Dry air burned in his throat and his mouth tasted coppery as he stood breathing heavily and looking down at her.
“Can’t you even wait till they kill him?” he asked savagely. Then he turned and walked down the black trail beyond the barn, not knowing or caring which way he went.
She lay crumpled on her side like a long-stemmed and wilted flower with her hair and the side of her face in the dirt. Her dress had flown up about her waist when she fell and she could feel the gritty abrasiveness of sand under her sprawled bare legs, and when she clenched her mouth tightly shut to keep from screaming she could taste the sand and hear the gritty sound of it between her teeth. She rolled her head from side to side in a sickening agony of rage and shame and humiliation, and she put her hand up against her mouth and bit it until she tasted blood while she gave birth to the second great passion of her life. The first had always been love of herself, and the second was hatred of Mitch Neely.
Eleven
In the middle of the afternoon he went out and looked at the river again. It was the third time that day, and now he stood by the old ford where he and Sewell had kept their rowboat tied up and stood watching it with a strange uneasiness. It was too high for this time of year.
There had been no rain for nearly a week and it should have been dropping toward midsummer level and clearing, but instead it was higher than it had been during the rain and had risen another inch since noon. He stood watching it slip past, silt-laden and flecked with foam, critically assaying the amount and size of drift it was carrying. It was still rising, all right.
He had seen it do that twice in his life, keep coming up when there had been no rain, raised by heavy downpours somewhere far upriver, and the last time had been seven years ago when it had almost flooded the bottom fields, the year Sewell had gone away.
He turned and went back out toward the field and looked up at the sky when he got out of the timber. There was something disquieting and strangely uneasy about the whole day. It was too still, for one thing, and sultry, with an oppressive deadness about the air that worried him. It reminded him of the tense and foreboding hush that falls over a group of men when there is about to be a fight. But there were no clouds. The sky was clear and it was perfectly normal weather for late June except for the oppressive stillness.
He was plowing out the middles. Yesterday, he had finished with the cultivator and the field looked much better than it had. He looked with satisfaction at the grass dying in the hot sun. May save it now, he thought. There’s still a lot of grass in the rows that couldn’t be out except by hoeing it again, and it’ll be hard to but it’ll make some cotton. Unless it rains some more, or that river gets on a tear. It ain’t nothing to worry about unless it gets up a lot more than it is now, but somehow I just don’t like the looks of it.
* * *
Up at the house Cass was asleep, with the radio turned off for a short spell to rest the batteries, and Joy was walking up and down in the stifling, dead heat of the bedroom, running her fingers through her hair and pausing now and then to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I—I just don’t know what to do, Jessie,” she said. “It scares me. I guess it’s silly to get scared now, but I just don’t know what to do. Suppose he does it again?”
Jessie sat on the bed and looked at her sister-in-law with her eyes large and worried. “But, Joy,” she protested unhappily, “he wouldn’t. I just can’t think he’d do a thing like that, even once. Not Mitch.”
“I know, honey,” Joy went on agonizingly. “That’s the awful part of it. That’s the reason I didn’t want to say anything about it. He’s your brother, and I know you think the world of him. I wouldn’t have said anything about it for anything in the world, because I knew how unhappy it would make you. But since you practically caught him at it, there wasn’t any way I could keep you from knowing any longer. If you hadn’t come out there just then, when I was lying there on the ground where I’d fallen, there’s no telling what might have happened. He heard you, and that scared him, I guess.
“I never did say anything about the other times and I wouldn’t have this time because, like I said, you’re so young and he’s your brother, but since you saw it, or part of it—well, you just couldn’t help knowing about it any longer. I tried to get away from him, and I always had been able to before, but this time I tripped when I moved back, and fell. Oh, it was awful.
“It isn’t that I blame him so much, Jessie. You have to learn to make allowances for men. They can’t help being like that, I guess. And when a girl is pretty . . . I guess I still am, a little bit anyway, even if I am getting old and don’t look like I used to. But what I mean is you can’t blame them so much. But still, his own sister-in-law. I mean, I am married to Sewell, and poor Sewell is in such trouble. But please don’t misunderstand me, honey. I’m not mad about it or anything, it’s just that it scares me somehow. What am I going to do, Jessie? What am I going to do?”
She threw herself on her own bed, across from Jessie’s, and put her hands up alongside her face with her fingers reaching up into the golden disarray of her hair, but she was unable to sit still for more than a few seconds and got up and started walking up and down again. Oh, the ugly, stupid, mean-faced sonofabitch, she thought. I could tear his eyes out. I could kill him. Oh, God, I hate him so much it makes my stomach turn over to think about it and I get sick. I’ll throw up right here on the floor if I don’t stop thinking about it. I’ve got to stop. It was almost two days ago and I haven’t stopped thinking about it one minute since then, and I’m going out of my mind. I’m beginning to look like some blowzy old bag who’s been drunk for a week, with my hair a mess and still full of sand and my eyes red from lying awake and from crying, and I can’t eat anything because my stomach turns wrong side out every time I see him and it’s all I can do to sit down at the table without wanting to pick up everything on it and throw it in his face and beat on it, and beat, and beat, and beat.
The thing that kills me is that I wouldn’t have had him for a door prize. I wouldn’t have had him on a bet. You couldn’t have given him to me. No woman in her right mind would even look at him, the ugly, skinny, sweaty, dirty, mean-faced, ignorant bastard with whiskers all over his face and that hideous butter-colored hair stuck down to his head with sweat and those hard little eyes pushed way back in his head like a couple of cold pieces of rock, and he thinks I wanted him. That I did! Oh, my God! And he shoved me.
“Try not to think about it, Joy,” Jessie said, feeling sick at heart. How could Mitch? How could he do such an awful thing? It just wasn’t like Mitch. But still, she had seen it with her own eyes, seen Joy lying there with her head in the sand where she had fallen.
”I am trying not to, honey,” Joy said. “I don’t like to cause a lot of fuss over something that probably isn’t anything, really. I mean, lots of girls have had to fight off men who lose their heads like that. I’ve had to do it before myself, but never— I mean—Well, you know, my own brother-in-law.”
She broke off and smiled wanly at Jessie. “I don’t want you to think I’m such a baby, honey,” she added.
“I don’t, Joy. I think you’re wonderful. And I’ll give that Mitch a piece of my mind he won’t forget.”
“Oh, no, honey,” Joy broke in piteously. “No, don’t do that, whatever you do. Don’t ever mention it to anybody. I wouldn’t ever want to think I’d caused any hard feelings between you and Mitch. I know how much you think of each other, and I know how much Mitch adores you. I couldn’t stand it if I thought I’d done that.”
She’s so sweet, Jessie thought. I hope I can be like that when I grow up. She’s so sort of brave, like women in the movies. I don’t know how Mitch could have done an awful thing like that.
Joy stopped at the window and stood looking out into the yard. “I ought to leave, honey,” she said sadly. “That’s what I ought to do. After all, this is Mitch’s home and I don’t belong here, and if there’s going to be trouble like that I sho
uld go. I would, too, even though I’d hate to leave you, we’ve been such good friends and it’s all been so nice except—except, well, for that. Only, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
She turned back from the window, her eyes shining with tears. “I haven’t got any money left, honey. I would have gone except for that. I gave all I had left to poor Sewell, to buy tobacco with, and magazines, and things he’d need up—up there.” Her chin quivered and her face threatened to break up into helpless crying, but she recovered herself bravely and went on.
“I didn’t want to tell you that because it’s so—so humiliating being dependent, sort of, even though I know you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind! Joy, what a thing to say! You know we love having you here,” Jessie broke in, outraged.
Joy smiled at her bravely. “I know you do, honey. That all of you do. And I don’t think that it had anything to do with Mitch doing—well, you know. I mean, I don’t think he really intended to take advantage of the fact that I was kind of dependent on you. I hope not, don’t you, dear? But what I meant to say was that I wrote to a friend of mine who lives in Houston, a girl named Dorothy who is a model in one of the big stores. We used to work together as models. Anyway, I wrote to her yesterday and asked her if she would lend me some money so I could come down there and look for a job. If the money comes I’ll go, but that may be several days, because I just mailed it yesterday.
“Until it comes, if it does, maybe we’d better kind of stick together, I mean when he’s around. With the two of us together he won’t be so apt to—well, be carried away like that. I mean, you’re his sister, honey, and he has too much respect for you to try anything like that in front of you. I’m sure he has. Nearly any man would. Oh, honey, I hate to be such a big baby, but I’m so scared. It wouldn’t be so much, by itself, but what with not having any money and being sort of dependent, and worrying about Sewell and wondering where he is . . .”
* * *
Mitch came up from the barn at dusk. Jessie was putting supper on the table, and as he sat down she glanced at him distantly and said nothing.
“What’ve we got, Jessie?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”
“Why don’t you look?” she asked coldly, putting a plate in front of Joy.
Now what’s eating her? Mitch thought, and then forgot about it while his mind went back to the river. It had still been rising a little when he knocked off in the field at sundown.
“Still ain’t no news about Sewell,” Cass said, after he had hobbled painfully in from the front room.
“Poor Sewell,” Joy said sadly. “It’s so tragic.”
She picked a hell of a time to find out how tragic it is about poor Sewell, Mitch thought. Where’s she been the past three years?
”You and Sewell were always very close, weren’t you, Mitch? I mean, before he went away. You must think about him a lot.” She smiled wanly at him, and he saw Jessie look toward him once and then quickly away.
It must have just come over her all at once, like something out of the sky, that everything ain’t just exactly all right with Sewell, he thought. Well, better late than never, I reckon. But what the hell’s the matter with Jessie?
When he had finished eating, he went out into the darkness of the yard to smoke a cigarette, and suddenly heard the far-off rumble of thunder in the west. The air was still and oppressively hot, like that in a tightly closed room with the windows sealed. God, he thought, not with that river already up like it is now.
Jessie was starting to wash the dishes. Joy went over and looked in the water bucket and saw with inner satisfaction that it was almost empty. “I’ll get some more water, Jessie,” she said helpfully. “You’ll need some more for rinsing.”
Jessie shook her head. “No, you leave it alone, Joy,” she said. “Mitch will bring some.”
“Oh, I want to help,” Joy said, going toward the door.
Jessie looked at her anxiously, nodding toward the yard. But Joy smiled, shook her head deprecatingly, and went on.
Mitch had his back turned and was looking out over the bottom as she went down toward the well. She drew up a bucket and filled the cedar water pail and started back, walking slowly and watching him standing there just beyond the light streaming from the kitchen door.
He saw her. “Here, I’ll take that,” he said gruffly. If she wanted to do something, why didn’t she help Jessie with the dishes?
“It’s all right, Mitch,” she said, and then suddenly set the water down and bent forward, holding a hand on her back just above the hip.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping quickly to her side.
“I—I think just a catch in my back,” she said faintly, still bent over as if in pain.”Can you stand up?” he asked. He took hold o£ her arm.
She cried out sharply, the sound cutting across the night, and swayed as if she would fall. He caught her, and as they were blended into one figure in the edge of the light for an instant she could see Jessie standing in the door, drawn by her outcry. She pushed him back violently with her hands, scooped up the bucket, and ran toward the door.
Twelve
Sewell Neely hopped off the freight as it was coming into the yards at Houston and walked across the acres of tracks in the dark. It had been almost twenty-four hours now since he had come up out of the river bottom onto the highway. He had caught a freight coming through the bottom shortly after he had crossed the highway bridge, and had ridden it until daybreak. Then he had left it and hidden out all during the day under an abandoned farmhouse. Sometime after nightfall he had been able to board another.
He had on a raincoat he had stolen from a helpless and passed-out drunk in a boxcar. With the coat buttoned up to hide the ruin of his clothing and his hand in the pocket to keep the handcuff out of sight, he could get by as long as he kept moving and no one got a second look at him. I might be any bum unloading from a freight, he thought, unless somebody gets a good look at my face in the light. It’s probably in every paper in the state.
It was a long walk, keeping to side streets and away from lighted areas. I hope she’s home, he thought. If she’s still working the four-to-midnight, she ought to be. Unless she’s got a date. Probably not, though. She’s a funny one. Guys coming in to eat, trying to date her up all the time, and she brushes them off.
It was upstairs over a motorcycle salesroom in a rundown neighborhood. There was a drugstore, still open, on the corner. A prowl car slipped past, cruising, and he could feel the tingling along his spine and the tightening of the skin across the back of his neck like a dog’s hackles rising. I can feel ‘em, he thought. If I live long enough, I’ll be able to smell ‘em, like a wolf. If one went by in the dark while I was asleep I’d wake up and growl.
The sign said, “Hskpg. Rms. & Apts.” There was a„ dark stairway going up, and the hallway at the top was dimly lit with two small unshaded bulbs, one at each end. The first door was marked “Mgr.” and there was a bell, with a printed cardboard sign, the kind they sold in dime stores, saying. “Ring for Manager,” stuck on the plaster above it with Scotch tape. There was no one in the hall and he walked down the center of it, going softly like a big cougar on the worn carpet, smelling the odor of ancient dust and stale cooking that always clung to places like this.
It’s going to be rough if she’s not at home, he thought. I can’t stand around here in the hall at one o’clock in the morning. Or if she’s moved and somebody else answers the door. Sorry to wake you up, Jack, but I’m looking for a girl named Dorothy, and don’t look at my face, you might recognize me. I think the reason they always catch you in the end is that they wear you out. They get you tired. They work in shifts and you work all the time, and when you get a chance to go to sleep your nerves are still working. Well, if you want to take a vacation you can always go and give yourself up. They always got the welcome sign out for cop-killers. Take a long rest in the back room with the light in your eyes.
It was the last apartment on the right. Th
ere was a crack of light under the door and he could hear, very faintly, the sound of music. It sounds like Dorothy, he thought. She does that. It’s against the rules to play a radio after ten-thirty, but she always does, turning it way down and getting up close to it to listen.
He knocked softly and waited. There was no answer. He rapped on the door again, a little louder. There was the sound of someone moving, and a girl’s voice on the other side of the door said, “Who is it?”
“Lufkin,” he said. He had first met her in Lufkin when she worked in, a restaurant there and he was working in a sawmill. It was a long time ago, before he got in trouble with the law the first time, but she would know who it was.
The door opened and he stepped inside quickly and she shut it. Nothing had changed in the apartment. It was one room, with a window looking out into the alley, but the shade was pulled now. On the right there was a door going into the tiny kitchen, and on the other side there was a bathroom door, closed now, and the bed was on that side, a cheap iron bedstead with the enamel flaking off. On the right side of the room, between the closet and the kitchen door, there was an old velvet-upholstered sofa with sagging springs and the nap worn off the cushions. At the head of the bed, by the window, there was a little table with a dime-store lamp on it, and the cheap AC-DC radio in its white plastic case, the case broken and patched with Scotch tape. Late at night after she had come home from work she would sit on the bed with her face close to the radio and listen to it, to the music of the dance bands in big hotels across the country.
She was always very quiet, and now she stood back from him without saying anything. There was something about her that always made him think of an Indian, perhaps the quietness and the tall, straight way she stood. She was almost five feet nine and very slender, but she never slouched the way some tall girls did. Her hair was black and very straight, like an Indian’s, and she wore it in a long turned-under bob down on her shoulders. She had very dark brown eyes that looked black at night. He had slept with her a lot of times, mostly when he was hiding out from the police, and always afterward, for a little while, he would remember the funny way she had of lying very close to him, her face near his on the pillow and her eyes wide open, watching him and not saying anything. Her eyes would be very big then, and still, while she lay there just touching him somewhere and looking at him. She was a funny one, all right.
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