Violent Saturday
Page 16
“That’s where all the blood came from, I guess.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Emily didn’t bleed much at all. She didn’t bleed any in front. I guess she had a lot of internal bleeding though.”
Pete mashed out his cigarette and looked down at his shoes. He flexed his toes, making the leather squeak a little.
“I was holding her hand when she died,” Boyd said. “Did I tell you that? About holding her hand? She wasn’t able to talk, but I could tell she wanted me to hold her hand. She must have known she was going.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “Like this,” he said, “with our fingers interlocked, the way you’d hold a girl’s hand at the movies. She died alone though. That’s one thing you do all alone, even in a room full of people. It’s too bad, too, to have to die in front of a lot of people. Emily was scared. She was scared to death, and I’m afraid it didn’t help much for me to hold her hand. You can’t help anybody die. It’s tough too, I could tell. She went through a mighty bad time of it.”
There was another silence and then they heard a door open and close upstairs. They could not hear the rain, but they knew it was still raining. There was a feeling of rain.
“Boyd, let me bring you some coffee or something,” Jack said.
“I don’t want any coffee, Jack.”
They heard someone walking softly overhead, and then beneath that sound, more felt than heard, a soft rolling of rubber wheels. Pete clasped his hands to keep them from shaking.
“She didn’t look like she’d ever been alive,” Boyd said. “She didn’t look like she’d ever spoken a word or moved or ever heard a sound. She was like something … I swear I can’t describe it. Even her hair looked dead where it was parted. Nothing could ever lie as still as she was lying. I could have screamed at her or shot off a stick of dynamite in that room and she’d never have known it, you know that? When a person’s dead, they’re really dead, I can tell you. I never dreamed how still and how much like wax. I’ve often heard that word used about dead people, that they looked like wax, and they do. They look exactly like wax. But what I hate most is having to pack up her things.”
Boyd stopped talking for a few minutes, then put his hand over his eyes.
“You fellows want to leave me for a while?” he said. “I think I want to be alone for a while.”
They got up quickly and went out of the room, scared and sick and full of dread. In the hall Pete lit another cigarette with shaking hands, and Jack said, “Poor bastard.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. I just said poor bastard.”
“Poor bastard is right. You know what I’d like to do, Jack? I’d like to go home.”
It was nine o’clock when Shelley finally came home. Charlie Banks brought him in the city car, and Helen was watching from the dining room windows when he got out and thanked Charlie and walked wearily toward the house. She watched him come up under the trees in the darkness with his head down, walking slowly in the still-falling rain and looking as if he had come back to her from some long imponderable journey.
She opened the door for him and embraced him, and at first neither of them said anything at all. One side of his face was scratched and raw and his clothes were muddy. He looked exhausted.
“Well,” she finally managed to say. “You came back to me, didn’t you, Shelley?”
“Yeah, looks like I made it after all. It’s been a rough afternoon.”
They went into the kitchen and he dropped his wet hat in the sink.
“You want something to eat?” she said.
“No, just some coffee. They brought sandwiches over to the sheriff’s office to us.”
“Is that where you’ve been so long?”
“Yes.”
“That’s funny. I called and they said you were on your way home an hour ago.”
“Well, I stopped by the hospital to see about the Negro,” he said. “I wanted to find out about him before I came on in.”
“He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“Not exactly what you’d call all right, but he’s going to live, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I mean. The coffee’s already made. All I have to do is warm it up.”
She knew he was watching her as she turned on the stove and set out the two cups and saucers.
“Did they catch the other one yet?” she asked.
“I don’t know. They were still out when I left the city hall. I guess they’ll get him though, sooner or later.”
“They didn’t hurt you, did they, darling?”
“No, I was the one hurt them.”
He feels bad about this, she thought. I’ll have to watch what I say. He doesn’t like this at all.
“Everybody in town calls you a hero,” she said. “The town’s proud of you, Shelley.”
“Well, they ought to be. It’s not everybody that can shoot a man while he’s caught in a fence.”
“Shelley.”
“It’s a fact. I didn’t have to shoot that man.”
“Yes, you did. They tried to kill you, didn’t they? Look what they did to Emily Fairchild. You were perfectly right to do what you did. Most men wouldn’t have had the nerve.”
He said nothing. His face was expressionless and tired.
“Here’s your coffee. You want a cigarette?”
“What all did they tell you?” he said. “Who called, anyway?”
“Mr. Walker. He didn’t want me to worry, and he said you’d be on home in a little while. He said you were safe and that you had shot two of the men when they tried to shoot you. He said you did a brave thing.”
“You know all about it then. Did he tell you about the car?”
“No, what about it?”
“We brought the Negro to town in it and he got some blood on the seats. His nose was bleeding. I thought it would be a good idea if the kids didn’t see it, so I left it at the garage. They’re going to try and clean it up in the morning.”
“Good. I’m glad you thought of that.”
“How did the kids take it anyway?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they really understand what happened.”
He was silent for a while, sipping his coffee. “Well, I’m sorry it had to happen. But it did. I just wish to God it could have been somebody else besides me.”
“It had to be you, Shelley. You were the only one that could do it. Any other man would have just been scared.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t scared?”
“All right. But you did it. They picked the wrong one when they picked my man. I’m proud of you, Shelley.”
Her eyes filled with tears and a hot lump rose in her throat.
“What if they had killed me?”
She shook her head and the tears ran down her cheeks. They looked at each other for a moment in silence. He lifted his cup and sipped from it and set it down.
“We have a good thing between us, Helen. We do all right together, don’t we?”
“We’re the best, Shelley, the absolute best.”
“You think I did the right thing?”
“I know you did, darling.”
“I had no choice, I guess. I lost my head on that last one though.”
“He would have killed you too. They all tried to.”
“Yes, I know it. I don’t know though.” He shook his head. “It was a bad afternoon. I’d give anything if it just hadn’t happened.”
Helen refilled his cup, but he hadn’t drunk much of it.
“I guess the kids are all asleep,” he said.
“Yes, long ago.”
“They’re all right?”
“Yes, Shelley.”
She felt the tears come up again, brimming her eyes.
“That was a fool question. I’m so tired I don’t half know what I’m saying.”
“You ought to take a bath and go to bed. Take a hot bath so you won’t catch cold.”
“I will. A hot bath
might loosen me up some. I tell you it was a mighty bad afternoon. It was a messy business.”
She looked away and bit her lip and the tears ran down her cheeks. She tried to drink her coffee.
“Don’t cry, baby.”
“I can’t help it.”
“What for? It’s all over now.”
“I’m a fine wife, aren’t I?”
“You’re a good wife. The best. You just said so yourself.”
“No, I said we were the best.”
“All right. So what are you crying for?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, it’s just … well, I know how you feel and all, and there’s nothing I can do, no way to help you.”
“Sure you can help me. You already did.”
“How?”
“Well, you made me some coffee and had it ready. All you had to do was warm it up. You put my kids to bed and had the porch light on for me. You waited for me and watched for me, didn’t you?”
She looked at him and smiled with her eyes full of tears.
“You understand me, Helen?”
“Yes.”
“That’s better. We’re all right. Tomorrow if the sun comes out we may take the kids and all go fishing.”
“That would be nice. Just you and me and the kids.”
She dried her eyes and tried to get the catch out of her throat.
“See? That’s a lot better.”
He got up and walked out of the kitchen to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at himself for a long time, and touched the scratched side of his face and his ear.
“You ought to take a hot bath,” she said. “Why don’t you do that, and then we’ll go to bed.”
“Is Jimmy asleep?”
“Of course he’s asleep. You know that.”
“I want to go in and see him for a minute. Then I’ll bathe and we’ll try to get some sleep.”
She watched him go down the dark hall and into the baby’s room and lean over the crib. She wondered what he was thinking, and then she saw him bend down and take the child up tenderly in his arms. He stood for a long time before the window, holding the little boy and rocking him gently, looking out at the night.
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About the Author
William L. Heath was born in 1924, in Lake Village, Arkansas, and grew up in Scottsboro, Alabama. In 1942 he entered the University of Virginia, but his attendance there was interrupted when he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, in which he served for three years as an aerial radio operator during WWII. He served overseas for seventeen months in the CBI theatre, flying the Hump, for which he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.
Mr. Heath returned to the University of Virginia after his discharge and completed a B.A. degree in English Literature. During his senior year there, he published several short stories in the school magazine, won the Virginia Spectator Literary Award, and sold his first story to Collier’s. He went on to publish three dozen short stories, that were published in Argosy, Esquire, Collier’s, Cosmopolitan, and other publications of smaller circulation.
His first novel, Violent Saturday, was published in 1955 and also sold to 20th Century Fox as a motion picture with an all-star cast including Victor Mature, Richard Egan, Stephen McNally, Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine.
Mr. Heath’s second novel, Ill Wind, received literary acclaim and established him as a writer with exceptional talent. He followed Ill Wind with eight more novels over the course of his career.
Mr. Heath lived in Scottsboro, Alabama, with his wife of more than 30 years, Mary Ann Heath. After her death he moved to Guntersville, Alabama, where he lived until his death in 2007.
Also by W.L. Heath
Ill Wind
Temptation in a Southern Town
The Good Old Boys
Most Valuable Player
Max the Great
The Earthquake Man
Last Known Position
It’s Always Five O’Clock
Darby’s Folly
Table of Contents
Chapter Seven
Chapter Nine