by Beth Lewis
I leaned up ’gainst a crate, catching my breath, and she came closer. Taller’n me.
“I heard it all,” she said, voice so clean I could hear all them letters. “I’m sorry.”
I frowned then. “Weren’t your fault.”
She had a soft smile, smile a’ someone who’s lived an untroubled life. “I know. I can’t believe you killed him.”
Then her face turned panic. “James. He’ll be coming back soon. We should go.”
I shook my head. “Colby gone swimmin’.”
“Did you…?”
Shook my head again and said, “He was breathin’ when he went in the water.”
She opened her mouth to say something but I spoke first. “Them pins in your dress,” I said, pointing to the ribbon ’round her waist. “Give ’em here.”
She looked where I was pointing. “These? Why?”
Damn idiot, I thought, and held open my shirt. “Don’t fancy flashin’ the world my tits is why.”
She blushed up something comic and quick handed ’em over, turning ’round to give me a touch a’ privacy.
Once I was decent, I nodded to the dead man. “We got to get him in one a’ these crates.”
Her eyes went wide and she burst out laughing.
“Ain’t no joke, girl,” I said. “You want him found while we’re still on this boat?”
Her smile turned dark. “How do you propose we lift that into a crate?”
Big damn idiot. “We ain’t gonna lift him. You soft in the head or somethin’? Get that sheet.”
I nodded to one a’ the tarps covering a group a’ boxes. She wandered over there, arms crossed over her chest and, like she didn’t want to be touching anything, took that tarp ’tween finger and thumb. I watched her struggling to pull it down, and to tell the truth, I didn’t know right what to make a’ her.
“You kiddin’ me?” I said, and she looked at me like I was talking foreign.
“It’s stuck,” she said, tugging it like she was teasing a thread out her skirts.
“Goddamn, there’s more strength in a mewlin’ babe just pulled out his momma than there is in all a’ you.”
I went over to her and took that sheet full in both hands. Pulled it and it came away easy. I was giving it some swagger, to tell the truth. I shouldn’t a’ pulled it that hard. My ribs ground ’gainst each other and sent my arms and legs shaking.
“Bring it over here,” I said, blinking away the pain best I could.
“I still don’t know how we’re going to get him into a crate. He’s a whale, we don’t stand a chance of lifting him,” she said, and I called her an idiot again in my head.
“Just do what I says and don’t get girly ’bout it.”
She sighed through her nose and the sound of it got right into my ear. She brought the tarp over and dumped it in a heap. Soon as we put the hog in his box, I’d get as far away from this waste a’ space as I could.
“What now?” she said.
I went over to the end a’ her crate as it was a mite smaller’n mine and nodded her to get to the other end.
“We gonna tip it on its side,” I said, hoping my ribs would forgive me. “Quietlike.”
She frowned deep and looked from body to crate to tarp to me. Quick the frown lifted and a look a’ surprise came over her. Goddamn lightbulb went off in her head, I could see the light flashing out her eyes. Weren’t nothing else in that skull a’ hers to stop it.
“Clever,” she said, and took hold a’ the crate.
Together we laid the box down, open side in line with the dead man. The girl knew my thoughts afore I had time to tell her and she was already laying out the tarp. One end inside the box, one end up ’gainst the body.
Both a’ us knelt on the same side a’ him. That’s when she got real girly.
“It’s just a body,” I said, “just meat and bones. Damn bastard deserved it, no question.”
Flashes of his weight on my chest hit me. Heard his breath in my ears, grunting and quick, the smell a’ his slobber still on my skin. My heart was heaving and I found myself staring at the hole I cut in his gut, wishing I could cut another.
“It’s not that,” the girl said. Her voice soft and sweet brought me out the dark. “Let’s be rid of him.”
She did something then that surprised me no end. She stood up and shimmied out a’ her dress. Folded it nice and laid it on top another crate. She stood there in her panties and bra and I didn’t know right where to look.
“What in the hell are you doin’?” I said.
“I don’t want to get blood on my dress. I’ll never get the stains out.”
Trapper always said an outfit ain’t complete without bloodstains, and he’d come back with fresh ones least once a week. I didn’t say nothing ’bout it to her, just nodded and tried not to look.
She knelt back down and didn’t seem squeamish ’bout touching him no more. She dug her hands into his pockets, rummaged around and pulled out a handful a’ coin. She stacked it neat next to her dress and nodded to me. Together we rolled the hog onto the tarp. Next part was easier. We lifted the ends of the tarp and rolled him right into the box. He made a wet slapping sound like flogging a bag a’ eels and I smiled all the way. We shoved the tarp into the box with him, covered him up best we could.
With the crowbar I pried the nails out my crate lid and took ’em over to the hog’s box. One for each corner. I got the girl to hold the lid in place. Few quick hits and the hog was sealed up ready for shipping to God knew where.
“Them folks at the other end a’ the lake are gonna have a shock when they open this expectin’ to find you,” I said.
“I hope they choke on him,” she said, and I didn’t figure words that bitter could come out a face so pretty.
She spotted something hooked up on the wall and said, “Stand over there, out the way.”
I did and she took down a hose and starting spraying the deck. The blood and shit washed away, down drains and ’tween the boards. Seemed strange, all that hurt and hate and bile, gone with just a splash a’ water. It weren’t perfect, but it weren’t quite as obvious now neither. We washed our hands and my face and my knife and she finally put her dress back on. I looked down at my hands, saw ’em shaking, saw black in ’em, like they weren’t my hands no more. Colby and his fella put something dark in me, like when I drove my knife into the hog’s belly it was driving something into mine at the same time. Felt it in there, squirming, growing. Didn’t feel like me no more. Tears came up in my eyes and I let them go. Let them fall down my cheeks and into my ripped up collar. Stood there swaying and couldn’t right figure where I was in the world. Was I still by that lake? Breathing in whatever poison mucked up my mind? I wanted bad to believe that none a’ this had happened, that that hog man hadn’t done what he done and I hadn’t done what I done.
There’s a feeling what comes with killing, sick and raw and a big rush a’ relief. Maybe that’s why Kreagar killed all them folks, maybe he liked that feeling. Maybe he just liked the blood what comes with it.
Girl waved her hand in front my face, tried to snap me back.
“Colby’s got a cabin,” I said, holding up his key, aching for a soft place to rest my ribs. “Figure he don’t need it no more.”
She nodded and held out her hand to me. “Penelope.”
“You what?” I said. Never heard no word like that afore.
“My name,” she said, “is Penelope.”
Wondered brief how she came by a name like that, then I took her hand.
“Elka.”
Most people ask me where I got that name, but I figured she had a name strange as mine so didn’t take all that much notice. The girl smiled then just said, “Thank you, Elka, for saving me.”
She said it so serious that my cheeks flushed up red. No one ever gave me true thanks afore. I mumbled something like “You’re welcome,” then took my hand back and didn’t right know what to do with it.
Penelope went quiet for a m
inute then took a big breath and said, “You’re going to Halveston, right?”
I nodded and she looked mighty relieved. It made me a mite nervous.
She smiled with one side a’ her mouth, eyes gleaming with something like mischief and said, “I have a proposition for you.”
“No way,” I said, locking the door to Colby’s cabin. Cramped little room with two berths, one on top the other.
“Come on, Elka,” Penelope said, “it’s perfect. We both win.”
I lay gentle on the bottom berth. “I don’t win nothin’ ’cept earache from a prissy thing who don’t know shit about the wild.”
She didn’t seem put off by my words, unkind as they were.
“Please, take me to Halveston and I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll…I’ll help you find a claim to mine, I’ll help you get a job, I’ll help you, I don’t know, sign mining permits, whatever you want. Please, Colby’s men will be looking for me on the roads. You heard him, I’m bought and paid for.”
As she was talking, I heard a lot a’ mentions a’ paper—permits and claims. Words I didn’t know. Hadn’t figured on that. I knew my parents’ names by speaking but not by look in letters. Figured I’d ask around for them when I got up there. Folks like mine, what must a’ struck it rich by now, would be easy to find a’ course, but it didn’t hurt to have a bit a’ help.
“They keep records a’ all the miners what go up there?” I asked.
“Of course. Probably in the permit office.”
“And you know letters ’nough to find someone in them permits?”
I felt squirmy and hot for asking. Not reading never stopped me doing nothing afore, but I weren’t going hunting for deer now, I was hunting for family and people leave their tracks in words and paper.
Penelope looked at me different then. There weren’t no pity in her eyes though; there was something else there, understanding maybe.
“Yes,” she said quiet, “I know letters.”
I lay still a few minutes, she didn’t say nothing and I was thankful for it. I needed thinking time.
“I’ll tell you yes or no afore we dock,” I said, and she opened her mouth to complain at me. “Don’t ask me again or you’ll go swimmin’ with Colby, understand?”
She sighed out her nose again and if I’d a’ had any fight left in me, I would a’ chucked her through that stupid round window right then. I closed my eyes ’gainst her and she climbed up onto the top bunk. Few minutes of fidgeting and huffing ’bout and she got settled. Never slept in a room with anyone but Trapper and my nana afore and always thought I’d never be able to. I prayed to all them gods that I wouldn’t have no dreams. I told my head to shut up and forget what it saw. Told it to ignore the burning pain in my stomach. Ether them gods heard me or I must a’ been too dog tired to notice ’cause I don’t remember falling asleep, I only remember waking up to a big damn shock.
Smell a’ bacon.
Ain’t nothing in this world like it. Salt-cured, sliced thick, line a’ juicy fat crisping up in the pan. Anyone what tells you they don’t like bacon is either stupid or lying. Either way that ain’t no one you can trust.
Penelope woke me up gentle to that smell. Soon as it hit the back a’ my throat, my eyes sprung open, my mouth started watering, and I quick forgot all that happened the night before. Soon as I tried to sit up though, it all came back to me like a kick in the gut. My belly and sides felt like they was made a’ sharp stone, digging into my good muscles deeper with every move.
“Come on,” she said, setting the plate down on a fold-down table.
“I didn’t just get you breakfast,” she said, and helped me sit up on the bed.
“What you talkin’ ’bout?”
“You’re hurt,” she said, stern all a’ sudden.
“What’s it to you?”
She got a bag from the floor and tipped out rolls a’ white bandages, a blue shirt, and a pack a’ pills.
“What’s this?” I said. Didn’t like the look of it, didn’t have no great love for doctors and their knives and potions and I didn’t do nothing to hide my upset.
“I saw James hit you with that crowbar. If he didn’t break a rib or two I’d be shocked. That money I took from…that man’s pockets. Well, here it is.”
I didn’t say nothing. Girl had hawk eyes I weren’t expecting.
“Can I take a look?” she said, gesturing to my shirts.
“What you plannin’ on doin’?”
She smiled sweet. “Helping.”
Figured I’d let her, she couldn’t do no worse damage. Soon as she started unclipping those pins I felt sick down deep in my gut. Felt the water rising up into my ears, sound a’ buttons ripping. Bit it back, breathed deep and slow and told myself it weren’t him. Weren’t the hog and wouldn’t be never again. Wouldn’t never let no man nor woman touch me like he had.
She gentle pulled open my shirt and I saw a great wave a’ pity come over her face at the sight a’ me.
“You should have killed James,” she said, face blank but for blazing angry eyes. First time I realized she had some years on me. I’d a’ thought she was my age by the look a’ her in the crate. I suppose fear takes the years off us, makes us all frightened children. She could a’ been four or five years up from me, the way she looked now.
I didn’t much want to see what that man had done to my body. I could feel it well enough. I set my eyes on my hands, holding on to the edge a’ the top bunk while Penelope opened up packs a’ bandages. New cuts and scrapes in my skin from my tussle, red lines what would turn to white and stay there for good. Tiny reminders a’ all this.
Scars was memories for me, some I’d rather forget like the reverend, but some was happy. Sliced my arm scraping a moose hide when I was a young’un, left a long white line ’cross my forearm what Trapper patched up. Changed that bandage every day he did, like a daddy’s supposed to. Then there was the silver burn scar on my hand, faded to almost invisible, what Missy soothed and wrapped up with a strip a’ her nightgown. But that thought weren’t so happy no more, knowing what truly became a’ that good woman. Memories a’ Trapper and Kreagar mixed up and gave me feelings like black worms in my gut. Didn’t know what was real no more.
I flinched when Penelope put her hand on me and it weren’t through pain. She brushed her fingers, soft like they ain’t never seen a pile a’ logs for splitting, across the worse part a’ the bruise, right on top my ribs. I hissed like a caught viper when she found that spot and she winced right along with me.
“Sorry,” she said, pain in her voice like she was the one being prodded, “just a little longer.”
She walked her fingers over my skin, pressed down in places, heard me swear, moved on to someplace else, heard me swear more. Went on like that for an age till she finally looked up at me.
“Two broken,” she said, and shook her head.
“You a doctor or somethin’?” I said.
She didn’t say nothing but her eyes said she didn’t want to be asked no more questions. Penelope took up some bandage rolls and looked me right in the eye.
She said, “This is going to hurt.”
I figured our meanings of “hurt” were a little different. She looked like a bramble prick would send her screaming. I didn’t pay her warning no mind, just nodded at her to get it over with. She started wrapping them bandages ’round my waist and ribs and damn, did that hurt.
I swore up something awful but no matter how blue my words, she didn’t stop, didn’t even slow the hell down.
“You remind me of my father. So tough,” she said, smiling, wrapping me up like one a’ them underground pit roasts.
My head was swimming from the sting in my ribs, and for once I was glad a’ her speaking. It took my mind out that dark place so’s I didn’t see Colby’s crowbar hitting me over and over and didn’t see that hog man sneering.
“How’s that?” I said.
“He was very practical,” she said, “and he helped people, like you help
ed me. He was a good man.”
That smile a’ hers dropped off.
“Where’s he at?” I said.
“He’s dead,” she said, “drowned in a poison lake.”
My hand slipped off the bunk. How many poison lakes could there be in these parts? I figured not many. I never saw another person there, ’cept for the demon. I remembered them black claws like eagle talons but now I saw them different in my head. Saw human hands ’stead of a devil’s, knife in each. Horns was rucked-up hair. Black body was shadowy skin. Then it had the hog man’s face. Then Kreagar’s.
Then mine.
“Elka?” Soft voice came out the dark, pulled me away from all them demons.
“Elka…”
Opened my eyes to Penelope, look a’ fierce worry on her. She’d finished bandaging me up, and I had naught but a pin holding me together.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“I didn’t go nowhere, did I?” I said, like I didn’t know what she meant. ’Course I did. I was by that lake, no question, I was staring at that demon and I was seeing my face and my life played out on that black skin like a shadow play. I weren’t saying nothing to her about it but I looked down at my ribs, felt them shored up and not going nowhere, better’n any job I could a’ done with linen strips, and I figured I could give her a mite a’ my time.
“Tell me ’bout this lake. Who poisoned it?”
“My father said it was during the Fall,” she said, and I knew she was talking ’bout the Damn Stupid. “One of the Soviet bombs fell but didn’t explode. It made a crater, and over the years it filled up. The bomb leaked out all its radiation and chemicals into the water.”
She talked slow enough for me to hear all the words and figure ’em out, not like that shit Colby, but she weren’t so slow she made me feel thick as cold molasses. Wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose. I hoped not.
“It was strange, actually,” she kept going, “it was near the road, in the middle of nowhere really, when my father said we should stop traveling for a few days. That bomb made the whole area warm and lush, but the water wasn’t right. He drank it constantly, he’d say, ‘Three liters a day, we must remain hydrated.’ ” She said that in a deep voice, mock a’ her daddy’s no doubt.