“He’s reluctant.”
They’re all reluctant, Callie. At the gate, they’re eager, but at the finish line, they’re all reluctant.
“Funny about that, isn’t it?” said Calpurnia. “But this one? This one’s not for you. Let him go. Write him off. He’d never catch on. He’s different. Read his file.”
I have read it. I know what you’re saying. But so what? Look, this guy got his end, didn’t he? He got the money. He got the moves. Everything. The Talents? He got them. He used them. He had a fine time. He got to be everybody’s benefactor, everybody’s protector. And then, his reward? He got that skinny cop. Got her on a silver platter with an apple in her mouth. Danger made it happen on our end. He always does. Danger’s the best—not that I’d tell him that. But, now? Now it’s time to pay up. A deal’s a deal.
“Not if it’s one of your deals, it isn’t.”
Her visitor smiled. Touché, Callie, he said. I’m not sure I understand, though. What’s your interest?
“My interest is my business. Never mind my interest.”
Why am I here, then? You want me to let your guy off the hook? Out of the goodness of my heart? Sorry, not happening. So why else am I here?
“I have an offer for you.”
An offer? Okay, I know what you want. What is it you’re offering?
“Me. I’m offering myself. I take myself out.”
The leader approached her bed. He sat lightly down at the foot. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then,
You go away? he asked.
Calpurnia nodded.
Vacation?
“More. Call it a sabbatical.”
How long?
“Long enough.”
How long? Forever?
“Forever?” Calpurnia mocked him. “Did you say forever? You must be getting old. Forever? You know better than that. I said long enough. I’m out for as long as I’m out. What do you care how long? However long it is or isn’t, are you going to get a better offer?”
Hmm. You for this rummy Eagle Scout? I’m tempted, I’ll admit that.
“You?” said Calpurnia. “You’re tempted? That’s a good one.” But her visitor let it go by.
I’m tempted, he went on, but I’m also puzzled. You’re pretty far out front on this one. You’re going all-in for this guy. And frankly, when I look at him, I don’t see the worth. Taking your point of view, I mean.
“You cannot possibly take, or even imagine, my point of view,” said Calpurnia.
Maybe not, but answer the question. What’s he got?
“If you have to ask, then there’s no answer.”
Back to that, are we? said her guest. He sighed. Suit yourself, Callie. We won’t argue. I could call you a sentimental fool—for the ten-millionth time. But I won’t.
“Thank you for that, at least,” said Calpurnia.
Danger will be unhappy. I’ll hear about it from Danger.
“Dangerfield’s your problem,” said Calpurnia. “Give him a raise. Put new carpet in his office. You’ll think of something. You always do. You’ll take it, then?”
The visitor smiled at her. He patted the bed cover over her ankles. I’ll take it. Sure, I’ll take it. You knew I would. How could I not? He leaned toward her on the bed. His eyes were bright. You know, Callie, I’m very fond of you. More than fond. I’m attracted. Very attracted. I’m sure you’ve seen it. I know I shouldn’t be. But all these years? Years and years? We should be better friends.
“Never,” said Calpurnia.
Don’t be small, Callie. Don’t be unimaginative. Here are you, here am I. Quite alone. Past midnight. In your bedroom. What are we waiting for? We don’t have to play by the rules. There are no rules. What do you say?
“I say you have some nerve.”
Nerve? said her visitor. Have I? Well, of course I have. Of course I have nerve, Callie, darling. None but the brave deserve the fair.
“You and your fancy nonsense. Who do you think you’re dealing with? What do you take me for, one of your milkmaids?”
Ah, Callie, Callie. Be nice.
“Buzz off,” said Calpurnia.
• • •
The next morning first thing, when Cecelia, the Hospice worker, rapped on Calpurnia’s door with her breakfast, she knew immediately what she would find. All she could say later was that the door didn’t sound the same. The door sounded different, and Cecelia knew why. That’s all she knew, and that’s all she could say. She opened the door and went in. There was Calpurnia. Cecelia brought her breakfast tray back to the nurses’ station. She called Eli Adams.
• • •
From the first minutes, Dangerfield knew what the play was. Secretly, he felt relief. He’d been down this street before. Still, he’d make the business yield whatever it might be worth to him. I know what this is, you know, he said.
What is it? his superior asked him.
The four of them were in the bar at the inn, the same ground from which the unfortunate Jack Raptor had advanced to his undoing. The bar was closed, so was the dining room. The inn was empty. Dangerfield’s boss sat to his left, big Ash to his right. BZ was behind the bar.
What is it? the boss asked.
I’m being pulled, said Dangerfield.
Reassigned.
Pulled, God damn it, said Dangerfield. My guy is being cut loose. All the development I put in, all the grooming, months and months, a whole summer—up the flue. And why? To please fucking Calpurnia. Calpurnia gives you a half-second peek down the front of her dress. And I get pulled.
Reassigned, said Dangerfield’s superior.
Well, God damn it to hell, said Dangerfield.
“Hee-hee,” said BZ.
“Heh-heh,” said Ash.
Another round, said the leader. On me.
It better be on you, said Dangerfield. Letting that old bitch take the lead out of your pencil. What are you trying to do, here, win the popularity prize? You can’t run a thing like this by being agreeable. You used to understand that.
I understand it now, said the boss. It’s you who doesn’t understand. This is not a schoolyard. This is not a matter of the lead in my pencil, or yours. It’s a simple trade, that’s all. It’s business. It’s about value. That old bitch, as you’re pleased to call her, has high value. Very high. To take her off the court, even for a couple of games? Well, for that I’d trade a lot. I’d pull a lot of people. Would I trade a potted plant like your boy Taft? Of course I would, as soon as snap my fingers. I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d even pull you.
“Hee-hee,” said BZ
“Heh-heh,” said Ash.
You’ll regret it, said Dangerfield.
Danger, I sit here listening to you piss and moan, and I regret it already, said the leader. Not really. Has to be done. Don’t worry, though, you’ll like the outcome. I told you, you’re reassigned.
Uh-huh, said Dangerfield. Where to?
You’re being rotated through the Home Office.
You’re kidding, right? said Dangerfield. Tell me you’re kidding.
The leader shook his head.
I’m no good in the Home Office, said Dangerfield. I’m a field man.
That’s why you’re going to the Home Office.
Balls, said Dangerfield. But his superior went on.
It’s the young people, he said. The young people coming up? The trainees? We’re not seeing everything we need to see in them. They’ve got the technical side down, the engineering, sure. They’re bright. They’re entrepreneurial. But they can’t sell. They can’t close. They don’t have the people skills. They can’t relate. It comes to this: they’re not having fun, and it shows.
I can’t teach them to have fun, said Dangerfield. Nobody can.
You don’t teach them, Danger, you show them.
God damn it, said Dangerfield. I won’t go. You can’t ask me to go.
I’m not asking, said his superior.
“Hee-hee,” said BZ.
“Heh-heh,” said Ash.
You’ve got your orders, then, said Dangerfield’s boss. Look, you’ll be fine. I told you: it’s a rotation. It’s temporary.
Temporary? asked Dangerfield. You’re telling me it’s temporary?
Well, well, said his superior.
I’ll say one thing. I won’t be sorry to get out of here, said Dangerfield. I’ve been stuck in this God-damned valley long enough. I’ve had it up to here with these woodchucks. They aren’t businesslike. They want it both ways.
Doesn’t everybody?
To hell with the lot of them, said Dangerfield.
We’re working on it, said his superior.
EPILOGUE
LARGELY ATTENDED
A COUPLE OF HUNDRED PEOPLE WERE AT THE CHURCH FOR Calpurnia’s service. They filled the pews, they stood up and down the aisles, they stood around outside, on the steps, on the grass. Then, fifty or more must have come along to the cemetery, on the hill above the village. There they stood at the grave and listened to the minister.
Polly Jefferson was at the rear of the gathering. She looked about her. A fine October morning: bright, the air clear, tuned, ready to ring like struck crystal, the trees turning color, and the many hydrangeas planted here and there around the cemetery in full display.
“Lincoln Services Largely Attended.” Polly was the local correspondent for the Brattleboro newspaper. Later today she would have to compose and file Calpurnia’s funeral notice, and she was assembling her thoughts. Largely attended was right enough. Polly couldn’t recall seeing this many at a graveside. Not surprising, given Calpurnia’s being the great-great-somebody-or-other of the whole valley; but still, a good turnout. Polly knew what Calpurnia herself would say about it. Calpurnia would make one of her sharp remarks, something like, why wouldn’t people come? The eats are free, the coffee’s hot, and the guest of honor won’t be making a speech. Something designed to show how tough she was, how hardened, how unfeeling, all things Polly knew Calpurnia absolutely was not. Well, tough, maybe, to last as long as she had. Ninety-eight was no joke.
Polly reminded herself to be sure she had the minister’s name right: Harrison, was it, or Harrington? She would ask Dorothea Clinton. Dorothea was the oldest of Calpurnia’s nieces. She had left the valley when she married, lived in St. Johnsbury. In the couple of days after Calpurnia’s death, Dorothea had swept in and pretty much taken over the arrangements. She had brought in her minister from upstate to perform the service. Polly would have liked her own Pastor Chet to do that, but Dorothea was a high Episcopalian and wouldn’t have stood for it. And, in fact, Calpurnia had had no opinion of Pastor Chet, either.
The truth was, Calpurnia had not been a believer. Let people believe whatever they like, Calpurnia said, which to Polly was no different from her being an atheist. Not that they argued about it. What would have been the point? They were friends. Polly knew Calpurnia didn’t believe. But she knew more: she knew Jesus knew it, too, and she knew He didn’t care. He loved Calpurnia anyway, exactly as He loved Polly, exactly as He loved everybody. If Calpurnia’s unbelief didn’t matter to Jesus, why should it matter to Polly? It shouldn’t, it didn’t. And anyway, as Polly stood in the cemetery with the rest, she knew—she knew for certain sure—that if Calpurnia hadn’t been a believer in life, she was a believer now.
At the head of the grave, Dorothea’s imported priest, in his gown and dog collar, was winding things up. Polly tried to move a little closer. She listened intently. Much as she missed having Pastor Chet here, she was moved, she was somehow satisfied, by the words of the old service, which the minister now pronounced:
Unto God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit you. The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace, both now and evermore. Amen.
Amen. People began to turn, to break up, to move. Now Polly could see Eli Adams standing toward the front, near the grave. Beside him was his friend Langdon Taft. Polly gave Taft a good look over. He appeared sane and sober, and he was dressed up in a jacket and tie; but she didn’t plan on speaking to him. Then she saw the little State Police girl standing beside Taft, close beside. Hmm, said Polly, what’s this? If the trooper girl was getting mixed up with Taft, somebody ought to have a friendly word with her. Polly liked the trooper. She had been as nice as she could be the time Polly called the State Police when her cat went missing. The trooper had come to her house and helped her look. Turned out the cat had gone down cellar for reasons of her own. They found her right off. She hadn’t been lost at all. But the trooper had been as nice as she could be about the whole silly business.
The trooper was in uniform. Polly stood on her tiptoes to try and see if she was wearing her gun. She had been when she came about the cat. Polly hoped she wasn’t today. She hoped the trooper wasn’t wearing a gun practically in church. Though Pastor Chet said there were congregations out west, down south, where worshippers did wear their guns in church. In fact, they were expected to. Calpurnia would have had something to say about that, too.
Eli, Taft, and Trooper Madison had left the grave and were moving down the hill to where people had parked their vehicles along the road that went by the cemetery. Polly followed them. She examined the trooper’s midsection from behind. No gun. She caught up with the three of them. Polly put herself as far as she could get from Taft, next to Eli, who, of course, had been closer to Calpurnia than anybody.
“How are you doing?” she asked him.
“I’m doing alright, Polly,” said Eli. “How about you?”
“Well, you know,” said Polly. “But I thought everything went off very well. Dora should be pleased.”
“Yes,” said Eli.
“’Course,” said Polly, “Callie wasn’t a churchgoer.”
“No,” said Eli.
“Not that it matters,” said Polly.
“Not that it does.”
“The point is,” said Polly, “she’s in a better place.”
“She didn’t want a better place,” said Eli.
“No,” said Taft. “That’s right. She didn’t.”
“I don’t think I ever met her,” said Amy Madison.
“She was a good old girl,” said Eli.
“One in a million,” said Taft.
“We’ll miss her, for sure,” said Polly. “You know, it’s hard to believe she’s really gone forever.”
She hadn’t been speaking to Taft, but it was Taft who turned to her with what Polly thought was an odd little smile, and said,
“Very hard.”
CASTLE FREEMAN, JR. is the author of four other novels, including All That I Have and Go With Me—now a film directed by Daniel Alfredson and starring Anthony Hopkins and Julia Stiles—two collections of short stories, and many essays and other nonfiction. His stories have been mentioned or included in Best American Short Stories and other major collections. He lives in southeastern Vermont.
Printed in the United States Copyright © 2015 The Overlook Press
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The Devil in the Valley Page 13