I rose to follow him. Anne got up too. “Let me help with the dishes,” she said.
Betty May shook her head. “They ain’t much. You jes’ set and enjoy yerself.”
***
Darkness fell quickly, and ten minutes later, when Jeb Stuart and I came back from the cornfield, there was an old glass-enclosed oil lamp burning on the table, its yellow light dancing on the walls.
I glanced at my wristwatch. It was almost eight o’clock. “Do you have a radio?” I asked.
Jeb Stuart shook his head. “We don’ have much time to listen if we did. We usu’lly turn in right after supper.”
“I wanted to get the news,” I said. “My brother was supposed to become acting president of CALL this afternoon.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.” I turned to Anne. “Come, I’ll show you where I put the sleeping bags.” We went to the door. “Thank you for dinner, Betty May. We’ll see you in the morning.”
We walked silently to the sleeping bags. By the time we reached them it was really dark, and the last bit of light faded from the sky as we wriggled into them.
“They don’t have any electricity,” Anne said.
“They don’t want any.”
“She misses television. She told me so.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to let them stay here, Jonathan?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. She was afraid you would order them off.”
“She told you?”
“Yes. They found your name on the records. Did you know that your father gave you this land?”
“No.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “And don’t ask me any more. I don’t know anything. Why we’re here today. Or where we’ll be tomorrow.”
Her hand searched out mine and held it tightly. I turned to her. The moon had come up now, and I could see her face. “You’re strange, Jonathan,” she said. “You’re becoming more and more like your father with every passing minute. Even the sound of your voice.”
“Shit,” I said. We were silent for a moment. “I’m sorry now I made you throw away all that grass. I could go for a few good tokes myself.”
She giggled. “You mean that?”
“I mean it.”
She wriggled out of her bag and sat up. A moment later she came up with a small pouch and papers. “My emergency stash,” she said. “I’m never without it.”
I didn’t say anything while I watched her deftly roll a joint and seal it with a quick taste of her tongue. She reached for a match.
“Better let me do it,” I said. “Let’s not start any fires.” I struck the match and sucked in a long toke, then gave it to her while I buried the match in the ground. She hit it twice, then leaned back on her elbow with a contented sigh. I did it again, gave her another turn, then pinched it out and put it into my shirt pocket.
“Did you ever see so many stars?” she asked.
I looked up at the sky. “No.” I sensed rather than felt a movement in her sleeping blanket and turned toward her.
Her face had that peculiar look of concentration I recognized. Suddenly her breath rushed out through her tight lips. “Oh, Jesus!” she sighed. She became aware that I was watching her. “I couldn’t help it. I suddenly got very horny.”
She reached for me, her hands pulling my face down to her. I could feel her lips moving under mine. “Daniel!” she whispered.
Angrily I pushed her away. “I’m not the one who’s strange, you are,” I said. “You’re trying to fuck a ghost.”
Suddenly she was crying. “I’m sorry, Jonathan.”
Then I was angry with myself. “Don’t be sorry.” I pulled her head over to my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
She turned her face up to me. “You’ve been talking to him, haven’t you, Jonathan?” she whispered.
“It’s not real,” I said. “It’s all taking place inside my head.”
“You’re talking to him,” she said. “I feel it. I know about those things.”
“I don’t.”
She laughed. Her lips brushed against mine. Soft and light. “Jonathan Huggins.”
“That’s my name.”
“Someday you’ll learn.”
“Learn what?”
“That you’re just like your father.”
“No. I’m me.”
Her eyes looked up into mine. “Jonathan Huggins.” She raised her mouth to mine. “I want you to make love to me. Please.”
“And who will you be making love to? Me, or my father?”
“You, Jonathan.” Her eyes were still looking into mine. “There’s no way you can fuck a ghost.”
***
I stood in the glass telephone booth on the edge of the parking lot and waited for my call to travel home. The sign over the supermarket at the far end of the parking lot was simple. Big red letters on a white circle. FITCH’S. And on the line underneath the name, since 1868.
The telephone clicked in my ear as my mother’s voice came on the line. I started to speak, but the operator cut me off the line. I could hear her voice. “I have a collect call for Mrs. Huggins from her son, Jonathan.” I couldn’t hear my mother’s reply, but the operator came back on. “You can speak now.”
“Hello, Mother,” I said.
I heard the tightness in her voice. “Jonathan! Where are you?”
“In West Virginia, a little town called Fitchville. Ever hear of it?”
“No.” Her voice was still tight. “I was going out of my mind. It’s been four days since you left.”
“I’m okay.”
“You could have called. Anne’s parents were wild. She didn’t leave a note. We figured she went with you.”
“You figured right.”
“Her mother wants her to call.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“I hope you two aren’t doing anything foolish,” she said.
I laughed. “Nothing to worry about, Mother. She’s on the pill.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Her voice grew annoyed.
“Tell them she’s not doping either. I made her throw the grass away.” I changed the subject. “I haven’t caught the news. What happened
with Dan?”
“They made him president. It all worked out just like your father said it would.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “Give him my congratulations when you see him.”
She was silent.
“Mother?”
The phone was still silent.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
Her voice broke. “The house is empty. So silent. Nobody comes here anymore.”
“The King is dead,” I said.
She was crying now. “Jonathan, please come home. I feel so alone.”
“Even if I were there, Mother, I couldn’t help that.”
“There were always people here. Something was always going on. Now Mamie and I just stare at each other all day. Or watch television.”
“Where’s Jack?” I asked.
She hesitated before she answered. She still had to get used to the fact that I knew about them. “He won’t be able to come up until next weekend. Dan wants him to stay in Washington with him.”
“Why don’t you go down there? There’s still the apartment.”
“It’s not ours anymore. It’s the Confederation president’s apartment.”
“I’m sure Dan wouldn’t mind.”
“It wouldn’t look right. People would talk.”
“Marry him, then, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t want to.” She paused for a moment. “I was married to your father. I’m not ready yet to settle for less of a man.”
“I believe you, Mother. But you have to start putting your life together again. He’s dead. You don’t have to wear black the rest of your life.”
Her voice was su
ddenly hushed. “Jonathan, are you my son? Or your father’s? You’re saying exactly what he would say.”
“I’m your son. And his. Think about it, Mother. We all have to grow up sometime. We never had to while he was around. He made all the decisions for us. Now we have to find our own way.”
“Is that what you’re doing, Jonathan?”
“I’m trying, Mother. And I will. If he lets me.”
“He never let go easy,” she said.
“I know.”
“So do I.” There was a brief pause. “Where are you staying? Is there any way I can reach you?”
“No, Mother. I’m moving around. I don’t know exactly where I’ll be.”
“Will you call me again? Soon.”
“About the middle of next week,” I said.
“Do you need any money?”
“I’m okay. But if I run short, I know where to call.”
“Take care of yourself, Jonathan,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mother,” I said, and hung up the telephone. I heard my dime tinkle down into the return tray. I fished it out and left the phone booth.
Anne was waiting for me outside the market door. She opened a paper bag. “These seeds okay?”
I looked at the labels. Violets, pansies, roses. “Looks okay to me. I don’t know anything about flowers.”
“Neither do I. But I thought they’d look nice around the cemetery plot. The man said they grow practically by themselves.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“Jeb Stuart said he would wait for us just past the Exxon station at the edge of town.”
“Okay,” I said. “Your mother wants you to call her.”
She looked at me. “You tell your mother I was okay?”
I nodded.
“That’s good enough,” she said.
“Let’s go, then,” I said.
“Wait a minute. I got two big bags of groceries on the cart just inside the door. I had a feeling you weren’t all that crazy about black-eyed peas and collard greens.”
I laughed. “You did it all just for me?”
She smiled. “Betty May’s baby won’t be hurting for a change either.”
***
“There’s twelve graves here,” Jeb Stuart said.
I stared down at the freshly turned earth. It was black and moist. “No,” I said. “Only eleven.”
“How do you know?” he asked. “There’s no stones—no markers.”
“I know,” I said. “There’s a place for my father. But he’s somewhere else.” I pulled the hoe along the ground and cut a rectangle near the corner of the plot. “This was to be his place.”
Jeb Stuart looked up at the sky. “It’s gittin’ late. We can finish tomorra.”
“Yes,” I said.
He leaned his rake against a tree. “I’ll let Betty May know we’re comin’ down.”
I nodded and turned to Anne, who was sitting with her back against a tree. “Do you have a cigarette?”
She nodded, lit one and gave it to me. We didn’t speak until Jeb Stuart left us. “I’m afraid,” she said.
“Of what?”
“Death.”
I didn’t answer. Just dragged on the cigarette.
“Death is here,” she said. “On this place. Whoever lives here will die.”
“Everybody dies,” I said.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said. She got to her feet and came toward me. “Jonathan, let’s leave. Now. Tonight.”
“No,” I said. “Tomorrow. When I’m finished with this.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m going down to see if Betty May needs some help.”
“Just don’t let her burn the steaks,” I said.
“I won’t.” She laughed and started down the path.
I turned back to the plot and with the corner of the hoe, carved my father’s name into the earth over his empty grave.
***
“Thank you, my son.”
“What were their names, Father?”
“Their names no longer matter. They were your aunts and uncles, my brothers and sisters. But they’re gone now and no longer exist.”
“But you do?”
“Yes. You see, I have you. They have no one.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. Nothing is supposed to. Like your girl.”
“What about her?”
“She’s pregnant.” I heard his silent laughter. “Last night she opened up for you. She took your seed into her and kept it.”
“Shit.”
“It will only be for a short while. Then she will reject it. It is not time yet. For either of you.”
“You know a lot for a dead man.”
“Only the dead know the truth.”
***
I heard music coming from the shack when I came down from the knoll. Jeb Stuart was sitting on the running board of the pickup. “I didn’t know you had a radio,” I said.
He looked up at me. “I thought you knowed. Anne bought it. Betty May is pleased to death with it.”
“I’ll need some help with the planting of the seeds. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Betty May will help. She loves flowers and has a right good sense of ’em.”
“I’ll be grateful,” I said.
He looked past me at the cornfield. “Five, six weeks. ’N’en we begin the harvestin’.”
“Need help?”
He shook his head. “We kin manage.”
“When is Betty May expecting?”
“Two more months, we reckon. ’Bout the time we begin to draw the bead off’n the ’shine.”
“Are you going to sell it then?”
“No. It’s too raw. I’ll barrel it over the winter. It’ll be good then. I’ll git top dollar. Raw whiskey ain’t wu’th nothin’.”
The door to the shack opened. Anne came out. “Supper’s ready.”
Jeb Stuart got to his feet. “We’re acomin’.”
The steaks were not too bad, but Anne was disappointed. Betty May and Jeb didn’t seem to care too much for them. They looked aghast at blood pouring from our steaks and put their own back on the fire, leaving them to cook until they were burned almost into pure coal. Then they seemed to be satisfied. We were having our coffee when we first heard the roaring rhythmic sound coming near.
Betty May paused, her coffee cup in hand. “What’s that?”
I didn’t look up. “A chopper.” I knew the sound well. My father had had one which he used for quick trips. Then I saw the puzzled expression on Jeb’s face. “A helicopter,” I explained.
The roaring sound came closer. “She’s pretty low over us,” I said.
“Mebbe I better take a look-see.” Jeb got to his feet, picked up his shotgun from where it leaned against the wall and opened the door.
We followed him out. The helicopter was coming in low over the cornfield, heading for a small clearing not far from the shack. We could see the black painted letters on its side as it hovered for a moment, then settled to the ground. POLICE.
The side port opened and two men dressed in khaki uniforms, wearing troopers’ hats, got out. The pilot sat in the cabin behind the controls. He too wore a uniform, but no hat. The late sun glinted from the silver stars pinned to their shirts as they turned toward us.
Jeb was the first to speak. “Howdy, Sher’f.”
A note of surprise came into the bigger man’s voice. “That you, Jeb Stuart?”
“None other.”
The sheriff smiled and came toward Jeb, hand outstretched. The other policeman stayed near the chopper. “Right glad to see you, Jeb.”
Jeb nodded as he shook hands with the sheriff. “We was jes’ finishin’ supper. Yer in time to jine us fer coffee.”
“Thank you. I sure would appreciate that.” He turned to the policeman behind him. “Ever’thing’s okay. I
’ll be back in a bit.”
He followed us into the cabin. This time Betty May did not join us at the table. Quickly she put a mug of steaming coffee in front of the sheriff.
The sheriff took a sip. “Fine coffee, Betty May.”
She smiled without answering.
“I’m suah glad to fin’ you up here,” the sheriff said. “We got reports that they was squatters up heah fo’ more’n a year now, but until we got us the new helicopter las’ week we didn’ have time to check it out. We was all set to roust some nigguhs off’n the place.”
Jeb nodded without speaking.
“We all kind of wondered where you disappeared to,” the sheriff said. “It’s more’n a year an’ a half since anyone in town saw you.”
“I been wu’kin’ the place,” Jeb said.
“I kin see that. You got about three acres o’ corn out there.” He shot a shrewd glance at Jeb. “O’ course, you got a proper leasehold on the place.”
Jeb hesitated, glancing at me. I nodded. “Yes,” he answered.
“From the lawful owners?”
I spoke for the first time. “That’s right.”
The sheriff looked questioningly at Jeb. “This yere’s Jonathan Huggins,” Jeb said. “Big Dan’s son. Jonathan, Sher’f Clay, Fitch County.”
We shook hands. “Sheriff Clay.”
The sheriff nodded. “Yer daddy was one of us. We all had great respec’ fer ’im. My condolences.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I said.
“You’re the legal owner?” he asked.
“Yes. You should know.” Then, suddenly, I knew. There was no way he could know. “The papers are in the county office.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Of course.”
“In Sentryville,” I said. “This property is in Sentry County.”
The sheriff nodded.
“That’s sixty miles from here,” I said. “You’re just helping out the sheriff up there since we’re close by. That right?”
“That’s right,” the sheriff said quickly.
I leaned from my chair, picked up Jeb’s shotgun from against the wall, laid it across the table, the muzzle against the sheriff’s belly, and released the safety. “You’re trespassing, Sheriff,” I said. “I could squeeze this trigger and blow you in half and there isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t uphold my right to do it. You have no authority and no business here.”
He stared down at the gun, his face suddenly white. The others seemed frozen in their chairs. Jeb began to rise.
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