Martha Calhoun

by Richard Babcock

  “You’re just drunk,” I said, though he seemed more sober than he’d been for miles.

  He shrugged. I watched his face for a while. The whiskey had covered his lips with a moist film that gave off a glinty shine in the darkened truck. “You know what a cock-tease is?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, she was a cock-tease.”

  “She was not. Anyway, a lot of girls do that.”

  “I didn’t like it. She kept leadin’ me on and then stoppin’, over and over, the same thing. She didn’t know what she wanted.”

  I thought of her in her silly bangs and ankle-length dresses, always carrying her books in front like a shield. What she wanted had always seemed so simple and pathetic.

  “Elro, you’re upsetting me.”

  “Can’t help it. You asked, and I told you.”

  “But wait a minute. We were all at the pond the day she died. Someone would have heard her scream.”

  “Nobody did.” He was like Eddie in his pleasure in direct, plain answers that told you nothing.

  I thought for a second. “How’d you do it, then? I want to know.”

  “Simple. I took her out beyond the float when no one was around, and I told her I was tired of waitin’. Then I put my hand down her suit and told her if she screamed, I’d hold her under. When she started to scream, I held her under, just like I said. I figured she’d let up and go along with me, but she just kept fightin’ until …” Elro looked at me and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

  I didn’t say anything for a long time. My chest was starting to heave, so I pulled my arms tight around myself. “I don’t believe it. You’re drunk,” I said finally.

  “Am not.” He swigged again. “She was cock-teasin’ me. A man’s got certain needs, and you mess with those needs, and who knows what can happen.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “You don’t have to believe me.”

  “Elro, you tell me you’re lying or I’m gonna jump out of this truck.”

  He braked sharply, slamming me against the dashboard. My left wrist hurt from bracing my impact.

  “So get out,” he said. “But I ain’t lyin’.”

  The truck had stopped along the side of the road. In the half light, I could see a ditch and, beyond that, a field of low-growing plants. Elro wagged his head at me. Now I could see the effects of the whiskey. His mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wild. He reached over and poked me in the shoulder with his finger.

  “Ouch.”

  “So you still think I’m lyin’?” He poked me hard again.

  “Cut it out.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m getting out.”

  “Go ahead,” he said. But I didn’t trust him. He was too twitchy and excited, too dangerous.

  “Go ahead,” he taunted. “What are you waitin’ for?” His lips were wet, his eyes were BBs, rolling around in his head, but always settling back on me.

  I worked my right hand slowly to the door handle and sneaked my left hand under my bag of clothes. Suddenly, I gaped out the window. “Look! A cop!” I yelled, and in that instant, I was out the door, pulling away from his clawing fingers. I ran down the side of the ditch and took a leap across the bottom, hoping to make it in one bound. My foot sank in mud up to the ankle. I pitched forward, keeping my balance by splashing down with the other foot into a worn-out stream that was trickling through the weeds. The truck door slammed. Elro was coming. Leaning forward, I hauled my left foot out and planted it, dripping muck, on drier ground in front. Still, my right foot was sinking. With a heave, I pulled forward and shot free, stumbling onto the bank on the other side. But something was wrong. I’d lost my shoe. My right foot had slipped out, and now the loafer was buried under six inches of mud.

  There wasn’t time to fish for it. Elro had walked around in front of the truck and was standing in the beams of the headlights, squinting in my direction. “Wait up!” he yelled thickly. Seeing me pause, he scrambled down the ditch after me.

  With the weeds stabbing into my bare foot, I ran up the other side and slipped through the loose strands of barbed wire on the fence at the top. Before me was a pink-purple sea, a field planted in clover. The soft moist leaves felt soothing on the bottom of my scraped-up foot. I ran a few steps into the field and stopped to take off my other shoe. Elro had given up and was slowly climbing back to the pickup. I started running again. The clover was cool and downy and the stems slid in between my toes, tickling up a wave of excitement, as if I were doing something terribly fun but wrong. I ran for fifty yards, a hundred yards, until my chest was pounding, and my Piggly Wiggly bag seemed weighted with cans. Finally, I stopped and drew deep gulps of air. The opposite edge of the field was still far off, marked by a long ridge of trees that turned the sun’s rays into orange spikes. Close by, a handful of small, graceful birds darted over the clover, their morning songs rippling the air.

  Back at the pickup, Elro was framed by the headlights. Bending down, one arm braced against the hood, he was retching in agony. Every few seconds, the deep, rasping sound rolled across the field, answering the clear lilt of the birds. His body shook. It was painful to watch him. By now, he’d emptied everything and was just having spasms. After a while, I sat down in the clover. He went on for about ten minutes, passing through periods of calm before the agony hit him again. At last, he was quiet for a long time. He slumped against the fender of the truck, and his head drooped down over his chest, as if his neck were a long, loose rope. Eventually, he straightened up, got something out of the cab and walked around to the back of the truck, away from where he’d been sick. He stood on the edge of the ditch, looking out over the field. He couldn’t see me, and after a few seconds he called out my name. His voice was high and weak from all the wretching. I just sat and waited and listened. He called again and again. Shading his eyes from the early sun, he searched methodically from one side of the vast field to the other. It must have been terrible for him, like looking out at a sea into which someone had disappeared.

  “Martha!” he yelled.

  I waited.

  “Martha, come back!” He sounded like a little boy. “Martha!”

  What was I to do? I had hardly any money, no place to go, no way to get anywhere, and only one shoe. Even the short run had exhausted my panic, and now there was something touching in hearing my name called like that. I took a deep breath and stood up. He saw me across the clover and waved. Now we were really in this together, I thought. Once you cross the line, the biggest misfit, the worst outlaw is your ally. Who else do you have? Walking back, I paused to snap off a clover stem and chew on the sweet flower. Already, the sun slanting over the horizon felt hot on my neck. Anyway, I thought, I’m not scared of Elro. I knew I could cope, even if Sissy couldn’t. Poor Sissy—maybe she really was a cock-tease, though I’m sure she didn’t even know what the word means. She probably just got hit with some strong feelings. Even out there in Jesus-land, you can’t escape the feelings. Elro may have been right—she wanted it, but she didn’t, she was pulled both ways. Well, that wasn’t my problem. Getting frightened and running had cleared my mind. I owed Elro one. He’d helped me escape, and now he had a right to collect. I’d pay off, at least once. Sorry, Sissy, I thought, but nothing I can do will bring you back.

  “That was stupid,” said Elro, as I clambered up the bank to the pickup. His hair was damp from sweat, and he was chewing a giant wad of gum.

  “I lost my shoe.”

  He turned his back and walked around to the cab. “Serves you right.”

  I had to step over the vomit to get in the truck. “It wasn’t as stupid as drinking half a bottle of whiskey,” I said.

  He started the pickup off hard, kicking up dust and gravel. “It only happened ’cause I had to run. If you hadn’t got crazy, I’d’ve been fine.”

  A few miles down the road, he picked up the bottle with what was left of the whiskey in it and flung it sidearm out the
window. “There,” he said.

  THIRTY-TWO

  We bumped along for the next hour or so, and Elro didn’t say much. There were fields all around and occasionally a farmhouse, but the country was wilder than around Katydid, or if not wilder, at least less fussed over. The fields were bigger, and they were separated by tangled patches of woods so dense you couldn’t see more than a few feet into them. In the distance, tree-covered hills poked out of the flatness like mountains. Crossing streams, we’d drive over rickety bridges made of lumber that buckled and clattered under the weight of the truck. Once, near a barn, we had to stop while a boy steered a herd of brown cows across the road to a pasture. The boy was about twelve, and he was wearing overalls and carrying a broom handle that he rapped on the ground to keep the cows in line.

  “Mornin’,” he said to Elro after the last lumbering cow had crossed in front of us.

  “Mornin’.”

  “You goin’ to town today?” The boy stood beside Elro’s window. His hair was the color of straw and stuck up in tufts on his head.

  “You better watch your cow there,” Elro said. The last heifer had missed the gate and was following the grass down the side of the road. The farm boy took off after the animal.

  “Hee-awww!” he yelled, waving his stick and circling around to head the cow off. “Hee-awww, baby!”

  Elro waited for the straggler to be walked into the pasture and then started out slowly, so as not to spook the herd.

  “Thanks,” called the boy, saluting with his stick. “Maybe I’ll see you in town.”

  By now, the sun was above the trees. We started passing men on tractors, and we passed one man riding a wagon pulled by a horse.

  “Are we in Wisconsin?” I asked.

  “Guess so.”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s so rural.”

  “So.”

  As we drove along a cornfield, my eyes ticked off each perfect row, stretching into a green infinity. It was hypnotizing, and I had to pull myself away.

  “Elro, I’m sorry that I ran away back there,” I said.

  He grunted, not looking at me.

  “I’m sorry about that, but there’s still something I have to ask you, okay?”

  He said nothing. His face was gray and droopy, as if the skin were sliding off.

  “Okay?”

  “What’s that?” he muttered.

  I took a breath. “When Sissy drowned—afterward—didn’t you feel bad? I mean, even I felt guilty. Didn’t you feel—when you thought about it—didn’t you feel a little bit bad?”

  A fine yellow dust had settled on the windshield, and Elro started the wipers to clear the glass. He watched as the worn rubber blades left streaks of dust that stayed there, defying the wipers as they swept again and again over the same course. Finally, he shut the wipers off. “No,” he said.

  We came to the outskirts of a town, probably the one the farmboy had talked about. We passed a square brick high school sitting surrounded by a lawn of unshaded brown grass. At a feed store, a line of wagons and trucks was already backed up against a loading dock. A sign said MINNIEFIELD POP. 707.

  “Let’s get some food,” said Elro.

  “I need a pair of shoes.”

  “First food.”

  The town was just a treeless strip of road, with a few buildings on either side and a railroad crossing at the far end. Everything was painted white and, under the bright sun, the buildings gave off a hard shine, like bleached bones.

  Elro parked along the sidewalk beside several other pickups and just down the street from an untended horse and wagon. The straps from the horse’s harness were tied around the parking meter. The horse’s head was down and he was snorting around in the dust in the gutter. Elro went on ahead, but I stopped in front of the horse. I’d taken off my remaining shoe and was standing in my bare feet on the hot concrete sidewalk. The horse’s nose looked cool and velvety and, without thinking, I stuck my foot out and ran my big toe down it. The horse shook his head quickly, and his long tongue lolled out and licked the bottom of my foot. I looked up and down the street. Aside from some children playing on the sidewalk on the other side, the street was empty. So I offered up my other foot. The horse obliged again, sending shivers down my back.

  Minniefield had one restaurant, Coogan’s Dinette, which faced the street with two dark windows made of small panes of glass. A bell connected to the screen door tinkled when I went in, and a half dozen customers—all men—looked up from their coffee and eggs. A counter with stools ran along one side, and fifteen or so small tables were scattered across a dark wood floor. Elro was sitting at a table in the corner, studying a cardboard menu.

  “I hope no one notices my bare feet,” I said softly when I sat down.

  “Keep ’em under the table.”

  “Do you suppose the police have put out a bulletin about us yet?”

  “Shut up.”

  A waitress in a white smock came out of the back and sauntered over. “So this is your friend,” she said to Elro. She held her head back and laughed with an overloud, wet sound. “It’s a little early in the day for a date, isn’t it?” She was about Bunny’s age, but way too made up, with her hair twisted into a loose knob and flaky powder covering old acne scars on her cheeks.

  Elro mumbled something and stared harder at the menu. The waitress bent down between us and spoke in a whisper. “Well, if you kids are elopin’, don’t worry, ’cause your secret is safe with me.” She nodded at each of us in turn. “I had an offer to elope when I was sixteen, and I turned it down, and I’ve been stuck here ever since. Been stuck in a town that don’t know nothin’.” She pointed to her ring finger, which was bare. “Of course, I’ve had other offers,” she said to me, “but nothin’ to take me away from here.”

  “I’ll have fried eggs and pancakes,” said Elro.

  The waitress straightened up. “And milk, lots of milk,” she said, winking at me.

  “We ain’t elopin’,” Elro said.

  “Listen to him.” The waitress cocked her knob of hair at Elro. “You stay out all night, and you’re elopin’, that’s for sure. You may not know it yet, but you’re elopin’. Wait ’till you try to take that pretty girl back to her daddy. Then you’ll see what I mean.” She shook her head and leaned over me. “Ain’t I right, honey?”

  Her dress fell away in front, and I could see a small ball of cotton stuffed between her breasts. The cotton had been soaked in perfume, and the sweet, heavy fragrance curled up around my head, tugging at me like a rope. I sat back. “Tea and toast,” I sputtered.

  She laughed again. “Don’t worry, I told you your secret is safe with me.” Still laughing, she turned and walked away, shaking her head.

  “What was that all about?” I whispered to Elro.

  He shook his head.

  “Are we that obvious?”

  “Shut up.”

  The food perked him up. He ate a big plate of eggs and pancakes and drank lots of milk, since the waitress kept coming back to refill his glass. His color returned, and his eyes came alive. Eventually, he started talking again.

  “Can’t wait to get to the Dells,” he said. “They got great stuff there, caves and things.”

  “Great.” It cheered me to see him brightening.

  “And, first thing, we’ll take a tour on a duck.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m not really tired, you know. Been up all night but I’m not really tired.”

  “Me neither.”

  “We’ll stay there tonight.”

  “Great.” Tonight. It seemed so far way it might never come. I wouldn’t think about it.

  “Ride the ducks,” said Elro, mopping a spot of egg yoke with a last piece of pancake.

  The doorbell tinkled, and everyone looked up. A fat policeman in a broad-brimmed hat and blue uniform stood in the entrance. He nodded a few greetings, then walked over and sat at the table next to ours, setting h
is hat on the extra chair. His stomach pushed out against his shirt, exposing a small, hairy triangle of skin just above the belt buckle.

  Elro stiffened and searched the room for the waitress. “Let’s pay,” he said. He took a worn leather wallet from his back pocket and set it on the table. From the corner of my eye, I could see that the cop was studying us. Elro squirmed and shoved his wallet around the table. The waitress had disappeared somewhere in back.

  “It looks like it’s going to be hot again today,” I said, trying to make conversation to calm Elro.

  “Yeah.” Elro ran his hands down the sides of his jeans and rocked up and back.

  “Good for the corn.” The cop was still staring, so I turned to him and smiled. He had a wide, soft face, plain and unemotional. He nodded.

  Finally, the waitress banged out of a door in back carrying a tray of plates. She distributed the food at a table on the other side of the room and then bustled over with coffee for the cop.

  “Want something this morning, Stan?” she asked.

  “Just coffee.”

  “Yell if you change your mind.” She started to walk away.

  “Hey!” said Elro, grabbing the hem of her smock. “We wanna pay.”

  “All right, all right, but what’s your hurry? You got the whole day ahead of you.”

  The bill came to sixty-five cents. Elro counted the coins out of a pocket in his wallet.

  “Don’t forget the tip,” I whispered.

  He frowned and took out another nickel. We both stood up to leave.

  “Say, buster, come here,” the cop said.

  Elro froze. His back formed a taut arc, and his arms were locked in strange angles at his sides. The cop was between him and the door, but I could sense that Elro was figuring the odds, betting he could sprint around the table and be out the door before the cop was out of his seat. What about me, though? I was already close enough to be within grabbing distance. If Elro bolted, I’d be trapped. Reaching out, I snatched Elro’s hand. “Come on, dear,” I said, trying to sound peppy. “It’s only a policeman.”