The Satyr's Head: Tales of Terror

by Campbell, Ramsey

  I looked again across the water… there was nothing. I sobbed.

  ‘Can’t find me,’ said the voice, ‘Can’t catch me,’ whispered the voice, spiraling into oblivion!

  PROVISIONING by David Campton

  TWO ROCKING CHAIRS creaked slowly on the old porch. Adam’s chair creaked more slowly than Keziah’s, but Adam was the elder brother—by a good ten minutes. There was a noticeable bald patch in Adam’s foxy hair, whereas there were mere streaks of grey in his brother’s thatch. ‘Pepper n’ salt,’ giggled Kez when he thought about it. Kez enjoyed a joke, and would often giggle for as long as a week after a good one. Kez was the thrifty one: he liked things to last, even a joke.

  The boards of the porch groaned in sympathy as the chairs swayed lazily backwards and forwards.

  ‘Been a thinkin’,’ said Kez.

  Adam’s eyes opened, then closed momentarily as he yawned. He settled his great hands behind his head and stared at a cloud as it leisurely crossed the bright sky. The cloud passed.

  ‘Uh-huh?’ said Adam.

  ‘Been thinkin’ ’bout things we should’ve been doin’,’ went on Kez. Kez was the active one. He had ideas, and would sometimes talk about them on and off for days as he rocked on the porch in summer, or by the stove in winter. Kez was the one who thought about getting things done. Adam was more easily satisfied.

  ‘The Lord provides,’ said Adam.

  ‘The Lord provides,’ echoed Kez, ‘But there’s still things need to be done. The shingle needs fixin’.’

  Needed fixin’ these five years,’ agreed Adam.

  ‘I guess a hammer and a few nails would fix it,’ said Kez.

  ‘Sure would,’ said Adam. He rocked for a few minutes. ‘But the Lord will provide. Don’t you go aflyin’ in the face of the Lord. There’s a good spring o’ clear water out back, praise the Lord.’

  ‘Praise the Lord,’ responded Kez.

  ‘All we need is that good spring o’ clear water out back,’ said Adam. He crossed his hands over his belly and closed his eyes, as though exhausted by the conversation.

  But Kez was in the mood for talk.

  ‘Worsen a dawg at the moon,’ grumbled Adam when his twin persisted.

  ‘There’s things,’ insisted Kez.

  Adam watched a great bird making slow circles in the sky. Had something disturbed it? He pushed the problem to the back of his mind to await a more auspicious moment for rumination.

  ‘Like Betsey,’ went on Kez. ‘I keep thinkin’ ’bout Betsey.’

  ‘I think ’bout Betsey, too, agreed Adam. A great sigh stirred his red, chest-length beard. ‘Sometimes I wonder if she thinks ’bout us.’

  ‘We oughta’ve buried her,’ said Kez.

  ‘Yep, we shoulda buried her,’ sighed Adam. ‘She’s been waitin’ fer it fer long enough.’

  ‘Her bein’ our sister,’ continued Kez. ‘A sister has a call on a body.’

  ‘S’funny,’ murmured Adam. ‘As the days go by, I don’t seem to notice Betsey so much.’

  ‘Must be nigh on two years.’

  ‘Ain’t much left on Betsey now, Hardly worth disturbin’ the ground for,’

  The rocking continued. Adam watched the trees in the far distance shimmering in the heat haze. The Indian Summer this year seemed to last and last, and there could be no better place than the old porch for soaking up what was left of the sun.

  ‘Pity we had to hit her with the axe.’

  Wasn’t that just like Kez, gnawing at a topic that had no meat left on it. ‘She wouldn’t see reason,’ said Adam firmly, hoping to kill a conversation that threatened to go on and on.

  ‘Perhaps us hitting Herb Tindy with the axe first had sumpn’ to do with it,’ mused Kez, ‘’Specially with him lyin’ on top of her at the time.’

  ‘She wouldn’t see reason,’ repeated Adam. ‘Screamin’ an’ screamin’. Botherin’ a body. Never could ’bide noise. Herb Tindy never said a word.’

  ‘Guess I took his head near off at the first chop,’ went on Kez. ‘Guess Betsey was took bad at the blood.’

  ‘She never made no fuss at hog-killin’.’

  ‘But she was never underneath a hog at the time. Guess we ought’ve waited ’till Herb Tindy climbed offern her.’

  ‘He shoulda waited ’till the proper courting time. Not takin’ her on the best bed like he already owned it.’

  For a while the brothers rocked in unison, remembering.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Adam at last, ‘she’s had that best bed ever since.’

  Overhead in the silent air circled the great bird, watching for carrion.

  ‘Perhaps we shoulda buried her at the time,’ said Kez.

  The way the man went on about burying. ‘Perhaps we shoulda eaten her,’ said Adam sharply. ‘The way we did Herb Tindy.’

  ‘The dawg sure appreciated them bones,’ chuckled Kez appreciatively.

  ‘The Lord will provide,’ pronounced Adam.

  ‘The Lord will provide,’ came the response. ‘I guess Herb Tindy was what you’d call a sign ’cause, the Lord has gone on providin’ for us ever since.’

  The peace of the afternoon was broken. Adam could see that Kez was set on talking, and there would be no dozing for anybody until he had talked himself to a stop.

  ‘Jus’ like he said,’ confirmed Adam, stretching his bear-like arms. ‘Jus’ you sit back, you brothers,’ says the Lord. ‘You done a good job in takin’ that couple in ’dultery, an’ to show my ’preciation I’m agoin’ to have fresh meat delivered to your door whenever you’re in need. And the Lord has been as good as his word, Praise the Lord.’

  ‘Praise the Lord,’ cried Kez ‘The dawg sure appreciates them bones.’

  The afternoon was still again. No breeze rustled the dried grass around the porch. An acute ear might have caught the sound of a dog scratching himself, or of the spring bubbling behind the shack. A sharp eye might have spied movement on the road a couple of miles below. But Adam sank his fifteen stone into his chair and plied the rockers.

  Kez whistled soundlessly. He was still thinking. ‘Hope the Lord ain’t gettin’ absent-minded,’ he said at last. ‘Near a month since we had fresh meat.’

  ‘There’s always the good spring o’ cool, clear water. Cool clear spring water makes good drinkin.’

  ‘But kinda thin eatin’,’ mumbled Kez.

  ‘Don’t you go questioning the ways of the Lord.’ Adam was unusually sharp. ‘You don’t want Him withdrawin’ his appreciation now. The Lord provides. Remember the time when we was near starvin’ with nothin’ but a cup o’ berries between us. What did the Lord do? The Lord sent a Boy Scout aknockin’ at the door.’

  ‘Tender young shoat,’ murmured Kez.

  ‘And with a whole stock of canned beans in his pack.’

  ‘Mighty tasty beans,’ reminisced Kez.

  ‘And didn’t the lord send the whole campin’ o’ scouts around afterwards, askin’ after him?’

  ‘One by one,’ agreed Kez. ‘Kep’ us eatin’ the whole winter. Lucky we kep’ that barrel o’salt in the back.’

  Adam suddenly raised his hand, commanding silence. On the road below the sun glinted on the windscreen of a car. The sound of its engine could just be beard labouring up the hill.

  ‘The lord sure is quick to answer,’ grinned Kez.

  ‘Fresh meat,’ said Adam. His eyes were suddenly sharp and alert. All traces of his recent sleepiness vanished.

  ‘Wonder if he’ll have any beans with him?’ mused Kez,

  ‘Don’t you go aquestioning the Lord’s provisioning arrangements,’ snapped Adam.

  ‘I ain’t aquestioning nothin’,’ protested Kez, ‘I was just athinkin’ how beans can be tasty.’

  ‘The Lord provides,’ intoned Adam.

  ‘The Lord provides,’ responded Kez.

  The car could be heard rasping and choking along the dusty road. In it the driver cursed the map that had rated this second-class mule trail as a usable road. For over two thousand mil
es he had run over mountain and through desert, avowedly trying to forget, but in fact damning divorce, damning alimony, damning community property laws, damning over-eager juniors anxious to edge a man from his hard-won place atop the ladder, damning doctors who could not reverse time at fifty, damning anything and everything in his path; hoping that the minor irritations of thirst, mosquitoes, and rough living might distract from the greater pain at the back of his mind; but having even that last hope dashed.

  However he still had enough breath to swear at the white dust that stung his eyes, caked on his lips, and clogged his nose. His rich and varied oaths stirred a faint ghost of the sergeant (decorated in Korea) buried under the layers of fat accumulated while sitting around in executive suites. That sergeant would not be floored forever by the double defeat in bed and board-room. That sergeant would come back swinging. Even as he swore, he noticed the shack.

  It was a crazily derelict heap of boards, held together more by habit than joinery. It could hardly have been a human habitation. Yet a solitary man stood hoeing a patch in front of the porch.

  The car stopped. The man was intent on his work, and presumably had not heard. At any rate he paid no heed, but continued leisurely to ply his hoe. The shack was set back over a hundred yards from the road, and little more could be made of the worker except that he wore ragged denims, and his carroty hair glowed in the sunlight.

  The driver rubbed the excess dust from his spectacles, and looked again. Still the man with the hoe disregarded him.

  ‘Hi, there! Hi!’

  The movement of the hoe slowed to a stop. There was a pause for a count of about forty, as though the red-head were deciding whether he had really heard anything: then he turned. Shading his eyes against the sun, he peered at the car. At last he ambled towards it. The driver waved as the ragged denims approached.

  ‘Howdy, Tindy,’ shouted the red-head.

  ‘Tindy?’ Something besides the greeting puzzled the driver. In spite of the heat there was no sweat on the red-head’s face; in spite of his work no dust on the stubble. Perhaps out here they were so used to discomfort that it had no effect on them. The ex-sergeant was again reminded of what years of soft living had done to him.

  ‘Glad t’see y’again, Tindy,’ grinned the red-head.

  ‘I’m not Tindy,’ said the driver.

  ‘Not Tindy?’

  ‘My name isn’t Tindy,’ rasped the driver; then regretting his irritation, ‘it’s—er—it’s Driver.’

  ‘Driver, huh?’

  ‘Driver.’

  ‘I’m Keziah. Call me Kez.’

  ‘Can I get to Stotetown this way?’

  ‘I coulda took an oath as you was Herby Tindy.’

  ‘I’m trying to…’

  ‘O’ course, now I come to look at you, I can see you’re not.’

  ‘Tell me...’

  ‘You’re younger than Tindy. Better kept. Herb Tindy was kinda scrawny.’

  Driver closed his eyes and grasped the steering wheel, clicking back the rising anger, not listening to the musing drawl.

  ‘You’re nicer rounded. Like to see a rounded man. A man oughta have plenty of flesh on his bones. Weren’t moren’ a mouthful on old Tindy.’

  Even when Driver heard the words they seemed to have no meaning. The sound added up to no more than the buzzing of a lazy fly. ‘Flesh,’ the hayseed had seemed to say. ‘Mouthful.’

  Driver turned to Kez, and was faced with a gleaming smileful of white teeth. The fool was friendly, and was entitled at least to a civil answer.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Driver.

  ‘You aiming to sell sumpn’?’ said Kez. ‘We ain’t got much to offer in return ’cept a few old roots.’

  ‘I’m not selling anything,’ replied Driver.

  ‘Beans, now,’ went on Kez. ‘I guess you ain’t got no canned beans in back there:’

  ‘No beans,’ confirmed Driver.

  ‘Beans make mighty tasty eatin’,’ said Kez. ‘But if you ain’t sellin’ anything, I guess you’ll be wanting sumpn’.’

  ‘I want…’

  ‘Aw!’ A bellow of laughter interrupted Driver, and Kez clapped his hands with sudden understanding. ‘Now I know what you want. You’ll be wantin’ a drink o’ cool, clear, water.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Our cool, clear, spring water makes mighty good drinkin’.’

  ‘All I want is direction. Does this godawful apology for a road take me to Stotetown?’

  ‘Sure. Sure. The only place it will take you to. Thought youda known that, drivin’ this way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Ten miles or more on, and it’s a mighty dusty track. Sure you wouldn’t care for that drink o’ water. Comes bubblin’ up freshn’ cold. O’course I ain’t pushin’ it on you, neighbour; but I guess it’s kinda neighbourly to offer— specially to a body as parched-up as you look. It’s free to us—it’s free to you, neighbour. The Lord provides.’

  The thought of water sparked Driver’s imagination. Cold water frosting a glass. Water trickling down a parched throat. Water that might even sluice away regrets, bad dreams, and soured ambitions even as it washed away the sweat and dust. For a second he thought he glimpsed something for which he had been searching. It couldn’t really be as simple as a drink on a scorching day, and yet…

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and slid from the car.

  Kez jerked his head. ‘Back o’ the shack. Foller me,’

  But even as Driver stumbled after the lumbering red-head over the broken ground, the euphoria faded. The cynic at the back of his mind with whose help he had outsmarted his associates and beaten back his competitors, began to whisper. Nobody ever does anything for nothing. Nothing is for free. In the long run a gift costs more than the goods you pay for. What did the friendly scarecrow hope to get in return for his drink of water? If Driver ever offered a drink of water there would be strings attached. Why should there be one law for the city, and another for the backwoods?

  Driver tripped against the hoe left lying on the baked ground, and stifled the mild blasphemy that he automatically voiced.

  Kez turned to see Driver frowning at the rusty head and rough, near-black handle, Kes was disappointed that Driver had halted. So far everything had worked so smoothly. No fish had ever risen so daintily to the bait. Only a few yards more to the invitingly open door, and everything would be over bar the gutting and jointing.

  ‘C’mon, mister,’ urged Kez. ‘Y’want that water?’

  ‘Dropped your hoe,’ observed Driver, prodding it with his shoe toe.

  ‘Pick it up on the way back,’ replied Kez. ‘C’mon.’

  But Driver did not move. Intuition is a matter of subconsciously interpreting signs and portents. In Korea the sergeant had picked off the sniper before the sniper had dropped him. In business he had forecast market trends before they hit the Dow Jones Index. There was something wrong about that hoe.

  ‘Thought you was in a hurry to get to Stotetown,’ grumbled Kez,

  ‘You in a hurry?’ asked Driver.

  ‘Got all day,’ replied Kez. ‘Thought you was thirsty. Don’t act like you was thirsty.’ The sun glinted on Driver’s glasses, obscuring his piggy eyes. It bothered Kez that he couldn’t see those eyes.

  The hoe worried Driver. It had a significance that eluded him. Like—well, like a wife grown smugly contented after months of wild-cat spitting and scratching; and he hadn’t suspected that another man was servicing her. Like those mislaid files of accounts that suddenly turned up in the enemy’s office. It seemed as though the fat that encased his body was also smothering his mind. Think. Think! Why should a man be hoeing when any reasonable creature would be taking refuge from the sun? Why hoe a barren patch at this time of year? It wasn’t as if the red-head liked work, otherwise the shack wouldn’t be falling apart. Feeling the pricking down his spine, the sergeant would have reached for his gun: but there was no longer a gun handy—this was a different time, a different world, perhaps a dif
ferent man. He glanced to where his car was parked, eighty or so yards away.

  ‘You ain’t agoin’ back?’ said Kez anxiously. ‘Not without that water.’ Then, conscious that he may have sounded over-eager, ‘Best water in these parts.’

  Driver was conscious of the bill-fold tightly wedged into his hip pocket. He realized that he would be lucky if he managed to get away without losing that wad of notes. It was not the possible loss of money, but of face, that worried him. He’d sound such a fool, trying to explain to a flint-eyed cop that he’d fallen victim to this red-faced clod. He couldn’t do it.

  ‘No. I’m following you,’ smiled Driver with tight lips. In a race for the car his podgy body would be no match against the rangey limbs of his companion. The game had to be played through. ‘Lead on,’ he said.

  Kez led the way to the open door.

  ‘You set yourself down in there,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch the water from round back. The cup’s kinda cracked, but I guess you won’t mind that.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Driver.

  ‘Thought you might like to set out o’ the sun,’ said Kez.

  ‘Glad of the chance to stretch my legs,’ replied Driver.

  Kez glanced appealingly at the open door. This was not the way it should happen. Usually the meat walked meekly through the door, behind which Adam stood with axe upraised.

  Already Adam’s arms were beginning to tire. He had held the axe aloft from the minute he heard footsteps on the path. Kez went barefoot until the first snows, so the steps could only belong to a well-shod stranger. They were heavy footsteps, too—a well-fed stranger. But the footsteps had halted, and talk was going on. What cause had Kez to stop for talk when he knew Adam was waiting with axe upraised? It was a heavy axe, and Adam’s arms began to shake a little; yet he durst not lower the weapon for fear of the stranger walking in before he had time to raise it again. That might lead to a struggle, and Adam did not like struggling—last year one of the scouts had delivered a vicious kick, and Adam had limped for days. He thought obscenities at Kez, who talked and talked while the axe grew heavier.