Billy just looked on, not knowin what ta say; or else, knowin they really wasn’t nothin to say.
Says the boy: “Set up there at Jeremy Boaz and ordered me my earned nips with the best of em, then—stead a froggin around, turnin everybody’s stomach, beggin ta wash laundry, beggin ta sew dresses, beggin ta stay alive. And what for is a problem I do ponder.”
“Tea’s bilin,” hollers Ephriam-Ephriam. The boy shook his head and said him nary another word about hisself. Twas like he’d had him a good enema; but he didn’t look no happier nor a body does after one a those consarned things: ony he got hit out a his system and set back ta wait for her ta build up agin.
Twas after the tea, pipin hot and good to the taste, that Great Uncle Billy Spiker begun to put things together. He thunk him up a reglar army a thoughts, whilst they set around and this crippled boy fought ta keep from cryin.
Then: “Hit’s Destiny!” hoots out Billy, snappin his fingers, spillin the tea and grinnin exactly like a sheep. “Destiny hit is as sure as I’m settin here, sure as they is trees outside and clouds of a evenin. The Destiny of Fate!”
Ephriam-Ephriam X had fallen sound asleep, which habit he was in the custom a doin whenever he didn’t feel right ta home in a place.
“Hallelujah!” Billy bellered; then he skedaddled outside, sayin to the crippled boy “Don’t you go way, now.” He went out ta the wagon and scooped up that there bottle a mix, the one as was left over you will please recall, and quoth in a whisper:
“Satan? You hear me, Satan?”
There comes a big old blast a warm air skutterin along the ground, whuppin at his legs. Billy smiled him a smile and held on ta that bottle. Says he: “If you were no dream,” addressin the empty air out by the kindlin box, “Say, if you were no dream, and you be true ta your word, then listen here: Am I about ta tell the truth? Is what I say goin ta be legal bindin, gospel true, about this here?” He lifted the bottle.
Come the answer, low and warm.
Billy sighed.
“That’s all I wanted ta know,” says he, and back inta the house he went.
Ephriam-Ephriam had woke up and was watchin Billy out in the yard, you see, talkin to hisself; his old eyes was bugged out fair ta poppin. But, a course, he said nought.
The young Stranger was pouched in a corner on a stool, stirrin at his tea, lookin misery in the face.
Billy smiled and held out the bottle with its label: DR. MARVEL-O’S MIRACLE MIXTURE; smiled agin, and commenced his spiel.
Now, you couldn’t rightly call them words as come out. Not words as you and me use em, although words they was and nothin else. But, don’t you see, that was just part of it. Twas the tone and pitch, and the way he rolled his eyes that put meat in them words and made em shake and quiver and blow up with truth. Even Ephriam-Ephriam set there all atrancey. You may imagine the effect on the young Stranger.
“Within this phial,” says Billy, “is a amalgam; decocted by personal research on private papers containin three hundred years’ accumulated study. When I unleashed my discovry upon the world, I was overwhelmed with fabulous offers of such tre-mendous size as ta reel the senses. Could a sold her to ever hospital in the country, but they would a shushed hit up cause Dr. Marvel-O’s Miracle Mixture would a put all the doctors out a jobs. So I kep the secret formula and decided to tour the land and let all the people receive the benefits a my mednis, at a price they could afford—” Ekcetera, ekcetera he went on, tellin about the mix; how they was nothin, no sickness nor malady nor affliction hit wouldn’t cure right away; how it’d make a man grow big and tall; how it’d make him strong and the envy a others for his physique. Great Uncle Billy got wound up, and must a spieled on about that old stuff nigh a hour.
When he finished, he give her a flourish and set the bottle down on the table.
Now, the young Stranger was lookin confused and kiny hurt. Says: “This here is a terrible cruel joke for you’ns ta be pullin on me.”
Ephriam-Ephriam’s mouth hung open wide, and they was reproof and nonbelief writ across his features. He had never knowed The Doctor ta do a conscious cruel thing to nobody.
“My boy,” says Billy, really worked up, “what I have told you is the truth, the whole truth and nothin else but. You take on a bottle, see if I ain’t tellin you right.”
The boy made a sour face. “You tryin to tell me that this old greeny stuff’ll make me feel better?”
“Feel better is the understatement a the age,” says Billy. “Boy, ain’t you been listenin ta me?”
“Mean that what’s in that there bottle?” says the boy.
“Yessireebob,” says Billy.
“That old stuff?”
Billy, he laughed and smiled and hee-hawed; and Ephriam-Ephriam was ever bit a wondrous. Wondrous was Ephriam-Ephriam.
“Well,” says the boy, hesitatin; then he says: “Schytte, fire and egg shells! They ain’t no sense at all to this whole thing. Sides which, I heard your talk back in Mt. Slocum, and I don’t have any more money now nor I did then; no money for nothin, let alone old patent mednis.”
To which Bill pipes up: “So happens, friend, that this here is a free sample. Now mind: the taste is piert, but don’t you dare take it cept all at once.”
Great Uncle Billy Spiker was a big, nice lookin man. Says: “Go on; take it myself, I do!” He was mighty persuasive.
This poor boy, squatted there like a monkey thout its feathers, didn’t ere dast to waxen aught but the uttermost respect.
“Furthermore,” says Billy, workin at the cork, “it acts as a laxity and cure for the gallopin skitters and other simular ailments.”
He was passin it on over to that skeert boy quakin in his boots there, when this here old ox I mentioned come amoseyin back in.
“Hiyeee Goddy!” says Ephriam-Ephriam X, like: What in the good, green earth is goin ta happen next?
Though it must be said that that young feller didn’t seem over sad ta see that old critter. He accepted the bottle was bein pressed onta him.
“Throw her on down,” says Billy, feelin that warm draft agin his legs.
Feller was right nervous, though, like he had holt a some kind a pizen. “Err, sh,” says he, scaloochin and hoppin over to the livestock, “would hit, you think mebbe, this here mednis—you reckon would hit work on Babe here?”
“Hmmm,” says Billy, thoughtful, but this wasn’t hardly the place to bring up the question with Satan, so he give a guess. “Wellsir, they say a ox’s belly is not dissimular to a human’s in its revolutions, so I’d say—yes, I reckon the Miracle Mix would do all right with her.”
Young feller give a breath a relief and hobbled over to that scrawny old ox. “Here now, Babe,” says he, trembly, spoonin out a drap a the tonic inta a big soup ladle. That animal looked fair starved, the skin loopin and fallin over the bones—more like a hat rack than a ox, if you’ns want to know the truth. “Here now, ol pal.”
Wouldn’t you know, old Ephriam-Ephriam and Billy craned their necks when that there oxen drunk up the mix and smacked its lips like she was good old lappins!
But nothin further noticeable happent.
Which seemed to make the young feller feel a sight better towards everything. “Whew!” says he, puttin the bottle to his mouth.
“Ever drap down now,” warns Billy.
And sir, down hit went; down that scrawny skinny throat. And when she was all gone and nothin remained, feller give a belch that like to shook the walls and set down, rubbin at his eyes.
Nobody said nary a word. Hit was as if they was all waitin for Roming candles ta spew forth.
Which didn’t happen.
Nothin happent.
“Well,” says Billy, gatherin up his hat and lookin pained-pained-pained and disappointy, “give her overnight anyhow. Can’t expect miracles.”
And that was the old rub: If he had been tellin the truth, and the Devil had told no lie, then they shouldn’t a been lookin for nothin else except miracles.
Young boy got sad agin and waved farewell as they was about ta leave.
“Thank you kindly anyhow, for—” he begun ta say, when:
“Theee Greeeaaattt!! O Goddy. Goddy, Goddy!” and a bellerin and a hollerin was old Ephriam-Ephriam, his mouth movin ever which way and his eyes rollin around in his head like two eggs.
Great Uncle Billy looked and leapt twenty foot straight up inta the air. “Tom thunder!” he yelled.
And that crippled boy did him some movin too!
Because that old ox, he begun ta moan like a banshee—moooooah!—and turn blue. Blue is what I said: hit went the prettiest shade a sky blue you ever seen, right there in front a the eyes a three witnesses.
“Babe!” cries the young feller. “What in the world is a happenin?”
Then she rip.
That ox begun to fill out, just exactly like a balloon blowed up with air. The skin begun ta stretch and the old ox ta grow, and whilst she growed she bellered out the lamentations a Job, wheelin and careenin around that there house, mooin and chasin and totally destroyin the furniture.
But all the time growin bigger and bigger and bigger. Finally the poor dumb beast let out a whoop and lit for the door, but by the time she got there hit was too small, so she went right on through, takin a whole side a the house with her!
“Oohhh my,” moans Ephriam-Ephriam; but when he saw what was beginnin to happen now, that poor tired-out old colored gentleman just buckled up and slunk ta the floor in a dead faint.
Do you know what? The young feller, the Stranger, that boy was changin now—right there in the room. Trans-formin!
First, his hump melted down to nothin, and that permitted him ta straighten up to his full heighth, which was nice indeed, thank you. Then his twisty legs come whole, and his girth spread—just like with the ox, who was by now half agin as tall as Queen Elizabeth III, who was whinneyin like a thing gone demented.
Now Billy wasn’t skeert no more. He looked mostly interested, watchin whilst that boy filled out and changed and got bigger and looked no more like a cripple nor I do.
Then he seen the tears a brimmin on the lad’s face; so, since he allers did get ashamed and take a aversion when anybody looked like they was goin to thank him or somethin, he picked up Ephriam-Ephriam and lugged him on back to the wagon and clumb in.
The warm breeze was blowin leafs and things over the ground. “Well done,” says Billy, his heart fair fit ta bust, “Well done, Satan.”
Give a flick with the whip and they jumped ahead, cause Queen Elizabeth III, she was ony too glad ta get out a there.
Took one last look, Billy did; and seen a sight that brung the salt water a rushin. Seen a big strong lad, bigger nor any he had ever seen before, and that ox standin next, both a runnin after the wagon full clip.
“Heeee—Giddap!” says Billy, givin her another whup and Queen Elizabeth III took hit at a gallop all the way through the woods, mile after mile.
And Billy settin on the board, cryin, laughin, drinkin his corn soakins, singin till hit woke Ephriam-Ephriam up and all the hooty owls ta boot.
“How come that ox turn blue?” says Ephriam-Ephriam.
“Don’t rightly know,” says Billy. “How come the boy not to?”
“Huh?”
“Somethin in the ox system different from ours, I reckon.”
“Huh? Huh?”
Finally hit come pitch black and rain commenced and Billy stopped the wagon.
“Eph,” says he, “you know better’n me how ta take care a yourself, the wagon, the business and ekcetera. Am I right?”
The old man looked wondrous and nodded his head.
Billy took his hand and give her a hard old press, then he kissed Ephriam-Ephriam right smack on the forehead; and havin done so, begun to walk.
Walked a ways and, sure enough, there was Lucifer, the Dark Prince, Mister Devil hisself, settin on a stump, smokin that big old black cigar.
“Wellsir, your honor,” says Billy, drunk as drunk, but good drunk this time, “I trust you’re over your cold.”
“Bah!” quoth the Devil, spittin a glob that sizzled the earth where hit fell.
“Heigh-O, well—I’m all ready ta live up ta my part a the bargain, seein as how you did so fine by me.”
“BAH!” quoth Satan agin, glarin holes through Billy. “I oughrt to take you along just for bein so smarty.”
Says Billy: “Don’t be rude now. What are you pratin about?”
“About how it’s all gone wrong. Wrong, hear? I can’t take you.”
“Wait a minute, hold on here. When I give my word you can be blamed sure hit’s the gospel truth! A course you can take me. I’m ready. Let’s us go.”
“FAUGH!” says Satan. “You was supposed ta use that there wish for yourself, like I studied you was goin ta do. Ain’t you got brains enough ta know that? Now hit’s all ruint. How could you expect me ta take a body’s soul cause he done good for somebody else?”
Billy thunk her over, then he shook his head sorrowfully. “I don’t exactly know what ta say,” says he. “Just never considered it, I guess.”
Satan drawed up, glowin red hot, madder nor a hornet. “Well, listen here ta me, William Jacob Spiker: Don’t you come a toadyin around to me ever agin, hear? Hit’s been a humiliatin experience and a total waste a time.”
“Well now, I’m sorry. I really am. Isn’t they nothin we could fanagle and sort a cheat to—”
“Ohh, go to heaven!” shrieks Satan; and then he sunk through the earth, throwin out sparks and fumes that would a fired the trees if hit wasn’t rainin at the time.
Hey ho. Billy. Billy Spiker!
He got ta nigglin and fallin all over hisself gettin back to the wagon.
And he lied a blue streak from then on without nary a qualm until age ninety-four when he passed on as a result of a holt got on him by a Ute injun durin a wrasslin contest.
Yes sir, he were a caution, and that there’s his story.
What happent ta who?
What young feller?
Oh—you mean that young feller. Let me see now—give me a minute ta study. Blame it, what was his name?
Bunyan. Yes sir, that was it: old Paul—I believe that was his first name. Paul Bunyan.
Hear tell he entered the lumber business and took his ox—that blue ox name of Babe—everywhere he went.
Which is plumb fantastical. Now whoever heard of a growed-up man takin a old ox to work and all?
Law!
Body has got to be careful anymore what they accept as solemn fact. They is so many folks without no respect for the truth walkin around, breathin the air.
A Long Way from Capri
“Is in here good enough?” the man asked, pausing at the leather-quilted door.
“I guess so,” the girl said. “If it isn’t crowded. If it’s crowded, let’s go somewhere else.”
“Whatever you say.”
They went into the bar. It was cool and dark and silent. A few couples sat whispering. In a far corner, a piano tinkled aimlessly.
“This is all right,” the girl said.
A woman in a formal black dress walked up, holding menus. “Good evening,” she murmured, in that soft voice demanded by churches, libraries, cemeteries and good bars. “Cocktails or dinner?”
“Cocktails, I think,” the man said.
“This way, please.” The hostess turned and walked past the bar. In the half-glow, her dress became transparent from the waist down; it revealed black tights and thin lace stockings.
“If you weren’t so serious,” the man said, “I’d whistle.”
“Go ahead.”
The hostess pulled out a table, took their order—two Gibsons—and melted into the darkness, returning moments later, melting away again.
“Now,” said the man, who had the sort of gray hair that adds to the look of youth, tan skin, a wrist identification bracelet, and an air of well being, “what’s it all about?”
The girl—one thought of her like tha
t, although she was not so much younger than her companion—shook her head. “No,” she said, “it’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing why did you make such a deal out of it? You’re here to talk. I’m here to listen.”
“I don’t want to wreck your evening, Pete.”
“You’ll wreck it if you don’t.”
“All right.” The girl took a long sip of her Gibson. In the soft light she looked strong and self-sufficient, except for her eyes. “I—”
“Never mind the blindfold. Fire at will.”
“Pete, I can’t marry you.”
The words came out staccato; harsh; final. The man’s half-smile vanished. He set his drink down carefully and said, “Come again.”
“That’s it, that’s all; I’m sorry! Now do you see why I—Pete, there isn’t any more to say. I can’t marry you.”
“You mean you want to put it off a while?”
“No!” The girl’s fingers clenched. “I mean it’s all over. Finished. We’re through, Pete.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “I—don’t love you.”
“That’s a lie.”
“All right; I do love you. But it doesn’t make any difference.”
“Oh.”
“Pete—” She began to pick tiny fragments out of the paper napkin with her fingernails. “We’ve known each other a little over a year now, haven’t we?”
“Year and a half.”
“You suppose you know me pretty well?”
“Yeah, that’s what I suppose,” the man said.
“Tell me about it.”
“You’re Jeannie Gitmed, thirty-eight, pretty, unattached. Live with your mother. Like sauerkraut. Love a certain engineer. Going to marry that engineer.”
The girl’s laugh interrupted him. She lit a cigarette and said, “It worked,” almost to herself. “They all planned it this way, only for me it worked. And now I’ve got to ruin it.”
A Touch of the Creature Page 4
