Rose had gotten into a terrible fight. She’d caught her husband in one of the Indians’ houses with Lena, and she’d taken a knife and grabbed Bill by the hair and tried to scalp him. She would have scalped Lena, too, but Lena jumped up and ran into the woods and she could run faster than Rose because Rose was so fat. As far as anyone knew, Lena was still out there, hiding in the woods, and no one had seen hide nor hair of Rose.
“She’s probably sleeping it off,” Mr. Sedgwick said. “You pay them and they just buy whisky, and then they do this.”
Bill had run out of the house and over to Mr. Steer’s. It was the closest place. He was wearing just a pair of pants. “He must have grabbed them in a hurry,” Mr. Steer said. He was snorting with laughter. He was laughing so hard he was spilling his drink. “Blood was pouring out of his head and running down his face,” Mr. Steer said. It didn’t sound so funny to Tommy. “I never saw anything like it.” Mr. Steer put Bill right in his boat, the outboard, and took him to shore and sped to the hospital. “I made him hold his head out the window,” he said. “He bled all over the car. I had to hose it off. He’s at the hospital now. Dr. Randolph said, ‘Jesus Christ! The Indians are rising! This is the first scalping I’ve ever seen.’ He told Bill, ‘Your wife must be some wild Indian.’” Everyone laughed. “Bill’s going to be all right, though. It looked worse than it was,” Mr. Steer said. “He’ll be out of the hospital tomorrow and back in trouble the day after next. He won’t need a haircut for a while, though.” There was a lot of laughter, and then they all began talking at once, wondering what to do about it.
“Lock up the liquor,” Mrs. Addington said. “That’s one thing we could do about it. I swear someone’s been into mine,” and they all talked about that for a while and agreed that it would be a good thing to do.
Tommy heard Mrs. Sedgwick’s silvery voice: “Oh, what’s a little adultery among friends?” That was what Tommy had asked Phil Meyer about that night on the country-club porch. He’d told Tommy he didn’t need to worry about it.
Phil was at the party, too. “I’ll pay for the hospital,” he said.
“No,” Tommy’s father said, “let me.” Mr. Treverton said he wanted to pay for it. Finally they decided they would split it among the Islanders.
“That’s the Indians for you,” Tommy’s father said.
“All the wild Indians,” Mrs. Steer said. “Regular Aztecs.” Everyone laughed some more. There was a lot of laughter that night.
Tommy looked at Rose in a different light after that. Mild, sweet Rose who liked to eat ice cream, who worked in his house and often stayed with him at night, and she’d taken a knife to her husband and practically cut off his head. It was a mystery. The Islanders talked about it for a few days. It wasn’t as shocking as Governor Wentworth’s marrying his adopted daughter had been, but it was still pretty exciting and kept the conversation going for a while until everything settled back into its normal course. Rose seemed the same when she finally showed up again. Lena was the same. Bill had a bandage on his head for a while. Jim was the same. Harry, too. Really nothing had changed, among the Indians or the Islanders. Nothing at all.
Tommy called Mrs. Slade the next day. He hadn’t seen her in a long time and he’d never called her on the phone, but this was a pretty good story. She’d like it.
“Mrs. Slade, guess what happened,” Tommy said.
“It’s your pal, Maxine, remember? Call me Maxine. Well, what happened?”
“Rose scalped Bill, the Indian. She really did. Bill’s in the hospital. Nobody’s seen Rose yet.”
“Holy shit,” Mrs. Slade said. “I’d better keep an eye on old Bert.” Bert was Mr. Slade. “I sure don’t want to be scalped, and I don’t need any more bandages, either. I’ve had enough.”
“Mr. Slade’s not an Indian.”
“True, he’s not,” Mrs. Slade said. “He used to be pretty wild, though.”
“And Mrs. Sedgwick said, ‘What’s a little adultery among friends?’ and made everybody laugh.”
“I guess they would,” Mrs. Slade said. She was laughing, too. “I guess they would. What else is new?”
“Mr. Wolfe is back.”
“I know.”
“With a lot of masks and things from Mexico.”
“I told you he’d go there. He likes it hot—but not too hot. What things?”
“He brought me a mask. It’s made from wood.”
“Take some advice from old Maxine. Wear it.”
“I can’t see through it. The eyes are too small. He brought some statues, too. Plumed serpents. Snakes. He put them beside his steps.”
“That figures. He bring any movies?”
“No.”
“Nothing he can show to the fancy folks, anyway. Maybe he can show them to the Indians.”
“He didn’t bring any. And everybody’s going to lock up their liquor. Mrs. Addington said so. Someone’s been drinking hers.”
“Drinking Daisy’s too, I’ll bet. Tommy, that Island of yours is a wild place. You’d better come up here and see me. It’s safer.”
“I will,” Tommy said. “As soon as I can. The next time I’m uptown I’ll come over.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Tommy,” Mrs. Slade said. “A real sweetheart. Thanks for calling. And you have any trouble, you just tell Maxine. I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re a sweetheart, too, Mrs. Slade. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye. And it’s ‘Maxine,’ remember? And remember what I said. Remember!” That was her last word. Sometimes Tommy thought Mrs. Slade was just about the nicest person he knew, even if she was a dope fiend. She was always nice to him.
The day after that, Tommy had another golf lesson and he remembered to take his telescope. After his lesson, he showed Buck how it worked.
“Wow,” said Buck, after he’d gotten the hang of it. “Ain’t that somethin’!” He handed it carefully back to Tommy. “You could do somethin’ bad with this telescope, boy, somethin’ baddd. Gimme that ’scope again.” He pointed it toward the side porch, where Daisy was sitting talking to Bob Griswold. “You could spy right up that Daisy lady’s skirt! See that Daisy lady’s daisy! Now, that be bad. That be real bad. Your mamma, she spank you good for that.”
“Don’t,” Tommy said.
“That man seen it, though. He see it regular. Bet your brother seen it, too. And that Nick man. I know he seen it.”
“Don’t do that,” Tommy said, trying to move the telescope away from the porch. “That’s not nice.”
“Shit,” Buck said. “’Course it’s not nice. It be bad, but it be fun,” and he pointed the telescope back toward the porch, toward Bob and Daisy. “Shoot this ’scope right up that white skirt and see that white pussy! Wow! You better not look. One look at that pussy make that little pecker of yours stand up and sing Dixie. Gonna make mine spit like a snake in about half a minute!”
“What’s pussy?” Tommy asked.
“Boy,” Buck said, “don’t you know nothin’? Come here. We’re goin’ down by the little creek and I’m going to tell you some things, some things it’s time you be knowin’.” Buck handed the telescope back to Tommy—he handled it like something precious—and together they walked along the creek that divided the seventh from the eighth fairway, and when they found a good spot they climbed down the bank and sat at the edge of the stream, out of sight. It was then that Buck told him about the things that men and women did together, the things that Junior and Bebe did all the time.
Just a couple of days ago, Buck said, Junior had taken him and Bebe fishing when Junior decided he wanted some of that lady. “Junior’s only nineteen, but Bebe, she like ’em young,” Buck said. “She say I’m too young, though. Maybe soon. Maybe next year.” They handed Buck their fishing lines. Bebe sat on the stern seat, legs spread wide, dress pulled up around her shoulders, and Junior dropped his pants and said, “Boy, watch this!”
“It be somethin’ to watch,” Buck said. “That rod of his snapped up like a snake abou
t to strike, and that rod Junior’s got, it’s one big rod, and Junior, he get down on his knees and he shove it to her. She like that. She like that as much as Junior like that.”
Tommy sat rigid on the bank of the creek, listening to Buck describe the scene in minute, precise, and glistening detail: how Bebe was all hairy and wet and slick as grease between her legs; how Junior stuck this enormous thing right in her and how Bebe swung her legs around his shoulders; how they banged away and jumped around so much they almost swamped the boat, and made so much racket they scared all the fish; how Junior pulled it out and stood up and finished off right there on top of her. “His stuff, it just pumped out of that big prick and shot all over those tits. Lucky she didn’t get it in the eye. Would’ve blinded her. She try to catch it, too. She like it in her mouth. Junior’s prick, maybe it be black in the morning, but I swear right then it was red as a whore’s cunt!” Buck told him how stuff had oozed out of Bebe’s cunt—“you know, pussy, ’cause it’s furry like a cat, and man does it purr when you tickle it”—and how she’d dipped her finger into it, held it up to the wind, and said, “Boy, sniff this! Ain’t nothing so sweet as fresh jism in a hot woman!”
Tommy had never heard some of Buck’s words before, but he more or less managed to understand. At last, after he’d made him repeat the story again, Tommy said, “I have to go eat my sandwich,” and he walked back up the fairway alone to the clubhouse. He didn’t want to hear any more. Maybe only the Negroes do it, Tommy thought, maybe only the Negroes. He looked for Buck after he’d eaten some of his lunch, but he was busy.
The next morning Tommy told his mother he wanted to play at the country club again.
“Why?” she asked him.
“I want to practice my golf,” he said.
“That’s good. You go practice. John will row you over. Call when you’re ready to come back and I’ll send someone for you.” So Tommy went back to the country club. He found Buck in back of the clubhouse.
“Only Negroes do that,” he told him.
“Do what?” Buck asked.
“Do those things you were telling me about yesterday.”
“Shit, boy, you didn’t learn your lesson,” Buck said. “You be real dumb. I told you. I told you everybody do it. The whole wide world do it. Those Indians of yours, those Indians over there on your island, they do it. Always gettin’ in trouble over it, too. That Daisy lady, she do it. She love to do it. Yeah, you be surprised who do it. Even that apple lady, she done it, but she forgot how. She need Junior to show her. He’d show her real good. Everybody do it, Tommy. You’ll do it, too, when that little pecker of yours gets big enough. When you get big like Buck here”—he grabbed himself between his legs and stretched up tall—“you’ll do it. You’ll learn, unless you be a whole lot dumber than you look, a whole lot dumber. I told you the truth, boy. You remember that. You remember that old black Buck, the nigger boy, you remember he told you the truth.”
Tommy didn’t stay at the club for lunch. He didn’t call his mother, either. He thought he’d sit on the dock and wait. He’d take his shoes and socks off and dangle his feet in the water and watch the minnows swim around them, trying to nibble at his legs and toes. Someone would come along sooner or later. He was thinking about his mother’s big party. He and Amy were going to cut down a lot of cattails the day before the party, and then the Indians were going to soak them in kerosene and tie them on poles that they’d stick in the ground. When it got dark and people were ready to go home, they would light the cattails and the long driveway would be lined with torches, all the way out to the River Road. It would be beautiful. He hoped he’d get to see it. His mother was really working on her plans now. The invitations had to go out next week, and the list was growing longer and longer. It was hard to leave people out, when you were having a really big party. Tommy wondered if Mrs. Slade would be invited. She might be. She was Margie’s aunt, so they were practically related. After a while Jim showed up and rowed Tommy over to the Island. He didn’t say a word. There wasn’t anything to say unless he talked about the trouble with Bill and Rose and Lena, and he certainly couldn’t do that. Tommy told Jim he could drop him at the Aldriches’, it was closer, so Jim rowed him to the Aldrich dock, in silence, and then rowed silently off. The Indians could be awfully quiet.
There was a snake sunning itself on one of the flat stones near the Aldrich dock. It was a garter snake. Garter snakes were harmless. Mrs. Steer said they ate bugs, and she was happy when she saw one in her garden. There were a lot of them on the Island. This one was medium-sized. Tommy had seen a lot bigger ones, but he’d seen smaller ones, too. He stood very still, his eye on the snake. He didn’t want to scare it away. The snake looked very sleepy, stretched out there in the sun. It wasn’t even curled up. Sometimes snakes were. Tommy had an idea. He crept closer to the snake. Suddenly he grabbed it right behind the ears, and he ran with it, the snake wriggling all the way, from the Aldriches’ to his house and behind his cottage, where he found a box and dropped the snake into it and snapped the lid on quick. The snake didn’t like it. Tommy put a stone on top of the box, and went off to pull some grass and leaves and a couple of buttercups. He opened the box a crack and dropped them in. The snake was still wriggling. Tommy wondered if he had enough air. Maybe not. He found the ice pick and punched some holes in the lid. He didn’t want to scare the snake. He wanted to make sure he would have air, and some soft grass to lie on. And then he went into his house. It was a comfortable house, he thought, an interesting house. Even with the dusty animal heads and horns, he still liked it.
Tommy frowned. Mr. Wolfe was sitting in his living room, on one of the couches beside the big stone fireplace. “Hello,” Tommy said. His mother came downstairs. “Why aren’t you sitting outside?” Tommy asked. “It’s a nice day. It’s dark in here.”
“Give us a kiss,” his mother said. “I want a kiss. I haven’t seen you all morning and here it is, almost half-past three, and I need a kiss.” She walked over to the fireplace where Tommy was standing underneath the moose head and bent over him, offering her cheek. Tommy gave her a little kiss. His mouth was dry.
“A real kiss,” his mother said. She was being very bright and cheerful. “I want a real kiss and a hug.” Tommy gave her another kiss on her cheek.
“Why didn’t you call for a boat?” she asked.
“I forgot,” Tommy said. “I was happy waiting on the shore. Jim rowed me to the Aldriches’. Are you going to invite Mrs. Slade to your party?”
“I don’t think so, dear.”
“Why not? She’s Margie’s aunt.”
“Well, we’re not really friends of Mrs. Slade’s. I don’t think she’d be comfortable, really. She has her own friends.”
“Well, she’s a friend of Mr. Wolfe’s,” Tommy said. “Don’t you want her there, Mr. Wolfe? Don’t you think she’d be comfortable? You could make her comfortable.”
“Tommy,” his mother said, “this is a family matter.” She was no longer smiling. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Well, if Mrs. Slade can’t come, I won’t come either!”
“Tommy! This is no way to talk. We have a guest!”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who? Mr. Wolfe, of course.”
“Mr. Wolfe’s not a guest. He’s around here all the time. Aren’t you, Mr. Wolfe?”
“I think I’d better be going,” Mr. Wolfe said. “I’ve got a lot of things to do back at the house.”
“Wait,” Tommy said. He suddenly had an idea. “I have a present for you. You’re always giving me presents. I have one for you. You’ll like it. Come on out. It’s on the back porch.”
“Why, Tommy,” his mother said, happier now, “what can it be?”
“You’ll see. Mr. Wolfe will like it. It’s something he likes.”
They all walked out to the back porch. Tommy picked up his box—it was quiet inside—put the stone in his pocket, and lifted the lid. “Here,” he said. “Look.” They both
looked into the box.
“Tommy!” His mother screamed at him. “That’s horrid! That’s disgusting!” She recoiled.
“What’s disgusting about it? It’s a snake, that’s all. A harmless garter snake, and he’s pretty, besides. Mr. Wolfe likes snakes. Ask him.” His mother was speechless. “You like snakes, don’t you, Mr. Wolfe? Remember that picture of the poisonous lizard you showed us last summer, and the plumed serpents? I thought you’d like it.” The snake was starting to move. Tommy put the lid back on the box. “I don’t want it to get away,” he explained. “If you don’t want to keep it in the box, you can let it go in your garden. It’ll eat the bugs.”
His mother was still standing by the screened door, her mouth tight, her face drained of color. She hadn’t said another word. Mr. Wolfe was walking down the path beside the house. “Wait,” Tommy called after him. “You forgot your present.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Wolfe called back, “I’ll pick it up another time.”
“No,” Tommy said. “Take it now. I want you to have it,” and he ran down the path after Mr. Wolfe and thrust the box into his hands.
His mother had scarcely moved. Her hands were clenched at her sides. “You are a tyrannical child,” she said. She was white with rage. “A tyrannical child! I am very angry with you.”
“You’re a lying mother!”
“When have I ever lied to you?” She shouted the question.
“About your age.”
“About my age?” She didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Yes. About your age. You told me you were twenty-two. Remember?” She raised her fists to her head. The knuckles were white. Her eyes were shut. “I remember it,” Tommy said. “I remember it. I remember things. And that’s not all.”
His mother opened her eyes. “Not all? What do you mean, not all?” She whispered it. “What else?” Her voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know,” Tommy said, and he repeated it softly, looking off toward the distance: “I don’t know.”
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