Interfictions

by Delia Sherman

  Once she was gone it all evened out.

  Cole quit smiling. He lay back down and closed his fire-touched eyes.

  "Yeah. I'm lyin'. Go back to sleep."

  "Cole, I—"

  "But think about this, big brother. If Pa was so great, if he wasn't just a mean old sumbitch—.—.—.” Cole's voice got soft as the crackling embers, but I heard him, heard him inside where the words kept burning long after he said them.

  ".—.—.—then why did Ma kill herself?"

  Cole slept after that. I stayed up, looking into the red glow of the dying fire and searching for Ma's face in the ashes.

  I don't know when I fell asleep, but when I woke up Cole was gone. Took the food, all the water-skins but one, and left me there sleeping. Didn't even bother to leave me the flint-stone.

  Don't know where he planned on going. Back down the mountain? What would he tell the folks back home? He got tired and left? Pa wasn't worth it?

  I died on the way?

  The fire was dead-cold, and the fog was up. The sun snuck some rays around the mountain, but I couldn't make out much more than ghost-shapes dancing around me. I thought about all those bodies left behind in the Heaven-carts, and all the souls trapped here, never able to reach the end of their journey.

  They stood there in the mist. They were the mist.

  I heard their voices. No words, just moans and whispers, like they wanted me to help them all but they didn't know how to ask proper. Lots of lost folk, praying for someone to come take them up the mountain.

  Maybe I heard Pa's voice out there. Maybe he needed to tell me something—

  Lord, oh Lord, I forgot about Pa's body.

  I ignored the voices best I could, and the mist finally died off in the morning light.

  Pa's body lay there, his fine linen wrappings sliced up and flapping in the breeze. I saw his skin peeking out through the deepest cuts, gray and all dried-up, like something a snake left behind. Cole left Pa's head covered—guess maybe even my little brother didn't have the guts to look at Pa when he did this.

  Pa's wrapped head rested on a pile of broken sticks, torn canvas, and frayed rope. Took me a full minute before I figured out what Cole had done.

  The stretcher.

  Cole took Pa's last chance for making Redemption and turned it into a pillow. I swear I heard Cole's voice, deep and nasty like it was last night.

  Sleep real good now, Pa. Don't say I never done nothin’ for you.

  I wondered how I could've slept through the noise. Wondered if maybe I'd heard something in my sleep and decided not to wake up on purpose.

  And all them other voices came back right about then, saying one word, over and over.

  No, no, no, no, no—.—.—.—

  Make a man outta you yet, boy.

  I carried Pa over my left shoulder for a while, ‘till I felt something dripping down my chest, warm and sticky.

  Wasn't Pa's blood, he was nice and dry. Don't know what they do to bodies before the trip up Redemption, but Pa didn't seep or drip or smell. I thought he was heavy when we started out, but a grown man should've weighed more than Pa did, all said and done.

  The blood was mine. I just forgot what I was doing and used my cart-shoulder. All those broke blisters got rubbed raw and started bleeding.

  Moved the body, kept on walking. Pa wasn't so heavy after all, now I'd put my mind to it.

  Pebbles shifted under my feet, like to broke my toes more than once. I learned to walk careful, get a good footing before I took another step. Roots that looked to be strong enough to break Redemption's face until I grabbed at them tore out of crannies with one half-assed tug. Deer-trails petered out before they hit water.

  Redemption Mountain was making fun of me.

  C'mon, boy. Show me your ma didn't take all the piss and vinegar out of you. Keep on climbin', boy. Prove your brother wrong.

  I kept on climbing.

  Put some back into it, boy! Prove you got somethin’ between your legs ‘sides skeeter bites! Show me what you got hangin’ in your sack!

  Rock and scraggly bush, then no roots or branches at all, just crags and shale and a long blank face of mountain—.—.—.—

  Wrong way, boy! Ain't you got no sense? Go back down and hit this damn mountain where it counts. Watch the ground, find the trail, work boy work boy work work work—

  My feet hit more loose gravel and I fell over, Pa's weight dragging me down so fast I couldn't even try to balance myself. I landed on my knees first, felt a sharp pain and heard bone snap, and twisted toward the hard face of the mountain, trying to save Pa and me together.

  Something tore across my back, a knife cutting a canyon down my spine. I waited for the fall down Redemption.

  And I just lay there. Hard rock under me, Pa's body stiff and cold on top of me. My knees played dead and my back screamed with pure burning hurt, but I didn't feel like I broke anything inside.

  I shoved Pa off, slow and careful. Something under me rolled around like kindling.

  I managed to pull myself up, hugging the face of the mountain for all I was worth.

  Bones.

  Scattered around my feet, strung together with tatters of rotted cloth bindings. Lots of the bones were broke, and I saw fresh blood on some of them, my blood, dripping down a rib here or a leg there, like they was trying to come alive again.

  Pa rested there in the pile, waiting to join up with his kin, knee-bone to cheek-bone, spine to ribcage. My knees felt like vine-rot melons and my spine wanted to tear away and head off to a better place.

  Pa looked comfortable.

  I stood there and laughed, thinking of Cole and Pa and all them folk down at the foot of the mountain.

  'Cause, see, someone made it this far. Not everybody gave up with the carts.

  That was pretty much it for the day. I fell down by Pa's body and slept with him, there between the bones.

  I dreamed about Mama—.—.—.—

  Coming in from the fields, me and Cole and Pa tired and sweaty and aching, ready for dinner, ready for the hot-sweet smell of Ma's cooking, and Pa lights up first, his nose working faster than his body ever did.

  He runs, hits the back porch, slams through the dutch-door before me and Cole even know something's wrong, and—

  No.

  Coming in from the fields, me and Cole and Pa tired and sweaty and—

  No.

  Coming in from the fields—

  No, and no, and no again, and the dream keeps playing over and over and I know it's wrong, it ain't true, it's a lie in my head that don't do nobody no good but me.

  Want to wake up now. Can I wake up now? Pa's getting mighty lonely, he needs to get up that mountain and be with the rest of the redeemed—.—.—.—

  Ma's voice. Remember, child. The path won't be easier if you pave it with lies.

  I come in from the fields. Been stuck in my head again, and Pa slapped me and cussed me all day, but I just kept slipping away.

  "Go on home, boy. You ain't no good to anybody like that. Me and your brother'll finish up here, you see if you can help your Mama with dinner."

  "Do some girl's work,” I heard Cole snigger, but Pa slapped Cole harder than he slapped me and Cole shut up fast.

  Skip-skip, the dream jerks around. Ma's not on the porch shelling peas. Skip-skip, and the kitchen stove's cold, no fire lit, much less banked. Skip-skip, and I'm out of the house, calling for Ma, ain't no place she'd be but home, and now I'm soaked and aching, looking for Ma, looking and looking for Ma Ma Ma—

  Skip. Skip. Lord oh Lord, please let me skip this—

  —But there I am in the barn, wondering if some critter got in there and spooked one of the milk-cows, and I hear a bat squeaking, but it's broad daylight, can't be a bat—

  Don't look up, Ben. Just a dream. Wakey wakey, Ben-my-baby, like Ma used to say. God damn you if you look up—

  Ma stares at me, hanging from the rafters, her face purple and swollen, her tongue big as a cow's, thrusting o
ut between her black lips—.—.—.—

  Just couldn't see the Light anymore, baby. Ma's voice, sweet and soft, talking from that dead mouth.

  You see it though, baby-mine. You see it more than I ever did.

  Wakey wakey, c'mon, Ben—.—.—.—

  You just follow the path, honey. You keep going. Ain't none of us lost yet—.—.—.—

  And Ma stares at me with those cloudy eyes, and I sit there and cry until Pa and Cole come home.

  Morning came, and aches and hunger and tiredness and fear, all one big package, tied up in torn bandages, glittering with frost.

  Took me three tries to get Pa settled again. My knees stretched the cloth of my jeans they was so swelled up, but like I figured, nothing was broke, Lord be praised. My back throbbed, gashed raw by a jagged edge of Redemption rock.

  I wanted to guzzle water to make up for the hollow place in my stomach, but I managed to take just a trickle, knowing that whatever was left in the skin might be all I'd get.

  Pa felt heavy again. Redemption Mountain looked tall enough to reach Heaven itself. My legs trembled like a newborn colt's. Goin’ down's a lot easier than goin’ up, big brother. Cole's voice, whispering his Devil-talk in my ear.

  Then Pa on my back, telling me you go, boy. You just put one foot down then the other and quit thinkin’ so goldarned much! And mind the path!

  One foot in front of the other. No thinking about pain or hunger or anything else but the end of the trail.

  Redemption.

  * * * *

  Couldn't help thinking, whatever Pa might've wanted. Had to keep my head full of noise just to drown out the pain and hunger and plain cussed tiredness.

  So I kept walking, and I listened.

  Cole asks why Ma killed herself, Pa says keep on walkin’ boy, Ma says she lost the Light, Maisy Reynolds paints her picture on Pa and tells me to save him for Ma's sake, Reverend Samuels says—

  Dead end, I missed a turn somewhere, and there's no way to go forward, so I go back, back, looking for the true path to the top.

  —Maisy says save him for my sake, no no, for your dead Ma's sake, that's it, and Reverend Samuels tells us that taking your own life is the one unforgivable sin, you're turning your back on God and His wisdom, you're giving up on Eternity, so no Heaven-cart for Elspeth Task, God-have-mercy-on-our-Sister's-damned-soul—

  Sip of water, glance at the setting sun, prayer for time and strength.

  —Cole says Pa says Ma says Reverend-talk Mary's face staring at me from Pa's shriveled loins—

  The mountain gave me a flat spot and I fell down, Pa covering me like the bony hand of Death.

  Ma, your son's comin’ to you.

  And Ma's voice, the only dream I had left, Not lookin’ for my son, Ben. Just bring me my husband.

  I woke up with the sun drifting over the mountain. Pa lay there, his wrappings brown and gray from dirt, an ugly bundle of sin.

  Cole said something about Pa. He drank and carried on somethin’ fierce—.—.—.—

  Yep. You ain't lying, Cole, he did.

  Just ‘cause he never run off with someone's wife—.—.—.—

  Nope, he never did that either, little brother.

  'Course, Maisy Reynolds never got married.

  Pa jumped in. Don't you be thinkin', boy. Don't you try to find sin when you ain't got no proof.

  Ma's face, black lips and all, Pa. Ain't that proof?

  And Ma, always Ma, taking his side. Ben-my-baby, Ben-my-strong-young-man, you don't know the truth, honey. You ain't the judge, you ain't a Reverend, and you can't ever be God.

  Not fair, Ma, not after what he done to you!

  Wake up, son. Just ‘cause you see the sun don't mean your eyes are open.

  I cried. Just sat there, not much water left in my skin, and bawled like a baby. I'm hungry, Ma, and I'm cold, and I'm tired, and this mountain don't ever end, it just keeps growing like that Tower of Babel, and I want to go home now. Can I go home now, Ma? Pa? Cole? Won't somebody answer me?

  And the morning mists showed up again, crying just like me, but all they could say was no, no, no, no, no—.—.—.—

  Paths and paths and paths, looping back on themselves, taking switchbacks right when I thought they was going straight to the top. Didn't care ‘bout food anymore, nor water, and I was so full of pain that it felt right.

  I fell over so many times I learned to roll as I fell, letting Pa's body hit first. He finally caved in, his ribs flat up against his backbone. Nothing between them, no innards to squash out. No soul to lose.

  The mountain already had that.

  Take it back, boy. You're the only one who can.

  Couldn't even tell whose voice that was. They all got mixed up together, somewhere along the trail.

  When I finally saw the peak, I barely knew why I was there. Pa's body curled around me, his old bones broke and loose in his bindings. If Cole'd done a better job of slashing the linens, Pa'd be scattered across the face of Redemption by now, just more bones for someone else to trip on.

  If anyone else ever made it this far.

  There weren't no more paths, just this one spot, a ledge barely big enough for me to let Pa down on without worrying he might roll back off the mountain.

  And, almost touching distance from the top of Redemption, a wall of stone, maybe ten feet high, with just enough crags that I could probably climb it, given time to rest between handholds.

  By myself. Long as I left Pa where he lay.

  Ten feet. Maybe twelve, hard to say. If I had a rope, I could climb up and pull Pa after me. It could work, long as I had a rope.

  Pa's linens barely kept him whole. A few threads held him in his skin, and I blessed Cole for not having enough time to do the job right, but no way could I try to unravel any of that mess and make a rope. Pa'd just go to pieces, considering the state of his body and all.

  Cole hadn't messed with Pa's head, though.

  I didn't want to see his face, Lord no. But I figured I could get ten feet of strong, tight-wove linen if I wanted it bad enough.

  If I wanted it.

  Ma? Is it worth it? Did he do things to you? Did he push you into the barn, put your head in the noose, even though he wasn't there in the flesh?

  No answer from Ma. Didn't really expect one. Sometimes you're just left alone.

  I turned Pa over on his stomach, found a good place to start, and gathered the cloth.

  Cole didn't leave me no knife, so I had to make a knot somewhere around Pa's shoulders, right where Cole cut the linen up. I tied the other end of Pa's wrappings around my waist.

  I never knew a head was so big. I had ten feet of winding-sheet and some to spare.

  I checked the knots and climbed those last few feet. It was slow going. When I finally reached the top of Redemption, my fingers was raw as my back. I wanted to take a quick look at the top. I wanted to see where I'd brought us, me and Pa. I felt a pain around my waist, like Pa was tugging at the reins.

  I just kept walking. The linen rope strained around my hips. I took a couple steps back, real easy, and the line loosed up some. I tried to breathe. Tried again. Couldn't feel nothing but the empty inside me, my stomach, my lungs, my heart.

  Wasn't nothing atop Redemption Mountain but a short, bare stretch of flat rock.

  No bones, no rotted cloth, no sign anybody ever made it up here before, ever.

  I had to make myself go back to the ledge. The mist was rising again, and I could barely see Pa's poor broke body down below.

  Sorry, Pa. I'm bringin’ you up here, don't matter what it takes, but I ain't sure you'll be likin’ it much.

  I laid myself down on the edge of Redemption and reeled Pa in.

  When Pa came over the top, he was facing me, hanging from the cloth rope, and for just a flash of time I saw Ma, hanging from the rafters of the barn, her face swelled up, her lips black and near-bursting.

  Let him go. Just let Pa fall back down the mountain. Ain't nobody ever gonna know, Ben. You
did all you could for him—now let the mountain take him for good.

  I almost did it. Almost shifted my butt and scrunched the rolls of cloth out from under me, slipped the tied loop off and let Pa fly back down Redemption, scattering his mean old bones down the mountain while he fell.

  And Maisy Reynolds whispered in my mind, not like Ma or Pa, where it felt like they talked right in my ear, but just a memory buzzing around, looking for the right time to get heard.

  You get this man to the top, Ben. You make sure he gets saved. For my sake. For your dead ma's sake.

  For your sake.

  I knew she never said it that way, but it was there in the whisper. Maisy-Mary, her drawings all sliced up now, still giving me mysteries, even up here.

  I dragged Pa over the edge of Redemption, turned his face away, and cried until the sun set.

  You done good, boy.

  Maybe I was sleeping. Too hungry and tired to do much more than that, so maybe.

  The mist came up the side of the mountain, thick and pale, a Lamb-of-God white fog from below. Like Redemption burned down there somewhere, throwing off all the dead-weight on the mountain in big puffs of smoke.

  I saw faces, heard voices, felt dry touches of old, dead folk across my skin. Lost for so long, they told me. Lost and looking for home. They all just kept rising past me, straight up from Redemption, until there wasn't any mist left up there.

  Pa's voice again, you done real, real good, and Ma in there somewhere, not her voice, so much, but just a hint of Ma's soul, there with Pa, nodding her head and smiling behind him.

  Seemed like she was saying something about leaving.

  Go home, Ben. Go home, my fine, fine man.

  I picked up Pa's body, all the loose pieces that used to be this big strong man. He didn't weigh more than a whisper now, no more than the voices that used to clutter my head. I took him right to the middle of Redemption Mountain, laid him out so the sun would shine on him whenever it rose over Redemption's narrow peak.

  Then I found a path down Redemption. Didn't have no food, barely any water, and I was tired as God on the sixth day. I didn't care a whit.

  Redemption Mountain was empty now. Souls all flown away, going wherever they deserved to end up, I suppose.