Absolution River

by Aaron Mach

  “Miss,” the attendant said emotionless as he tipped his hat.

  “Hello.” Marie replied in the most polite manor while avoiding eye contact as much as manners would allow. She was no stranger to strange men being as beautiful as she was, living in a big city. She decided to make this a quick stop. Caffeine and food were the top priorities. She hadn’t eaten since the drive from Billings. On the bare counters were some warm glass bottles of Coke and some cans of Vienna sausages. Oh goody, she thought to herself, with the image of the iced cold latte with condensation dripping down the side still fresh in her mind. She grabbed the Coke and eyed a Snickers bar on the way to the cashier. Setting the items down on the counter, she noticed the spittoon not inches from her Snickers. In the back of her throat she felt a little movement but she managed to keep it in.

  “That’ll be all, miss?” said the attendant in a very peculiar manner. Like there was a joke that only he knew.

  “Yep, that’s all.” She smiled and glanced at her vehicle out front. “Wait. Need ten dollars for pump one.”

  “Ten dollars pump one, you got it.”

  He went to grab the Snickers but grabbed the spittoon instead. The sound of the saliva dropping into the cup seemed to echo through the entire building and he looked into her eyes throughout the process. She had a look of disgust, and begged in her mind for him to just ring it up so she could head back to her hotel. He finally rang up the items and $1.50 later she was out the door after one last look back at the attendant who did not take his eyes off of her for one second. Marie got into her jeep and took a long swig of the Coke and tore the wrapper off of the candy bar, taking a bite. The jeep started easily despite its age and she was back on 90 heading south toward butte. She pulled into the motel just outside of the city and remembered that she paid for gas she never got.

  The last week in this hotel had been painful enough but knew she had to be there for a while longer. Until she could determine what, if anything, this Grimes guy was up to. There was definitely something about him that didn’t sit right and she was determined to find out what it was. There were leads she wanted to follow up on, but with the long day and the heavy rain outside, tomorrow would prove to be her only option. Just too tired. Marie walked up the exterior stairs to her room on the second floor and walked into her hotel room. It was small but clean, and at $40 dollars a night she was able to keep the difference in the per diem from the department. There were empty pizza boxes on the floor and papers strewn about. She walked over them all and turned the shower on. As she stared into the mirror she could see the lines of age beginning to show their true depth as the rain washed away any makeup she put on this morning. Turning forty wasn’t easy and this job was all she had. Sacrifice after sacrifice for her work left her with no husband, no children, and the prospects fading as fast as her beauty. After a long, hot shower, she put a towel on and walked toward the bed. She found what was left of the Snickers bar next to her keys and devoured it. Can’t do pizza again, she thought. The bed was stiff but her eyes were heavy. Her arms stretched across the bed as the sleep began to overtake her and her hand brushed against some papers. She opened her eyes and looked to see a map she had been working on. There was a pattern forming of the complaints. The logging company was obviously moving south and she had marked all of the homes in the logging company’s presumed area of operation. She noticed one small home that she hadn’t checked yet. Better check that one tomorrow, she thought as the map dropped by her side and she faded into slumber. Her dreams were of her childhood in the rural areas outside of Paris. Her father would come home from his bakery smelling of the most amazing confections. Her mother who slaved in the kitchen had prepared the greatest meals for them and a smile went across her face as she moved deeper and deeper into sleep.

  …

  The attendant of the gas station watched the woman leave and thought to himself a particular set of horrible scenarios. The man made another deposit into the spittoon and left the register. He only got about one customer a day on this road, and selling gas and Slim Jims wasn’t his main profession. He walked behind the counter and opened the door to the back office and storage area. There was an old dilapidated cot with dirty sheets and pillow along the back wall of the office. All along the walls were pictures of naked women in compromising poses. There were other pictures on the wall in the darker areas of the office where the small light in the room could not reach; pictures of men, women, and families enjoying the happiest parts of their lives. Most of them looked like the stock photos from department stores that sold frames, but these were not. The rest of the room contained a large assortment of shoes and trinkets that were not his. He would never purchase any of these items, as he was not the type of man to take pleasure from the things that most would. His pleasure was in causing chaos. Disrupting the natural order of things. He didn’t even remember how he got to this place and he didn’t much care. He sat in the seat of the office and spit onto the floor. No point in pretending civility. Along the walls were books of ancient literature, Plato, Socrates. Every novel of Hemingway was also among them. The attendant was not a stupid man. He liked to think that he was above what society deemed normal, he had transcended into something more visceral; an element of the earth much like fire and water. His purpose was simply as a tool for those who would need to achieve their ends. He did not care about their ends, but simply the journey to those ends was where he found his calling. As the bulb that lit the room swung to and fro it illuminated a wooden board with hundreds of scratches in the manner you would score a tic-tac-toe game. Four slashes with one diagonal across. On the desk was an old phone with the message light flashing. He spit onto the floor again and pushed old candy wrappers off the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed one and held the phone to his ear.

  “Hey Sol, its Arch, got another job for you; like the others. Need it done soon, you got three weeks. You know what I want you sick fuck, let me know when it’s done.”

  The message ended and Sol returned the receiver to its home. He sat there for a moment and turned around in his old swivel office chair. He put his hands behind his head and swallowed his spit this time. He looked up at the wooden board with the scratches and thought for a moment. Getting up, he moved toward a large wall locker in the storage room. He unlocked it slowly to reveal a hand grenade with a pull switch tripwire attached to the grenade’s ring. He removed the tripwire and opened the locker cautiously. Inside of the locker on the left interior of the door hung old dried-up pieces of ear he had collected during his journey of self-discovery. They had been decades old now and could not be deciphered as anything human at this point. In the main compartment of the locker were a set of well-worn fatigues and an assortment of rifles, pistols, and hand grenades. He pulled out a sniper rifle, one that he had spent many nights with staring down the scope looking at the very same individuals whose pictures hung on his walls. As he was done inspecting his equipment and removing the rifle, the light revealed the right locker door interior. In it were horrific images of him and his victims in Vietnam. One particular image showed him calmly smiling while lying on a mound of burnt bodies. His hand behind his head and eyes closed; like a day at the beach. He slammed the doors shut.

  XIV

  The drifter began to open his eyes. He noticed he was in a small one-room cabin with a large fireplace on one side. There was movement somewhere and it sounded like someone was cooking. He slowly opened his eyes and was welcomed by the warmth from the fire and the smell of cooking. His level of hunger was blinding and the wonderful aroma in the room only made it worse. It was dark outside and the rain was still coming down hard. His foot had been wrapped and elevated on the end of the bed. He began to get up and the figure came over to him and grabbed his arm. The wounded man flinched and pulled back hard. It had been a long time since someone tried to touch him without the intention of hurting him. The figure backed up and moved back over to the kitchen. The man got up on his own and hung over the bed.


  “My name’s Eli. Found you face down in the mud ‘bout a mile from here. You’re a heavy son of a bitch. What’s your name?”

  There was no answer, only a look from a face covered in mud. Eyes piercing.

  “Come on, I cooked up your catch. Ain’t much but put some potatoes in there, it’ll do for tonight. Come on, ain’t gonna bite.”

  The man limped over to the table and sat. In front of him was a bowl of the squirrel he caught earlier that day in a stew. The old man sat on the other side of the small table. He said a prayer for them and the food and he began to eat. He poured a large glass of whiskey nearly to the top and drank half of it.

  “What’s your name?”

  There was no reply as the drifter began to devour the stew. He looked intently at the bottle of whiskey and the old man got up to grab another glass. He poured it half full and the drifter drank it all.

  “I see you like the brand. Made it myself, not sure what you’d call it but it sure does go down smooth. Don’t get much visitors round here. Got some today but wouldn’t call them the friendly sort. Been out here most my life. Ain’t much of a talker either, but you ain’t leavin me much choice.”

  “Jackson, Jackson McAull,” the drifter stated in a low, gruff voice that hadn’t been used in years.

  “Jackson, how bout Jack, for short, that okay?”

  A nod. They sat there quietly finishing the bottle of whisky and devouring the stew. Eli sat up and took the dishes into the small water basin and washed them.

  “Got a spare change a clothes there on the bed. Hadn’t worn them in decades but they should fit you now.” Eli turned around so Jack could change. Eli glanced over and noticed the finished plate. A smile. He let the dish sit and moved over to the leather chair. Jack limped back over to the bed in his dry clothes of jeans and flannel shirt and laid his head down.

  “You were in quite a state, where’d you come from?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “I see.”

  “Where were you goin’ to?”

  “Nowhere.” Jack stated in a dreary, desperate tone.

  “I see, I’ve been there, there now.”

  Jack faded off to sleep. Early afternoon the next day, Jack awoke to an empty cabin. There was some beef jerky left on the table for him that he could see from his position on the bed. The sun was shining and the fire was still smoldering from the night before. He got up and moved to the door, and stepped outside onto the small porch. There was a chair there and he sat looking out at the forest. In the front of the cabin was an axe and logs that needed to be split. Past the open area in front of the porch was a thick forest. Above that was a towering mountain filled with pine trees moving up to the snow-capped peaks of the Flathead Wilderness Area. Jack closed his eyes and felt the breeze. The pain from his ankle was beginning to fade but it was still large and throbbing. He got up from the chair and limped over to the axe. He removed it from the large base stump with one hand and grabbed a log. He placed it on the base and swung, shattering the log into two even pieces. He did this again, and again, and again. Each strike was a movement against an immovable object. His aim was not to split the log but the massive base below it, to bust through it and into the ground as hard as he could. Eli came out of the thicket and watched the process for several moments. He emerged and walked over to Jack. He set down his traps and musket and began to hand Jack the logs. Shocked by Eli’s stealth, Jack looked at him with sweat dripping down his face and into his thick beard. Jack’s barefoot and broken stance re-positioned and he grabbed the log from Eli. They continued this for over an hour, without a single word spoken. Each man knew this had to be done, as each of them had been doing it their whole lives. Not stopping for the pain but simply accepting it and driving forward with the strength and determination of an axe along its trajectory. Finally Jack stopped out of exhaustion and Eli picked up his things and began walking to the cabin door.

  “Come on, I caught lunch.”

  They ate lunch on the porch and sipped at the whiskey this time. After an hour of sitting and enjoying the silence, Eli asked. “You’re a private man, I can see that. I can also see you battling somethin’ in ya. Don’t need to know what or why, but its nice havin’ the company. You help me with some things round here and I won’t ask no questions. You’ll need a couple days to get that ankle right.” Jack nodded and looked down, and that is where they left it. Time passed and Jack sat on the porch most days and even on some nights. His leg elevated, staring off into the distance. Eli would come out with him when he wasn’t doing the chores and sit with him and smoke a cigar. Neither would speak, and each finding solace in the company.

  It was mid-afternoon and Jack heard a shot going through the forest. He immediately was on his guard and came to his feet. He noticed that his ankle was feeling much better and it was even holding his weight. He moved to the tree line and scanned the area. Jack sat quietly in a concealed area behind some bushes with a clear line of site to the cabin and to all of the avenues of approach. He heard some rustling and cussing coming from the north and he moved to see what it was. Something began to come busting out of the brush fifty feet from his position and he lay low until he could determine the source.

  “Son of a bitch! Damn stupid–cockamamie!” shouted Eli as he was dragging a large deer out of the brush. Jack relaxed and walked over and surprised Eli.

  “What the! Where’d you come from? Get over here and grab this, you lazy bastard,” Eli said, exasperated. Jack walked over and grabbed the deer, and they dragged it the next five hundred feet to a line outside of the cabin. They proceeded in cleaning and gutting the deer expertly.

  “You done this before?”

  “As a boy.”

  “Ah, so he speaks, and he was a boy at one time, well shoot!”

  Jack had the slightest of grins almost imperceptible under the beard.

  “We gotta get you some shoes so you can help me do some real work now you’re feelin’ better.” They finished with the deer and cooked the best cuts of venison and drank some more of the homemade whiskey. Eli came out of the cabin as Jack was sitting out front, relaxing in the shade of the hot Montana afternoon.

  “Here,” Eli said as he handed Jack a pair of moccasins he had made years back. “Made these too big, take ‘em.”

  Jack took the moccasins that were light tan in color with a tread that Eli had fire hardened. He placed them on his feet and they fit perfectly.

  “Ah, perfect,” Eli said. “Come on’ get off your lazy ass and help me clean this deer.”

  As they got up Jack’s ears perked and said quietly, “You expecting anyone?”

  Eli shook his head, “Had some folks come by yesterday, can’t say it was a friendly neighborly visit though.”

  Eli stepped down off of the porch and glanced around the row of trees that lined the dirt road leading to his house. He could see a faint outline of an SUV with a great deal of dust behind it. The vehicle was moving quickly and would be in front of the cabin in moments.

  “Not sure who-” Eli stopped as he turned and noticed Jack was gone. “What the-”

  The vehicle skidded to a stop in the open dirt area in front of the cabin. The door opened and there was a tremendous amount of dust that followed the visitor. Eli put his arm up to keep the dust out of his eyes. Through the dust came a beautiful woman.

  “Ma’am, you runnin’ from somethin’ or to somethin’?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, neither. Just wanted to get here as soon as I could. Left early this morning to find you but got turned around, glad I found you today though.”

  “Got a name by chance?” said Eli.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, the name’s Marie,” as she extended her hand to shake his.

  Eli made a grunt, nodded, and returned the gesture, “Would you like a drink or something?”

  “Love one, thank you, ran out of water a while back. Didn’t think I’d be out this long.”

  “These mountain roads have a way of taking you into them, draw
ing you in and never letting go. As you can see,” as he was walking away from her and his arm outstretched to show all that he had.

  As they walked up the porch Marie asked, “You been here long?”

  Eli stopped at the door, “Wait here.”

  A few moments passed and Marie glanced at the surroundings. Eli emerged with a glass of tea of his own concoction, “Oh, not long, forty years maybe,” as he went to sit on one of the rocking chairs.

  “May I?” Marie asked pointing to the other chair.

  Eli gestured to her and she sat. They sat for a moment. “So…what can I help you with miss?” Eli asked with a big grin short of a few teeth.

  The smile surprised her and she said, “Well, I’m with the Department of Agriculture…”

  “They got a department for that now?”

  “Uh, yes sir they do,” as she smiled again politely. “I’m here to discuss a logging corporation that has been going through major parts of Montana and forcing residents off of their property. They are forcing them to sign away their deeds-”

  Eli cut her off. “Yes I have seen them. But I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “But sir-”