by Jim Thompson
Pellino clawed and struck at them. He flailed at them with numbing arms, and his grin widened, almost stretching from ear to ear; and a bubbling scream vomited from his mouth.
“Eeeeeeeee-Yah! Eeeeee-YAHH-ah-ah-a-hhhh…”
It was over almost as soon as it began. In a bare two minutes, he was dead, his body already swelling with poison.
17
Donna McBride awakened about mid-morning, yawned and stretched lazily; and then sat up with a sudden start. Then, remembering, she sank back down on the bunk; glanced doubtfully at the knocked-together bolster which divided the bed.
She hadn’t approved of this arrangement at all. But the bolster did make it all right, she supposed. Or almost all right. She’d kept her clothes on. He’d kept his on, or most of them, she guessed. So everything was probably proper enough; and, anyway, she’d had no choice but to accept.
“Now, looky,” Lord had drawled. “You’re satisfied I ain’t a murderer, right? Maybe I acted pretty stupid. Maybe I was looking for trouble. But I sure didn’t commit murder.”
“Oh, yes. I know you didn’t,” she said eagerly. “I’m so ashamed of myself, and I’m so grateful to you for—”
“No trouble at all. Just a matter of unloadin’ your gun while you slept, taking the lead out of the bullets, and reloadin’ it. Y’might say,” he grinned, “that I was more than glad to do it.”
“And I’m glad you did! But, Mr. Lord, I don’t see what—”
“No, I reckon you don’t. You wouldn’t see it. A fella doctors you up, puts you on your feet, an’ you try to kill him. He straightens you out, keeps you from bein’ a murderer, and doctors you again. Then he gives you the best meal you ever had in your life, an’—”
“I’m well aware of your kindness! I’ve tried to express my gratitude.”
“I don’t want it. All I want is half of my own bed. Now, do I get it or do you get the whole thing?”
“Well. I suppose if you put it that way…”
“Now, you’re talkin’,” said Lord. “Nothin’ I like better than a appreciative and considerate guest.”
Well, that was the way it happened. But it would not happen again. He had left the shack while she slept, taking his rifle with him. Presumably he was off shooting snakes, as he had been yesterday (“My only vice, ma’am”). But as soon as he returned, she would leave.
She had to. He’d doubtless be glad to drive her into town, or to do anything else, if it meant getting rid of her.
She climbed out of the bunk, ruefully examining her slept-in clothes. She saw the piece of paper propped up on the table, and apprehensively she picked it up. But it was nothing like his first message to her. She read it, fighting back a smile, telling herself that it was really rather vulgar and therefore not to be smiled at:
We have no indoor plumbing. In using the exterior facilities (courtesy of Mother Nature) please examine the terrain very carefully. You might drown a snake.
Donna made her face prim. She left the shack, taking the paper with her. She returned without it, after a few minutes, and set the coffee on to warm. She washed in the enamel basin, again frowningly examined her dress.
It would have to hang out, she decided; she’d have to get rid of at least a few of the wrinkles. And these underthings—they’d simply have to have a quick rinse.
She got out of the garments hastily. She grabbed a pair of Lord’s jeans and a shirt down from a wall peg, and quickly clambered into them. They were far too big of course, despite her tuckings and turnings, but they made her feel much less of a mess. During the brief time she would spend with Lord, she would feel much more comfortable.
She spread the dress over some bushes. Having rinsed out the underthings, she similarly disposed of them. Her hair needed a lot done to it, and there was little that she could do, and she would have welcomed a bath. But, well, how could a woman keep herself fixed up in a place like this? Lord somehow seemed to be immaculate. She had never seen anyone so utterly clean. His nails; his hair, the scrubbed scalp showing at the part; his teeth—everything about him gleamed and glistened with cleanliness. And doubtless he thought she was a frump, and a soiled one at that. But she just couldn’t help it.
Aaron—poor, poor Aaron—had been a little careless about his person. He had cited the almost primitive conditions under which he lived in the oil fields; pointed out that he could hardly change the habits acquired there on his visits home. But Lord was surrounded by the same conditions—they were even more primitive here—and yet he…
She heard his car in the distance. Jumping up from the table, she ran to the wavy mirror again; gave herself some frantic last-minute pats and pushes and pullings. The results, in her own mind, were wholly unsatisfactory. She looked worse than she had before. She started to redo the redoings, and her fingers fumbled and got in one another’s way. And, angrily, hearing the car door slam, she gave up. So all right! She looked like h-e-double-1. She just didn’t give a darn, and to heck with what Tom Lord thought of her!
He came in. He nodded politely and gave her hand a cordial shake. Addressing her as “mister” (he was plumb glad to make her acquaintance), he asked if she had seen anything of a big pile of clothes with a little gal in the middle of ’em.
Donna smirked nervously, suddenly laughed out loud. Lord grinned, his eyes approving as they moved over her.
“Look real sassy, ma’am. How’d you sleep last night?”
“Very well, thank you. All things considered, that is. I mean, I would have slept well if, uh—”
“Uh-huh,” said Lord sympathetically. “I bet I woke you up with all that huggin’ and kissin’.”
“Hugging and kiss—!” Donna caught herself. “Mr. Lord, I’ll have to ask a favor of you.”
Lord nodded absently and opened the refrigerator. Donna hesitated, decided to delay her request to be driven into town. Lord obviously wanted his lunch. Also, her clothes had not yet dried.
He emerged from the refrigerator with prepared biscuits and a cardboard tray of chicken. He accepted Donna’s offer of assistance, directing her to make fresh coffee and set the table.
She got busy. They brushed together occasionally as they worked, and Donna felt a fearful tingling at each contact. She fled from it, tried to dispel the too-companionable silence with a flurry of talk.
Wasn’t there quite a lot of wild game in this area? Didn’t he ever shoot any of it?
Lord said that he would much prefer to shoot people, there being quite a lot of them, too, and their meat being wholly unavailable in the local markets.
Donna said that didn’t sound very nice. Lord said that shooting helpless animals didn’t sound very nice to him. Then, seeing her expression, he sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Look,” he said. “That was a j-o-a-k, joke. Do you really think I go around huntin’ people?”
“Oh, no. No, of course not. I—what do you suppose happened to Mr. How—to Pellino?”
“I didn’t shoot him, if that’s what you mean.”
“I just wondered. The way you talked yesterday, about what his plans probably were, why I—”
“Must’ve had to change ’em,” Lord said. “Or maybe someone changed them for him. Fella like that probably ain’t real popular.”
“Y-you—you think someone may have killed him?”
“Or scared him into runnin’. Anyway, he didn’t pay us a visit yesterday, so he ain’t likely to.” Lord opened the oven door, looked in at the browning biscuits. “Don’t you worry about him or anyone else. I keep an eye on the road when I’m off shootin’. Can’t no one come this way without me seein’ ’em.”
Donna nodded. She started to say that she would not be worried, in any case, since her stay was about to end. But again the time seemed inappropriate.
Lord dished up the food. Donna said she really wasn’t hungry—after all, she’d just finished breakfast. And Lord said he sympathized with her, but he never ate by himself and he had no intention of beginning now
.
He seemed very serious about it (although, of course, he couldn’t be). So Donna, who was hungry, strangely enough, did away with half of a fried chicken and a half-pan of biscuits.
Then they were through, the dishes washed and put away. Donna rehearsed her request, opened her mouth to speak. Lord reached down for his medicine kit and nodded to the bunk.
“Reckon I better take a look at you now. Stretch out here, and put a sheet over you.”
“I—that won’t be necessary,” Donna said. “I have to be leaving, anyway. I’ll see a doctor when I get to town.”
“Wouldn’t be very smart,” Lord said, adding that the doc in town chawed tobacco. “Dropped his cud spang inside a woman’s bloomers one day.”
“Mr. Lord! Will you please!”
“Gave her husband some plumb funny notions about her, not to mention the doc. Just couldn’t figger out no innocent way for the chaw to’ve got there.”
“Mr. Lord!” Donna snapped. “I am leaving here at once! If you won’t take me, I’ll simply have to walk!”
“It’s a long walk. Reckon I better pack you up a lunch.”
“I don’t want any lunch! I d-don’t want you looking at me! I—I—”
“Just doin’ my perfessional duty, ma’am. Got to take good care of my lady patients.”
“I’ll just bet you do! It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if…”
“If I raped ’em?” Lord shook his head. “Not the surgical cases, ma’am. Always afraid I might snag on a pair of scissors or somethin’.”
Donna choked, stammered incoherently, and gave up. There was nothing else to do. The only way to stop him was to give him his own way.
She stretched out on the bunk. Lord examined her, changed the bandages, and gave her two antibiotic pills.
She was coming along fine, he announced. A little more rest wouldn’t hurt anything, but it wouldn’t kill her if she didn’t get it.
“In other words, you think I should stay over another day. Well, I’m not going to do it!”
“That’s strictly up to you, ma’am. Now, are you okay for money, or did I figure your husband right?”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Doctorin’ family sees a lot of widows. Lawman sees a lot. Funny how so many fellas are worried more about a second husband than they are about their wives.”
Donna bit her lip, averted her eyes. He had no right to talk that way! As though Aaron had been mean and selfish instead of simply trying to protect her. She said so angrily, adding that her financial circumstances were her own business and that she was well able to look out for herself.
Lord nodded agreement. “Prob’ly land a job teaching good manners,” he said. “Ought to get rich takin’ your own lessons.”
He started to rise. Impulsively, Donna put out her hand.
“I’m terribly sorry, Tom—I mean, Mr. Lord.”
“Tom’s all right. Might break your jaw on that misterin’.”
“Well, I don’t have any money, Tom. I’m not trained for any job. I doubt if I could even get unskilled work, anyone so sort of old-timey and stand-offish as I am. But—but how would it help if I stayed over until tomorrow? I’d still have the same problems.”
“Why, no, you wouldn’t,” said Lord, apparently amazed at her statement. “Danged if I ever heard of such nonsense in my life!”
“But…why?”
“Because tomorrow’s another day! Didn’t no one ever tell you that?”
She nodded; studied him uncertainly as he took the rifle from its pegs.
“But, Tom. Just how—why—”
“Why? Because, that’s why! How can you have today’s problems tomorrow when tomorrow’s always another day? Just don’t stand to reason!”
He shook his head crossly, then announced he’d have to go give the rattlers a lesson, since he could teach her nothing.
“Tom”—Donna smiled at him with unconscious tenderness—“you’re not just being nice, are you? You really want me to stay?”
“Want you to stay!” Lord slapped his forehead. “Why, if I had me a wet rope, I’d whip you off’n this place right now!”
“I’ll fix dinner for us, Tom. What would you like?”
“Well, let’s see. A Donna Special ought to go pretty good.”
“A—what’s a Donna Special?”
“Now, how would I know?” Lord demanded. “It’s your special, ain’t it?”
He slammed out of the house.
Donna laughed softly, in strange contentment, and fell into peaceful, dreamless sleep.
18
As Lord had predicted, the problems of tomorrow were not the same as they had been today. A day’s acceptance of them, a day’s gain in strength, did much to reduce their awesomeness. She could smile at them—a little. She could hold them at an arm’s length, studying them from all angles, assaying their weight as she tested her own strength. Since she was one and they were many, they did get out of hand. Inevitably, usually around nightfall, they threatened to take over. But when that happened, well, so much for them! Off they went into the clothes closet of another day.
It was surprising how much there was to do in a place so isolated. Baths at a tiny spring. Sunsets and sunrises to be examined. Standing, simply standing, while you slowly turned this way and that, letting the wind bathe you endlessly as you drank in the unprimped beauty of a world in its infancy. It seemed that nothing had changed here since the beginning of time. Civilization had passed it by, and the evidence was all around you. Here, in their fetal stage, were garden-variety plants. Here were animals, unaware of man’s existence, ignorant of his killing proclivities. The birds could almost be fed from your hand. The huge jackrabbits reared up in your path, watched your approach with childlike curiosity. Even the cowardly coyotes were relatively brave; not relishing company, of course, but by no means panicked by it.
There was much to do, much to see, much to learn. Particularly, there was much to learn, most of it revolving around one’s obligations to the Stranger. He might be a contemporary, or he might come along sometime in the future. But you must always be aware of him; whatever you did was as much for him as it was yourself. The Stranger might need your discarded tire or piece of clothing, so you draped it over a fencepost or shrub. The Stranger might step into a hidden hole or gully, so you marked the danger with a pile of rock.
Because birds were necessary to the Stranger, you lifted the fallen nest from the ground and placed it back on its perch. For the Stranger, you killed rattlesnakes; and then, because the fangs could still kill if stepped upon, you slung the carcasses over a bush. You protected the carrion-eating buzzards: the Stranger must be left with no mess. For the same reason you did not tread on the scavenger tumble-bugs, the tiny black beetles who swarmed over offal as soon as it appeared, busily forming it into balls which they rolled away to their holes. The Stranger’s welfare was always your concern. Always and in all ways.
Donna approved of the philosophy of the Stranger; generally, that is, she approved of it. She thought it would be a wonderful thing if everyone put it into practice, and she would eagerly join in when everyone did. Until that improbable day came, however, one had better confine the practice to a place like this, some place where its obligations were not too onerous, and where one could be reasonably sure of eventual repayment. You just couldn’t do more than that, no matter how much you might want to. Help those who help you—that’s what Aaron had always said. God helps those who help themselves. The meek shall inherit the earth—after the strong have taken what they want.
The last was a little joke of Aaron’s, the only one he knew apparently, judging by the number of times he repeated it. But it had certainly been no joke to her, regardless of her obligation to laugh at it. She’d used to think that if she heard it just once more, if she had to laugh at it one more time—! But never mind. Aaron had been a good man, a wonderful man. And what he said was absolutely true.
No one had helped her when she
needed it (except Tom, of course). No, by golly! Not unless they were darned sure of getting it back with interest, and they didn’t always then! What had she got out of slaving for her father’s brats? A chance for more slavery, that was all! Mrs. McBride had needed a combination maid and nurse, so she’d been given the job for her board and room, and—
No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t true. She’d received much more than that: good clothes, schooling, the best medical care, spending money, everything a girl could want within reason. No one could have been kinder or more thoughtful than Aaron, even taking her part against his own wife. And—You just bet he had! Because his wife was dying, and he was already grooming an attractive young girl to take her place. Putting her under so many obligations, that she’d probably have kissed his—his foot if he’d asked her to. And it was a wonder that he hadn’t done that, in view of all the other nasty.…
Oh, no! No, no, no, no! She shouldn’t think such things! She didn’t think them. Aaron had given her safety and security, the most important things in the world. He’d asked nothing at all, in return. She didn’t have to marry him; he’d told her that repeatedly. She was perfectly free to do as she pleased. And starve to death while she was doing…
The days flowed together, all different, all alike. Time stood still; it raced forward; it ran backward. Time was a vehicle in an old movie, speeding ahead while its wheels spun in reverse. Today was tomorrow, and tomorrow, today. Her problems lessened, and went away. But they did not go far; she could still see their threatening shadows. But they were gone. And they would stay gone, unless something happened to divert her from the bright goal which was almost within her grasp. In the prim periphery of her conscious thinking, she could not admit, of course, that she had such a goal. But she did have it, and subconsciously, she did think about it. And she knew it could be managed, that she could manage it, if nothing happened. Things needed only to go on as they were for a while, and eventually she would have back all that she had lost, plus so much, much more. Everything that she had lacked in her first marriage, and that she had hardly been aware of until now. All the security of married life, plus the magic that made it worth living.
