Nightmare Country

by Marlys Millhiser

  The room turned a deep green. Russ glimpsed a gorgeous blue sea and a beach of white through a veil of leaves. Except for the slight movement of the leaves, it looked like a postcard picture.

  29

  Jerusha Fistler sent word by way of Vinnie that the cereus would bloom that night and everyone was to bring a hot dish and come to a potluck dinner party to last until all the blossoms had opened. The Whelans were having breakfast when Vinnie dropped her little bomb and then rushed off to tell others.

  “Will we have time to make something after school?” Adrian carried her cereal bowl to the sink. “Want me to get some stuff out of the freezer?”

  “No, because we aren’t going. There’s no reason why we have to jump every time that woman—” Tamara pretended to choke on her coffee to hide her shock. Her fantasy life was getting out of control. She thought she saw Backra standing by the gold brocaded couch.

  “But it’ll be fun. I haven’t been to a party in years.”

  “Adrian, I resent your constant refusal to listen to me. I’m not trying to be unreasonable, but I am responsible for—”

  “Well, you are unreasonable. The whole town’s going to be there. All the kids who live here. Jerusha says there’s some long folding tables in one of the empty apartments she’s going to clean up and put in her place. All of Iron Mountain will be having a party next door, and—”

  “I don’t trust that woman. She’s up to something. A lot of people feel that way about her, and I doubt there’ll be many there.”

  “I’m going, Mom, with or without you.” Adrian looked pensive and then turned to walk past where Backra had stood. He had vanished.

  The children were still out on the playground before school started, when Saul Baggette walked into the classroom. He was Will and Nate’s dad and he and his wife had become a little more friendly since school started. Saul was young, bearded, with the sad deep-set eyes of a poet and the solid body of a workingman.

  “We was just wondering if you might have seen Russ around … last night maybe? Or this morning? Fred didn’t see him when he went off duty, and I wasn’t supposed to let the men in the mine until me and him checked out a cave-in. Thought maybe he’d said something to you or …”

  “Saul, I haven’t seen him to speak to in several days.” There was apparently some talk around concerning the mine manager and the schoolteacher on their off-duty hours.

  “Not like him to go off without leaving a message. But his pickup’s gone. We don’t know whether to send the men on home or …”

  “He could have gone into Cheyenne and been delayed.”

  “Yeah, I guess … Well, thanks.” But he hesitated at the door. “It’s just that the lower portal doors’re unlocked, and I saw Russ lock ’em myself yesterday.”

  “What if he went in to check on the cave-in and got in trouble?” But then, why would his pickup be gone? “Have you asked Augie if—?”

  “Augie’s one too. But his pickup’s still here. Thought maybe he went with Russ.” Saul shrugged and reached for the door. “Suppose we’ll see you at the party tonight,” he said somewhat reluctantly, and left.

  Tamara was surprised the Baggettes were going to Jerusha’s party. She’d never known them to exchange visits before. Over the lunch recess she went out onto the playground to enjoy some sun and saw the miners’ vehicles pass the school. Darrell Johnson, Larry’s father, walked down the road carrying his metal lunch pail.

  “No sign of Russ yet?”

  “Naw. Sent the men on home. Just not like him to …”

  “Has anyone checked inside the mountain?”

  “Me and Saul just got done doing that. Called. Took us hours. Searched every last tunnel.” Darrell Johnson’s eyes slid away from hers.

  “Do you think you should report him missing to the county sheriff?”

  “Already called the company office in Cheyenne. Might just be stuck with a broke truck someplace. If he don’t show up by the time of the party, I’ll call somebody. See ya tonight.” He walked off. So the Johnsons were going too. If enough people went, Jerusha couldn’t very well do anything.

  By the end of the school day, and after listening to her students’ excitement about the party, Tamara relented and helped Adrian concoct a hamburger-and-macaroni casserole.

  “I do love you,” she said wearily as they worked side by side.

  “I love you too, Mom. More than anybody. That’s why … Just remember that, no matter what, okay?”

  “No matter what what? Adrian, you’re not getting involved in Jerusha’s experiments or anything?”

  “I meant, no matter … no matter what I say when I mouth off and say mean things.”

  “Oh, honey, I understand.” They hugged each other. “Actually, we’re doing better in this awful place than I thought we would.” But when Tamara tried to turn back to the casserole, her daughter clung to her so tightly she couldn’t move.

  The main room in Jerusha’s part of the duplex was filled with two long folding tables covered with cheap paper tablecloths. In the center of each, a dried-weed arrangement and candles stuck in old wine bottles. Balloons hung from streamers that were already wilting in the false, vaporized-induced climate. And everybody was there. Everybody except Russ Burnham. Even baby Ruthie squealed and drooled in a much-used playpen in the corner.

  But to Tamara the most pervasive impression was that made by the vine. Its luxuriant growth was out-of-place in the dingy room and the dry climate in winter. And the scent of the white buds sprouting on it overcame that of the food she and the other women were arranging buffet-style on Jerusha’s kitchen table, of the beer and assorted booze being sloshed and served by the sink, and even of Deloris Hope’s perfume. The sickly, exotic scent of overripe fruit and gardenia and lemon made her see again the snake coil about Thad Backra’s shoulders, and she drew in her breath with a shudder.

  “You cold?” Agnes Hanley pushed her glasses up farther on a sweaty nose. “I think she keeps this place hotter than Haiteez.”

  “Just thinking of something that made me shiver.” Tamara lowered her voice. “I’m surprised to see you and Fred here.”

  “Didn’t want to come, but Vinnie said if we didn’t, we’d be the only ones in town not here. Everybody always talks about the ones that aren’t around, you know. Fred’ll eat and then go on up to work. Where’s Russ?”

  “No one’s seen him all day.”

  “Truck’s out front. Figured he was back.”

  “Here, try one. They’re delicious!” Deloris Hope handed Tamara a glass with what turned out to be a pineapple-coconut-rum drink, and she thought of the Dixie woman fixing one like it for Backra when he went upstairs to slip into something more comfortable and to comb his hair, and she realized she was thinking of her dream-fantasy again. It worried her that she couldn’t seem to forget about it. That every little thing reminded her of it. She was obviously losing touch with reality.

  The children served themselves first and sat together at one end of the table to insult each other. Tamara filled her plate and sat next to Nancy Baggette. “When did Russ get back, do you know?”

  “No, but his truck’s out in the road. We thought he’d be in here. He’s probably up to his house washing up.” Nancy wore Levi’s, heavy hiking boots, and her hair in one long fat braid that hung down the back of her sweatshirt. She leaned over and whispered, “How’d she get you to come?”

  “Oh, Adrian didn’t want to miss a party.”

  “Told us if we didn’t come, we’d be the only ones not here. Can you imagine throwing a party for a house plant?”

  Jerusha had provided drinks, coffee, a fruit salad, and a cloying bakery cake. All the hot dishes were a variation of either hamburger or tuna. Tamara could remember other neighborhood potlucks, in what seemed now like another life, that would look like a rich man’s banquet compared to this. She wondered if Adrian remembered too. But Adrian’s eyes followed Jerusha, who was refilling coffee cups and freshening drinks. She didn’t
notice the other children giggling as Larry Johnson shook pepper into her strawberry pop.

  Nancy Baggette was into things like sewing and crafts and canning. She grew the only vegetable garden in Iron Mountain. It was organic, and she let her chickens run in it to eat the grasshoppers that would have otherwise eaten the garden. Tamara rarely saw her or Helen Johnson except to wave to when they got into or out of their cars.

  Jerusha kept the liquor flowing after everyone had eaten, and the group began to thaw. Oddly, these few people who lived so closely in this isolated spot didn’t seem to have much in common or to feel particularly comfortable with each other. The room was overwarm, and the beer and iced rum drinks disappeared faster than the coffee.

  The buds on the night-blooming cereus had been large and fat when the party started, but they’d been gradually opening unnoticed. What had seemed white with a pinkish tinge became salmon-colored tendrils separating to release thick snow-white petals. Long white hairs with yellow fuzzy ends poked out of the opening horns, and the giant blossoms grew still bigger as the petals stretched and parted.

  When Tamara looked directly at a blossom, she could see no movement, but after she looked away and back again later, the flower would have opened further and have changed position. Their odor grew heavier, took on the oppressiveness of incense. The heat, the steamy, crowded room, the alcohol and heavy food, and the jungle smell of the vine combined with the scent of the blossoms to produce a druglike languor on those at the tables.

  A cold prairie wind was rearranging the dusting of dry snow outside and swirling around the mountain to whistle in the weatherstripping and to rattle the windows in their frames. It seemed to be off in some other world and have no reality inside.

  “Vinnie”—Jerusha licked her index finger and poked at cake crumbs on the table—“you did tell Russel Burnham about our party?”

  “Couldn’t. He wasn’t home.” Vinnie yawned.

  “Not all day?” Jerusha looked beautiful with candlelight flickering across smooth skin. But she did not look pleased. “Perhaps you, Mr. Hanley, could tell him when you go up to work.”

  “What? Oh. Yeah, guess I’m late.” Fred Hanley, who’d been reluctant to come, seemed reluctant to leave now, or maybe it was just the drugged atmosphere. A refreshing draft from that other world swept into the room before Fred closed the door after him, and the talk perked up for a few minutes.

  “What’s his truck doing out front if he ain’t back yet?” Darrell Johnson stretched and blinked.

  “Augie and I took it into Cheyenne to buy things for the party,” Jerusha said. “Augie’s truck wouldn’t start this morning.”

  “Where do you get off, taking the boss’s truck, Mapes?” Saul Baggette had both elbows on the table, and his shoulders hunched.

  “Keys were in it. He’s got the company truck, and he’s borrowed mine before.” Augie’d been strangely quiet until now.

  “You are saying that Russel has been gone all day?” Jerusha asked.

  “Nobody’s seen him.” Saul looked at Darrell and then away. “Thought he’d gone off in his truck.”

  Jerusha parted the vine at the window over the sink to look out at the night and Iron Mountain.

  “You’d better report this to somebody.” One blossom near Tamara resembled a sea anemone as its pale-salmon tentacles were flung out to make room for expanding petals. Another, which was at a different angle, looked like a ragged tutu.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” one manager finally answered her.

  “He’s old enough to take care of himself,” the other one said. Both wiped sweat from their foreheads with their napkins.

  Jerusha turned from the window, her white shift dress so out of season but making her the only comfortable-looking person in the group. In the dim light, the white of her dress and the white splashes of blossom seemed to unite the woman and the plant. “Have you looked inside the mountain?”

  “Yeah, he ain’t in there. Nothing’s in there. Not even a cave-in.”

  “We must of looked in the wrong tunnel,” Darrell said.

  “No, we didn’t. I know where it was. And now it isn’t.”

  Little Ruthie had fallen asleep in the playpen. The nippled bottle had slipped from her mouth. Talk subsided, and it grew quiet. A balloon near the ceiling burst. No one even jumped.

  Bennie Hope sniffled. Agnes Hanley got up and poured herself another drink. A series of yipping sounds like old-style Hollywood Indians used to make, and then drawn-out wailing howls, came from somewhere on the mountain. They seemed to move closer to the back porch. Other voices joined the wailing in a ragged tempo, and the wind moaned an accompaniment.

  “My God, the ghosts!” Tamara came out of her lethargy with a start and began a rush for Adrian. “Jerusha’s raised the ghosts.”

  Somebody snickered. Augie grabbed her. “This teacher lady’s spooked.” He laughed and held her tight when she tried to push away. “I’ll protect you, teacher lady. Settle down, now.”

  “Way to go, Augie.” The sound of clapping hands and cheers. The chuckles multiplied, became laughter.

  “’Nother schoolmarm bites the dust.”

  “Suppose that’s what killed the last one?”

  Tamara could hear them, but couldn’t see past an enveloping Augie. “Adrian!” Didn’t anyone else hear the ghosts?

  She kicked Augie repeatedly, as hard and fast as she could make her leaden feet move. He put her down and backed away, looking surprised and sleepy. She made a dash for Adrian, but stopped short when the back door burst open.

  Tamara’s screaming filled the crowded room and her head.

  30

  Russ Burnham stood in the doorway, blinking as if the light bothered his eyes.

  Tamara’s screams turned to coughing and then to barely audible squeals that happened every time she exhaled. She had no more control over them than she’d had over Augie Mapes. The room came back into focus. Adrian hadn’t moved, and was apparently asleep. Bennie Hope had crawled into the playpen and slept with his baby sister. The rest of the children looked half-asleep or dazed.

  “What time is it?” Russ’s voice broke.

  “We’re having a party,” Jerusha said, as if everything were normal. “I will fix you a drink.”

  “It’s close to midnight.”

  “Where you been all day, boss? We had to send the men home.”

  “Mrs. Whelan thought the coyotes was ghosts,” Larry Johnson said in the tone and with the sly grin he usually reserved for Adrian.

  Russ stood in the open door to the utility porch and stared into the room without appearing to see it.

  “Want some food?” Jerusha handed him a glass. “I can heat it up.”

  “Just had breakfast a couple hours ago. What day is it?”

  “Thursday. Been that way all day.” Darrell guided his boss into the room and closed the door on the fresh air.

  Russ downed a tumbler full of rum and pineapple and coconut and handed it back to Jerusha. She mixed him another. “Where have you been, Russel Burnham?”

  “In the mountain.” He walked with a funny wobbly motion to the nearest free space on a bench and sat. “Thursday.”

  “What’s wrong with Adrian?” Tamara said suddenly.

  “She’s just sleeping, worrywart.” Jerusha put a hand on Adrian’s back. “Still breathing, Mama.”

  “Went into the mine this morning, early.” Russ emptied half of the refilled tumbler. “Came out a couple hours later and it was night.”

  Jerusha dribbled long fingers across his crew cut. “And what did you see, Russ Burnham? In the mountain.”

  “Saw the old-timers alive.” He drained the glass and handed it to her over his shoulder.

  “Careful with those drinks.” But Tamara’s voice didn’t cut through the stuffy, tropical air to reach him.

  “Saw a whole city of white and blue plaster, right here at Iron Mountain, and people in funny clothes lined up at the six-hundred-foot portal. Some of them saw my s
hadow. They pointed to it and talked English and another language all mixed together, without moving their mouths.” He still didn’t seem to see the room, the awful party, the danger breaking out everywhere.

  Tamara tried again to warn him through the humidity and heavy scent. Only Agnes Hanley heard her. And Agnes just patted her hand. She’d taken off the little cat-eye glasses and set them on the table. Her eyes looked smaller and pinched around the edges, like Miss Kopecky’s lips. Everyone had stopped talking and stared sleepily at Russ. The coyotes no longer howled out back. The vaporizer “whooshed” more steam into the room, and Tamara expected to see it hanging in clouds near the ceiling soon.

  “Me and Darrell went in looking for you when you didn’t show up this morning. You couldn’t of been in there. You’d of heard us calling.”

  “You know that cave-in site? Well, you were right.” Russ ate a few bites of the cake Jerusha set before him, pushed it away, and reached for his drink. “There’s a round room behind that wall, with a machine in it. Didn’t you see the hole I made to get in?”

  “No hole, no cave-in. Like it’d all been put back together. Like it never happened.” Saul looked pointedly at Darrell Johnson. “And I knew just where it should’ve been.”

  “Can’t be. I made a hole big enough to crawl through.”

  “Dammit, Burnham, I know where it was!” The underground manager jumped to his feet.

  Nancy Baggette took hold of her husband’s arm. “Sit down, Saul. Being as overdramatic as the schoolteacher.”

  “Way I figure it, the mob is using that thing in the mountain to transport drugs up here from South America.”

  “Why South America, Russel?” Jerusha opened another bottle of rum.

  “Because that’s where the motherfucker sent me by mistake. ’Least there was lots of palm trees and ocean and stuff.”

  “Mayan Cay,” Tamara said, hearing the wonder in her voice.

  “You dream about Mayan Cay too?” Nancy Baggette turned around from the other table and stared at Tamara.