by Shelley Katz
Farther in was a peeling old tar-paper shack, completely encircled by bear traps and tripwires attached to beer cans, a "Dew Line" against unwanted guests. The shack, which listed precariously to the right, was held tightly in the clutches of several mammoth strangler figs, which seemed to be the only things preventing it from disintegrating into sawdust within the next minute.
To the side of the shack were fifty homemade wood and metal cages filled to overflowing with mice, gophers, rabbits, and several species of tropical birds. The animals chattered, cooed, and squeaked loudly when they heard the men approach. Eight ratty-looking dogs raced at the men, baring their yellow teeth and growling in warning.
"It's okay, it's okay." Trancas calmed his dogs, obviously pleased with their display. Unhooking a water-bucket booby trap, he opened the door and held it for Lee. "Well, what d'ya think?" he asked, looking around his cabin proudly. "I did it all myself. Ya see them walls—eggshells, thousands of 'em. Best insulation there is."
Lee entered the shack. If possible the inside was even more of a junkyard than the outside. All manner of animal, vegetable, and mineral matter in varying stages of decomposition added their own particular odor to the overpowering stench of decay.
The shack was the type that looked old the day it was built, and there was no way of telling whether it had been standing twenty years or twenty minutes. There was only one window. In lieu of glass, Trancas had covered it with thick plastic that had been mended so many times that it was impossible to see through it. Underneath the window was a rusty card table and three broken chairs. The table was completely covered with dirty dishes and the remains of a dozen meals. What looked like rabbit bones swam in a greasy, gray, glutinous sauce. A piece of fat the size of a man's hand had melted onto a plate, while clots of egg yolk dried to the consistency of cement pinned several half-eaten slices of toast to a large platter. The center of the floor was covered with an Oriental rug, its pattern long ago rubbed into extinction. The rest of the floor was almost completely hidden by huge barrels of nails, bolts, nuts, screws, and other hardware Trancas felt might be of some future use. Standing in the middle of the room, like a monument, was a gutless twelve-inch Dumont TV set. Two battered folding chairs were placed carefully in front of it.
Lee was finally able to locate a straw mat in the corner of the room, and carried Rye over to it. Trancas let out a cry of horror. "Not there!" he screamed. "What, are you crazy? That's Beeno's place. F' Christ's sake, can't ya read?" He pointed to the mat, where, in practically illegible letters, Beeno's name was printed. Trancas pulled Lee over to another mat, which was practically hidden under a pile of dirty laundry. "Put him over here," he said. "He can have my place." He shook his head in wonder. "Imagine, tryin' to put him in Beeno's place."
Beeno, a dog so mongrelized it was impossible to isolate any of the ingredients, growled in agreement. Even after Lee had carried Rye over to Trancas's mat, Beeno continued growling, and Trancas continued yelling in outrage.
"No one sleeps in Beeno's place except Beeno," said Trancas. "Why, he's been with me as long as I can remember. He was there when I pulled the bank job and killed the teller. They give me one hundred and ninety years, but ain't no jail that can hold me. I walked off of that chain gang easy as pie. Say, ya got a candy bar?"
"Get me some hot water," said Lee, as he stripped off the blanket and looked at Rye. The trip hadn't done him any good. Many of the blisters on his body had broken, and poisonous pus was oozing from them.
"Mars Bars," asked Trancas, "ya got any Mars Bars?"
Lee wheeled around in fury and yelled, "I said get me some water!"
Trancas was astounded. He drew himself up and strode over to Lee, waving his finger in warning. "You got any idea who you're talkin' to like that? Ya wanna see a reward poster? I'll show you just who you're dealin' with."
Lee stood up and towered over Trancas menacingly. Trancas stood his ground for a moment, then backed off. "Okay, okay," he said. "It'll take some time, though. I ain't exactly got one of them new gas cookers." He walked over to the stove and, scowling irritably, began throwing wood into the grate. "He ain't got a chance in hell of makin' it, ya know," growled Trancas.
"I know," answered Lee. "I know."
Still, he tore fresh strips of cloth from the blanket and began to bathe Rye. He wasn't even sure if what he was doing was helping, but he knew nothing could make things worse.
Lee worked all day, obsessively, trying to save the life of a man he wanted to kill, doing it for various reasons, none of which made any sense to him.
At seven o'clock, Trancas changed into a baggy and worn gabardine suit which he had saved for special occasions and sat down on a battered old rocking chair. Every once in a while, he dipped a ladle into a huge wooden tub of home brew and sipped at it noisily. "Want some?" he asked, holding out the ladle to Lee.
Lee shook his head. He was tired enough as it was; drinking would only make it worse.
"Never trust a man that's sober," said Trancas. Suddenly he became worried. Lee hadn't said more than ten words to him all day, and they were only orders. He knew no more about him now than he did eight hours ago. He eyed Lee suspiciously. "What did you say you two were doin' out here again?"
"I didn't. But we were goin' after gator."
Trancas felt relieved. "So you're poachers."
"No," answered Lee. "We were going after one gator in particular."
Trancas practically jumped out of his chair with excitement. "You mean the gator?"
"You seen him up here?" asked Lee.
"You bet I have." Trancas completely forgot his suspicion in his delight at having someone to talk to. Rocking back and forth on his chair, silhouetted in a cone of candlelight, he looked like a storyteller of old. "Ain't likely to forget him, neither. Bigger'n a submarine, and twice as fast. All black and crusty, with weeds and muck hangin' off his scaly back and even crabs crawlin' in the muck like he was a hummock. Killed ten sheriff's men that come upriver after me, swallowed 'em whole like they was minnows."
Lee made no comment, but he took Trancas's words with enough grains of salt to make Utah look like a salt lick.
"Gator's the foulest creature in the world," said Trancas. "Only got two enemies, man and himself; worst enemy's himself. Ever seen a gator eat his own? Papa gator'll stick by the nest till the eggs is hatched, then when one of them little babies has pecked his way outta the shell, he opens up them great big ugly jaws of his and whomp! He snaps him up like he was a little raisin. Imagine killin' your own. Say, why you towelin' him down like that?"
It took Lee a while to answer. He found Trancas's quick transitions in speech almost as confusing as the rest of him. "Two reasons," said Lee. "To get rid of the poison and bring down the fever."
"Same as the Indians. I remember the flu epidemic of '18; poor bastards threw ice water on their sick. Didn't help none neither, wiped 'em all out."
"This is different," Lee said, hoping he was right.
"Everythin's different," said Trancas. "It just depends how you look at it. Listen, you sure you ain't got any candy bars?"
"No, I'm sorry."
"That's too bad," Trancas said wistfully. Then he brightened. "But anyways, as I was sayin'—when I was a boy, there was this gator that was even more dangerous than the one you're goin' after. They called him the Old Man. Ya ever heard of him?"
"No," answered Lee. He stood up and stretched; a thousand bones cracked and creaked loudly. Once having let down his guard, fatigue began to roll over him, and, for the first time since he had found Rye, he sat down and relaxed.
Trancas waited until he was settled comfortably; then he continued. "Jesus, I can't believe you ain't never heard of him. He must've killed close to a hundred people. They had huntin' parties goin' after him every night. Scariest part was he seemed almost to know they was comin' after him. He would lay in wait for 'em, like he knew more of what was goin' on in town than anyone who lived there. It got folks suspectin' everyone else was
the gator. They do that, you know, change into human form durin' the day, and at night come up all slimy and slip off into the swamps. Gator in human form'll mate with a woman, too. I ain't never seen none of the children, and hope I never do, but from what I heard, they is ugly. Most of 'em is green, with scales like their daddies. They stick by their mammy till they're three or so, then go off and join their own in the slime.
"But as I was sayin', so far it was only suspicion. Sarah Fogel, who lived next door, she figured it was her husband. Danny had a foul temper, all right, and he could drink more'n ten men. But Sarah loved Danny, and it took her mother and sister a whole month to convince her it could be him.
"Well, one night Sarah pretended like she had dropped off to sleep, but actually she was just lyin' there with her eyes closed. Sure enough, when the moon was high, Danny slipped out of bed real quiet and sneaked off into the swamp. Sarah lied there all night; you can just imagine what she was thinkin'. I mean, she'd been sharin' the same' bed with this man for almost a year, and there was no tellin' if she wasn't infected by him. and wouldn't be deliverin' a pack of baby gators come spring. Then again, if he weren't no gator, what in the hell was he sneakin' off into the night like that?
"Well, the sun hadn't come up yet and she heard a door a-creakin' and she shut her eyes real tight. Danny slipped into the room and under the covers real quiet and lay there like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Only thing was, he felt cold to the touch, and a shiver passed right through poor Sarah. Finally she got up enough nerve to open her eyes. There was Danny, just the same as always, and she got to thinkin' how stupid she was, et cetera, and dropped back to sleep.
"However, the next mornin', when she was sweepin' the floor, she found a piece of seaweed caught in the door. She bent down to pick it up, and, sure enough, the floor felt real slippery to the touch. Sarah knew there and then that her husband was the one. He'd probably been sneakin' off every night to join his gator lover out in the mud.
"Well, Sarah got real jealous. Like I said, she loved him, and the idea of him sleepin' with another woman, even if she did have scales, didn't sit right with her.
"So the next night, she lay there like the night before, and when he got up to go out to the swamps, Sarah hopped up and said, 'I'm goin', too.' I imagine Danny didn't like that all too much. I mean, he was gettin' it from both sides, wasn't he? But I guess he figured he didn't have much choice. Whatever, neither of the two of them was ever seen again. Though folks said you could hear old Sarah on a clear night, howling amongst the other gators. Tell me, how're ya plannin' on gettin' him? Hooks? Knives."
"Getting who?" Lee asked groggily.
"The gator. The gator. Christ, how can you forget? That's what you come out here after, ain't it?"
"That's what he came after," answered Lee. "Me, I just came out as guide."
Trancas looked over at Rye, who lay shivering and chattering in delirium. "Him?" he asked in amazement, as if Lee were suggesting Rye get up right then and there and continue the hunt. "Hell, he ain't exactly gonna protest if you was to get the gator."
Lee laughed. "I don't want to get the gator."
Trancas was stunned. "Don't want to get the gator?"
"There ain't no reason to do that, except to a man like him, who wants to prove how tough he is."
Trancas made no attempt to hide his disappointment in Lee. He had judged him to be made of stronger stuff. "'Course there's a reason to get the gator," he said angrily. "'Course there is. Everyone wants him. Only some is afraid to own up to it, afraid they'll fall short. It takes guts to own up to wantin' somethin'. It's easier to say ya don't care." Trancas turned his narrow, bloodshot eyes on Lee, surprising him with the understanding and perceptiveness they reflected.
"How long you been out here?" asked Lee.
Trancas was startled into silence. The idea of anyone taking an interest in him was so amazing that for a moment his suspicion returned. But the desire to talk to another human being was even stronger than the fear. He said, "Went to Miami in '44 to join the Navy, ended up robbin' a bank and joinin' a chain gang instead. Funny, ain't it? Wait, I got somethin' to show you." Trancas took a yellowed, ragged newspaper clipping from his pocket and pointed to it proudly. Without giving Lee a chance to read it he refolded it and reverently placed it back in his pocket. "Came out here just hours before the dogs. That was thirty years ago."
"You ain't left the swamp in all that time?" asked Lee.
"Course I ain't. The law gets ahold of me and—" Trancas's body went rigid with fear. "Sshh!" He picked up his rifle, crept over to the door, and poked his head out to look around. There was nothing outside but night noises—just the moaning of the wind, the croaking of frogs, the swaying of trees.
"Can't take no chances," he said, returning to his seat. He sighed deeply. The moment of alarm over, he could feel the emptiness returning. "I ain't seen another human being in a year, ain't spoken to no one in five. It ain't bad, mind you. Only thing is, it gets kind of lonely stayin' out here all alone. You know what I mean?" Trancas looked over at Lee. There was something in Lee's eyes that let him know that he did.
Trancas stood up and began to cook dinner. He had been so delighted at the prospect of having someone to share a meal with that he had killed a rabbit. It hung upside down outside the door, draining blood into a water pail. Trancas cut it down and brought it over to Lee, proud of his hospitality.
Lee was sprawled in the chair, asleep. Trancas coughed loudly several times in hopes that Lee would wake up. He didn't even move, and Trancas knew he shouldn't wake him. He took the rabbit back outside, rehung it, then went back to his rocking chair to wait for Lee to awaken.
Trancas had already left when Lee awoke the next morning. He had slept in almost exactly the same position all night, and when he stood up to walk over to Rye, every muscle in his body hurled insults at him for his choice of beds.
Rye had rolled off the mat and lay on the floor with his back strangely arched; his teeth were chattering, and sweat streamed down his face in huge drops. His fever was even worse. Still, he was a tenacious bastard and was holding on; that in itself was a miracle. Rye's refusal to die impressed Lee a great deal more than his defiance of death. Lee considered it the first thing Rye had done that was deserving of respect.
Lee was about to move Rye back to the mat, but decided not to chance waking him.
His concern no longer surprised him. Even when he'd left Rye ranting and raving on the hummock, howling to his gods for protection, he had known in his heart that he would be back. Lee could kill a man in the heat of the moment, but, once thinking about it, he never could do it.
From then on it was all preordained. Lee never did things halfway. If he wasn't going to kill Rye, he had to save him.
Lee wondered if perhaps the decision hadn't been made even earlier. He could have killed Rye at various points since they had met, yet he hadn't. It certainly wasn't because he couldn't kill; he'd learned he could some years back. It seemed he had made his decision the first time he didn't kill him when the opportunity was there. At the time he'd thought it was more like indecision, but it came to the same thing. Things only stalled up for a time, and then they happened. The only difference was that indecision took a large load of responsibility off Lee's shoulders and placed the blame safely on fate's doorstep.
Lee walked out into the clear, bright midday sunshine. For the first time in twenty-four hours, he could feel his body in motion and it felt good. He breathed in the clean, fresh air deeply, to clear the stench of the shack from his lungs. Lee realized that killing Rye had never been a possibility. He would never kill again. Killing a man took away more than his life; it took away your own. Not because of the guilt you felt, but because you discovered after it was done that you had enjoyed it. Lee had seen the enjoyment of violence in other men since he was a child; it wasn't until Viet Nam that he saw it in himself.
When he thought back on it, the act in itself had been a small one; he'd done a lot wo
rse, as had everyone else. It was the feelings he'd had that made him shrink from the world and himself in horror. They were feelings he'd never forget. They came up anew every time he let down his guard, and always he was left with the fear and disgust.
Lee still remembered every minute of that day. His unit had been fighting for three days before they finally took the village. Their bodies had been battered into mounds of gelatin from rubber-balling between Dexadrine to put on an edge and weed to take it off, so that by the time the fighting finally stopped, they were way beyond caring.
It was just after dawn, and some of the villagers were going out into the fields in that strange business-as-usual way that at first struck the Americans as valiant and later on as almost subhuman.
The sergeant's name was Bregman. He was a big man, just verging on fat, with stringy blond hair, a chipped front tooth, and a lifted top lip that made him look like he was last in line for promotion to garbage collector. Actually, he was a writer, and not stupid at all. His views were unique, the result of putting an educated brain on the body of a worker. He alternated between being a cynic and a Yankee Doodle redneck almost in the same sentence. He made fun of being in the Army, but it was a challenge to him, too. Lee liked Bregman, but he also feared him.
Most of the villagers stayed inside as the Americans marched through, waiting to see what would happen, testing the air like frightened animals. The tables had turned so many times in the area that only the most subverted had survived, and getting an opinion from them on anything, even last night's dinner, would have been impossible.
