Swamp Sister

by Robert Edmond Alter

  "Why's that?"

  "Because Dorry Mears is my girl."

  Oh, tired Christmas. Here was something he hadn't counted on.

  "Well, who even said she weren't?"

  "Dorry did, last night."

  "Well, Tom, I reckon that's her nevenmind."

  "I don't give a damn-fer-Fniday hoot what she says," Tom snapped. "I'm telling you _she's my girl!_"

  Shad was becoming annoyed. "All right. Go to hell ahead and call her your girl. Don't mean beans to me. Go write you out a big sign saying 'Dorry's my girl' and wear it on your backside. I ain't stopping you none."

  "You kin cold toot that again. I ain't fixing to take no back seat fer nobody."

  "Thataboy, Tom."

  Tom Fort shuffled closer. He held his left hand slightly in front of his waist, fingers spread, palm down. The right arm was back against his body, obscure in shadow. Uhuh, Shad thought. He's either going to pop with a knife er a six-gun.

  "Go on," Tom said, "laugh. I'm fixing to cut you up good."

  Shad held up a hand, flat. "Now, Tom – Tom, you don't want no fuss with me."

  "Can't whup you with my fists, so I brung me a friend along."

  The moon broke through the mist and the clean blade of a long hunting knife suddenly winked at Shad.

  "Now, Tom – I don't want no trouble with you."

  "Think you own the goddam world, don't you?" Tom Fort hissed and he crouched, his left hand far out now for balance, knife-hand in at the waist. "Think because you found all that money you kin tramp high and handsome on who you please. Think you kin buy a fella's girl away from him."

  Shad edged to the left, trying to work the moon around into Tom's face, where he could see his eyes, and know when it was coming. This is just what I need. he thought, Kabar holes in me. "Now, Tom – Tom, listen at me -"

  "Well, I'm goan set your clock, Shad Hark. I'm goan cut you up so you'll need them eighty-thousand dollars afore any girl'll look at you twice without gagging."

  He means it. The little son-o-bitch pure-out means it.

  "Tom – will you shet up here a minute? Will you let me open my mouth? Tom, if you stick me with that air Kabar, ten times eighty-thousand dollars ain't goan do me no good. And if you kin just stop acting as green as tobacco in a field, mebbe we can come at a deal here."

  Tom Fort hesitated. "Huh? What deal?"

  "The deal on eighty-thousand dollars. You knife-stick me and that money is gone to the world fer good."

  "Well, I don't give a damn. I want my girl. That air money ain't doing me no good nohow."

  Shad nodded. "Ner me neither, once I'm dead. That's why I'm saying we got us a deal here."

  Tom straightened up a little. "You mean you willing to cut me in on hit? You meaning that, Shad?"

  Shad put a hand to the back of his neck and gave it a rub.

  "Well, now hold on here a minute. We got to look at it proper. I need help gitting that money outn the swamp and outn the county, and if you do what I say, we'll split hit plumb down the middle. Forty-thousand dollars, Tom. Forty-thousand dollars."

  "Yeah -" Tom said. "Yeah."

  "Course there's one thing we got to come at first."

  "How's that?"

  "Dorry's my girl."

  Tom didn't like the taste of that. "Well, now hold on here, Shad. I cain't have me none of that. I love Dorry Means. I ben fixing on marrying up with her."

  Shad came in closer, wagging his hands impatiently, "Marrying Dorry!" He nearly wailed. "Tom, Tom, I'm fixing hit so's you kin marry a movie star if'n you see fit. Forty-thousand dollars, Tom. Not beans er cow pies. _Fort ythousand dollars_."

  Tom blinked and stalled. "Yeah -" he whispered. "Yeah. Forty-thousand dollars. Yeah. A man could – a man – Look a-here, Shad, you really do got that money, huh? Hit ain't just village talk? You really went and found that air Money Plane? You got the money hid away? Is hit hard to come at, Shad? I mean, we ain't got to tramp way out in that old swamp fer hit, do we?"

  A cold realization came to Shad. This was the price of love. This was the boy who wouldn't sell the girl he loved – not unless the price was night. The little bastard. He was no better than Jort Camp or Sam Parks.

  "No," he said, "we ain't got us nowhere to tramp to."

  And then he swept his left arm swordwise, catching Tom's knife-wrist with the edge of his hand, and he stepped in fast and brought his right swinging into Tom's stomach. The boy doubled up around the sunken fist, his head leaning into Shad, and Shad shoulder-butted him on the point of his chin, snapping him straight, and then landed his left square into Tom's middle again.

  He rolled sideways, grabbed Tom's wrist, raised his knee and snapped the wrist over it. The knife plopped in the weeds. He stooped, grabbed it, and sprang away as Tom aimed a kick at him.

  He took the knife by the handle and fired it out into the night and turned as Tom rushed him; swung himself clear with a left hook to Tom's ear, got his balance, and then went in at him again.

  They closed with a grunt, heads hunched and necks fumbling, and slammed into an oak trunk. Shad saw Tom's eyes, bugged and wild, mad with hate.

  "They ain't no money, hear?" he hissed, "I never found no Money Plane. You sold out fer nothing."

  Tom didn't answer, He brought up his knee. Shad expected that and he rolled, taking it on the hip. Then it was his turn and he kneed fast and sharp, but he was turned off center.

  They lurched apart, panting, watching each other circling in the moonlight. Tom touched down with his fingers, fumbling blindly through the weed for a root, a stick, anything – Shad stepped in and Tom spun off balance and went down onto his back with a slam.

  He had the upper hand now; it was all his way. He was straddling Tom, whacking away Tom's hands with his left and slugging him with his right.

  "That's because you love her so much, Tom – That's because you'd sell your goddam ma fer a dollar and a new Barlow – That's because you need a lesson you won't soon forgit in foxiness – There never was no money, Tom. I don't have nothin'."

  It was over. Tom was out of it, way out of it. Shad lurched to his feet, gasping, nursing his aching right hand, hugging it to his middle with his left folded motherly about it. He stumbled around a bit, aimlessly, looking for his hat. He felt sick in the stomach, which was the after effect of the fight. The other sickness was more general and was only vaguely concerned with fighting. It had to do with money.

  "You're rather good at that sort of thing."

  The quiet voice startled him silly. His head jerked up, turning everywhere, and froze when he saw the man standing near him in the shadows.

  "You're Shad Hark, aren't you? I've been looking for you."

  15

  Mr. Ferris moved and a spoke of shadow swung across his upper face, leaving his lips and chin corpse white, as though a spectre in the moonlight, when his mouth began to speak.

  "I was coming along the creek path when I heard the rumpus. What was it all about?"

  Stall, Shad thought desperately. Stall him. I shone God ain't in no frame of mind to play dodge-the-question with him. Mebbe I just better hit him and clean out. But Mr. Ferris didn't inspire physical fear, not as Jort Camp could and did; it was something stronger, more frightening – a kind of superstitious awe.

  "Nothing much, I reckon," Shad said. "At least not to me. I guess old Tom hates me worse'n a possum hates a tree dog, though. Thinks I stole his girl."

  Mr. Ferris said, "Oh?" and came farther into the moonlight. "What girl is that?"

  "Just a girl."

  "I see." Mn. Ferris put his hand casually in his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. "Care for a cigarette?"

  "No thanks."

  Mr. Ferris looked down at the cigarette he was tapping on his thumbnail. "I've been looking for you," he said, "to ask about that airplane – the Money Plane."

  Shad's heart had taken a lurch when Mn. Ferris had reached into his pocket. After all, the man was some kind of policeman, wasn't he?
/>
  "Mr. Ferris," he said too quickly, "you driving your ducks to a mighty poor puddle if you think I kin tell you anything about that air Money Plane."

  Mr. Ferris' smile went a little deeper

  "Shad, there really isn't any sense in your trying to maintain this fiction with me. You see, I know that -"

  "Mr. Ferris, excuse me, but I cain't talk about hit now. I just ain't myself. I think I done a terrible thing just now. I think I kilt Tom." He hadn't and he knew it.

  Mr. Ferris looked up. "Killed him?"

  Shad nodded, putting his hands together as though his nerves were ready to fly apart. "Yes sir. I think I done busted his neck. I didn't mean to. I was just fighting him back, was all. But when I left off his neck felt all out of whack." Mr. Ferris stared at him.

  Shad looked at the prone figure of Tom Fort. "Mr. Ferris, please sir, you look, will you? I just cain't – cain't bring myself-" His head went down and he hugged his hands again.

  There was nothing expressive about Mr. Ferris except his eyes. He stepped easily through the shadows toward the sprawled Tom.

  "Are you trying to put something over on me, Shad?" he suggested quietly. "I'm quite certain that other than having a face like a raw hamburger, there's nothing the matter with your friend."

  Shad waited until he saw Mr. Ferris' back, then he turned, took one big stride into the bush, ducked down and was long gone on his way. Behind him he heard Ferris call, "Shad! Don't be a fool!"

  He didn't like doing it that way; it wasn't in his nature. But he couldn't help it. There was something hypnotic about Mr. Ferris' eyes that beat him every time.

  The night and the woods hung still around him now. He trotted, saving his wind, short-cutting to the Colt place. A bat went wing-clicking on ahead and lost itself in the black leaves of the upper branches. Shad could just see Mn. Ferris talking to Joel Sutt-.

  I'm afraid we can't waste any more time playing around with that Shad Hark. Don't you have a sheriff or a marshal in jurisdiction over this section of country?

  Well now, they's Pat Folley; he's oven to Tanner We kin phone him up, Mr. Ferris. Well, I think we'd better do that then. So you figure to put the law on Shad, eh Mr. Ferris? Yes. I don't know what else I can do. I really don't – Shad stepped up his pace. Yeah, that's how it was going to work. Well, it didn't matter. He was going to make tracks anyhow. He didn't want any lard-head, pistol-toting law after him. And that Pat Folley, he'd as soon shoot you as smile; he'd done it to moonshinens before.

  Dorry was waiting under the sagging porch roof of the old Colt shanty, and she'd been waiting for some time and she let him know about it.

  "Why you do me thisaway? Standing me up like I was any old body. I ben waiting here and wait -"

  "Shet up, cain't you?" he snapped. "I ben busy with your boy friend. He went to stick a knife in me."

  "Who? What boy friend? My goodness, Shad Hark, you don't go to tell a girl anything. What-"

  But he didn't want to talk about it. She was round and soft in the moonlight glowing nearly. "Just Tom," he said. "It was nothing. Come here, will you?" He pulled her to him, arching her spine and kissing her hard, while his night hand slid down the curve of her back.

  She wriggled away from him, all elbows and shoulders, and tossed her hair angrily. "You behave yourself, Shad! Kissing me like that, and me all over lipstick and no mirror er light to see how my mouth looks afore I go home."

  He grinned at her. "You ain't going home. Not no more."

  She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What you mean?"

  "Dorry, you love me?"

  "Course I love you. Think I'd let you do the things you do to me if'n I didn't? What you mean I ain't going home no more?"

  "We got to clear out a here, Dorry. If I hang around much longer I don't know who'll git to me first, Jort Camp, Mr. Ferris, en mebbe the hull damn village will come at me. Seems like even'body wants to know where at's that money. So you'n me is leaving fen the swamp tonight."

  For a moment she couldn't say anything. She just looked at him as if discovering he was crazy. "Me?" she wanted to know. "Go in that old swamp? Why, Shadrack Hark, I wouldn't be caught dead in that spooky old place."

  Shad nodded impatiently. "I know it ain't nice, but we don't have a choice. I cain't afford to come back here again after I git that money, just to pick you up -"

  "Just to pick up me? Well, I like that, I don't think so. Let me tell you, Shad Hark -"

  "All right, all night," he wagged his hands at her. "I didn't mean hit just like that. What I mean is I'll be loaded down with all them bills and how kin I come sashaying through the woods here to find you like that? But if you come with me now, we won't have to come back here a-tall. We'll just kindly go on our way with that -"

  "No." And she started shaking her head, not looking at him. "I ain't going in that old swamp fer love er money."

  "Oh God," he said. "Yeah, but look here, Dorry -"

  "No." And the head-shake.

  Shad shut up and looked at her. He had a pretty fair idea just how much good it was going to do him to go on arguing with her.

  "Uh-huh," he said. "And suppose then I decide not to come back fer you after I git that money?"

  She slowly rolled up her eyes, giving him the look that went nearly everywhere except straight on, and her smile was a smirk that could mean a lot of things but none of them decent, and her voice was pure honey.

  "Oh, you'll be coming back. That's one thing I ain't in any stew oven."

  Yeah. And how far would he get arguing that? He didn't even try. He grinned and reached for her again. "Dorry – Dorry -"

  "Shad, this ain't the time ner – aw Shad – aw Shad honey -Now just hold on, Shad Hank! Not down there in all that dirt and ruck. My goodness!"

  Those boys. She'd seen timber wolves that weren't near so crazy. But it was going to be nice, real nice, like nothing else she'd ever had. First off she was going to get one of those Natalie Renke silk outfits in the leopard print, because the ad in the magazine said they captured a primitive mystery in exotic design; and she might just have her hair tinted auburn like the girl in the ad too, and shoes with the open toes and made of-.

  "Goddam, Dorny," he complained. "You act like you wasn't even there."

  She moved toward him. She put her arms around his neck again.

  "I was just thinking how it was going to be, Shad. That's all."

  "How what's going to be?"

  "You and me and our life together."

  Yeah – if he could live through it.

  "Well," he said, "I best git shagging. I got my skiff hid out and I got to leave while hit's dark."

  The thought of all that money suddenly so close to her, almost within reach, was overwhelming. "You be back tomorry, Shad?"

  "God no, you think I got it hid on some hummock in the lake? Tonight I'm just goan take me to the head of the lake and then git some sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll go on in there; but I'll be lucky if I git back by the next morning. And then I got me to wait around in the bush until it gits dark afore I kin come fer you."

  For a moment she was almost sorry she hadn't said she'd go with him. She would see the money two days before. My goodness – "Well, the sooner you git started the sooner you git back."

  "Yeah." He looked at her in shadow, feeling the hint of something lost. "Look here, Dorry, want you should do me a favour." He dug in his jeans and brought out his roll of tens. Dorry stirred closer.

  "I ain't goan see my old man no more – so you take one of these tens and give hit to him, will you? Tell him hit's from me, and tell him I'll send him more later on."

  She took the ten, its tactile crispness sending a thrill of excitement through her, and watched him put the others back in his jeans. She really didn't see any reason why he shouldn't leave those with her as well. They weren't going to do him any good out in that old swamp, were they?

  "All right, Shad. I'll tell him."

  He looked at her and compulsively ran his hand over the smooth m
elon bulge of her left breast, where it threatened to spill over the rim of her blouse.

  She pushed his hand down impatiently and said, "Now, Shad, don't you go to start that again. My goodness, we'll never git that old money if you keep fooling your time away."

  He looked at her. "All night, sugar doll, but Sally Brown never treated me thataway."

  Instantly she was jealous. "Who's she? Who's Sally Brown?"

  "Just a mulatto gal I knowt once."

  "Well, Shadrack Hark! The idee of comparing me with some dirty little -"

  Shad laughed. "Hit's just a joke, Dorry. Honest Injun, that's all. She's just the girl in the old song."

  "Well -"

  "You goan kiss me goodbye?"

  "Well, I suppose." But she wasn't really mollified, and he knew it when he kissed her Her mouth was nothing. Some day soon, he thought, he would have to swing her into line. She had a disposition like a bobcat dipped in boiling water. "Well -" he said.

  "You git back soon's you kin," she said. " I'll be waiting to home."

  "See you," he said, and he started for the woods.

  "You be careful, hear? You take care, Shad," she called. And then – "Shad, you got something to tote that money in?"

  The stillness of the night was like nothing around Dorry. She was unconscious of it. She strolled languidly through the pale phantoms that the moonlight threw on the road, head down and humming softly thinking of herself at a dance; the fiddler's fingers adroitly highstepping over the violin's neck, the bow dipping and rising and swooping, making the box sing, alive; the caller all Adam's apple and mouth and red silk shirt, beating his right foot on the platform, doing a vertical sashay with his right hand, his left in his pocket jingling change – I wish I were in the Dutchman's Hall! Lowlands, lowlands, hurrah, my boys! All the girls whirling by, skirts a-swirl; herself in her new dress, light of leg and tappy toe, cakewalking like a queen.

  Away in the distance the palmettos were ebony silhouettes, and closer in a hooty owl challenged her but didn't really seem to care, and she didn't even realize he'd asked. Through a stand of oak saplings she could see the sombre black shack where old man Hark lived in drunken befuddlement, and her hand made a small fist around the crumpled ten-dollar bill.