Eternity Swamp

by T. C. Tereschak

  “Please…” says the feller, motioning for Sam to take the shot. Sam hoists up his ol’ .22 and pops that coon right in the eye and ‘plunk’, down it falls right at that feller’s feet. The feller picks it up and says, “Excellent shot suh, directly in the eye, not ruining a single hair on the pelt, well done,” and hands Sam the coon.

  “Sam takes the coon but continues eyein’ the feller up. “You headed to a bible meetin’?” he asks.

  “The feller gives Sam the queerest smile. “Surely, suh, you gest.”

  “Not the religious type? Don’t you believe in the Almighty?”

  “Oh, indeed I do. As of late, however,” the feller sighed, “He and I do seem to be at odds.”

  “I know the feelin’. Like, he’s up there just watchin’ while everything and everyone is out to get’cha.”

  “A world riddled with antagonists and interlopers.”

  “Inter what?”

  “Interloper. Someone who intrudes upon a place or situation, interfering in another’s affairs.”

  “George Blanchard…”

  “Pardon?”

  “Ah…” said Sam wavin’ it off.

  “Please, suh, unburden yourself.”

  “I was next in line for a promotion until this Blanchard, started suckin’ up to the boss.

  “Tsk, tsk. Pathetic.”

  “Well…I’m sure a rich and powerful man like you doesn’t have to deal with stuff like that.”

  “Oh, contraire. The more powerful you are, the more powerful your enemies tend to be.”

  “Really?”

  “It is the sad nature of it all.”

  “So you’ve had to deal with interlopers of your own?”

  “Of the worst sort. I too was once, ‘next in line’, as you say.”

  “And your interloper?” asks Sam.

  “Michael,” says the feller, sighing and shaking his head. “We were very close, at one time. And I trusted him, but he betrayed me and led a most…vicious campaign against me, and those who stood with me. From then on, he was…the favored one and I too was…displaced.”

  “But…you, I mean…you’re not just going to take it lyin’ down, right?”

  “Oh, I assure you, suh, I am doing my utmost to rectify the situation. At this very moment, I am working on innumerous strategies. It may take some time, but I am confident. Events seemed to be unfolding which, inevitably, will work out in my favor.”

  “Sam nodded his approval. “Good for you. I always say if someone strikes you, you hit ’em back twice as hard.”

  “You and I seemed to be of like mind, suh,” says the feller, then reaches into his breast pocket revealing a flask. “May I offer you a libation?”

  “Well ol’ Sam was never one to offend anyone by refusing such hospitality, so he takes the flask. “Here’s to stickin’ the knife and twistin’ it,” he toasts.

  “Well put, suh.”

  “Sam takes a nip and well, boy howdy, if it ain’t the best sipping whiskey ol’ Sam ever put his lips to and tells the feller so.

  “Cognac,” the feller replies, taking a sip and putting it back into his pocket.

  “What?” asks ol’ Sam.

  “The fancy feller gives Sam an irritated look but then smiles and repeats, “Cognac, the best actually. I have it imported all the way from France…Cigar?” he asks Sam, pulling two from the other breast pocket and presenting one to Sam. He lights it for Sam and Sam just can’t believe the sweetness and mellowness of the smoke.

  “Cuban,” says the feller. Sam looks at this feller’s coonhounds, two of the most magnificent looking redbones he’s ever seen and tells him so.

  “Tennessee champion bloodline,” proclaims the feller.

  “Well the two of ’em sit down on a cypress stump and chew the fat a while, smokin’ and sippin’ cognac. Sam realizes he’s jawin’ with the man he wants to be, well dressed, well mannered, refined, obviously a man of means, someone who only settles for the best.

  “I like you, Mr. Lake. You possess certain qualities I look for in a man,” says the feller. Sam doesn’t remember telling him his name but then again he has been drinking most the night.

  “Are you married?” the feller asks.

  “Um, no,” says Sam and Sissy comes to mind.

  ”But you do have your eye on a nice filly?” asks the feller, like he already knows the answer.

  “Yes…but…”

  “You lack the proper foundation?”

  “The what?”

  “She comes from a well to do family and you do not. Am I correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I might be able to set you off in the proper direction, Mr. Lake.”

  “How’s that?” asks Sam. “I realize you are a man with great ambition, however you undoubtedly lack the necessary capital or network.”

  “Capital…the proper finances.”

  “Oh.”

  “And the proper network.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Network? Well, think of it like a spider web—” “I hate spiders.”

  “You do?”

  “Absolutely hate ’em. I squish ’em ever’ time I sees one.”

  “Indeed? You have a phobia then?”

  “A what?”

  “Phobia. An exaggerated, inexplicable aversion or intolerance to…in your case, spiders.”

  “I…I don’t know about that. I just hate spiders. I really hate ’em.”

  “Indeed…Interesting. Well then, let’s concentrate on the web and not the spider, shall we? Your network is a mass of lines of communication. You are the middle of the web and each strand represents a line of communication supplying you with information. Each intersection of the strands is someone who can supply you with information. Understand?”

  “Yep,” says Sam noddin’ away.

  “This is your network. I know of no more valuable commodity than information, Mr. Lake. A well maintained network is invaluable.”

  “And you can help me with a web, uh, network?”

  “I believe I can do just that, Mr. Lake.”

  “You can help me with…capital?”

  “I can point you in the right direction. The rest will be up to you…” The feller eyes Sam up a bit and then continues. “There is a man, named Burris, Joshua Burris. He lives near Elberton on a remote farm. Do you know him?”

  “I know Elberton, can’t say I ever heard of Burris.”

  “Well, the unfortunate Mr. Burris has suffered a debilitating stroke. He is bed ridden and can’t speak. Mr. Burris was part of a special group of soldiers who served with distinction during the unfortunate misunderstanding between the states some years back. He and his fellow compatriots secured a substantial shipment of gold from one of the Union Army trains during a raid along the Tennessee-Kentucky border. Unbeknownst to them the war was already over. Mr. Burris and his friends hid the gold, fearing Yankee retribution.

  “Over the years Mr. Burris and his friends have moved their treasure several times. Over those many years each man was terrified they would be caught and hanged, should it come to light any had participated in the raid, and therefore none, not one of them, ever spent a single cent of it. Mr. Burris is the last remaining member of his troop. All have passed on and poor Burris is, ‘left holding the bag’ as they say. Mr. Burris has no next of kin. When he dies the secret dies with him. The gold is secreted somewhere on the property, I dare say.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Shoooohoooo!”

  “Indeed, Mr. Lake. If you were to secure this type of capital I believe I could, through my network, find an appropriate investment venture.”

  “How would I go about securing the capital?”

  “That, Mr. Lake, is entirely up to you.”

  “If I…”

  “If, Mr. Lake? You’re not going to waste my time are you?”

  “No…I mean when I se
cure the capital, how will I—”

  “I’ll be here, Mr. Lake. Right…here.”

  “I’m not sure how long this might take.”

  “I’ve a patient nature, Mr. Lake. I’ve learned if there is something you simply must acquire, then patience is a necessity. I’ve all the time in the world. I can wait.”

  The Investment

  “Well, let me tell you, ol’ Sam set out on how to go about ‘securing’ capital in short order. Sam wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was sneaky and crafty when he needed to be. He found out the Elberton Baptist Church’s Social Concerns Committee was looking out for Burris, in particular a woman by the name of Ouida Pearl Jackson.

  “Ol’ Sam joined the church and went to cozying up to Ouida like a cat in a kitchen at a fish fry. Every chance he got he accompanied her over to Burris’ and had a quick look around the place while she saw to the old man’s needs. Trouble was Sam couldn’t go around smashing walls and floorboards or digging up every foot of the place, even at night, folks would get suspicious.

  “Now, that fancy dressed feller from the woods might have been a patient man, but Sam wasn’t. He spent months waitin’ for Burris to kick off. Trouble was Burris wasn’t getting any worse and changing soiled bed sheets and clothes and feeding the old man grits and watching it dribble down his chin just about made Sam sick. In between work and snoopin’ about the Burris place Sam would spy on Sissy, watching all the eligible bachelors come and go and he began to fret his gal might get away.

  “On the twentieth of June, Sissy Winslow had her comin’ out party. Sam wasn’t invited, of course, but he knew about it and went to see who was attending. And, as he had feared every young and able buck within a three county area came sniffin’ around. One of ’em was sure to snatch her up before the old buzzard Burris died. Sam couldn’t chance another month. So, that night, he snuck off to Burris’ place and crept in quiet as a mouse, even though nobody could have heard him, he took a pillow and smothered the old man in his sleep. Everyone thought Burris had expired from the complications of the stroke.

  “The old farm Burris lived on wasn’t much to brag about, some sixty or so acres of weeds and old fields no one looked after. So Sam went to the bank to see what the old man owed. Turned out it wasn’t but a few hundred dollars. Sam had a steady job so he didn’t have trouble getting the loan. He bought the old place and set out a treasure huntin’.

  “He went to work at the prison during the day and then spent all night digging up the yard, tearing up floor boards, punching holes in the walls. He literally tore down the old house looking for gold, nearly worked himself to death.

  “Sam went back several times to the swamp seeking out the fancy dressed feller hoping he could tell him exactly where the gold was, but the feller was nowhere to be found and Sam worried he might never find the feller or the right location ever again.

  “Sam finally found the gold in the bottom of the well. He laughed himself sick when he found it. The next night he went back to the swamp looking for the feller. Realizing he never got that feller’s name he walked about shouting, “hey”, “hello”, and “Mister.” He sure felt foolish but what else was he to do?

  “Just when he was about to give up he spotted a familiar cypress stump. The same stump he and the fancy feller had sat on sippin’ cognac. He hadn’t sat down twenty seconds when he heard, “Mr. Lake, so good to see you again, I take it your endeavors have paid off?”

  “What?” asked Sam.

  “The feller clenched his jaw and gave Sam a queer look but then smiled and asked, “You have secured the necessary capital?”

  “Sam felt for some odd reason he needed to explain how he came about securing the funds. “Yes. I…I…had to…”

  “The fancy dressed feller put up his hand. “Explanations are completely unnecessary among business partners such as us.”

  “It was then Sam noticed all four fingers on the feller’s hand were all the same length. Ol’ Sam felt a chill run up his spine. In spite of that he held up the sack. “I got it. I got it right here.”

  “Why, Mr. Lake,” the feller began saying with a laugh, “there was no need for you to burden yourself lugging a heavy sack out here. I don’t need the capital, you do.”

  “Well ol’ Sam felt like an embarrassed school boy. The feller seemed to be enjoying Sam’s moment of discomfort. His mouth curled up in an unpleasant smirk. “Well, no harm no foul, as they say, eh, Mr. Lake? It’s just a shame you’ll have to carry it back out the way you came in. Now let’s get down to business, and I must say your timing is impeccable. There is a parcel of land near here with the most beautiful, mature walnut trees.”

  “Walnuts?” Sam asked incredulously.

  “Please, Mr. Lake…” said the feller, holding up his strange hand again, shootin’ Sam an annoyed look, “…a war is about to begin in Europe. A war the likes of which the world has never known.”

  “How’s it you know?”

  “I told you Mr. Lake, information is the most valuable commodity there is. Now please, if you’ll allow me to continue. There is a small insignificant munitions factory in Massachusetts. This factory will begin supplying arms for the military. The military will insist on walnut stocks for the weapons. You will purchase the land and cut down the trees, have them milled and supply this company with the wood needed. This is your foot in the door as they say. In turn, you will reinvest your capital in arms and other munitions. You will see your investment grow exponentially!”

  “Ol’ Sam stood there not knowing what to say.

  “Is that all clear to you, Mr. Lake?”

  “Yes but…”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you getting out of the deal?”

  “A fair question, Mr. Lake. As I said before, there is something in you I really like and I’d like to see it mature and grow, so in essence ‘you’ are my investment. Now, may I suggest you go about with your plans? Come back sometime and let me know how you’ve made out.”

  “Ol’ Sam nods and starts out but turns back and asks, “What’s your name?”

  “Webb,” replied the feller. “Mr. Webb.”

  “Sam did as Webb instructed. He bought the property, cut down those trees and got exclusive rights to supply the company with walnut wood for the stocks and paid off his loan. He kept reinvesting in arms and munitions and by the time the States got involved in the war Sam was one of the wealthiest men in the tri-state area.

  “He bought a fancy house and car, joined the right clubs, and wore the right clothes. He drove his fancy car around town, he especially liked visiting the poorer sections, he loved parading himself in front of those who he’d done better than and rubbing their noses in it, especially George Blanchard.

  “He sipped whiskey with the right people and even introduced cognac to Judge Talbot, who in turn introduced Sam to his granddaughter, Sissy. Sam courted Sissy for the required period of time and they married in July of 1917. Nine months later they had their first son Woodrow, named after the Judge and the following year their second, named Seth.

  “A man should be careful to keep his cravings under control. In other words…be careful what you wish for. Sam got the girl, the house, the car, and the position he always wanted. But he was still Sam. He was still a mean, little man who would always be white trash to some. He knew it and it ate at him. Whispers and looks cast over shoulders by some at the country club always set Sam’s blood a boilin’ and being the mean bully he was, he took it out on Sissy and the boys.

  “Sissy got depressed and she ate. The more she ate the heavier she got. Soon she was no longer the prize Sam had won.

  “Sam thought she coddled the boys too much and it made them weak. Sissy was only trying to be a good mother and protect them from him.

  “One hot spring day, when the boys were about nine and ten and Sam had a bit too much cognac to drink, he took them down to the creek for a swim. He saw they were poor swimmers and in an effort to teach them, Sam kept throwin
g them out farther and farther into the water. They were beggin’ him to stop but Sam needed to toughen them up, like his daddy had done to him. The last time he tossed out his youngest boy, Seth, the boy didn’t come back up. It looked to Sam as if somethin’ had pulled the boy under. At least, that’s what he told folks. Ol’ Sam must have dived in a hundred times lookin’ for him. Strange, no one ever did find the body.

  “Woodrow, seeing his brother drown, was catatonic for a week. That was the kind of weakness Sam had been tellin’ Sissy about. Poor Woodrow’s days of toughening up were only beginning. The year he turned eleven Sam bought him the best shotgun money could buy, it came all the way from Italy. Woodrow used it on himself a week later.

  “Sissy never got over losing her boys and not two days after she’d buried Woodrow she drowned herself in the creek, at the exact same spot she’d last seen Seth. After that the judge and the town pretty much turned on ol’ Sam. But Sam didn’t need them. Hell, he didn’t need anybody. He was a self-made man.

  “One week after he’d buried Sissy the stock market crashed, the big crash back in twenty nine. Sam lost everything. He sold off what he could, but it wasn’t enough. Like most everyone had done back in twenty-nine he’d bought on the margin. Soon the creditors were at the door. He swallowed his pride and went begging to Sissy’s father and the judge. They laughed at him.

  “He went to the country club to beg and was met with more laughter and ridicule. They told him they’d only allowed him to join because of the judge and banned him from the club for life, then chased him across the polo grounds threatening to tar and feather him and suggesting he might like to follow in his son and wife’s footsteps.

  “He wept for himself not knowing where to turn. Sam asked himself how he’d gotten into such a mess? How had his life turned out so badly? Where had he gone wrong? If he could get out from under the creditors he could start over. He could get married again. This time he’d do it right, but how? Then it came to him. Mr. Webb!”

  Dividends

  “Like a jack rabbit Sam headed to the old swamp. He spent hours trying to retrace his steps but it had been too many years. He got caught up in briars, tore his clothes, and lost a shoe in the mud. With his foot sore and bleeding, he hobbled around, calling out, “Mr. Webb. Mr. Webb.”