by T L Barrett
“Why, you sure are strong, Donnie Hall,” Marla breathed. Donnie grinned. Marla got back down on her own feet and held the apple up between them. She indelicately lifted the skirt of her dress and polished the apple so that it shone in the late day sun.
She held it up to him; Donnie raised an eyebrow.
“Do you think you’ll get strong as an ox, or fall madly in love?” she asked.
“I don’t think I have need for either. I think I am all set.” Marla’s eyes met his and the smile on her face nearly struck Donnie off his feet. Donnie wished with all his heart that time could stop there, that they could go on just like this: she holding up the apple and offering it and smiling up at him.
Then, the thought of war, the possibility of being discovered, and the sound of flies returned to Donnie. He took the apple from her fingers, raised it to his lips and took a big crisp bite.
The taste filled his mouth with a tart sweetness that forced his face into a grinning wince. He remembered the first time he had sneaked whisky with the Delaney’s down the road. This reminded him of that, but more real, more lasting.
“Oh, Donnie, look!” Marla said. She put her fingers against the apple in his hand. The pulp of the apple was stained red, as if from blood. Perhaps it should have alarmed him as he swallowed that bite of tainted apple. Instead, seeing her hold her fingers to the discovery with large eyes struck Donnie as overwhelmingly erotic.
“It’s good! It’s really good, Marla! Taste!” he said and brought the apple to her mouth. Obediently she opened her exquisite lips and took a solid bite from the apple. The crisp sound of the bite sent a bolt of shivery light down his spine and into his groin. She closed her eyes, grasped his arm in her hand and chewed.
“It’s wonderful! It’s wonderful, oh, Donnie!” she said. She just managed to get the bite swallowed when Donnie reached down and pulled Darla close.
They both leaned in, and their lips met. The world melted away.
A gun shot echoed through the high meadow. Like a tree split asunder by lightning, the two parted.
“Get the hell off my land, you kids! Get away from there, or I’ll shoot you dead!” an old man’s angry shout was followed by a second shot. In that moment, Donnie was sure that he felt a bullet pass through the air very close to them. Looking down the hill he could see old man Gingue coming on at a healthy trot for the ancient that he was.
“Let’s run!” Donnie said, he grabbed both baskets with one hand and took Marla’s hand in the other. They headed for the woods on the uphill side of the meadow. Soon they were running full tilt into the woods, branches snapping across them as they wove upward and onward. Finally, high on the hill, and beyond the limits of Gingue’s property, the two of them stopped on a warm rock in a little clearing. Nearby a little brook sang a clever song.
They laughed with delight at themselves. They should have fallen over in exhaustion and fear, but instead, they laughed and fussed over each other. Finally, their hands finding no other excuse to bother with each other, clasped together and they fell to kissing again as the sun’s light left the little clearing and left them in a comfortable dusk. They kissed and kissed, their fingers ran little symphonies over each other’s bodies. Once, they stopped and ate. The baked bread and homemade jam tasting different than it had ever tasted before. They said very little, but spoke volumes with their eyes, their little touches, their smiles.
As night fell, they did not feel the cold. They kissed until their very mouths felt unnatural apart. Finally, swollen lipped and walking funny, they both made their way north toward the eastern boundary of the Tripp property.
Behind the Tripp’s second barn was a small frog pond. There the two parted with long kisses and whispered assurances that they would meet again the very next day.
***
Donnie went home and got in bed thinking of Marla Tripp. He dreamt of her, too. They were at the fair together, and how lovely it was. Then suddenly, they were being thrown in a pit by Marla’s father and brothers. Marla and Donnie had been pinned to the very earth, and it hurt! Marla cried beside him, and he held her, but the Tripp men were shoveling dirt down upon them. The dirt filled their vision and mouths. They were suffocating on the earth itself.
Donnie woke up gasping. He went out into the cool morning air to tend the cows, but still carried that awful pressure in his chest. It was as if one part of him was there, milking and shoveling, and yet, another part was below the earth in torment beside his beloved Marla. All through the morning this feeling remained. Donnie kept himself busy, mending fences and taking on any job that would not require him working alongside his brothers, father, or the couple of farmhands his father had taken on in anticipation of Donnie’s departure.
Finally, he could cope with this suffocation no longer. Donnie went into the barn, got a shovel and walked right out of the barnyard and down the road toward the Tripp farm.
As Donnie walked into the Tripp’s dooryard, Mr. Tripp and one of his big swarthy sons stopped working on a tractor and turned to him. The son held a large lug wrench in his hands.
“You can turn yourself around and go home boy,” Mr. Tripp said.
“I’ve come to see Marla,” Donnie stated.
“No, you haven’t. Marla is needed here, not gallivanting about with the likes of you,” the old man said and spit between them for emphasis.
“I’m leaving for boot camp soon; I would like to at least say good-bye.”
“I don’t give a horse’s ass what you’d like, boy. Bernier Gingue came by and told me the mischief you were up to last night. Maybe, the service will whip some sense into you. Don’t make me do it. Turn around and walk away, now.” To add further emphasis to this threat, the Tripp boy slapped the lug wrench against his calloused palm.
“Look, Mr. Tripp-” Donnie began but was interrupted by Marla’s furious scream from inside the farmhouse. “Marla?” Donnie called. He walked forward. As he started to pass the two Tripp men, the younger Tripp swung the lug wrench.
The hard metal hit Donnie in the ribs. The impact shocked Donnie into stillness. The Tripp boy looked up at him with some surprise at his own violent act. Then he swung again.
Donnie caught the young man’s arm in his hand and squeezed. The boy screamed in pain and dropped the lug wrench. There were two distinct cracks from inside the boy’s forearm. He screamed again and fell back. Mr. Tripp grabbed hold of Donnie with strong fingers. Donnie twisted and swung an arm against the old farmer. The impact was loud and probably jaw breaking. Mr. Tripp sailed fifteen feet through the air and landed with the crash against the barn door. He fell solidly against the hard packed earth, his neck bent at an angle. He gave a few shakes and was still.
Donnie stooped and picked up the wrench. He swung the wrench without even looking and interrupted the Tripp boy’s pain dance with a wet crack against his skull. Donnie dropped the wrench as he walked toward the farm house.
He entered a dusty coatroom and had just turned into a long dark parlor when Marla ran into his arms. The second Donnie looked at his beloved he could see that she had shared his dreams; she carried that pain in her chest, the suffering of suffocation. She also had a large vivid discoloration under her left eye.
“Oh, Donnie!” she called. They beat me and locked me in. I was worried that they’d hurt you. I didn’t have a choice!” she said into his chest. Donnie looked up and saw the second Tripp boy fallen back against a battered sofa with a pair of shears sticking out of his left eye socket.
“We’ll throw the others in the barn for now. We-”
“We need to get to the tree, and hurry!” Marla said, holding a hand to her chest and her face in a grimace. Donnie nodded.
***
Another day was ending in reddened brilliance when Donnie uncovered the lovers’ bodies under the apple tree. He and Marla both got down and dug with their hands, carefully scooping the dirt away from the pale bodies. The clothes had rotted away mostly and came away with the dirt.
“O
h, Donnie!” Marla moaned when you could see where the Gingues had cruelly driven stakes into both of the lovers’ hearts. The dark skinned gypsy had his arms partly wrapped around the Gingue girl’s body.
Donnie cleared a little more and could see where a main root of the tree had entered the gypsy’s body between the neck and the shoulder. It wound through the body and entered the Gingue girl through the ribcage.
“Free them, Donnie, please!” Marla cried.
“We’ll do it together, sweetie-pie!” Donnie said. Donnie put his hands over the stake in the girl. Marla wrapped her dirty fingers around the gypsy’s stake. Together they grunted and pulled.
The stakes were long and had speared the lovers right to the earth. They slid out, and Donnie and Marla fell back together against the edge of the pit Donnie had dug. The two lovers opened their eyes and let out a long sigh.
Quickly, so that one might miss it if they blinked, the bodies began to wither and decompose. In moments the skin had sunk away, and soon the bones followed into dust. A great wind seemed to blow, for the apple tree’s branches began to shake. A few apples fell to the ground around them.
Marla and Donnie leapt out of the pit and began to back away from the tree.
From somewhere down the hillside a shouting came. A gunshot sounded.
The tree shook all over, but there was no wind. The ground cracked and burst upward in great lines. Donnie and Marla backed further away from the tree. Donnie put his arms protectively around Marla.
The tree pulled its roots from the earth. It bent and shook until it had “stepped out” upon the ground. Then with a great quaking it shook itself. A rain of apples fell to the ground.
There was a cursing shout from below. Marla and Donnie looked downhill to see old man Gingue standing with his rifle in amazement at the sight. The tree creaked and groaned a kind of plaintive battle cry.
The bundles of roots twitched like tentacles. The tree lurched over and began a quick descent of the high pasture. Its yellowing leaves shook back and forth as it scuttled down the crown of the hill toward the frozen old farmer in the field.
Old man Gingue dropped his rifle and fled in terror. He fell once, but gathered himself and ran again toward his house. The apple tree moved with a steady and graceful pace toward the paint-peeling farm house.
In each other’s arms, Marla and Donnie watched as two of the fat men of the Gingue clan came out and gaped at the spectacle before them. Old Man Gingue shouted to them. Then before getting to the house, he turned and ran to a shed. One of the men broke out of his wondrous fear and went to aid the Gingue Patriarch. The other stood and watched as the leafy doom came down upon them.
The two Gingue men had just managed to roll out a drum barrel of oil and begin to dump out its contents upon the earth when the tree scuttled onto the farmyard. One of the men ran for a rusting pick-up truck. The great tree whipped a long branch out and caught the man and knocked him off his feet. The tree jerked to the side and the roots slithered out and punctured the man in three different places. He died screaming.
The tree then came forward and swallowed the other men in its shadow. The branches fell against the house, sending clapboards and roof shingles flying. Branches burst through windows. From inside, a woman’s scream could be heard. The branches pulled back and showed their prize. Fat old lady Gingue’s head and ample bosom appeared through the hole of a broken window. Her body didn’t quite fit, but other branches pierced the shrieking woman and yanked her nearly whole through the space. The branches sprang apart and a shower of gore and blood fell down upon the two men below. The tree slammed against the house and the whole structure seemed to squeal and groan in protest. The roof cracked.
Below, a branch came down and speared Old man Gingue through the mid-section. The man was lifted quickly into the air. At the last minute, as his last act, old man Gingue lit his lighter and let it fall from his hand. The flame hit near the head of the spilling oil drum and there was a whooshing sound.
Flames leapt up all around. The last remaining Gingue, a human torch, ran across the door yard and entered the barn. The tree screamed a pitchy whine as its roots and trunk went up in flames. The fire went from branch to branch and into the house which it demolished.
It took no time for the barn to join the house in a great conflagration.
“We should go. We can come back, but we have to go,” Donnie told Marla.
“Help me gather some of these apples first, my love,” Marla instructed.
***
It was late when the Hall clan returned to their farm with sooty faces and quiet comments of bewilderment. Marla met them with fresh milk for their throats and freshly baked apple turnovers for their bellies. The Halls were surprised to see Marla here, doting over their eldest, but not displeased. They had often pitied the girl stuck over there with her drunken widower father and her sullen brothers.
Everyone loved the apple turnovers. As they ate, their energy began to grow. Father Hall got feisty with Mother Hall. Grandpa Hall got out his old fiddle and began to play, quicker and finer than he had in more than a score of years. The boys all took turns dancing with Marla, and even Grandma jumped in for a turn or two.
Afterward, they ate even more of the turnovers and sat around the parlor. Donnie and Marla told the story of how they met and what had happened to them over the past few days.
After they told of the slaughter of Marla’s family by their hands the room got very quiet. Donnie and Marla looked sheepishly at each other.
Grandpa Hall let out a great whoop of laughter. Petey Hall, the youngest, followed with one of his own. Everybody then joined in, slapping their knees and crying their eyes out with mirth. Grandma fell out of her favorite rocker. After they stopped to catch their breath, Father Hall, who had ever been so clever with impersonations, acted out the death scene of Mr. Tripp to everyone’s delight.
Grandpa peed himself that time, and everybody had a lot of trouble catching their breath. Finally, they all decided to turn in for the night. They all understood, somehow, without it being said, that there was work ahead of them in the morning.
Marla stayed the night there with the Halls. She took the boys’ room, and the boys took to camping out in the parlor. It was painful to separate, even to sleep, but Marla and Donnie did so, out of decency. They were not betrothed, yet.
***
That very next day, the men went over to the Tripp farm and tidied up the place. They took the three corpses and covered them with blankets and drove back to their place. Grandpa sat in the back and sang a tune over their dead bodies as they went.
The family spent the rest of that morning together planting apple seeds across an entire field. It was their hopes that in a few years a great orchard would arise that could keep them in apple turnovers all the year round. Grandma and Grandpa, spry as spring goats came out and worked right along with the others.
Afterward, the men diced up the Tripp corpses into hamburg and blood pudding and they fertilized their endeavors so that the magic seed would truly take root.
“I can’t believe I have to leave soon,” Donnie sighed after the work was all done. Marla put her arms around him and buried her head against his chest.
“Do you have to go, Donnie Hall?” Marla asked.
“I’m afraid so, darling. I’m afraid so, but I’ll be back. You can rest assured.”
“I know you will, Donnie Hall,” she said and gave him a kiss.
“Just don’t go kissing anyone under the apple tree…” he said. She finished the line and they danced in the farmyard to the music they heard in their heads.
***
One day, late in summer of the following year, Sheriff Joe Freeman paid the Hall farm a visit.
Marla knitted with the other women in the parlor, making warmers for the men folk. The phonograph was playing Marla’s favorite song. It was the Andrew Sisters singing: “Don’t Sit under the Apple Tree”. The Hall boys always screwed up their faces, but they didn’t co
mplain. They knew how much it meant to Marla, and they all loved her madly.
When, the sheriff came in and took off his hat, everyone froze in dread.
“Miss Tripp,” the sheriff said. Marla gave Mother Hall her knitting and rose. She brushed out her apron and composed herself.
“Yes, sheriff?”
“I stopped by the post office on the way here and mentioned to Postmaster Cooney that I’d be stopping by out here. He said he had something for you. He said you’d be anxious for it, and I wasn’t to forget to give it to you.”
Marla came forward on trembling legs and took the letter from the sheriff. She looked at it. It took a moment for the mist to clear from her eyes to make out the careful scrawl of letters that was the signature of Donnie’s writing.
“It’s from Donnie! Ma, it’s from Donnie!” she squealed.
“Well, come and read it to us, honeybunch!” Ma smiled.