“Evangeline,” the Reverend said.
“Oh yes. What a beautiful name.” The older woman held out her thin, long red-nailed hand to the younger woman. “I am Maldita.”
Reluctantly, Evangeline took the woman’s hand, which was cold and bony.
“Let us all sit down and talk,” Maldita suggested.
“Let us sit down,” the Reverend said, “yes.”
And talk about what? Evangeline wanted to say.
“But first, but first!” Maldita was cheerful, turning to a bag next to her. “I have here,” and she brought out a small bottle, “the absolutely finest apple cider from Mexico. You have never tasted a cider so wonderful. My dear Evangeline,” she said, “would you be kind enough to fetch three glasses, so we can share this cider and talk?”
“Yes,” the Reverend said, “three glasses.”
Evangeline went to the kitchen.
Cautiously, quietly, Maldita whispered, “Do not drink a sip of the cider.”
The Reverend opened his mouth, and the Madame stopped him with a shake of her head.
“You didn’t tell she was so beautiful,” Maldita said. “Yes,” the Reverend said, “I did.”
“Perhaps I did not believe you.”
Evangeline returned with three glasses. Maldita poured the cider in each glass.
Evangeline looked at liquid. It had an enticing aroma.
“Taste it, dear,” Maldita said. “I value your opinion.”
Evangeline brought the glass to her lips. She stopped, to smell it again. Maldita was smiling, her father had his usual ominous expression. She took a sip. The cider was warm, but sweet and delicious, sending a tingle up her spine and to her head.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“It is the finest in all the land,” Maldita said. “Drink up. There is plenty of more.”
Evangeline drank half the glass, savoring the taste on her tongue.
“Tell me, my dear,” the older woman said, “what is it that you enjoy the most? What are your interests?”
She was feeling light and dizzy all of the sudden.
“Well, I love to read books,” she blurted, then fell face down on the table, unconscious.
“I hope she did not bruise that pretty nose,” Doña Maldita said, pursing her lips.
“There was something in the cider,” Reverend Payne said.
“Of course.”
“Was that necessary?”
“You do not believe that she would come with me willingly and of her own free will, do you?”
“No,” he said.
“And what do you care? You want to be rid of her, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“She is absolutely gorgeous. I will make a lot of money off her over the years.”
“Do what you must,” Payne said softly.
“And she is not a virgin?”
“She is a whore,” he said. “She will undoubtedly enjoy anything you toss her way.”
“Good,” Maldita said. “Call my boys inside, and we will take her. Oh, I suppose we must talk a price here. I am sure you want a good deal of money for her, yes?”
“Whatever you think she’s worth.”
“What is she worth to you?”
“Not a dime.”
“I will pay you more than a dime,” Maldita laughed.
What she did pay the Reverend, he was not expecting. When she and her two bodyguards had left with the unconscious Evangeline, along with a few clothes Maldita took from the girl’s bedroom, Reverend Jedediah Payne sat up for a long time, in the dark house, looking a the wad of American bills on the table. Such a sum would go far at the church, but there might be questions. Later, he burned every bill to a cinder.
* * *
Every day, from morning until night, Mary Jo Scroggins cooked up schemes in her mind on how she would escape her captors. She had daydreams; in each, Colonel Jodzio died, sometimes at her own hands, sometimes by the hands of her husband. She knew Robert was having the same thoughts; they were like-minds, meant for each other, perhaps soul mates. They would both see this ordeal through, they would come out of this alive and wiser, and be together once again. She would get her life back, the way it was meant to be, one way or the other....
Mending and washing dirty pants and shirts, re-soling boots, cooking food, these chores weren’t that hard. What was hard on the women here was the sexual favors they had to give up for the Jodzioites. The girl, Helen, whose husband had been murdered before all their eyes, had lost the fight in her, and had finally given herself over to Jodzio. The next night, several men came in, and they took her away, drinking and laughing. Sometimes the men would come straight into the tent and rape whatever woman he pleased, in front of all. Mary Jo would look away, pushing out the sounds of the woman’s cries, the man’s grunts. What horrible savages these men were, to do such an act out in the open. Most of the time, however, when a Jodzioite came in, and picked a woman he wanted, he would take her away. It was worse when there were several of them that took one woman, Mary Jo couldn’t even imagine the horror. But the worse—yes, the most vile—were the women who’d been here before her arrival, five of them, who seemed to enjoy their trysts with the Jodzioites. They would joke about who was their favorite, who lasted longer, who kissed well.
One time, Mary Jo said to one of these women, “How can you let yourself find pleasure with them?”
The woman was serious when she said, “What else can I do? I’ve been here for months. I don’t like being afraid. If you don’t fight them, they aren’t rough with you. Sometimes they can be nice.”
“What about your husband?” Mary Jo asked.
“He died when Jodzio captured us. I will mourn for him properly when I’m free. But I’m here, and I have to make the best of it. Do you think I’d choose between having fun and running away? I would run in a second if I could. But I won’t live every day here moping around and crying out to God about misfortune.”
Another of the veteran women said to her: “My husband is on the other side, but I haven’t been near him once. It’s good to have a man’s attention, even it is with these roughnecks. I’m not proud of myself. But I’m making the best of this situation. I’ve long gotten over the shock.”
Mary Jo just didn’t understand.
A woman who was with their caravan, Claire Brooks, took Mary Jo aside by her arm. “Don’t trouble them with such talk,” Claire Brooks said. “They may seem like they’re having fun on the outside, but they are in torment inside. I have seen such look on women. If pretending to enjoy themselves with the Jodzioites helps them get through each day, let them have that.”
“It is so disgusting.”
“You don’t even know yet.”
“No,” Mary Jo said, “I don’t.”
Thus far, she had been spared having to be violated any
Jodzioites; Jodzio himself had not yet had her in his tent. There was only one other woman who was spared as well, then one night she was taken to Jodzio, and the next day she was hauled away, at different hours, by most of the Jodzioites. For days, the girl walked around in a daze.
The following night, Mary Jo Scroggins was summoned by Jodzio. She pushed all fear deep into her core, and told herself that she knew this day would come. She realized she hadn’t properly prepared herself, because she didn’t know how.
Jodzio was bare-chested, his long johns pulled down to his waist, drinking a bottle of whiskey. He was a hairless, muscular man with a long scar down his belly, and small, circular scars at his shoulders that she thought were bullet wounds.
“Ah, Mrs. Scroggins,” he said. “At last. Would you care for some whiskey?”
“I do not drink,” she told him.
“It will help.
“Be done with it. I don’t need your small talk.”
He laughed.
She said, “And I suppose if I refused to give you my favors, you would threaten to kill my husband.”
“I wouldn’t threa
ten,” the Colonel said. “I’d do it.”
She knew he was not bluffing.
“Your husband is an interesting man, as are you. Please sit down with me here. Not please. I insist. It’s an order.”
She sat down, but kept her distance.
Jodzio drank and talked. “I chose you to be the last woman for a reason. Believe it or not, I pay close attention to each and every member of this camp. If I don’t do it myself, my men give me reports. You are much like your husband. I imagine that is why you both married.”
“My husband is a very good man,” she said.
“I’m sure he is. He seems a strong-willed man, and he seems like the leader. He is always offering words of wisdom and advice to the men, leading them in prayer, boosting morale.”
“He is a natural at that.”
“Yes. I believe you are as well. Are you the leader of the women’s tent?”
“We have no ‘leader,’ Colonel Jodzio.”
“But you could be the leader.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The women need someone to speak for them, to keep the order, should order fall. I like you, Mrs. Scroggins. I like you very much, since the first day. In another life, had we met, when I was a fine young officer, I may have courted you, and taken you for my own wife, and we could have had children.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“I have a proposition for you. You take a leadership role among the women, you report to me how they feel, what they’re unhappy about, what they would like to change. You will be, say, my liaison. In return, you will not have to give yourself to any man in this camp but me.”
She didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t have to say anything. She didn’t have a choice.
When Jodzio had her three times that night, she kept her eyes closed. She didn’t sleep when he did, snoring loudly next to her.
In the morning, Jodzio summoned Judas Payne to his tent. He was shaving, fighting off the effects of the whiskey, and remembering the pleasures of Mary Jo Scroggins’ body.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you here, boy,” Jodzio said.
“No.”
“No? Of course you are. Payne, is it? Your name is Payne?”
“Yes.”
“What are you, Mr. Payne?”
“Pardon me?”
“You’re not white. Not all white. Your skin, your features...”
“I’m nothing,” Judas said.
“Are you part Mex? Part Indian?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, sir.”
“What race was your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could a man not know what race his mother was?” “She died when I was a child. I never knew her.”
“I see,” Jodzio said. “And your father?”
“He also died.”
“Did they die together?”
“I don’t know.”
“And I suppose you don’t know what race your father was?” “No,” Judas lied.
“Well, you’re something. How did you lose that eye?” “In a fight.”
“With who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Jodzio laughed. “You would’ve made a fine soldier in my regiment, Mr. Payne. Captured by the South, you would’ve given them a run during an interrogation. I have an offer to make you, Mr. Payne.”
“Sir?”
“Are you interested?
“I don’t know.”
“I have the niggers and chinks acting as foremen for a reason,” Jodzio said. “Do you know what this reason is?”
“No, sir.”
“Because all their lives they have been pushed around by white men. As lackeys, underpaid laborers, and slaves. Now this is their chance to get even. That is why I can trust them. They enjoy their position, and where else would they go? I need another foreman. I thought that you, being a man of color and questionable breed, and possibly having lead a life under the harsh rule of white men, would enjoy a turn of the table. You would get to sleep in a different tent, without guard, and get more food. And you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
“I think you may have misjudged me, sir,” Judas Payne said.
“Perhaps. But think it over.”
* * *
Evangeline Payne woke up to movement. Her hands and feet were bound by rope. She was in the back of some covered wagon. Was this a dream? The last thing she recalled was drinking wonderful apple cider with her father and the dark-skinned woman—
That very woman, in different clothes, clothes more suitable for road travel, was sitting next to her.
“Good morning, dear,” the woman said.
Evangeline, dumbfounded, didn’t know what to say.
“Before you ask a dozen questions,” Doña Maldita said, “let me explain everything to you. There was a drug in the cider. Your father sold you to me. We are going to Texas, where you will be in my—employ—until you reach your thirtieth birthday. At that time, I will give you the collected sum of the shares of the money you earned, and you may leave if you choose. Or you could choose to stay. But old whores don’t do as much business as young whores. But if you still have your looks when you’re thirty—”
Evangeline screamed.
* * *
Mary Jo Scroggins wasn’t exactly sure what was expected of her, but Jodzio had kept his word, and no other man touched her except him. Fortunately, he only had her brought to him once or twice a week. If any of the other women noticed that she was receiving special treatment, they didn’t say. Mary Jo knew no one was paying much attention to anyone but themselves and their own circumstance and requirements. Occasionally, Jodzio asked her what the overall feelings of the women were, what they talked about. She said: “They’re worried about their husbands, and they talk about their husbands,” which was generally true.
“Are you worried about your husband?” he asked her. They were lying on the floor, on blankets, naked. It was a warm night. Her arms covered her breasts. He was touching her hair, her face, her stomach and legs...she did not allow herself to feel his touch.
“That is an absurd thing to ask me,” Mary Jo Scroggins said. “Of course I am.”
“He’s a lucky man.”
“Please,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Of course. But I wanted to tell you that tomorrow...I will allow him to visit you. I will give you two hours together.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? You would like two hours with him, would you not?”
“Yes,” she said.
“We’ll make it three hours,” Jodzio said. “This is my gift to you.”
She didn’t allow herself hope. Jodzio could have been playing a horrible trick on her, a ruse for his own sick amusement. Late the following day, he continued to prove to be a man of his word. She was taken to a different small tent later and there was Robert. He was dirty from work, and thinner for lack of proper food, but he looked well. They hugged each other and cried. They kissed one another and professed their love and devotion. They prayed to God, and held each other closely.
“Is it bad in the mine?” she asked him.
“It’s hard work,” he said. “You get used to it.”
“Robert, don’t get used to it. Never get used to it.”
“I won’t,” he said, unable to look in her eyes.
“When will this end?”
“Trust in God,” Robert said.
“I try. Faith is...”
“It’s as if faith has died,” he said. “Mine has not.” “No,” she said, “no.”
“Mary Jo,” he said later. “I must ask you something. I must. I have to know. It tears at my heart. The knowledge of it may kill me, but I have to know.”
She knew what he was going to ask. She couldn’t look at him. Maybe he would change his mind.
“Ha
ve you been defiled?”
“No,” she said, and was surprised how easily the lie came.
“Mary Jo?”
“Some have, and are,” she said, “but not every woman. I have been spared.”
“Oh thank God!” He embraced her.
I am a lair, she thought. But how could she tell him? She knew him well enough to know that it would certainly destroy him....
The three hours went by quickly, and Robert was taken from her. She wondered when she’d see him again. Every moment of those three hours would keep her going, keep her strong. She would savor the memory of every kiss, every tear, every touch.
She was taken to Jodzio next.
“Thank you,” she said, “for what you did.”
The Colonel smiled. “I’m not such a horrible beast, am I?”
“Will you let the other women see their husbands?”
“Yes,” he said. “One woman, one a day, will get a visit.”
“It will help them,” she said.
He moved close to her, and kissed her on the lips.
“Kiss me like I’m your lover,” he said.
She opened her mouth, but there was no emotion.
“Tell me, and tell me true,” Jodzio said. “Did Robert make love to you today?”
“That is none of your concern,” she said.
“Everything here is my concern. There is no privacy. I want to know. Did you make love to your husband?”
“No,” she said.
“I don’t believe that. You haven’t been with him in two months—”
“Colonel Jodzio—”
“Call me Charles. You can now.”
“Colonel Jodzio,” she said, “unlike you, sexual intercourse is not on every man’s mind. My marriage is based on the heart and soul.” She would not tell him that they had tried to make love, but Robert was unable to perform, and was ashamed because of it.
“How pretty,” Jodzio laughed. “Well, since your husband didn’t make love to you, I will.”
* * *
Evangeline Payne kept her eyes closed as she stood naked in the middle of a bedroom, Doña Maldita circling about her, poking and touching. “Such fine smooth skin, and so pale,” the woman said. “And not a wrinkle or a blemish. Not a scar, not a mole. You are like an artist’s painting, my dear. You are nearly perfect. I envy you. I wonder at my luck. You will bring in much money. You will be very popular. And you will be very tired from fucking all day and night,” she laughed. “You do know how to fuck, yes?”
Judas Payne: A Weird Western Page 8
