The Gravedigger's Daughter Part 2

Now the sky had darkened, it was nearly dusk. A sombre, sulky evening. There was no beauty in the ca.n.a.l now. Only at the horizon was the sun dimly visible like flame amid smoldering ashes.

The Poor Farm Road was a quarter-mile ahead: she could see the plank bridge. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. She was desperate to get to the bridge, to climb up the embankment to the road, and to safety. She would run in the middle of the road to the Meltzers' house a half-mile away...

Then, the man in the panama hat made his move.

She heard a sound like breaking gla.s.s unexpected close behind her: footsteps in dried leaves. At once she panicked. She did not look back but ran blindly up the embankment. She clutched at briars, thistles, tall gra.s.ses to help pull herself up. She was desperate, terrified. In a flash came memories of trying to pull herself up onto fences, or roofs, as her brothers did so easily, and she could not. She heard the man behind her speak, he was calling after her, she began to fall, the incline was too steep. Her ankle twisted, she fell heavily. The pain was shocking, sickening. She had partly broken her fall with the fleshy edge of her right hand.

But she was fallen now, helpless. In that instant her vision darkened, like an eclipse of the sun. Of course she was a woman, this man sought her as a woman. He would be on her, now.

"Miss, wait! Excuse me! Please! I won't hurt you."

Rebecca was on her haunches, panting. The man in the panama hat approached her, with a pained expression. Cautiously, as one might approach a snarling dog.

"Don't! Don't come any nearer! Get away."

Rebecca fumbled for the piece of steel in her pocket. Her hand was bleeding, numbed. She could not force it into her pocket.

The man in the panama hat, seeing the expression in Rebecca's face, had stopped dead in his tracks. Concerned, he removed his tinted gla.s.ses to peer at her. There was the strange thing about him Rebecca would long remember: his curious, staring, naked eyes. They were eyes of wonderment, calculation, yearning. They appeared to have no lashes. Something about the right eye looked damaged, like a burnt-out filament in a lightbulb. The whites of both eyes were discolored as old ivory. He was a young-old man, a boyish demeanor in a creased face, weakly handsome, yet something fading about him, insubstantial. Rebecca saw, such a man could be no danger to her unless he had a weapon. And if he had a weapon, by now he would have shown it.

She was flooded with relief, what a fool she'd been to so misjudge this stranger!

He was saying, awkwardly, "Please forgive me! I didn't mean to frighten you. That was the last thing I mean, truly. Are you hurt, dear?"

Dear! Rebecca felt a tinge of contempt.

"No. I'm not hurt."

"Butmay I help? You've twisted your ankle, I think."

He offered to help Rebecca to her feet, but Rebecca gestured for him to keep his distance. "Mister, I don't need your help. Get away."

Rebecca was on her feet, shakily. Her heart was still pounding. Her blood was up, she was furious with this man for having frightened her, humiliated her. She was furious with herself, even more. If anyone who knew her saw her cowering like this...She hated it, the way the stranger stared at her with his queer lashless eyes.

He said, suddenly, yet almost wistfully, "It's Hazelyes? Hazel Jones?"

Rebecca stared at the man, not knowing what she'd heard.

"You are Hazel, aren't you? Yes?"

"Hazel? Who?"

"'Hazel Jones.'"

"No."

"But you look so like her. Surely you are Hazel..."

"I said no. Whoever it is, I am not."

The man in the panama hat smiled, tentatively. He was at least as agitated as Rebecca, and perspiring. His checked bow tie was crooked, and his long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt was damp, showing the unflattering imprint of his unders.h.i.+rt beneath. Such perfect teeth, they had to be dentures.

"My dear, you look so much like her'Hazel Jones.' I simply can't believe that there could be two young women, very attractive young women, looking so much alike, and living in the same region..."

Rebecca had limped back to the towpath. She tested her weight on the ankle, gauging if she could walk on it, or run. Her face was flushed with embarra.s.sment. She brushed at her clothes, that had picked up crumbly loose dirt and burrs. How annoyed she was! And the man in the panama hat still staring at her, convinced she was someone she was not.

She saw that he'd removed the panama hat, and was turning it nervously in his hands. He had crimped-looking gray-blond hair that looked like a mannequin's hair, molded, hardly disturbed by the hat.

"I got to go now, mister. Don't follow me."

"Oh, butwait! Hazel"

Now the stranger was sounding just subtly reproachful. As if he knew, and she knew, that she was deceiving him; and he could not comprehend why. He was so clearly a well-intentioned man, and a gentleman, unaccustomed to being treated rudely, he could not comprehend why. Saying, courteously, with his air of maddening persistence: "Your eyes are so like Hazel's, and your hair has grown a little darker, I think. And your way of carrying yourself is a little harsher for which," he said hurriedly, "I am to blame, frightening you. It's just that I had no idea how to approach you, dear. I saw you on the street yesterday, I mean I believed it was you I had seen, Hazel Jones after so many years, and now today...I had to follow you."

Rebecca stared at him, deliberating. It did seem to her that this earnest man was telling the truth: the truth as he saw it. He was deceived, but didn't appear to be deranged. He spoke with relative calmness and his reasoning, granted the circ.u.mstances, was logical.

He thinks I am her, and I am lying.

Rebecca laughed, this was so unexpected! So strange.

She wished she could tell Tignor about it, when Tignor called. They might have laughed together. Except Tignor was inclined to be jealous, and you don't tell a man with such inclinations that you have been followed by another man wanting to think that you are another woman beloved by him.

"Mister, I'm sorry. I'm just not her."

"But..."

He was approaching her, slowly. Though she'd told him, warned him, to stay away. He seemed not to know what he did, and Rebecca wasn't fully aware, either. He did seem harmless. Hardly taller than Rebecca, and wearing brown oxford shoes covered in dust. The cuffs of his cream-colored trousers were soiled, too. Rebecca smelled a sweet cologne or aftershave. As he was a young-old man, so he was a weak-strong man, too. A man you misjudge as weak, but in fact he's strong. His will was that of a young coiled-up copperhead snake. You might think the snake was paralyzed with fear, in terror of being killed, but it was not; it was simply biding its time, preparing to strike. Long ago Rebecca's father Jacob Schwart the gravedigger of Milburn had been a weak-strong man, only his family had known of his terrible strength, his reptile will, beneath the meek-seeming exterior. Rebecca sensed a similar doubleness here, in this man. He was apologetic, yet not humble. Not a strain of humility in his soul. He thought well of himself, obviously. He knew Hazel Jones, he'd followed Hazel Jones, he would not give up on Hazel Jones, not easily.

Tignor would misjudge a man like this, for Tignor was affably blunt in his opinions, and never revised them. But this man was a man with money, and an education. Very likely, family money. He had a bachelor look, yet a cared-for look. His clothes were of good quality if now slightly rumpled, disheveled.

On his right hand he wore a gold signet ring with a black stone.

"I don't know why you deny me, Hazel. What I've done to so alienate you. I am Dr. Hendricks's sonyou must recognize me."

He spoke half-wistfully, insinuatingly.

Rebecca laughed, she knew no one named Hendricks. Yet she said, as if to bait him, "Dr. Hendricks's son?"

"Father pa.s.sed away last November. He was eighty-four."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But"

"I'm Byron. You must remember Byron?"

"I'm afraid, no I don't. I told you."

"You were no more than twelve or thirteen! Such a young girl. I was just graduated from medical school. You perceived me as an adult. An abyss of a generation separated us. Now, the abyss is not so profound, is it? You must have wondered about us, Hazel. I am a doctor now, following my father's example. But in Port Oriskany, not in the Valley. Twice a year I return to Chautauqua Falls to see relatives, to look after family property. And to tend my father's grave."

Rebecca stood silent. d.a.m.n if she was going to respond to this!

Quickly Byron Hendricks continued, "If you feel that you were mistreated, Hazel...You, and your mother..."

"I told you no! I'm not even from Chautauqua Falls. My husband brought me here to live. I'm married."

Rebecca spoke hotly, impatiently. Wished she'd worn her ring to shove into this man's face. But she never wore her pretty ring at Niagara Tubing.

Byron Hendricks sighed. "Married!" He had not considered this, it seemed.

He said, "There is something for you, Hazel. Through his long and sometimes troubled life my father never forgot you. I realize it's too late for your poor mother, but...Will you take my card, at least, dear? If you should ever wish to contact me."

He handed her a small white business card. The neatly printed black letters seemed to Rebecca a rebuke of some kind.

Byron Hendricks, M. D.

General & Family Medicine Wigner Building, Suite 414 1630 Owego Avenue Port Oriskany, New York tel. 6934661 Rebecca said, furious, "Why the h.e.l.l should I contact you?"

Rebecca laughed, and tore the card into small pieces, and tossed them down onto the towpath. Hendricks stared at her in dismay. His lashless myopic eyes quivered.

Rebecca turned, and walked away. Maybe it was a mistake: turning her back on this guy. He was calling after her, "I am so very sorry if I offended you! You must have a very good reason, dear, for such rudeness. I don't judge others, Hazel. I am a man of science and reason. I don't judge you. This newly harsh way of yours, this...hardness. But I don't judge."

Rebecca said nothing. She wasn't going to look back.

G.o.d d.a.m.n, he'd scared her! She was shaking, still.

He was following her again, at a short distance. Persisting, "Hazel! I think I understand. You were hurt, or were told you were. And so you wish to hurt, in turn. As I said, dearthere is something for you. My father did not forget you in his will."

Rebecca wanted to press her hands over her ears. No, no!

"Will you call me someday, dear? In Port Oriskany? Orcome to see me? Tell me we are forgiven. And accept from me what Dr. Hendricks has left you, that is your legacy."

But Rebecca was now climbing the embankment to the road. A narrow, steep dirt path she knew well. Though she favored her ankle, she wasn't going to fall. Behind her Byron Hendricks remained, looking after her. He would be gripping his ridiculous panama hat in both hands, in a suppliant pose. Yet Rebecca had sensed the man's will, she shuddered to think of it. She'd had to pa.s.s so close to him, he might have reached out and grabbed her. The way he'd crept up behind her, only the dried leaves had warned her, she would remember for a long time.

In his will.

Legacy.

It was a lie, had to be. A trick. She did not believe a word of it. Almost, Rebecca wished that Hendricks had tried to touch her. She would have liked to stab him with the piece of steel, or to try.

2.

"Mom-my!"

The child rushed at her as soon as she entered the Meltzers' kitchen, hugging her legs. His small careening body was electric with energy, excitement. His eyes were a feral animal's eyes, gleaming and fiery. Rebecca stooped to hug him, laughing. Yet she was trembling, too. His cry tore at her heart, she felt such guilt at being away from him. "Niley, you didn't think Mommy wasn't coming back, did you? I always do."

His relief at her arrival was absurd, hurtful. He wanted to punish her, she thought. And for Tignor's absence, he wanted to punish her. It was often like this. d.a.m.n she felt the injustice, she should be doubly punished by both the child and his father!

"Niley? You do know Mommy has to work, don't you?"

Niley shook his head stubbornly, no.

Rebecca kissed him. His fevered face.

Now she must endure being told by Edna Meltzer that Niley had been fretting through the day, demanding to listen to the radio and moving restlessly from window to window as soon as the sun pa.s.sed behind the treeline, waiting for Mommy.

"He don't like the daylight shortening, he can tell it's getting on night faster. This winter, I don't know how he'll be." Mrs. Meltzer was frowning, fussing. Between her and Rebecca there was an air of muted tension, like a telephone dial humming. "Oh, that child would hang out on the road if I didn't watch him every minute," she laughed. "He'd trot along the ca.n.a.l to meet you like a lovesick little puppy if I let him."

Lovesick little puppy! Rebecca hated such flowery speech.

She hid her face against the child's warm neck and held him tight. Her heart beat in the aftermath of relief, that nothing had happened to her on the towpath, and no one would ever know.

She asked if Niley had been a good boy, or a naughty boy. She told him that if he'd been naughty the Great Spider would get him. He shrieked with laughter as she tickled his sides to weaken his grip on her legs.

Edna Meltzer observed, "You're in a good mood tonight, Rebecca."

Mrs. Meltzer was a stout, solid woman with billowing b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a sugary pudding face. Her manner was benign, maternal; yet always subtly accusing.

Shouldn't I be in a good mood? I'm alive.

"I'm out of that h.e.l.lhole till tomorrow. That's why."

Rebecca smelled frankly of female sweat, her skin felt clammy-pale, feverish. Her eyes were bloodshot. She s.h.i.+ed from Mrs. Meltzer observing her so closely. The older woman was wondering maybe if Rebecca had been drinking. A quick drink with co-workers in town instead of coming directly home? For she seemed excited, distracted. Her laughter was rather wild.

"Huh! What happened, hon, did you fall?"

Before Rebecca could draw away, Edna Meltzer took her right hand, and lifted it to the light. The fleshy edge of her hand had been chafed raw in the dirt, blood oozed out now in slow drops glistening like gems. There were thinner cuts on her fingers, that had barely bled, caused by the sharp piece of steel she'd been gripping in her pocket.

Rebecca drew her hand from the older woman's grasp. She murmured it was nothing, she didn't know what it was, no she had not fallen. She would have wiped her hand on her coverall except Edna Meltzer stopped her. "Better wash this, hon. You don't want to catch what's ittet'nis."

Niley clamored to know what tet'nis was. Edna Meltzer told him it was something very bad that happened to you if you cut yourself out in the wild and didn't wash it very clean with good strong soap.

Rebecca washed her hands at the kitchen sink as Mrs. Meltzer insisted. She was flushed with annoyance for she hated to be told what to do. And in Niley's presence! Was.h.i.+ng her d.a.m.n hands like a child with a bar of grainy gray soap, 20 Mule Team was the brand name, a laborer's soap useful for removing dirt embedded in the skin, the nastiest dirt and grime. Edna Meltzer was married to Howie Meltzer, who owned the Esso station.

Rebecca's father had used such harsh soap to clean himself of grave-dirt. Except of course you can never clean yourself entirely of grave-dirt.

Excitedly Niley was crying, "Tet'nis! Tet'nis!" and crowded beside Rebecca, wanting to wash his hands, too. He was of an age when new words thrilled him as if they were gaily feathered birds flying about his head.

The windowpane above the sink had darkened. In it Rebecca could see Mrs. Meltzer observing her. Tignor disliked the Meltzers for no reason except they were friendly with his wife, in his absence. Rebecca was herself undecided whether she was very fond of Edna Meltzer, a woman of the age Rebecca's mother would have been if she hadn't died young, or whether in fact she resented her. Always so righteous, so maternal! Always telling Rebecca the young, inexperienced mother what to do.

Mrs. Meltzer had had five children. Out of that compact fleshy body, five babies. The thought made Rebecca feel faint. All the Meltzers' children were now grown and gone. Rebecca wondered how Edna Meltzer could bear it: having babies, loving them with such tenderness and ferocity, enduring so much on their behalf, and then losing them to time. It was like gazing into the sun, your eyes are blinded, so Rebecca could not comprehend a time when Niley would be grown and gone from her. Her little boy who so adored her and clung to her.

"Mom-my! Love you!"