The Bottoms

by Joe R. Lansdale

  At night the dark sack that held the skies was burst open and the stars fled from it and glowed like frightened animal eyes all across the black velvet heavens.

  The river ceased to roar, murmured instead, like a man sleeping contentedly, his belly full of cornbread and beans. Earth stopped dropping off the banks, the ground turned solid again, and the river flowed comfortably within its new boundaries, happy as if the skies had never mistreated it.

  Clem Sumption lived some ten miles from us, right where a little road forked off what served as a main highway then. You wouldn’t think of it as a highway now, but it was the main road, and if you turned off of it, trying to cross through our neck of the woods on your way to Tyler, you had to pass Mr. Sumption’s house, which was situated alongside the Sabine River.

  Clem’s outhouse was on the bank of the Sabine, and it was fixed up so what went out of him and his family went into the river. Lot of folks did that, though some like my Daddy were appalled at the idea. It was that place and time’s idea of plumbing. Daddy thought it was not only nasty, but lazy. To have a proper outhouse you had to have the fortitude to dig a proper hole. A very deep hole. When the hole was packed, you dug a new hole, moved the outhouse, filled the old hole, and started about packing the other.

  The lazy way, you backed an outhouse up to the river’s edge so your waste dropped down a slant and onto the bank. When the water rose, the waste was carried away. When it didn’t, you did your best to stay downwind. Big blue-green bottle flies collected on the dark mess like jewels shining in rancid chocolate. In the dry season if a sudden wind picked up, the stink could bowl you over.

  During the flood, Mr. Sumption and his boys used pieces of lumber that fit into grooves on the side of the outhouse so it could be lifted and placed in an area safe from the rising waters.

  What they did to relieve themselves during this time I’m uncertain, but when the flooding passed, they moved the outhouse to a location near its original spot.

  As the river lowered, it was discovered that the mess from the outhouse had not completely washed away, but was now parked in a big dark hill under the outdoor convenience’s new slip-and-slide position.

  But before I continue with events, it’s necessary to point out Mr. Sumption ran a little roadside stand where he sold vegetables now and then, and on this hot day I’m talking about, he suddenly had the urge to take care of a mild stomach disorder, and left his son, Wilson, in charge of the stand.

  After doing his business, Mr. Sumption said he rolled a cigarette and went out beside the outhouse to look down on the fly-infested pile, maybe hoping the river had carried some of it away. But dry as it was, the pile was bigger and the water was lower, and something unusual lay in it.

  Mr. Sumption, first spying it, thought it was a huge, bloated, belly-up catfish. One of those enormous bottom-crawler types that were reputed by some to be able to swallow small dogs and babies.

  But a catfish doesn’t have legs.

  Mr. Sumption said even when he saw the legs it didn’t register with him that it was a human being. It looked too swollen, too strange to be a person. But it was, and it was a woman. Her legs were crossed and tied at the ankles. One of her arms was pulled behind the back, stretched out and tied so tight to her feet it had caused the back to bow slightly. The other arm was tied in such a manner it looked as if she were reaching over the shoulder to scratch the small of the back, but the hand, from the wrist on, was gone. The cord was bound around the forearm, and was tied off to the other arm.

  Mr. Sumption eased carefully down the side of the hill, mindful not to step in what his family had been dropping along the bank all summer. He saw the woman’s bloated body lying face down in the moist blackness, and the flies were as delighted with the corpse as they were with the waste.

  Mr. Sumption saddled up a horse and arrived in our yard a short time after that. I was out trying to knock some splashed mud off of some tomato plants so they might stand up and not rot, when he showed up.

  Mr. Sumption rode right up to the edge of the field, jumped off his horse, and started calling to me. Toby barked at him a few times, but it was a friendly bark. He knew Mr. Sumption.

  I hurried through the field to where he stood, and he started in on how he had to see Daddy. Even though Daddy had taken to drinking, folks thereabouts didn’t know about it, least most didn’t. He kept it pretty much at home. I hated that Mr. Sumption might see Daddy that way; we had done a pretty good job of hiding it.

  But there was nothing for it but Daddy had to be told. I asked Mr. Sumption to wait, and I went to the barn to get him. He was lying on a bed he had made with an old blanket and some hay, and he had his head propped up with Sally Redback’s saddle. He was awake, and he turned his head as I came in. I thought I saw something pass along his face that might have been shame or embarrassment or both. Then again, it could have just been a bellyache.

  I suspected he wouldn’t even bother, but when I told him Mr. Sumption had found a body, and it was tied up, he got up quick, knocking over his whiskey bottle, not bothering to pick it up. I didn’t bother either. Daddy went out ahead of me. I watched the whiskey run out of the bottle and into the dirt.

  To this day, I’ve never so much as taken a drink.

  Daddy was a little sick-looking, like a man coming off a long bout with the flu, but he hurried ahead of me, through the field, and met Mr. Sumption at the far end.

  When he told Daddy what he had found, Mr. Sumption rode back and Daddy followed in the car. I wanted to come, but Daddy insisted that I stay. There was a part of me that felt I was no longer subject to what Daddy wanted. He had given up the respect I had for him long ago, but I waited. Maybe I just didn’t want to be with him.

  Later I learned Daddy and Mr. Sumption pulled the body out of the pile using a hoe and a rake, dipped it in the river for a rinse. Something a modern forensic-trained officer of the law would avoid these days. But back then, Daddy had never heard of forensics. I don’t even know if the word existed.

  After fishing the body out, they were shocked to see the face of Louise Canerton buried in a mass of swollen flesh, one cold dead eye open, the other half closed, as if she were winking.

  On closer examination, they discovered the body was very cut up, and one of the breasts had been sliced open and sewn back together with fishing cord. Something was visible between the stitches. Daddy used his knife to cut the cord free and to poke out what was inside. It was a wad of paper. Like was found in the others. And like the others, it was too far gone for him to figure what it was. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

  The body arrived at our house wrapped in a tarp. Daddy and Mr. Sumption hauled it out of the car and toted it up to the barn. Me and Tom were out under the big tree, waiting, and as they walked by carrying their burden, we could smell that terrible reek of death and defecation through the tarp.

  Daddy and Mr. Sumption were in the barn for a short time, and when they came out, Daddy had an axe handle in his hand. He also had a straighter back and a more determined stride. His eyes, though not clear, looked hard and brittle like dark beads of glass. He walked briskly to the car. I could hear Mr. Sumption arguing at him. “Don’t do it, Jacob. It ain’t worth it.”

  We ran over to the car as Mama came out of the house, calling Daddy’s name. But Daddy wasn’t listening. Nothing seemed to register. It was as we always said about a determined mule. He had his nose forward and his ears back.

  Daddy calmly laid the axe handle in the front seat, and Mr. Sumption stood shaking his head. Mama climbed into the car and started on Daddy. “Jacob. I know what you’re thinkin’. You can’t.”

  Toby had sidled up to Mr. Sumption, and Mr. Sumption, knowing he was defeated as far as influence with Daddy went, bent down to scratch him behind the ears.

  He hollered out once more, but like he didn’t really mean it. “Don’t do it, Jacob.”

  Daddy started up the car. Mama called, “Children. Get in. You’re not s
tayin’ here.”

  Maybe she thought our presence would slow Daddy down, I don’t know. But we jumped in just as Grandma came out of the house. She took in the situation, immediately pushed her way into the car, and Daddy, hardly mindful of our presence, roared off, leaving Mr. Sumption standing in the yard either bewildered or resigned.

  Mama fussed and yelled and pleaded all the way over to Mr. Nation’s house. Daddy never said a word. When he pulled up in Nation’s yard, Mr. Nation’s wife was outside hoeing at a pathetic little garden, most of which had been washed downhill by the recent rain.

  Mr. Nation and his two boys were sitting in rickety chairs under a tree, cracking pecans and eating them.

  Grandma, who had begun to put it together, said, “Oh hell.”

  Before Daddy could get out of the car, Mama grabbed the axe handle, but he carefully took it from her hands and got out of the car with it, started walking toward Mr. Nation. Mama was hanging on his arm, but he pulled free. He walked right past Mrs. Nation, who paused and looked up in surprise.

  Mama started after Daddy again, but Grandma grabbed her, said, “Might as well let things be. He gets like this, he’s like Achilles after Hector. You know that.”

  Mr. Nation and his boys spotted Daddy coming. Mr. Nation slowly rose from his chair, pecans falling out of his lap. The expression on his face was akin to discovering you hadn’t buttoned your fly and were standing in a room full of church women.

  “What the hell you doin’ with that axe handle?” Nation asked.

  The next moment what Daddy was doing with that axe handle became abundantly clear. It whistled through the hot morning air like a flaming arrow and caught Mr. Nation alongside the head about where the jaw meets the ear, and the sound it made was, to put it mildly, akin to a rifle shot.

  Mr. Nation went down like a wind-blown scarecrow. Daddy stood over him swinging the axe handle. Mr. Nation was yelping and putting up his arms in a pathetic way. The two boys came at Daddy. Daddy turned, swatted the older one down. The younger one tackled him.

  Instinctively, I started kicking at that boy, and he came off Daddy and climbed me. But Daddy was up now. The axe handle sang. The boy went out like a light, and the other one, who was still conscious, started scuttling along the ground on all fours like a crippled centipede. He finally managed himself upright and ran for the house.

  Mr. Nation tried to get up several times, but every time he did that axe handle would cut the air, and down he’d go. Daddy whapped on Mr. Nation’s sides, back, and legs, until he was worn out and had to back off and lean on the somewhat splintered handle.

  When Daddy got his wind back, he was at it again. Some of his sense had returned however, and he began to use the flat of the handle, banging it against Nation.

  Finally Nation rolled on his back, lifted his hands in front of his face, and began to cry. Daddy stopped in mid-swing. The demon had gone out of him. I knew now what Grandma meant when she said Daddy had a temper.

  Nation, ribs surely broken, lip busted, spitting teeth, bawled, lay there with his feet and hands up like a dog that had rolled on its back to impress its master.

  When Daddy got his wind back, he said, “They found Louise Canerton down by the river. Dead. Cut the same way and tied as them others. You and your boys and that lynch mob didn’t do nothin’ but hang an innocent man.”

  “You’re supposed to be the law?” Nation said, spitting blood. “You ain’t supposed to do nothin’ like this.”

  “If’n I was any kind of law, I’d have had you arrested for what you did to Mose, but that wouldn’t have done no good. No one around here would convict you, Nation. They’re scared of you. But I ain’t. I ain’t. And if you ever cross my path again, I swear to God, I’ll kill you and beat your corpse daily till there ain’t nothin’ left of it. You just be glad this old handle wasn’t as sturdy as some I got.”

  Daddy tossed the shattered axe handle aside, said, “Come on.” I started back to the car. Mama, Tom, and Grandma joined us. Mama put her arm around Daddy’s waist, and he returned the favor.

  As we passed Mrs. Nation, she looked up and leaned on her hoe. She had a black eye, a swollen lip, and some old bruises on her cheek. She smiled at us.

  Grandma said, “Good day to you.”

  When the beating was over and we were home, Daddy explained to me whose body had been found. I sat on the screened-in porch and looked out at nothing and thought about Mrs. Canerton. Tom sat with me, doing the same.

  Mrs. Canerton wasn’t just some poor unfortunate we didn’t know, she was someone we knew and really liked. It was hard to believe the woman I had seen at the Halloween party, all beautiful and pursued by every eligible man there, was now in our barn wrapped in a tarp, cut up like those other women.

  It was a stunning blow.

  As we sat there, Daddy came out on the porch. He pushed his way between us. He had a dried sweat coated with whiskey smell. He said, “Listen, kids. I know I haven’t exactly been right. But you can count on one thing. I’m through with all that. I’ve been an idiot. I’m on my feet now, and I’m gonna stay there. I’ll never touch another drop of whiskey, or any strong drink, long as I live. Hear me?”

  “Yes sir,” we said.

  “First thing tomorrow, we’re gonna start gettin’ these fields in shape, and the day after that I’m gonna start back regular at the barbershop. I ain’t exactly been settin’ a good example, and I ain’t got no excuse for it but my own self-pity. And you know what? I thought maybe Mose might have done it after all. I couldn’t figure how logically, but with the murders stopped, it crossed my mind.”

  “Mine too,” I said.

  “All right then. Let’s get back to being what we’re supposed to be. A family.”

  “Daddy?” Tom said. “You’re gonna go back to bathin’ regular, ain’t you?”

  Daddy laughed. “Yes, honey, I am.”

  21

  Daddy was true to his word. I never seen nor heard of him taking a drink again. He went back to work in the fields and back to work at the barbershop. And in short time his spirit filled up the house again.

  But on this very day I’m telling you about, he heated up water and took a bath on the back porch in a number ten tub.

  Rest of us waited in the kitchen. You’d have thought we was waiting for Lazarus to rise, and I suppose in one sense we were. Because when the back door opened and he come into the house, it was as if he was a man reborn.

  He stood tall. His face was shaved close. His skin looked clean and pink. His hair was slicked back and he had on a fresh suit of clothes and held his best tan hat in his hand.

  He took Mama in his arms and kissed her, hard, right in front of us. Mama and Daddy were always affectionate, but you didn’t see anything like that right in front of us, not the way that kiss was.

  When Daddy and Mama separated, smiling, he put on his hat, looked at me, said, “Harry, I need you to come with me.”

  “Me too,” Tom said.

  “No, baby girl. Just Harry. He’s near a man, and I might need him.”

  I can’t tell you what that meant to me. I climbed in the car with him and we drove over to Mrs. Canerton’s.

  The doors to Mrs. Canerton’s house were unlocked, but that wasn’t so strange back then. People didn’t lock their doors like now, there wasn’t a need.

  Daddy looked through the rooms while I stood in the parlor looking at the books in the shelves, thinking about how enthusiastic Mrs. Canerton had always been about them. I saw a number that I had read. I felt worse by the moment.

  When Daddy came back from looking, he shook his head. “Ain’t no sign of a struggle nowhere. She’s just gone. She could have been out and was nabbed by this fella, or maybe she know’d him and went with him without no trouble. And if that’s the case, it could be a number of folks, ’cause she know’d everyone and was kind to everyone.”

  We went out back where she kept her car. It was missing.

  “Well now, that’s somethin’,” Da
ddy said. “Means she went off in her car and either picked this fella up, or he was with her.”

  “Cecil might know,” I said. “He was seein’ her some.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  We went over to the barbershop. It was empty except for Cecil. He was sittin’ in Daddy’s barber chair reading a detective magazine.

  Cecil seemed surprised to see Daddy all spiffed up and neatly dressed. “How about givin’ me a haircut, Cecil?” Daddy asked, removing his hat.

  Cecil got out of the chair and flipped the magazine on the table with the others. “Certainly. You’re lookin’ good, Jacob.”

  Daddy climbed in the chair. Cecil pulled a sheet over Daddy to catch the hair, and went to work. “Did you know about Louise?” Daddy asked.

  “Well, me and her ain’t exactly visitin’ these days. What about her?”

  “She’s dead, Cecil.”

  The scissors quit snipping. Cecil came around to the front of the chair and looked at Daddy. “No?”

  Daddy shook his head. “Afraid so. I didn’t mean to drop it on you so blunt, but there ain’t no other way to tell it. Found her body in the river. She was got by that maniac.”

  “It wasn’t Mose,” Cecil said. “You said it wasn’t Mose.”

  Cecil went over and sat in one of the customer’s chairs, absently clicked the scissors a few times.

  “I thought me and her might be together, you know. But it didn’t work. She didn’t want to get serious. She quit seein’ me. I still thought about her. I think I might have been in love with her. Good God. How’n hell could that happen? She wasn’t a river whore.”

  “I thought maybe you might have heard of someone was seein’ her might not have been on the up and up. Maybe you knew or suspected somethin’ suspicious goin’ on.”

  “No. Jacob, would it be all right I didn’t cut your hair? I don’t feel so good.”