Deliverance

by James Dickey

  Someone was coming, casually but deliberately. I turned to say something to the patrolman, so that I would seem unaware of the other person’s approach.

  “Say, buddy,” the new man said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sit down.”

  He did. We shook hands. He was an old seam-faced light-bodied man with hazel eyes. He wore his hat at the prescribed country tilt, which always amused me wherever I saw it. I almost smiled, but instead took a cigarette he offered and lit up.

  “You sure this is the place?”

  I repeated, “Not all that sure. But I can’t do any better. He’s either in those rocks up there, or here, or downstream. How far downstream I don’t know.”

  “You say you’us coming down this-yere river in a canoe?”

  “Two canoes, we started with.”

  “How come?”

  “How come what?”

  “How come you to be doing this, in the fust place?”

  “Oh,” I said, hesitating and not really knowing the answer, even now. “I guess we just wanted to get out a little. All of us work in the city, and it gets pretty tiresome, just sitting in an office all the time. The fellow who broke his leg’s been up here before, fishing. He said we ought to see it before they dam the river and make a public park out of it. That’s all. No really good reason, I suppose. Just boredom.”

  “I kin understand that,” he said after a little while. “You didn’t know what you’uz agettin’ into, did you?”

  “No indeed, we didn’t,” I said. “We sure didn’t know it would be anything like this.”

  He thought this over. “You see these big old wide rocks yonder? How come you didn’t get out and drag your canoe over ’em, ’stead of trying to come through that-there bad place? How come you to try to ride on through?”

  “The river’s running awful fast, up above here. These are just the very last of the rapids. We had too much speed by then. And this part didn’t look as bad as it is; we couldn’t see the drop-off until we were right on top of it and going too fast to do anything but go over it. And when it fell off, we fell out.”

  “Then your buddy couldn’t be back up yonder in them other rocks now, could he?”

  “No,” I said. “That’s why I suggested that y’all start looking for him right here. He wouldn’t be in the upstream rocks, but he could be hung up under a rock someplace under the drop-off.”

  “Wouldn’t be much of him left, would there?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You say you started out day before yesterday?”

  “We started Friday, at about four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “In two canoes.”

  “Right.”

  “And you lost one of them right here?”

  “No, a long ways upstream. When we came through here, we were all in one canoe.”

  This was the silence now. It went on for at least a minute. “Your buddy says different.”

  “I’ll be damned if he does,” I said. “Go ask him.”

  “I already done asked him.”

  “Ask him again, or the one in the hospital.”

  “No; no. You done had a chance to talk to ’em.”

  “Your hearing must not be any too good.”

  “It’s good enough. We ain’t going to find no body right in here. We’re going to find it farther up.”

  “What the hell are you driving at?” I said, and the indignation was real; he was assaulting my story, which had cost me so much time and energy, and, yes, blood.

  I leaned to the state policeman. “Look, do I have to put up with this? I’ll be goddamned if I will, I can tell you. Is he authorized to do this?”

  “Maybe you better answer a few more questions. Then he can handle it however he wants to.”

  “We found that other canoe — or half of it — before you say you even got down in this part of the river.”

  “So what? I told you we lost the other one farther up. Back up in a gorge. If you want to try to go up in there, I can take you and show you where it was.”

  “You know we can’t get back up in there.”

  “That’s your problem. What the hell is all this about, anyway? We’ve been through a goddamned bad time, and I’m damned if I want to put up with this kind of shit. Listen: are you the sheriff here?”

  “Depitty.”

  “Is the sheriff around here?”

  “He’s right over yonder.”

  “Well, go get him. I want to talk to him.”

  He got up and went over to a beefy, Texas-y farmer with a badge, and they came back together. I shook hands with the sheriff, whose name was Bullard.

  “Sheriff, I don’t know what this man has in mind, because he won’t tell me. But from what I can gather he thinks we threw one of our party in the river, or something.”

  “Maybe you did,” the old man said.

  “For Christ’s sake, for what reason?”

  “How would I know that? I know you can’t get your stories straight, and there ain’t no good reason for you to be lyin’.”

  “Easy, Mr. Queen,” the sheriff said. Then to me, “What about this?”

  “What do you mean, what about it? Look, if you can find one person, and I mean one, who’ll back up what he says, I’ll be perfectly happy to do anything you want me to do — go back up in the woods with you, wade up the river, join your crew out there dragging — anything you say. But this man is just confused. He’s got some kind of personal stake in this, he doesn’t like city people, he’s trying to create interest in himself, God knows what. What’s the matter, Mr. Queen? People feel like you’re not earning your money?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s the matter, you city son of a bitch,” Queen said, in that country-murderous tone that always bled me white. “My sister called me yesterday and told me her husband had been out hunting and hadn’t come back. They ain’t nobody off in them woods up yonder. I’ll just goddamned well guarantee y’all met up with him somewhere. And I’m on prove it.”

  “Fine, prove it.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Mr. Queen?” the sheriff asked. “Why jump on these fellows about something in your family? Just ’cause they’re from the city? Maybe your brother-in-law fell down and got hurt.”

  “No, he wudna.”

  “Why are you so damned sure that anything happened to him?” I said.

  “I just got a feeling,” Queen said. “And I ain’t ever wrong about that.”

  “Well, you’re wrong this time,” I said. “Now stop bothering me. Go and do whatever you’ve got a mind to do. But get off my back. I’ve had it with this river, with the woods, with the whole fucking business up here and most especially with you. Unless you’ve got something to accuse us of, and have got some evidence to support what you’re saying — whatever it is — you can goddamned well let me alone.”

  He backed off, muttering, and I went over to the patrolman I had been sitting beside. Queen didn’t have a thing on us, and he wouldn’t get anything. I wondered if one of the two men we had killed had really been his brother-in-law, and I tried to think of a way to find out his name, but decided I had better let it go. There was no real reason I needed to know his name, except for my own satisfaction, and I doubted that it would be much satisfaction, either way.

  The men in the river were working downstream. Every now and then one of the hooks would snag a rock, and everybody would converge on it. I could see the light in their eyes change, some dreading, some anticipating, some happy. My blood quickened and my side hurt within its hurt when this happened, but it was always for nothing. All day, almost, the wound leapt and subsided, and in all that time the searchers made only about two hundred yards.

  Sheriff Bullard came over. “Looks like that’s goin’ to haf to wind it up tonight,” he said. “Gettin’ too dark.”

  I nodded and got up.

  “You boys be staying in Aintry this evenin’?”

  “I guess so,” I said.
“We’re still pretty tired and beat-up. And I want to see how Lewis is doing, in the hospital. He has a bad break in his leg.”

  “Is bad,” the sheriff said. “Doctor said he’s never seen a worst un.”

  “We’re at Biddiford’s,” I said. “But you know that.”

  “Yeah, I know it. We’ll be coming back out chere tomorrow morning. You can come if you want to, but you don’t have to.”

  “I don’t see any reason for us to come,” I said. “If the body’s not right in here, I don’t know where it is. Maybe farther downstream.”

  “We’re going to try upstream, a little.”

  “No use,” I said. “But do whatever you think’s right. If you find any bodies up there, though, they won’t be Drew’s. This is where he went under, and if you find him it’ll be downstream.”

  “Maybe we’ll split up, and some work up and some work down.”

  “OK. Fine. But this is the place; I’d bet my life on it. I marked it with that big yellow tree, and I kept looking at it all the time we were trying to find him. He’s downriver; there’s not but one way he can go.”

  “Right,” said the sheriff. “Not but one way. We’ll let you know if we find him, and I’ll come by to see y’all sometime tomorrow afternoon. Much obliged to you, for your trouble.”

  Bobby and I ate another big dinner, and went up to bed. There was no need to talk anymore; all the talking had been done. Now was the time for the finding or the not finding.

  The next day we went out to see Lewis, who was much better. His leg was raised in pulleys, and he was reading the county paper, which had a story about Drew’s disappearance, and an account of dragging the river for him, with a picture in which I could recognize myself and Deputy Queen. He had his fist up at my face, and I knew that the picture had been taken during the last part of the time we had been talking. I looked like I was being tolerant, just barely listening out of courtesy. Everything helped; this too.

  There were no policemen with Lewis, but he was not alone in the ward anymore, for the night before they had brought in a farmer whose foot had been run over by a tractor. He was at the other end, and asleep. I told Lewis what had happened, and told him that Bobby would drive his car back down to the city and his wife or somebody could come after him whenever he was ready to move. That was all right with him.

  Bobby and I walked over to say good-bye to Lewis. He was eased back in the pillows.

  “I ought to be out of here in a week or two, myself,” he said.

  “Sure,” I said. “Lie back and enjoy yourself. This is not such a bad town.”

  Bobby and I drove back to Biddiford’s to wait for the sheriff.

  He came at five-thirty, and evil little Queen was with him. The sheriff took out a piece of paper. “You can use this for a statement,” he said. “See if it says what you told us.”

  I read it through. “It’s all right,” I said. “But I don’t know these place names. Is this the right name of the rapids where I said we capsized?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the name: Griffin’s Shoot.”

  “OK,” I said, and signed it.

  “You’re sure, now,” Sheriff Bullard asked.

  “You better believe I’m sure.”

  “He ain’t sure,” Deputy Queen said, a lot louder than any of us. “He’s lyin’. He’s lyin’ thu his teeth. He’s done some-thin’, up yonder. He’s done kilt my brother-in-law.”

  “Listen, you little bastard,” I said, and my voice was really quivering. “Maybe your brother-in-law killed somebody. Why are you bringing in all this talk of killing? The river did all the killing we saw. If you don’t think it’ll kill you, get your stupid ass on it and see for yourself.”

  “Now, Mr. Gentry,” the sheriff said. “Don’t talk like that. Ain’t no call for it.”

  “Well, this’ll do till there is,” I said.

  “He’s lyin’, Sheriff; don’t let him go. Don’t let the son of a bitch go.”

  “We got nothing to hold him for, Arthel,” the sheriff said. “Nothing. These boys’ve been through a lot. They want to get back home.”

  “Don’t let him go, I’m telling you. Listen, my sister called up last night, and she was just a-crying. Benson ain’t come home yet. She knows he’s dead. She just knows it. He ain’t never been gone this long before. And these fellers was the only ones up in there, when he was.”

  “Now, you don’t know that, Arthel,” the sheriff said. “What you mean is, they was the only city fellows.”

  I shook my head as though I couldn’t believe such stupidity, which was the case, sure enough.

  “Y’all can go any time you want to,” the sheriff said. “Just leave me your addresses.”

  I did and said, “OK. Let us know if you find anything.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be the fust.”

  I slept again, as in a place beyond all sleep, around on the other side of death, and came back, floating, when I thought I heard the ringing of the owl on the other birds, in Martha’s wind-toy at home. It was early, and we were free. I dressed and went to Bobby’s room and woke him. The woman who owned the place was up, and we paid her with the last of our money and drove to the filling station to get Lewis’ car. The sheriff was sitting there talking to the owner. We got out.

  “Morning,” he said. “Y’all getting an early start, eh?”

  “Thought we would,” I said. “What can we do for you?”

  “Not a thing,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure you had your keys, and everything you need.”

  “We can make it fine,” I said. “There is one thing, Sheriff, though. We owe some fellows up in Oree for bringing these cars down to us. Would you tell them that we’ll send them the money, just as quick as we get back to the city? They’ll believe you before they will us, because you live up here; they know who you are.”

  “Be glad to,” he said. “What’re their names?”

  “Griner. They run a garage up there.”

  “I’ll get word to ’em. Don’t worry about it. And you say they’re the last people you saw, before you got down here?”

  “The last and only. There was also another man with them. I don’t know who he was.”

  “Maybe we ought to know who he was. I might even go up there and talk to all of ’em myself. And you kin be sure I’ll tell ’em about the money.”

  “OK. We’re going along now.”

  “Take it easy going home,” he said. “And, buddy, let me tell you one thing. Don’t ever do anything like this again. Don’t come back up here.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. I grinned, and slowly, so did he. “Is this your way of telling me to get out of town and not show my face in these-here parts again?”

  “You might say that,” he said.

  “Aw, now, Sheriff, you know we ain’t no hired guns,” I said, like Texas. “We’re all bow-and-arrow men.”

  “You listen to me, now, boy.”

  “You ought to be in the movies, Sheriff, Or go live in Montana. You could probably find worse bad men than me in either one.”

  “I might do that,” he said. “Not much action here, I can tell you. A few people stealing chickens, and a little moon-shining. Not much action.”

  “Not till we came.”

  “Yeah; we don’t want no more of that. Dragging that river’s tough.”

  “Neither do we; you won’t see us again.”

  “OK. So long. Have a good trip.”

  “So long. And I hope Deputy Queen finds his brother-in-law.”

  “Aw, he’ll come in drunk. He’s a mean bastard anyway. Old Queen’s sister’d be better off without him. So would everybody else.”

  I started to get in Drew’s car.

  “’Fore you go, buddy, let me ask you something and tell you something.”

  “Ask me.”

  “How come you-all ended up with four life jackets?”

  “We had an extra one. In fact we had two. You’re liable to fi
nd another one downriver. They float, you know. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “You done good.”

  “Somebody had to do something,” I said. “I didn’t want to die, either.”

  “You’us hurt bad, but if it wudn’t for you you’d all be in the river with your other man.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll take that with me.”

  “You damned fucking ape,” he said. “Who on earth was your father, boy?”

  “Tarzan,” I said.

  Bobby settled into Lewis’ wagon, and I got a map from the rack at the station and buckled down in the other car.

  “Let’s go get the canoe,” I hollered over.

  “Jesus, no,” he said. “Leave it. I never want to see it or touch it or smell it again. Leave the goddamned thing.”

  “No,” I said. “We’re going to get it. Follow me. It’ll just take a minute.”

  Some kids were playing in the canoe, and I thought this was a good sign, indicating that Deputy Queen wasn’t around. Also, they might have washed out Lewis’ vomit, or some of it, anyway. I got the kids out and took a long look at the hull. It was really battered and beat-up, not only along the bottom but on the sides clear up to the gunwales in some places; I felt the rock shocks all over again, just looking at them. There were a couple of holes — small holes — close together in the middle, but it could have stood some more, though maybe not a whole lot.

  Before we began to struggle with the boat, I chanced to look up across the river, and there were some men moving among the trees. There was a little cemetery there, so well hidden among the trees and bushes that I would not have seen it at all except for the human forms moving there.

  I asked one of the children what was happening. “Is it a funeral?”

  “Naw,” one muddy little girl said. “They’re gonna move them people ’fore they finish the dam. They’re diggin’ ’em up.”

  I had known that it was no funeral; there was too much movement. But I wasn’t quite prepared for this. I looked closer, and there were some green coffins stacked together, and a couple of the men were disappearing below the ground and coming back up together, heaving at something.