Raintree County

by Ross Lockridge

  The barkeep poured two more glasses. Johnny watched the thick stream gurgling into the bright white glass. His insides felt like fire.

  ROUND TWO

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  Between rounds the Champion laughed and shook hands with his ringside followers. At the start of the second round he moved unconcernedly to the middle of the ring where he collided headon with his thoroughly aroused and determined antagonist. Both fighters absorbed hard belts to the body, and the Challenger seemed to get something the worst of it. But when he stepped back he was smiling and appeared not to know what had hit him. However, it was later remembered that at the close of this round he went to the wrong corner and had to be directed to his place. There are those who opine that from here on he had no idea what was taking place and . . .

  —How do you feel, John?

  It was Zeke who had shouldered his way into the crowd.

  —I feel fine, Johnny said.

  Zeke looked blurred and huge as he leaned over and smelled the glass.

  —That’s enough, Zeke said. This boy ain’t use to strong liquor.

  —Don’t spoil the fun, Zeke, Garwood said. This boy dared Flash.

  —Don’t worry about me, Zeke, Johnny said. There’s nothing to it. Just a burning sensation.

  He felt heroically strong. The world was a place of laughing gods, bathed in yellow fire. He knew now that he would win the race in the Court House Square and become the Hero of Raintree County.

  Someone hit him between the shoulderblades.

  —Fill ’em up! Flash Perkins yelled.

  —Stand back and give the boy a chance! Garwood boomed. Fill ’em up, Jake, and let’s have . . .

  ROUND THREE

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  At the commencement of the third round, the Challenger threw all caution to the winds. He rushed wildly about, extending himself to the utmost. A series of lethal lunges from his veteran opponent left his face flushed and his eyes out of focus. Dead game, he was still slugging merrily at the bell and had to be carried more or less forcibly to his corner, where he insisted on struggling weakly to his feet and had to be held down by main . . .

  —Hell’s fire, Flash said, son, you’re doin’ all right for a youngster. Yippee!

  Flash shoved a hole in the crowd and did a handspring in the middle of the Saloon. Someone gave an Indian yell and began to wardance on top of the bar. Looking into the mirror, Johnny Shawnessy perceived that it was himself. He sprang five feet straight up into the air and came down to the floor, where he found himself looking into Cash Carney’s trim, serious face.

  —Say, what the hell! Cash whispered. This is some act.

  Cash picked up the glass and smelled it.

  —Ouch! he said. What’s goin’ on around here?

  A band began to play right in front of the Saloon, and Flash Perkins stood on his hands on the bar. He jumped from the bar, caught hold of a chandelier in the room, swung back and forth. Johnny took a running leap, went clear over a table in the middle of the room. Flash Perkins put one table on top of another, jumped over head first. Johnny followed him over. Someone picked him up, and he found himself standing at the bar again with another tumblerful of whiskey in his hand. Two tough-looking guys supervised by Garwood Jones were holding Cash Carney in a corner.

  —Come on, Jack, Flash Perkins was saying, we’ll show these folks how tew drink.

  The band outside was playing ‘Yankee Doodle,’ and a boy threw a lighted firecracker through the door.

  —Jesus Christ! Cash yelled from the corner. Get him to stop, Zeke. It’ll kill’im.

  —Come on, boys! boomed the voice of Garwood Jones. Drink up! By the way, Cash, how would you like to take a little more of my money before . . .

  ROUND FOUR

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  The fourth and final round of the famous exhibition beggared description. All eyes were focused on the Champion for whom it was clearly a case of now or never. He moved out menacingly, stalking his slender prey for the kill. But the boy somehow managed to evade the knockout wham until just a few seconds before the closing bell, at which time the Champion lifted one from somewhere around the far corner of the arena. The crowd could see it coming from way back, but the intended recipient of this Sabbath Sock seemed to be hypnotized. When it got there, it picked the brave form of the Hope of Danwebster gently off the floor and . . .

  Flash Perkins completed a series of handsprings down the top of the bar landing feet first on a chair that folded up like matchwood under his feet.

  —Let’s see you do that, Jack.

  Johnny was on the bar and turning. The ceiling tipped and turned over, tipped and turned over, tipped and turned over. Something fell solidly on the back of his neck. He started to get up and the saloon floor came up gently and hit him a stunning wallop in the face. He sprang straight up in the air and found Zeke and Cash holding him.

  —Take it easy, John! Cash said. Goddammit, do you realize that the Race is just half an hour away and that I got nearly a hundred dollars bet on you! Can you still run, boy?

  —Can I run? Johnny said gently.

  He smiled his affectionate smile and then like a great blithe bird shot out between the batwing doors. Head erect, coat flying, he ran on long, floating strides down the street with Cash Carney, Zeke Shawnessy, and half a hundred men and boys behind him.

  —Catch ’im! Cash said.

  —No one in the County can do that, Zeke said, stopping. Look at ’im go! He’s turnin’ the corner now. Let’s wait here and catch him when he comes around.

  Faces blurred past Johnny Shawnessy, as he ran on and on, drawing a bright circumference on bounding feet. The breath began to pump pleasantly in his lungs. He was going down the east side of the Square, he was leaning over for the corner, he was running down the north side, he was turning, he was running down the west side. But now he had a great weight sitting on his neck and dragging at his whole body. He turned again at the corner and started down the south side where the Saloon was. A crowd of faces and arms spread out, closed in around him, and caught his vaulting body.

  —Let’s get him upstairs here, Cash said.

  Johnny came to, naked and gasping, as buckets of cold water hit him. Something had been aching in spasms.

  —Keep throwing it on him, Cash said. And someone go down and get Flash as drunk as possible.

  —No chance, someone said. Garwood’s got him under control.

  —But not till he run around the Square, someone said, to show he could do it as well as Johnny.

  —We still got a chance, Cash said. Hell, if John had only saved that till the Race! Cuss that Garwood Jones! That was a mean, sneakin’ trick he played. I reckon he knew all the time what we planned to do.

  —Hell, he’s down there now laughin’ fit to kill, someone said. He says he took Jake’s girl out the other night, got her drunk, and got the whole story out of her.

  —And I’ll bet that ain’t all he got either, someone said.

  —Goddam that Garwood! Cash said. Imagine playin’ a trick like that on your best friend, and poor John here that never had a drink in his life before! Let me see, it’s fifteen till. We still got a quarter hour to get this boy sober. How d’yuh feel, John?

  Johnny sat up in the tub. The sickness was gone. He felt woozy and wonderful. He got up.

  —Keep throwin’ that water on him, Cash said. I hope they didn’t puke Flash. I’m goin’ down to see if I can delay the start.

  He went over to the window and looked out.

  —Jesus, lover of my soul, look at that crowd! he said. Must be two thousand people. They’re all lined up along the course right now, and Susanna’s on the platform. We should of charged admission. We can’t delay it long, but I’ll try. After all, they can’t start the Race without the contestants.

  Cash went out, but in five minutes he was back.

  —Flash is rarin’ to go, he said.
He’s beatin’ his chest and yellin’ for action. We got to get John down there.

  —I’m all right, Johnny said.

  He walked over to the window. People were beginning to clap and shout.

  —We want Johnny! We want Johnny!

  Their hands and voices beat excitement through him. His head wasn’t clear, but he felt strong.

  —Come on, he said. Let’s go.

  He dried himself and belted on a pair of white flannel trousers, except for which he was naked. He combed his hair back and went downstairs. Barefooted, he walked into the street with Cash Carney and . . .

  OLYMPIC GAMES, 1859

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  Now they bring forward the young Athenian stripped for the contest. The young man shakes his tawny locks. His feet touch springing on thrown petals. His shoulders gleam in the sun. His supple back is straight as an upright spear. The muscles of his legs are clearly shown in the bright air as are the cupped breasts of chrystoelephantine Athena. . . .

  —Yea, Flash, the crowd yelled. Looking back, Johnny saw . . .

  OLYMPIC GAMES, 1859

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  That other, the bronzed Spartan, he too comes forward now for the running. Amazement takes the breath of the onlookers, to see the vast fashioning of his chest and shoulders. His muscles are like rocks left glistening from the sea. His brown hair waves in the wind. His great calves bulge, and the maidens blush to behold him. . . .

  —All right, boys, said a man in a tall black hat, who had been waiting at the starting line. You have the field to yourselves. Now what I want to know is, do you want me to set you off by word of mouth or by pistol?

  —Shoot a gun, Cash said. I want John to hear it.

  —All right, the starter said, it’ll be a gun. One, two, three, and bang.

  Johnny Shawnessy stood at the starting line and ran his eyes over the crowd. Everything was bathed in a dewy brightness. Some distance down the lane of faces, he saw Nell. Desire to win, to be first, to get the garland rushed over him in a wave of fire and longing.

  —John, Cash Carney was saying in a low voice, it’s now or never, boy. Remember, I got one hundred dollars planted on you. One hundred dollars.

  —John, Zeke said, you got to get in there and run. Pa don’t know it, but I got two months’ hire bet on you.

  An important-looking citizen walked from the crowd, took off his hat, and said,

  —Folks, I know you’re eager as I am for the Race to start. Now these two boys are as fine boys as you will find anywhere. They’re both trained to the limit, and I know they’re going to show us a fine exhibition of speed and endurance. I understand that this race is something of a grudge battle, and it’s been talked about in the papers for some time now. I guess both boys are known to most all of us here, but I will interduce them to you anyway. Now, I want to interduce first—

  He was motioning to Johnny, who stepped forward and stood hands on hips.

  —Mister John Wickliff Shawnessy!

  There was a great deal of handclapping and a violent agitation of parasols among the many girls lining the course. Johnny looked down three hundred yards between the roped-in walls of faces to the platform where a darkhaired girl in a white dress was leaning over the rail. . . .

  OLYMPIC GAMES, 1859

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  Barbarian woman, steepbreasted and passionate, do you wait with a garland of bay to catch the victor? What flagon of grape shall be poured for the stringbreaker! What wine pressed from the vineyarded hills! O, delicious and blood-exciting potion! He shall drink deep the viny adoration of your beautiful eyes. None shall prevent him. Victory, winged goddess, be in his bounding feet!

  —Go home and git some meat on your bones, kid, a man’s voice said.

  —Isn’t he cute! a girl said.

  —This boy, the announcer said, comes from Danwebster, or near it, a place about which we’ve read a good deal in the county papers lately. Are there any folks from that locality here?

  —Yes, sir!

  —Betcher life!

  —I see, the man said. Danwebster has sent a big delegation to cheer their favorite son. Five or six anyway. (Laughter.) Well, he’s a fine upright young man as you can see for yourself, and I’m sure that, win or lose, he’ll reflect credit on the home community.

  —Speech! Speech!

  —Hello, folks, Johnny said. I’ll do my best.

  —And best of luck to you, Johnny, the announcer said, and now, folks—

  Johnny retired, and Flash Perkins stepped out.

  —Now, folks, here’s a lad needs no interduction. Orville Perkins of Freehaven, better known as Flash. (Thunderous applause.) Flash here hasn’t lost a race since he was kneehigh to a grasshopper. He’s won the Fourth of July Race five years straight now, and if somebody don’t beat him pretty soon, he’ll trip on his beard, and get beat that way. (Loud laughter.) Would you say a word to the crowd, Flash?

  —Hello, folks, Flash said. I mean to win this here race.

  —That’s the spirit, Flash. All right, clear the street.

  A few dogs and boys were chased out of the street, leaving a lane about ten feet wide down to the flagdraped platform. Shading his eyes, Johnny could see a thin white line of string tied to the platform and stretching into the crowd. A throng of girls made a vague wall of color behind the finish line. Some were standing, and some were sitting in buggies, drawn up in a halfcircle at the end of the street.

  —How about them girls down there? a man said. Ain’t they too close?

  —Let ’em take keer a themselves, Flash said. Let’s git this race started.

  Flash was stamping his bare feet on the ground and swinging his great arms. His teeth laughed. His forehead was ridged. He kept shaking the shag of his hair out of his fierce eyes.

  —Shake hands, boys, the announcer said.

  Johnny and Flash shook hands savagely. The crowd yelled like savages. Someone savagely clanked a cowbell, and a whole string of firecrackers went off under a wagon on which a half dozen girls were sitting. The girls shrieked, and the crowd laughed like savages.

  Johnny Shawnessy turned and set his foot to the mark. His teeth chattered with excitement. Goosepimples stood on his arms. At this moment there was nothing that he wanted more in the world than to break the white string three hundred yards off in the middle of the Court House Square. Three hundred yards off through walls of faces, where the flags were hung on the platform, three hundred yards and a few seconds away was the summit of all desire. Victory, winged goddess, be in his bounding feet!

  It seemed to him that he was out of his body. He wondered if it would run when he wanted it to. Where his body should be, there was nothing but a void of desire. Nevertheless, he saw his own slender foot going to the mark beside the brown foot of Flash Perkins, and though he didn’t look at Flash nor Flash at him, he was aware of the powerful body of his rival drawn back like a bow.

  —All right! the starter said coming out in tall black hat, swallowtail coat, and stickpinned tie. Quiet, everybody!

  He raised a pistol and put a finger in his ear. The crowd laughed, and he took it out. He fumbled with the pistol and raised it again.

  —Don’t run till you hear that shot, boys.

  He waved toward the far end of the course, hallooed,

  —Judges ready?

  —Fire away! came a thin, high voice from the finish line.

  —On your marks, boys, the starter said. One. Two. Three.

  There was a long, long, long, long silence. . . .

  BANG!

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  The Fourth of July Celebration this year in the Court House Square featured some pyrotechnic displays that were quite out of the ordinary. A couple of rockets so constructed as to simulate human form were set in the ground and the fuses having been lit, suddenly took off together at a tremendous speed and whizzed along the ground like two
runners to a distant mark. A lively interest was exhibited in the new infernal device, especially by the ladies, a group of whom having gathered . . .

  —Go it, Johnny!

  —Take him, Flash!

  —Look at them two scalawags go!

  RIVER RACE

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  The Red Streak and the Comet, those two wellknown sidewheelers, leaned into the current, coming together. Crowds lined the shore as the two fastest boats on the river jostled each other on the last long run into New Orleans. The Streak was crammed with fastburning pine, and a nigger squat on her boiler. ‘More pine, Mr. Shawnessy?’ ‘A little more, thank ye, Mr. Burns.’ The Comet, a more durable-looking craft, though lacking the Streak’s speedy design, was gathering head, and as they came into the bend she had a lead of a half length. The banks were lined with shouting thousands, the wealth and beauty of America’s sultriest City, as the Mistress of the Delta, all braceleted with lights, cheered the stacking steamers to their piers. . . .

  —Catch ’im, Johnny! Catch ’im!

  —Keep it up, Flash! You got ’im whipped!

  —Don’t give up, John! One hundred dollars! Jerusalem, boy! Go! Go! Go!

  IRON HORSES IN SPEEDTEST

  (Epic Fragment from the Mythic Examiner)

  Running side by side, the Midnight Express and the Northern Fury were like two huge projectiles in the night. Going fully forty-five miles an hour, fullblast, together they roared toward the signal light. It was do or die. A long, thin scream of pain emerged from the Fury as she began to close the gap on . . .

  Johnny Shawnessy was turning the earth with his bare toes. Always before, this drumming fury that he had in his feet had beaten his rivals back until he was alone at the halfway mark, in front and thundering to the string. But now at the halfway mark, as faces went by him faster and faster, he and Flash Perkins were running side by side and stride for stride, and every effort of his own seemed only to increase Flash’s speed, as if they were one body. A strange madness, akin to joy, anger, and intoxication, ran through Johnny Shawnessy. He fixed his eyes on the white string and leaned into the hot air, trying to overcome and subdue this remorseless companion. But now his legs were growing heavy, he was laboring hard, his arms felt like lengths of lead that he had to swing to keep running. With terror he saw the white string closer and closer. The wall of restless color behind it became the faces of girls: he could see the lines of their lips and eyes, the beauty spots on their cheeks, thin ribs of their parasols. And there was not enough room, not enough, not enough, not enough. Thirty yards, twenty yards, ten yards . . .