Wicked Temper Part 3

Wincing, w.i.l.l.y Bird chose to cut his losses; he shrugged and slipped away, toward the back shed. J.Pea was tossing pineknots into the fiery flap of the stove. Stoking with a longiron, he heard Mr. Bane call out.

"Ah say, barkeep, I believe I'll try a shoat's knuckle--"

"Be right with ye," w.i.l.l.y called in response, then disappeared out the rainy backdoor. A shard of lightning lit up the place.

The pickled pigmeat was kept in murky jars beside the water bucket and ladle, beneath the windowpanes. Mr. Bane took a good long drink, a chaser for his soda pop. He hung the ladle and helped himself to the briny pork. His chin wet with well water, gnawing the grisly socket, the portly stranger wore a newly satisfied smile as he pulled a chair adjacent to J.Pea and sat by the stove.

Pretty soon Newburn was straddling a five-gallon bucket, doing the lazy roll on a brown papered cigarette. Lucy played with a lump of coal on the floor.

"Who would have antic.i.p.ated such inclement conditions," Bane paused betwixt bites, sniffing at his rosebud; his voice a thin, almost feminine drawl. "It seemed such a splendid morn for a holiday, exploring old haunts as it were. I do adore these green cathedrals, your clean, healthful mountain breezes..."

"We got ailment in these hills, feller. Folks so bad sick ye don't dare to hep..."

"Sir, I'm afraid we lack proper introduction."

At this J.Pea piped in.

"Mr. Bane--Newburn Jackson, he's our elected constable. Duly sworn."

Newburn shook his head, ran his tongue the length of the paper. "Nothin like that, now..." he was a dry weed. "Don't fill this man's cabbage with sich as this. I chase run-off kids, livestock, an sign death papers when Nursy Jane ain't aroun."

Bane leaned back, brandis.h.i.+ng his grisly snack. His lips were sloppy wet as he spake. "Of course. You're no stranger to me Brother Jackson. You first saw light of day over in Cooly Bug Creek, I believe it was, just up the road from my father's house. Aloysius Bane. I recall the day you were born like it was Second Coming. I was two and a half going on ninety-two. They brought you over to my mother's kitchen several times for review." Grandly, he tore at the joint and never let a drip on the finery. He paused to drop the Panama on his linen knee.

"Er you sure about that mister?" Newburn was a bit aghast. "The preacher lived up the run there, while I was a-goin to school..."

"Oh, I a.s.sure you, I a.s.sure you. This was earlier than you would remember. There's a large moleskin, a growth almost a crescent moon, but dark and fuzzy. Left of your tailbone. Your sire was a fourth-generation muleskinner, a kindly old soldier. She refused his kisses because he had no teeth."

"Ye know," Newburn lit his cigarette with a box match. "There was somethin bout another bunch. There were kids, lotsa kids, then not so many. Before the Polks moved in. Uncle Boog tole me. Stories about a bear, tearin up yer daddy--?"

"That's him. Shortly after his pa.s.sing I was dispatched to Roanoke. Into the vigilant nurture of my benefactor, sweet ferocious Auntie Tam. My mother married poor, but Her Black Majesty; Tam Victoria Bane was old money all the way, my great aunt, actually."

w.i.l.l.y was back from the shed, forcing the lid on a crate of 30-30 sh.e.l.ls.

"Go head, J.Pea. Sang some fer us," he pled, crowbar in hand.

"Aw, not now w.i.l.l.y B."

Overhead pellets came harder, like a buckshot spill on the tarpaper roof, the salty rainspoor willowing in. Lucrice made coal etchings on the footworn planks. Fish shapes and scarecrows.

"Drove that buggy up from the valley, ye say?"

"That's right."

J.Pea rocked in puzzlement. Newburn did indeed have a crescent mole on his hip. Why, he'd seen it just last Sunday after vespers; Newburn wrestled with Jake for the better part of an hour. In the shallows out back of the house, they splashed and cussed, where Gout River crooked close to the barn. The constable went way back with Jake; schoolmates, they'd been arrested together in the fifth grade. For chicken theft. It turned out, they were running them all back to Papa Shea's barn and hypnotizing the lot. Just lay one hen flat, draw a line from the eyebead straight out in the dirt and, well, she'll lay there all day till you mess the line. It was a law of nature. Responsible for 42 poultry thefts that day, they ran out of floors.p.a.ce and repented. A local record nonetheless.

"Little sister, do you want a sody pop?" exhaled Newburn.

"Nome."

Newburn winked at J.Pea. "Trust me, lads, it's katy-bar-the-door if I try to pull her off that sugar lick now. Her mama's same way. Fig preserves with a spoon. And black coffee, ye know how it is. I cain't git a handle on it." He worked the cigarette with lazy lids, long tobacco-stained nails.

"Prayer, Newburn. You know that's what Jake'd tell ya. Prayer mah boy." A glaring clash of lightning and J.Pea turned his head to see. Out in the touring car, beyond the gla.s.s and the rain: two hounds leaned into view. He hadn't noticed them before. Sleek they were, with long noses and a wheat color. They were indistinct from here, some sort of Irish wolfhound or silkie. Both heads leaned forward in the backseat, c.o.c.king their snoots toward him in twin accord.

"Why gentlemen, I would deny nothing to a lovechild such as this. She would be a rare, cosseted thing. Children are a gift, a delicious gift. Myself, I was deprived at her age. A sickly thin boy, I couldn't seem to keep anything down. A diagnosis of chronic nephritis in the crib, the doctors added an enlarged heart to the litany before my first steps were taken...."

The pock-jowl was turned to J.Pea as the stranger rambled; the stranger who'd probably call it something like pursuit of a digression. Betwixt puffs, Newburn would sniffle, blow smoke, and roll his neck.

From here, trapped in one windowpane, beyond the windowpane those hounds looked his way. And J.Pea could feel them reaching out. A pain, a gnawing. So much watery disturbance, he almost entered....someone in a cornflower blue bonnet....but he couldn't quite touch them. Two beasts, just barely there...

"I've a query for you Master Shea. Where might these distant cousins of mine reside?"

"Uh..." J.Pea cut his eyes away from the dogs. "...ooh, let's see...Newburn? Ain't so sure I recall. I've heard tales..."

Leaving both out there. In the rainstorm.

"This ole boy would probly know better..." J.Pea begged of Newburn.

But Newburn offered nothing; cinder-eyed, he stared through his smoke at the fire grate. Lucy sang softly.

"...ooh, seems they was somethin bout an elder somewheres on the wayside of Riddle Top. Jist a rumor er two. Don't recollect much else, might have been a lost uncle, don't know. Only Bane that lives round here, is just up Pearlwick Road, up here a zig after the rock schoolhouse. Mizz Sisilse Bane. Use to midwife fer Doc Sax, fer years till he died. She sorta re-tarrd after he pa.s.sed. And not a twitch too soon. h.e.l.l mister, she's over a hunert years old. Got a sod-roof cabin back of Dover Falls, up the trace jist beyond our holler."

"Such enlightenment. Deserves reward. I was afraid all were heavenly departed. But simple truth win out. Simple truth that's my credo. And truth is, I'll simply have to drop a note and visit the old dear. One of these days. Would you care for a pungent morsel, my lad? On me." Bane smacked away the last of his, and tossed the stripped cartilage into the woodbox.

"Ooh, naw sir. I don't believe I will...not at this time..." In fact, something had turned in his belly. Gone sick and sour.

w.i.l.l.y mumbled at a 30-30 sh.e.l.l. "'Round h'yere most suffer from too much feed n'fat or not near enough, seems like." J.Pea looked green.

"As you will," continued Bane. "I'm always taken by the lush fauna and exotic undergrowth of these parts. Mother indulged me little, but protected me a lot. I was rarely allowed outside during my brief repast in the hills. Father would try to put me to work. Tried his derndist, you might say. She laughed at him, actually. I did too. Mother would have these sewings and house parties. What scant annuities they got from my Aunt were squandered on dresses and small reunions. Can you conjure the image of a three-room shanty with its cedar closet full of pink taffeta? I can. She would gather with these women on the porch, during hot summer days; they would reminisce and sip parlor drinks while my father toiled a hundred yards away in the field. Excavating stones and cutting away at the earth. She would taunt him for her private audience, amusing her guests while he sweated in the sun. Never hearing or knowing. Visiting ladies from the valley would talk of literature and the fine arts. George Sand. Lord Byron. Baudelaire and Goethe. From the local relations, she sought acceptance. And petty esteem. Yet at one such gathering, I pilfered a cookie from a woman's plate, and lightning quick, the old bird swatted my greedy hand with a branch. I'll never forget it."

"That sounds like Mizz Sisilse awright," Newburn eyed J.Pea across the stove. "You know how she is J. Before the ark, she'uz always a-carryin that willer switch. Strips one fresh ever mornin."

J.Pea was nodding too. Colonel Nash Birdnell Renfrew watched him do it.

"So you say. Ah well. This was long years ago and I doubt she would remember little Gabin Bane. So much changed with my father's pa.s.sing. After the accident, my childhood became a banquet. A saturnalia, to the extreme, Auntie Tam brought joy and sustenance to a lonely, pathetic little man. She considered only the most prodigal and debase extravagance to be of virtue. Craven pleasures, I must confess. With Auntie you were either her precious bauble, her willing pupil, or you were tossed out with the sc.r.a.ps. The help would run and fetch a second doctor, a new upstairs maid, whatever. A neverending lark." A liquid s.h.i.+ft occurred in his thin quivering tenor. "Regretfully, gentlemen, the rain has eased and I must sally forth."

He was right. The rain had let up. Looking, J.Pea could see the wolfen snoots no longer, they'd withdrawn from the backseat window. He wanted earnestly to ask the stranger about his hounds.

"But--whatever happen to yer mama?" he asked instead.

"Yeeah--what about her, Mr. Bane?" chimed w.i.l.l.y, rapt at the counter.

"Alas, alak, she too fell from favor in time..." Bane wiped his greasy digits on a clean white handkerchief and primped it back into his breast pocket, chickbeads a-darting. The Panama came off his knee. "And what would my chit be sir? Tally the damage and I'm the traveler once again."

"A dollar nine-penny," answered w.i.l.l.y.

Neatly, Mr. Bane rose from the straw seat; sidestepping the girl child with perfect care, he paid his bill and left, lingering only for J.Pea's warble: "Please to meetcha, Mr. Bane."

"Take er slew."

"See yer..."

"A golden opportunity, gentlemen. A little human warmth and understanding. Feels like coming home. Beannact."

Thumbing a gumball into the pock-jowl, Bane stepped out into an errant streak of sun. His wingtips paddled through the muck; he kept smiling, in no hurry at all. Deliberately, he ignited the Strand Excelsior and slid along those mud ruts.

"Not many of them Banes lef..." mumbles the constable.

Turning to the gla.s.s, J.Pea watched headlamps and quicksilver slide away. The dogs had slipped down on the seat apparently, without trace. No ears or tails.

"Other whispers...about the grave, somethin....some ole j.a.pe about his pappy's grave," Newburn droned. "Cain't git a handle on it."

J.Pea lost sight of the car once it was beyond the Church, yet it nagged him. Hadn't Bane headed along, not turning around? Wouldn't he go home? Roanoke or wherever home was? J.Pea couldn't tell from here, but somehow he knew Mr. Bane and friends were turning left. Just beyond the rock schoolhouse.

The phone rang. Lucrice's mother was calling in search of her husband. w.i.l.l.y Bird took the call, cranking the ringer like there was water in the line. Newburn got up, hoisted the girl and stomped out the door. Gold speckles of light filtered through cloud and leaf; the coat over his arm, father and child steered for Miss Rebekah's place. Newburn forgot the umbrella.

No matter. The weather held, long enough.

It seemed J.Pea wasn't much company after that. Neither was w.i.l.l.y Bird for that matter. They settled accounts and halfway up Pearlwick Road he spied the afternoon storm, in the north sky over Choat's Peak, waiting to roll in. In his mind he saw his mother, all set to wash her hair in rainwater and fussing at that cloud. The International climbed the twisting road. For a brief figment, he rode a tailwind over the truck with a fisherhawk's eye. But he pulled himself back, having found long ago that such dalliances didn't mix with driving.

C. G. Pennebrook waved from his front porch, riving fresh s.h.i.+ngles with a drawknife. That old shack threw off s.h.i.+ngles in light drizzle, like a wet bluetick. He caught a whiff of their smokehouse, just beyond the Pennebrook place, and J.Pea began a sing.

Ooh, they's strangers in my pa.s.sway, Clowdermilk moon don't s.h.i.+ne tonight, Don't s.h.i.+ne dat tooth in my hand...

His voice canted, a dirge old and young as J.Pea Shea himself. He looped through Coffin's Maw, already the holler losing any sunbreaks when he came upon Mr. Lych.

Mr. Lych sat on a log in his union suit. Up the road, the butane truck's door was sprung open, overalls flapping on the side-mirror.

"Some wrong, Mr. Lych?" asked J.Pea as he fell from the pickup. The tall grim man looked ashen beneath his mulish beard. Long fingers hung limp over filthy white knees. Over and over, he'd nod his noggin and drop his face into those spidery fingers.

"Willerwiller-willerwillerwiller--"

"Sir?"

"Willerwiller--"

"Kin I help ye Mr. Lych?"

The billygoat shook his head feverishly. J.Pea squatted beside the log and Lych lifted his teary red orbs, squinting back at the boy: "Come from Mizz Sisilse's place..."

"Yessir...?"

"Somethin got after ole Mizzy."

"Got after her...?"

"Somethin hongry."

J.Pea stood, slack-jawed, his bones felt weak. It was too far to get daddy. He made promises to Mr. Lych then went on up to the midwife's house. He saw the dinner sc.r.a.ps. Cold and wet, he finally lodged Mr. Lych, temporarily, with the Shea clan till his own could come fetch him. Telling Jake the tale was enough to justify rounding up a few Coffin Holler boys and that night a comic bearhunt ensued. But it was foolishness. All told they never found much other than her skull and dregs, out behind the hayrick.

A F T E R B I R T H.

"Merciful Jeeeehaw, the thing's alive--"

"Is a-livin alright. A twin. A twin an it ain't dead--d.a.m.n!"

"--d.a.m.n tootin."

"Hand her off t'me."

"You give a fair rubdown to this first colt, Sir Ashton Weaver, whilst I work my arm back up this G.o.dless brood mar's a.s.s. She's got another'n in there."

Frank Jr.'s hand slid back into that mare's womb. In the warm slime Frank Jr. felt a tiny hoof. Ash Weaver lay that freshborn liver-colored colt in plain view of its mama, cleared the goopy roux from its nostrils and mouth, then began scrubbing the colt with straw.

The barn door sc.r.a.ped open, all of sudden--you know the kind--and in run Mexico Phillips, breathless in her red wool cap and coat.

"Mr. Frank Jr., you're still here--Miz Althee says she's pert sure it's her time! Says for you to fetch on back home quick!"

"What?--Oh--Jesus, what a day," Frank Jr. said, releasing that little unseen hoof, unplugging his arm from the big mare's guts as she stomped and b.i.t.c.hed about it. "You get aholt of Nursy Jane?"

Mexico stopped, shook her head slow. "Cain't find her. She already lef the Magee place whar she'uz s'posed to be. n.o.body know whar she is. Your Miz Althee say come git you but quick..."

Ash Weaver's scrubbing let up; he pitched his hay wad aside, eyeing the teenage girl, then Frank Jr..

"You git on, Frank Jr.," Ash chuckled gravely, "I'll git that other'n outa there..."

"Looks like you gonna have to, dead er not, " Frank Jr. agreed, grabbing his black vet's bag without bothering to clean his blood-slimed hand. He slapped on his Army ballcap. "C'mon, Mexico, come go with me."

"That County man Shanks is gotta put a proper doctor back in hyere--" Ash said.

"Geramand Shanks would skin a gnat fer its tallow! " Frank Jr. shot back.

Ash was already up and throwing wide the barn door for them as the Sheriff's big sedan skidded into the yard. The big Sheriff got out of the big sedan just as Frank Jr. brushed past him.

"Frank--?" said Sheriff.

"Sheriff--" said Frank Jr., headed for his own Chevy.

"I'm inna hurry," Sheriff shouted after him, "I need to ask you and Ash if'n either of ya--"