Sometimes a Great Notion

by Ken Kesey

  She arched her neck against him, thinking that it was nice to be young and pregnant and in love. She guessed she was very lucky. She had almost everything she wanted. She hummed and snuggled against him. And he nuzzled her hair. Then he pushed her away to arm's length and turned her so he could study her through squinted eyes. "I wonder--what it would be like, black?"

  "The baby?"

  "No, no." He laughed. "Your hair."

  And through the darkening porch screen she could hear the crows settling into the tops of the trees.

  As her time came closer she stopped climbing the hill, though the doctor told her the walk was probably doing her good. She didn't know why she stopped; she thought for a while it was because she was so interested in noticing all the movements inside her, but she decided later that this wasn't the reason or she would have started going again when the movements stopped and she knew the thing inside her was dead. When she received the examination some months later and was told that the operation was healed and she could resume her normal activities she went again to the shack. But it was drizzling rain and the only birds in sight were a flock of geese migrating down from Puget Sound, laughing a laugh she didn't understand, so she returned to her reading. She had gone only a few times since then, and it had been years since she'd used the particular path they were walking now, yet it was still surprisingly sharp in her mind. In fact, she would have liked to lead the way so she might have set a slower pace. Nothing would do for Henry but full speed ahead to show them he was still as fast as any man, plaster leg or no. Not that she couldn't keep up--it wasn't for that reason she wished he would go more slowly--but Lee was having a time of it in the unfamiliar dark. She could hear him struggling somewhere behind her as he fought the brush and berries on both sides of him. She thought of stopping to take his hand but decided against it, as she had decided against asking the old man to let her lead the way.

  The three of them became gradually more and more separated. As Henry pushed ahead and Lee fell farther behind she was left more by herself in the dark.

  After a few minutes she began to make out familiar shapes along the path and amused herself by identifying them. There was the patch of hazel bushes that grew along the orchard fence, there the dogwood, and the old lonely beech standing black and baffled against the purple sky, like an old bent-backed tramp a long way from home, waiting for Saint Vincent de Paul to bring him a suit of second-hand leaves. Close along the path she felt fern touch her ankles with wet fingers and sometimes heard the dry rattle of blue-vetch seeds in their little curled pods. From the bottomland, where trees resounded with the gleeful barking of the dogs, came a thick reek of jack-in-the-pulpit--skunk cabbage, Hank called it--and the sour-syrup smell of overripe blackberries. And over all these other plants, like a higher order of plant life, stood the fir--filling the sky with towering peaks, softly brushing its tart bright green fragrance onto the dark winds.

  As the space between herself and the two men widened, Viv felt herself relaxing; until then she had not been aware of the tightness pinching her shoulders together and confining her lungs. She released her elbows and breathed deep, holding her arms slightly away from her body. From one of the hazels a wren called--"Tiu! Tiu!"--and Viv lifted her arms higher, imagining them to be wings. She tried pretending she was flying, but couldn't make it real the way it had been when she was a child; if it weren't for the boots! They weigh a hundred pounds apiece. If it weren't for the boots I could fly!

  Hank always strapped her into boots before they went hunting; to him the woods was a battleground where you armed yourself with tin hat, leather gloves, and spiked boots, against an army of thorns. Then tromped through the forest. Viv would have preferred to fly through it; not high over it, like a hawk, but skimming through it inches above the ground, from rock to bush to tree, like the wren in the hazel. And for flying you needed wings, not spikes; tennis shoes, not hundred-pound clodhoppers.

  A stifled cry from the path some yards back stopped her. She found Lee where he had strayed from the path into the fern. His hand trembled as she led him back.

  "I stumbled when something flew against me," he explained in a whisper, more to himself than to Viv. "I think a moth . . ." A shudder stopped him. The very word, so softly whispered in the dark, fluttered against Viv's own cheek. "I know," she whispered back, "Sphinx moths this time of year. They scare me to death in the night." Her hand guided him along the path. "It's on account of they're white," she went on. "That's what gives me the willies. I know they're white, you see? But they feel dark."

  "Yes, that's it," Lee whispered too. "Exactly."

  "Hank kids me about it, but they just scare the daylights out of me sometimes. Br-r-r. And you know what else?" she went on softly. "Have you ever looked at one close up? On their backs they got a picture--I'm not kidding a bit--of a skull."

  This time they both shuddered, like children who have managed to conjure up a fright.

  The path started to rise and ahead of them they could hear the old man panting and cursing as he fought for footing with the rubber knob on the bottom of his cast. "Shall we give him some help?" Lee asked.

  "Huh-uh. Not much further. He'll make it by himself."

  "You certain? We couldn't help him? He sounds like he's having something of a time--"

  "Huh-uh. You saw him with Hank and the coat. Let him make it by himself. It's why he came along."

  "What is why he came along?"

  "That, to do a thing he set out to do. Without help. The way you wanted to take the boat across alone."

  Lee was impressed. "Madam," he said, panting. "I can't speak for--the middle-aged group--but I must say you are very--sensitive to the needs of crippled old men and frightened little boys."

  "Why is it you always think of yourself as a liability or a little boy?"

  "I don't. I was a liability when I first came. I don't feel so any more. But I'm still a little boy. Just like you're still a little girl."

  The hounds bayed in the distance. "I haven't been a little girl in a long time," Viv said simply and Lee wished he'd kept his humor to himself.

  At the top of the knoll a small fire crackled brightly in front of a three-walled log cabin. The knapsack with its delicious smell of tuna-fish and deviled-egg sandwiches dangled from the peg where Hank had hung it, and a large raccoon standing on its hind legs was reaching for that pack with both black hands as its shadow swayed lazily against the cabin's back wall. When Henry came into the firelight the animal trilled a plaintive note inquiring the nature of this intruder's business. It dropped to all fours.

  "Ain't you the one," Henry said. The raccoon stood looking at him, appearing perturbed at the interruption. "Don't you know you're supposed to be down in the slough-bottom givin' them dogs a run, not up here thievin' our grub--don't you know that?"

  The raccoon knew of no such appointment. It rubbed its hands in the dirt, feigning interest in a nonexistent bug.

  "Haw. Look here, kids; he just gonna give us the cold shoulder. He just gonna let us know what he thinks, us bustin' in on his business."

  The animal rubbed a moment longer, then, seeing these three nuisances were not going to take the hint, puffed out its hair and humped its back and made a little mock charge at Henry. Henry laughed and kicked dust in its face. The raccoon uttered a series of huffing snorts. "Made you mad, huh? What's the trouble? Won't we go away and leave you to your thievin'?" Henry laughed again and kicked another puff of dust. Which proved too much for a nobleman of the raccoon rank. In a stiff-legged bound it caught the old man and wrapped all four legs around his cast as though prepared to crush it in the grip; Henry yelled and beat at the animal with his hat. The raccoon tried the plaster two or three times with its teeth, then gave up and ran off into the darkness, huffing and trilling righteously.

  "By God." Henry leaned down to inspect the scratches on his cast. "Will you look at this. I bet that nigger has a thing or two to tell his buddies about the way a man is put together." He gave a stif
f nod. "Well, Lee boy, I guess we better build up the fire some."

  "To ward off further attack?" Lee asked.

  "Damn right. He's so mad he's liable to be back with all kinds of pests. We're in grave danger."

  Viv took his hand. "Seems like there's always some animal or other trying to get at your leg, doesn't it Papa?"

  "All right now. A lot of you snotnoses are looking for trouble, ain't you? Just see if you can do something for your keep around here."

  She found water in a ten-gallon milk can and started coffee while Henry and Lee dragged two gunny sacks of rubber duck decoys from the cabin and placed them near the fire. After she situated the pot in the coals she found her plastic sack and spread it on the ground. She sat down and leaned against the sack Lee was sitting on. During these chores none of them had spoken; now Henry loaded his lip up with snuff, scratched himself, and leaned forward to concentrate on the hounds, clearing his throat like a sports announcer before the game. "All right, you hear that?" The firelight carved from the darkness a red cedar relief of his face that appeared at times convex and at times concave. He ran his hand nervously through his long white hair as he talked.

  "I don't mean them other suckers off yonder, but that way . . . listen . . . that ol' Molly dog talkin'? You hear that?"

  Viv wriggled deeper into the sack's springy cushioning, situating herself for the discourse she knew to be coming. And when she stops moving she realizes that the back of a hand has moved to rest lightly against the nape of her neck beneath her hair.

  ". . . .Oh-oh, listen . . . she don't say fox, she don't say coon . . . I don't know about them other dirteaters but you can just mark it down in your little black book that Molly ain't talkin' like that about fox or coon; or deer neither, she never run deer. Ah . . . ah! Gawddamn." Suddenly overcome with delight, Henry whacked his cast with the hard palm of his hand--"what she says is bear!"--and provoked a celebration of sparks from the fire with his cane. "Gawddamn . . . a bear!"

  He leaned forward, green eyes intent on the darkness beyond the fire. Below them, down river to the west, the other dogs were yelping in a pack; from the other direction, toward the mountain range, came a clear and measured baying, each bay distinct by itself, starting low, then breaking into a note high and keen and true as though blown from a silver horn.

  "An' she's alone, Molly is. Them other dogs must be with old Uncle. Them other dogs generally follow Molly before they follow Uncle, but not when it's got to do 'th bear. An' Uncle, he don't want no more to do 'th bear, he got et up last year and lost an' eye over a bear, an' he says far as he's concerned Molly can have that bear all by her lonesome!" He laughed and whacked the cast again. "But listen there, boy, off down the slough--" He dug Lee in the side with his cane. "That bunch off down there, you hear the way they're yipin' and gripin'? All that fuss? Who they kiddin'? Yee hee. Oh, they know, they know. Damn, you can't tell me they don't. They're out with Uncle--after fox, most like--but listen how they feel about it. Listen how they carry on after that fox an' just Molly after that bear. . . ."

  They all listened. Indeed, there did seem to be the unmistakable sound of shame hidden beneath their high, overhysterical barking, certainly a sound not in the barking of the lone dog.

  "Where are Hank and Joe Ben?" Lee asked, and she feels the wrist move slightly.

  "Damned if I know. I figured they'd be here waiting. But, now . . . what I reckon is, the pack there sounds like it tried once, then headed off again." He frowned, scratching the tip of his nose. "Yeah . . . I reckon Molly took the pack right off to that bear--uh-oh, hear that? fox is turnin'--and soon as Uncle saw what he'd got into he says, 'Let's go, boys. Leave that fool Molly to get et by bear if she so wants. Let's us go hunt some fox.' Yeah--an' that was that first big noise, at the bear tree when the pack was there. So what I figure is Hank and Joe headed off--listen--to get to the treein', but when the pack left, Molly couldn't hold the bear by herself . . . so when Hank an' Joe got there . . ."

  He trailed off, mumbling to himself, nodding, opening his mouth to continue, then pausing to listen, eyes half closed and glinting green in the dark as he lip-read the hunt to himself. The fire spat and sizzled, opening pitch-pockets in the wood. The dogs' baying scrambled after shadows. And Viv sees those shadows flutter, black-plumed and black-beaked, just at the corners of her eyes. And hears their excited whisperings. And now feels the hand rotate tortuously until the tips of the fingers touch her throat. And does not move.

  "What's happening now?" Lee asked with casual interest.

  "Oh? Well, the fox--I reckon it's got to be a fox, the way they're moving around--he's cuttin' back an' forth, trying to back trail so's they won't pin him between the river an' the mouth of the slough. If he gets hemmed that way he'll have to tree or swim, an' there ain't any good holes or hollers down that direction an' lord does he hate to swim. If it was a coon he'd of cut 'cross the slough a long time ago, but fox don't want his bushy wet. An', over yonder, Molly . . . hm . . . she's moved back around the end of the slough and is cuttin' up to the high rocks. Hm. That ain't so good. But, listen . . ."

  And she concentrates even harder on the sounds, already hearing far more than the old man. She hears the slough, the whistle and bell buoys, the last of the hillside flowers dying in the breeze--the drip of bleeding heart, the rattle of firecracker weed, the hiss of adder's tongue. Far off a fever of lightning takes a flash picture of Mary's Peak. She waits but hears no thunder. A curious breeze dashes out of the dark firs to rummage for a moment through the fire, then snatches her hair away from Lee's hand. A few strands blow into her mouth and she rolls them thoughtfully between her front teeth. Her wet boots begin to steam and she draws them back from the fire. She wraps her arms about her knees. The cold fingers against her neck move, growing hotter.

  "Ah . . . what'll happen if he, if the fox, swims?" Lee asked his father.

  "He swims the slough 'stead the river he'll be okay, but a lot of times they don't. Lot of times they head right 'cross the river; and that ain't so good for the dogs or fox neither one."

  "Can't they make it?" Viv asks.

  "Oh sure, honey. It ain't that far across. But somehow they get out in that water . . . and it's dark . . . and 'stead of going on across they swim with the current, swim and swim and never get to the other side, just keep right on agoin'. Listen . . . he's tryin' to make a run, cuttin' back to the north. That means they got him away from the slough and headed toward the river. They'll get him, ifn he don't swim."

  The barking of the pack had reached a pitch that seemed way out of proportion to the size of the animal they were chasing--when compared to that relentless tolling of the lone dog after the much larger game.

  "Keep right on agoin' to where?" Lee asked.

  "To the ocean," Henry answered, "to the sea. Dang! Listen at the way them boogers are makin' over that pore little fox. Dirteaters!"

  She feels that she should move from that touch--tend the coffee or something--but doesn't move. Henry listened to the pack's trailing with a displeased frown; this wasn't the way he liked to hear dogs work. They were making too big of some poor little runt of a fox. He leaned forward and spat his wad of tobacco into the coals as though it had turned suddenly bitter. He watched it sizzle and swell. "Sometimes," he mused, staring at the coals, "the salmon trollers pick up animals miles out to sea; deer, dogs, cats, lots of fox--just swimmin' around all by theirselves, miles and miles from shore." He picked up a stick and poked at the coals, deep in thought, seeming to have momentarily dismissed the hunt. "Once--oh, maybe thirty years ago, a good thirty years--I was workin' half-days on a crab boat. Get up about three an' go out an' help this old fart of a Swede haul up his crab pots." He held his hand out in the firelight. "Them scars there on my little finger? Them's crab bites, where the sonsabitches pinched me. Don't ever tell me crabs can't pinch. Anyhow, we was always running across animals swimmin' around out there. Foxes mainly, but some deer too. Generally the Swede would say leave 'em be, leave 'em be; 'No
time to fool round, no time to fool round b'golly.' But this once we seen a great big buck deer, a real beauty, eight-nine points. And he says let's get that feller. So we get a line on him and haul him in. The Swede figures the buck's worth foolin' round b'golly because we can eat him, I suppose, so we get a line around his head and lug him on board. An' he just laid there. He was pretty nearly gone. Breathin' hard, rollin' his eyes scared to death the way deer do. But I don't know--not just scared. I mean it weren't like he was just scared of damn near drowning; or of bein' caught on a boat with people neither. Not that kind of just scared, as near as I could make out, but pure scared."

  He jabbed at the fire, sending another fountain of sparks into the dark. Viv and Lee watched, waiting for him to go on. Feeling those sparks in her breast.

  "Well, he looked so done in we didn't bother to tie him down. He was just layin' there sort of stunned an' so shot he didn't look like he could bat an eye. He laid there, didn't make a move till we got close to the beach on our way in; then, man alive, he was up and for a second there it was just hoofs and horns in all directions, then over the side. I thought at first the booger had just been sullin' till he got near enough to swim to shore. But that wasn't it. He turned right around, right into a incom' tide, and headed right straight back out, lookin' scared as ever. It kinda got me, you know? I'd always heard tell that deer and such went into the surf to kill the ticks and lice with salt water, then got swept out, but after seein' that buck I decided different, I decided there was more to it than bugs."

  "More what?" Lee asked earnestly. "Why? Do you think--"

  "Hell, boy I don't know why." He tossed the stick into the flames. "You got the education, I'm nothin' but a dumbass logger. I just know that I decided it didn't stand to reason a deer or bear--or say a fox, who's supposed to be a pretty smart customer--would drown hisself just to get shut of a few fleas. That's a purty stiff cure." He stood up and walked a few paces from the fire, brushing the front of his pants. "Uh-oh, listen there . . . they cut him off. They got the sucker now if he don't swim."