by Jerry eBooks
Harper brought two blankets from the car, spread them on pine-needled ground. Julia brought the picnic basket and the gallon thermos jug of lemonade.
“You’d better get that stack of newspapers in the trunk,” she said. “All right?”
“Sure.”
Harper began to whistle. He returned to the car, flung open the trunk, picked up an armful of pillows, and the small stack of old newspapers. He closed the trunk and returned to the blankets. The sound of the waterfall rose through the afternoon. Sunlight streaked in slim shafts between the branches of trees. Wind sighed softly in the pines.
“It’s nice out here,” Harper said. “A few hours away from things—everything. Quiet. I just feel like eating and laying around. Glad we didn’t go over to the Martins, aren’t you?”
“I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“Am now.”
Julia set out the picnic dinner. Sandwiches. A bowl of potato salad. A cake. A thermos of coffee, and the gallon of lemonade. There were pickles and peanut butter, radishes, celery, apples, oranges, olives—the works. The Harpers always ate heavily when they went on a picnic.
Linda ran, fell and sprawled across the blanket, two chubby hands reaching toward the stack of sandwiches on the waxed paper.
After she was picked up, they sat down on the blanket and began eating.
“What’d you think of old Holdsby’s sermon?” Harper asked, around a mouthful of chicken. Julia held a pickle and Linda bit off a small piece, made a face, and spit it out. Julia tossed the small bit that Linda had rejected in among the trees, toward a thick growth of low bushes.
“Oughta use the trash can,” Harper said. “What’d you think of—?”
“I didn’t listen,” Julia said. She looked at him, chewing. She swallowed. “He bored me silly today. I don’t know. Sometimes—”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What’d you think?”
“I dunno,” Harper said, belching lightly.
The distant sound of a car’s engine that was being raced filtered up through the woods, the afternoon, above the sound of the waterfall, and seemed to drop like some kind of explosion among them. Neither spoke. Linda was busy with a piece of chocolate cake, her fingers in thick icing.
The sound became louder.
The sound lessened.
Harper seemed to relax.
The sound of the engine increased and abruptly the yellow and chrome car was beside their own, parked, with the shouting young men leaping over the sides, moving toward them.
Harper came halfway to his feet, a chicken sandwich in one hand, chewing, trying to swallow, choking.
The yellow-haired youth walked toward them.
“What you know?” he said. “A picnic. Isn’t that nice?”
They all sang in a loud chorus, “We think it’s wonderful.”
The yellow-haired leader stared at Julia. She was kneeling on the blanket, looking up at him. Harper came all the way to his feet, still chewing, still trying to swallow.
“We want some too,” the four young men behind the yellow-haired one sang. “We want a lit-tul bit of ev-ry—thing. We’re hungy!”
“Hungy,” Linda echoed.
“What?” Harper said, managing to swallow.
“Hungy,” they sang. “We hungy, daddio.”
Julia did not move, kneeling there on the blanket.
The yellow-haired one came around beside Julia and knelt on one knee and flung his arms wide. His sunburn was very bright. “Will you feed us, you sweet little darling? I wouldn’t ask your old man, ‘cause I know he’s mean.” He lowered his voice. “But I’d ask you, baby.” He stood up and looked across the blanket at the others. “Wouldn’t you ask her?” he called.
“We’d ask that baby anything,” they chorused. “We think she’s the nuts.”
Harper stood there. He moved toward them, then stopped. “What?” he said. “Get out of here. What are you doing? You hear me?”
“Please,” Julia said to the yellow-haired one. “Go away—leave us alone. Can’t you see—?”
“She says can’t we see?” the yellow-haired one said. His face had changed. He leered down at her. They all ran over beside her. “She’s cra-a-a-azy!” one yelled.
Harper grabbed at a chunky fellow wearing dark blue shorts and an open white shirt. The chunky fellow didn’t even look at Harper—he just shoved. Harper reeled violently backwards and fell flat.
“We see you, baby,” they chorused, circling Julia.
“We dig you, too,” the yellow-haired one said.
Linda giggled and pulled at the chunky one’s shoe. He reached down and patted her head. A red-haired youth saw him do it, and moved behind Julia and reached down and smoothed her hair. He snarled both hands in her hair and slowly bent her head back, until she was looking up at him. He leaned close to her and licked his lips.
The yellow-haired one knelt on the blanket. “Look,” he said. “Look at all the crazy food.” He unwrapped a sandwich. “Chicken sandwiches.” He smelled of it, tossed it over his shoulder. He grabbed a handful of olives and threw them up into the air. “Olives,” he said. He began to grab everything in sight, one thing at a time, naming it, then throwing it into the air. “Chocolate cake! Zoom! Orange! Ham sandwich! Zoom—zoom! Celery—look at that crazy celery! Peanut butter!” The jar smashed against a tree. They all began grabbing food and throwing it into the air.
Harper moved toward the yellow-haired one with his hands held out, saying words. The youth picked up the thermos of lemonade. It was open. He sniffed at the opening. “Have you had any of this?” he asked Harper.
“I’ll get the cops,” Harper said. He shouted, “You hear me? Get out of here and let us alone!”
“Fighting spirit,” one of them said.
“He’s a gone cat,” another said.
“Real gone.”
“He’s dead.”
“He don’t like us.”
“Shame.”
“He looks mean.”
“Looks and is, two different things.”
“He sure ain’t is.”
“Man, you’re frozen solid.”
“Crazy.”
“Wait,” the yellow-haired one said. “He wants some lemonade. He hasn’t had any.”
Three of them grabbed Harper and held him, forced him down to the ground. The yellow-haired one stood above him and poured the lemonade on Harper’s face until the thermos gurgled empty. Harper knelt there, gasping, spraying lemonade.
Julia Harper was on her feet now. “Stop it,” she said. She moved quickly toward her husband. “Did you hear me? You boys, stop it—now!”
The red-haired young man grabbed her around the waist, slapped her bare thigh with the flat of his hand. “We got your message, baby,” he said.
Julia tried to pull away from the red-head. He yanked her to him harshly, holding her against him, held her face and kissed her. She fought and struggled violently in his arms, but he held her very tightly, kissing her.
The yellow-haired one watched Harper. The young man scratched his head, watching Harper. Harper knelt on the ground, his hair hanging down, covered with lemon rinds and blobs of unmelted sugar. There were lemon pits in his hair.
“Stop!” Julia said sharply. She gasped.
“She’s a bomb,” the one who held her said. “A great big, wonderful bomb, I tell you. Wasn’t I right?”
Harper started to get up.
The yellow-haired one said, “You do what you’re thinking and I’ll smash your head in.” Then he said. “You weren’t going to do anything, anyways—were you?”
Harper looked at him, and that was all.
The yellow-haired one said. “My great Jesus Christ. This big man sure scares.”
Linda ran around on the blanket, then began to cry.
The yellow-haired one dropped the gallon thermos and called out, “Billy. Take care of the kid. You got the duty.”
“Please!” Julia said.
“She tol
d me ‘please’,” the redhead said. “Wow!”
Harper stood up, lemonade-drenched. The yellow-haired youth stared at him. Then he stepped over to Harper and shoved him in the direction of Julia and the redhead. Harper stumbled forward and the chunky fellow in the blue shorts brought his foot up and kicked Harper in the face.
Harper fell down and did not move.
“Take care of him,” the yellow-haired one said. “Tie him to a tree. He’s faking. Hurry up!”
A tall, lanky boy took Linda by the hand and moved quietly over beside the yellow and chrome hotrod, talking to her. “You going to grow up like your mommy?” he asked. “Tell me the truth, are you?” He paused. “ ‘Cause if you are, I’ll stand right here and wait.”
Harper came to his feet again. The yellow-haired one turned lithely, stepped up to him and shook his head sadly. Then he set himself with both feet planted flat and wide apart and struck with his right fist so hard Harper flipped and struck the ground like a plank.
“Now, tie him to a tree, like I said.”
Two of them took Harper over to the nearest pine, dragging him along the ground. One ran to the chrome and yellow car and returned with a length of rope. They lifted him to a sitting position and tied him to the tree. He stared groggily, moving his lips—watching his wife, Julia.
“Please, little girl,” the one with Linda said. “Tell me the absolute truth now. Don’t you fib to me. Are you going to grow them,” he made a gesture with both hands near his chest, “like your mama?”
The other four stood in a circle around Julia.
“Dell!” Julia called. “Dell—do something.”
They laughed. “He’s faking,” one of them said.
“You’ve got to stop this,” she said, breathing rapidly. She wasn’t crying, but she was close to tears. She stamped her foot. “Go away!” she shouted. “Leave us alone!”
“Oh, crazy!” one of them yelled. “She jiggles!”
“Go ahead and scream your head off,” the yellow-haired one said. “Nobody can hear you, darling. The falls makes too much noise. We know, don’t we guys?”
“We know ev—ry—thing,” they chorused.
“ ‘Cause we come to this spot a lot,” the yellow-haired one said.
“What do you want?” Julia said.
“Strip, baby,” the yellow-haired one said. “Just strip, that’s all.”
“What? Dell—Dell!”
“Run, Julia!” Harper shouted. “For God’s sake, run!”
“Strip,” the yellow-haired one said. “Let’s see the goodies.”
“Are—are you crazy?” Julia said in a whisper. She started backing away from them. They were in a circle around her. One of them knocked his knee against her leg.
“Take your clothes off,” the yellow-haired one said. “Or we’ll do it for you. Whichever way you like, honey. We’re going to have a picnic, too—‘cause we got your message.”
“What do you mean?” Julia said.
The yellow-haired one stepped up to her, grabbed the front of her jersey and yanked down on it, ripping it. Then he moved back again.
“Whichever way you want,” he said.
Julia Harper stared at them.
“We like to watch,” one said.
“Run,” her husband said. “Run, Julia—run.”
“Well?” the yellow-haired youth said.
Julia Harper looked at them, then slowly lifted her arms and pulled off the jersey. Then she went on just as the yellow-haired youth told her. There was silence now, with only the sound of the waterfall.
Occasionally, Harper heard her cry out. The last of them was over there behind those bushes with her now. Harper had shouted himself hoarse. He still tried to shout off and on. He stared, his eyes sick and gone. He was defeated.
The bushes were not high. Now and again he could see one of their heads come up above the bushes, grimacing. Twice he saw Julia’s feet. There was very little noise now. Finally, the fellows came out from behind the bushes, looked at Harper, then walked over to the car. The yellow-haired one, who had been playing with Linda, turned and walked over to Harper. The rest of them came along.
They did not speak. They just looked at him.
“I’ll get you,” Harper said. “Don’t ever forget that. I’ll get you—I’ll get you . . .”
They formed a straight line in front of Harper and looked down at him soberly and shook their heads in unison. They stood there shaking their heads for a few seconds. Then abruptly, they turned and ran for the yellow and chrome hot-rod, climbed in, and drove off.
Linda came and stood in front of her father and shook her head.
Harper screamed at her. “Stop—stop it!”
She giggled and began running in circles.
“Julia?” he called. “Julia—are you all right?”
He looked up and she had just stepped out from behind the bushes. She had her shorts on and the torn yellow jersey. She moved slowly and she looked pale and sheened with sweat, and as if she might have been crying. Her hair was damp and snarled, and brown pine needles clung in its dark richness. Lipstick was smeared all around her mouth.
“I couldn’t do anything,” Harper said. “Don’t look at me like that. There was nothing I could do. What could I do against all of them? Untie me—quick.”
She untied him, and he saw the blazing anger and disgust in her eyes. She walked to the car and got in and sat there. Harper gathered the blankets, the picnic basket and put them in the car. He avoided the gallon thermos. He put Linda in the back seat, then quickly slid behind the wheel.
“We’ll call the cops,” he said. “Soon as we get to town. First phone we see. We’ll stop and phone the cops.”
Julia began sobbing, staring straight ahead.
He reached toward her, touched her shoulder. “You all right, we’ll stop at a hospital—right away.”
She spun away from him, turned and looked at him. Then she flipped the sun-visor down and looked at herself in the mirror. She found her white-beaded purse. Her hands were trembling. She took out her lipstick and as she began to outline her mouth in deep red, apparently oblivious to the way it was smeared, sobs broke convulsively from her.
“I couldn’t do anything,” Harper was saying. “They knocked the hell out of me, Julia. I couldn’t do any—”
“No! No! Of course not!” She threw her purse to one side, tears of anger and frustration streaming down her face. “They—they would’ve—beat you—”
“You saw how it was.”
“Oh, yes. Sure.” She was sobbing without restraint now. “I’m glad you didn’t—do anything.”
“What?” he said, thoroughly puzzled.
Julia straight-armed the sun visor back into place. “I said, I’m glad you didn’t do anything, Dell. Because I liked it, Dell. I liked every minute of it. Every God damned minute of it!”
SOMEBODY’S GOING TO DIE
Talmage Powell
I’m afraid to go home tonight.
I’ll go, of course. To a modern, lovely house on Coquina Beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The beach is not the habitat of paupers.
A singularly beautiful and devoted woman waits for me there. Doreen. My wife.
We are ringleaders in a smart cocktail set. We get special service whenever we go into a beach restaurant. Everything has worked perfectly. No one on the beach suspects how we came into our money.
To an outsider I might well be a person to envy. Yet I would give five years of my life if I could escape going home tonight.
Doreen was unaware of the jam I was in when we went on that hunting trip together six months back. We had been married only a few weeks at the time, after getting acquainted during a business trip I took to Atlanta.
She was still pretty much of a stranger to me, and she was such an intense person I didn’t know how she would take the news.
We’d had a wonderful time on the trip. Few women would have taken the dark, tangled swamp, the south Georgia heat as Dor
een had. Snakes, alligators, they didn’t faze her. Neither had the panther.
We were in Okeefanokee hunting deer. I’d struck the panther’s spoor in late afternoon. I’d wanted Doreen to turn back, but she’d looked at me strangely.
“Enos,” she said, “I never suspected you’d be afraid of anything. You’re big, ugly, direct, blunt, hardheaded, cruel—or is that only a front?” She finished with a short laugh, but there was a seriousness beneath her words.
“I’m not afraid for myself,” I said.
“Then never be afraid for me,” she said excitedly. “Come on, Enos, I want to see you get this cat.”
I jumped the cat twenty minutes later. As it came out of a clump of palmetto and saw grass I put a 30-30 slug in her. My aim was a trifle high. The panther screamed, pinwheeled in the air, and came at me, a crazed mass of fury and hatred.
Doreen stood her ground and waited for me to shoot the cat. When the beast lay still and prone, it was I who had to wipe sweat from my face.
Doreen walked to the cat slowly. Blood on the animal’s hide was already beginning to draw flies and gnats.
“See, Enos,” Doreen said, “some of it is still pumping out of her, the hot, red life. Wasn’t she beautiful in death?”
I shivered. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah. Let’s get back to camp.”
We returned to camp and Doreen cooked our supper. Rabbit on a wooden spit and sourdough biscuits.
When we had eaten, we retired to our tent behind mosquito netting. Around us the swamp was coming to life. Its music was a symphony with tones ranging from the shrill of crickets to the basso of the frogs. The swamp rustled and sighed and screamed occasionally.
Doreen slipped into my arms. “You were wonderful with the cat today, Enos.”
Thinking of it, her breath quickened and I could feel her heart beating against me.
“I’ve shot ’em before,” I said.
She pulled my chin around with her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t interest you a bit at the moment, Enos,” she stated. “What’s bothering you?”
“A business detail. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I’m your wife,” she said. “Tell me.”
“All right,” I said looking directly into her eyes. They were large and dark. In the dim light of the lantern her pupils were dilated and as black as the glossy midnight color of her hair.