to do it a third. But his voice was dragging, and he gulped and swallowed midway of the twenty-five, and he didn’t finish.

  “God damn his eternal soul,” he said.

  And I said it after him.

  “It’s his fault! Everything’s happened is his fault! He ain’t fitten to live!”

  “No,” I said, “he isn’t.”

  He started to look at me, but I reckon those oil derricks were a sight prettier; and habit was strong in him, too. Anyway, if he had an idea that we weren’t goddamning the same person, he didn’t show it.

  6

  There’s not much to do by way of entertainment around a cropper’s shack, even as nice a one, one that’s actually two, as ours. And that’s probably as it should be because, most of the year anyhow, you’ve got plenty to do ou
tside. But sometimes it’s kind of hard to bear, just sitting and not doing.

  It’s hard when you’ve got nothing to do but think—and you’ve got something to think with—and your thinking won’t seem to lead anywhere.

  We had an early supper, and Pa seemed a little out of himself. He didn’t holler at Mary hardly at all, and a couple of times he passed dishes to me. And I guess that sounds like a pretty commonplace thing, but it wasn’t with Pa. I couldn’t remember when he’d ever done it before.

  After supper he went over into the parlor and read the Bible for an hour or so, the Old Testament where most of the first-class curses are called down on people. He read to himself, he didn’t speak out loud, I mean, but his lips kept moving with the words, and I could read them, too, just by watching him.

  Finally, he closed the book and sat staring straight into the lamp flame. Then he sighed and took off his dime-store glasses and tucked them into the bib-pocket of his overalls.

  “Guess I’ll go to bed,” he said. “Good time to catch up on my sleep these rainy nights.”

  I didn’t say anything. His trying to make conversation took me by surprise.

  “You don’t need to though,” he said. “Stay up as long as you want.”

  I guess he was surprised then himself, because he ducked his head suddenly and hurried out. He went across the breezeway and out on the porch, and he stayed there a minute or two—taking a leak, I suppose, to save a wet trip to the privy. Then he stamped back inside and his bedroom door slammed shut.

  Mary looked across at me from the settee. “What’s got into him?”

  “Just trying to be decent,” I said.

  “Huh,” she grunted, “he’s got a sight of practicin’ to do before he makes out. Mean ol’ devil. You wait. I bet I fix him one of these days.”

  “Yeah?” I wasn’t really listening to her. I couldn’t imagine her fixing anyone unless she fainted and fell on ’em.

  “You think I won’t, but I betcha I do. I’ll take the chop ax to him!”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t even think that, Mary.”

  “Well… they’s other ways. Bound to be some way of puttin’ him in the hole.”

  I yawned and put my hand over my mouth. “Why do you stay on, Mary? He can’t make you.”

  “Well, I… I…” Her eyes went sort of empty, and she began fumbling with the safety-pin at the neck of her dress. Her fingers moved faster and faster, and that was the only light in her eyes there was, the glint of a pin.

  I’d asked her a pretty sorry question. You don’t ask the dead why they don’t get up and walk.

  “Sho’, now,” I said, “listen to me talk! How in tall cane would I make out without you to do for me?”

  “You”—she stopped fumbling with the pin. “I bet you’d really miss me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Why, you know I would,” I said.

  She blushed, as much as she could under the tan, and looked pleased. And I thought, what about her? What’ll happen to her if I pull out? And I figured it wouldn’t make too much difference.

  “Reckon I’ll turn in myself,” I said, and stood up. “How about you?”

  “Might as well,” she said.

  I went over and kissed her on the cheek, and she held onto me a minute, brushing my hair back. She pressed herself against me, turning her head against my chest.

  “Tommy… you want me to rub your back for you? I got some good chicken fat in the kitchen.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt any more.”

  “I don’t mind. I jus’ soon as not, Tommy. I like doin’ things for you.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  “I’d—I’d do m-most anything you asked me, Tommy.… You ask me somethin’ an’ see if I won’t.”

  “Goodnight,” I said, and I gave her a little slap on the bottom and went into my bedroom. I closed the door and sat down on the bed. And after a moment or two I realized I was holding my breath. I took my shoes off and stretched out, lying still to keep the cornshucks from rustling.

  It was dark, there not being any windows. The only light came from the crack under the door. I heard her shoes creak, and the light all but vanished, and I knew she’d turned the wick down; just leaving the usual night-light in case someone had to get up. Then her door closed, and there was a soft clump-clump as her shoes came off. And her mattress creaked and rattled.

  It rattled and rattled, and I lay still, almost not breathing. Then there was a little scraping thud against the partition, and she whispered.

  “You asleep, Tommy?”

  And:

  “I can’t hardly sleep at all. I just cain’t sleep, Tommy.”

  And:

  “Please, Tommy. You know. Whatchacallit. I been waitin’ an’ waitin’ an’ w-waitin’…”

  I closed my eyes, wondering how Donna had probably seen it in her right from the first when I, right there with her every day, had to have it thrown at me before I could see it. And I guessed women could just naturally spot those things, because Mary’d sure tabbed the way Donna stood with me—I knew she must have—the first time she’d looked at her. That’d probably touched Mary off. That had been the sign she was waiting for. She was too beaten down to start anything, but once it was started she’d begun to move in.

  “Tommy…” The thin planks squeaked as she pressed against them. “We could stay right where we are, Tommy, ’n do it ’n do it an’ he couldn’t catch us in a million years. Tommy”—she scratched against the wood—“take your knife, Tommy, an’—right here where I’m scratchin’ you c’n…”

  It must have been a couple hours before she gave up and went to sleep. She began to snore, but I lay where I was a little longer. I knew what I was going to do, but it was hard to get started. It was hard to break with habit.

  Go against Pa? I ticked off that hold-back. I’d already gone against Pa, whether he knew it or not, and I was going to keep right on going.

  The rain? I’d got rained on before, and I hadn’t melted. Anyway, the rain had practically stopped.

  How’d I get ahold of her? Well, I probably wouldn’t catch her outside on a night like this, but I knew where her room was, in the downstairs south wing of the house. She’d told me one time, play-teasing, pretending like I could come and see her as well as not if I really wanted to.

  Suppose some of the hired hands caught me, one of the riding bosses? Well, let ’em. Let ’em try something.

  I eased my feet to the floor, and fumbled around until I found my shoes. I tied the laces together, swung them around my neck and stood up.

  I got the door open, timing the squeak sound with one of Mary’s snores. I closed it on another snore, and tiptoed across to the porch door. I got it open without any real racket, and ran crouching to the road. I wiped my feet on some wet weeds, hopping first on one foot, then the other. I put my shoes on and got going again.

  Two miles is a pretty long hike on a muddy country road, but I seemed to make it in almost nothing flat.

  I’d say, you name it and I’ll do it, honey. You call me any dirty name you want to and I’ll own up to it. I’ll apologize to him. I’ll let him punch me. You just point out the row, honey, and I’ll hoe it. Heck, she wouldn’t hold a grudge.

  I came to the cottonwood grove and walked through it, just short of the end. Then I swung off to the right, taking cover where I could behind the trees and shrubs that skirted the lawn. I moved around parallel with the house until I came to a curving hedge that bordered the flower beds. I followed it in, crouching, toward the house, until I came to its end.

  I hunkered down, staring at the windows of her room, so near and yet such a heck of a ways off.

  I thought, “Come out, honey. Please come out. Please, please come out, Donna.”

  I thought it as hard as I could, and it seemed like I saw something move at one of the windows. I could almost have sworn she was there and that she knew I was.

  But I waited, and she didn’t come
. And I figured wishing wouldn’t make her. So I picked up some gravel from the path and tucked it into my pocket, and I bellied down and crawled. I crawled under the shrub, and on to another one, the last cover, if you could call it that, between me and the house. I could toss the gravel from there, I reckoned. But I had to rest a minute first. All that duck-walking and crawling had run into time, and I was all out of breath.

  I rested, stretched out on my stomach with my head on my arms, and I began to feel how wet I was; how soggy and smeared. I pushed myself up, shivering a little with the damp, and got to my feet. I stood bent over, trying to peer around the shrub; and like a cold wave hitting me, I seemed to freeze that way.

  The hair crawled on the back of my neck. My stomach seemed to edge down toward my groin, and my chest squeezed around my lungs.

  I stood real still. I couldn’t bring myself to move. Then, I did move, I managed to turn around. And there he was, so close to me that I could’ve touched him—if I’d been of a mind to.

  It was one of the riding bosses, a big breed they called Chief Sundown, though he wasn’t a real chief, of course. He had a leather jacket pulled on over his undershirt, and a long black bullwhip was coiled over his shoulder.

  Donna stood back of him and a little to one side, her white houserobe, or maybe it was what you call a dressing-gown—belted in tightly at the waist.

  Chief Sundown shifted his glance a little, and she nodded to him. He moved back, sort of sinking into the shadow of the far shrub, and she moved forward.

  “All right,” she snapped, her eyes like black coals in the white-ash of her face, “what are you doing here?”

  “W-hy”—I tried to smile, but my face was too stiff. “Why, I wanted to see you, Donna.”

  “You didn’t need to sneak around here at night. You could have seen me today. I was there at noon and again this evening.”

  “But—well, I didn’t think you’d be there! I didn’t think you’d want to see me!”

  “I see. But you thought I would tonight. Is that it?”

  I tried to smile again. I was scared, and I could feel my temper coming up a little. But she was so close, and—and I wanted everything to be all right so much.