by John Farris
"Who called the Highway Patrol?" Rita Sue asked. "Marjory, where are you—"
"Down there. Behind the waterfall. That's where they went. I want to see what's back there."
Boyce said, "You think he got hurt or something? I'll go with you."
"You can't, Boyce. You can barely get around on one foot. Just don't go anywhere, you guys. Please?"
"I wish I knew what was going on," Rita Sue complained.
Marjory shook her head and walked quickly back across the footbridge with the flashlight in her hand, then made her way down the bank to the race. It was a good flashlight, supposedly waterproof, although she'd never had occasion to test that claim. The race and most of the waterfall was shaded now; sunlight slanted across the side of the mill, bright windows hurt her eyes. She looked at the rocks at the base of the dam where the water came down hard; already her shirt and hair were damp from spray, she had gooseflesh on her bare thighs and arms. Marjory took a deep breath, walked past the rusting sign that said Danger! No Wading or Swimming, stepped into the torrent. And through it.
There was a space between the waterfall and the old stonework of the dam, a narrow wet path littered with indestructible flotsam: beer cans, disposable diapers caught on tree branches cemented greenly to the rocks at her feet. She saw a waterlogged duck with a broken neck. The uneven wall of the dam, which slanted out at the top by as much as two feet, leaked everywhere above her head, through small crevices between stones. To Marjory it seemed poised to fall down.
The air was so full of spray she almost choked at each breath. This was even less fun than she had thought it would be. Although Marjory had superb balance, each step was an ordeal. She slipped twice before she had gone a dozen feet, and the sharp tip of a water-hardened limb gouged the calf of her right leg. She was drenched, and her teeth chattered.
Still there was no sign of Duane or the girl.
She could see well enough because of sunlight reflected down from the mill windows to the surface of the race, then through the watery curtain, but the farther she got from the bank the unhappier Marjory was. Something moved lumpishly on the path ahead of her and she froze, lips tight against her teeth. Turtle. She was willing to put up with turtles. At the first sign of rats, though, somebody else could do this.
There might be a deep hole concealed by the boil of water at the fall line. If Duane had slipped and dragged Puff down with him—no chance to yell, just pulled deep beneath the creaking old mill wheel, then to God knows where. On out into the lake several hundred yards away. She'd heard a lot of freakish drowning stories. Her own daddy-
Marjory paused and bit her lip. She thought she was going to cry. But she couldn't stop and go back and maybe not know for a long time what had happened to them; uncertainty was worse than fear at this point. She pushed on cautiously, one hand on the stones of the dam, face averted from the rush and tumble of the waterfall, enough power to knock her flat if she stumbled into the middle of it. What a lousy idea. Picnics. She disliked the outdoors anyway, unless there was a backstop and a good playing surface handy.
The face of the dam was rounding toward the bank and the stone foundation of the mill. Just inside the waterfall, close enough to reach out and touch, was the turning wheel. Her feet were cold in the soggy sneakers. It was darker here. She edged past the wheel and into the crevice, twice as wide as she was, between the dam and the foundation wall and the dripping roots of the willow protruding like fingers where the wall had cracked, and that was it, nowhere else to go. But she turned on the beam of the flashlight in the misty dark just to have a quick look before retreating.
From what seemed like a long way off she heard Rita Sue calling her.
Then she heard Duane's voice, sounding almost as far away.
"Hey, Marj! Is that you out there?"
She was so relieved she could have killed him. She flashed the light frantically around the cramped walled space until the beam suddenly lengthened, reaching into what seemed like infinity.
"Duane!"
At the extreme end of the flashlight's beam something shadowy stirred, and she was reminded of the circus, total darkness and then the slash of a spotlight, a tiny figure high above the arena floor poised on a trapeze platform. But Duane was dead ahead of her, at eye level and probably a hundred yards away. She saw him wave.
"Hey! Here I am!"
"Here you are where? You scared the—" She was shouting. "Where's Puff?"
"She's here. She's got a little stone bruise, but she'll be okay."
"What are you—"
"Come'on in! It's safe. It's a big cave. The biggest one I've ever seen. There's probably more of it, a lot more. I want to look around."
"Are you crazy?"
Puffs voice said, "Listen, Duane, there's my radio! He's playing my radio again, the sonuvabitch. Hear it?"
"You're both crazy! It's dark in there! Maybe he's a murderer. You better get out while the getting's good!"
"It's not that dark! It just looks dark from there! Light's coming in from somewhere, and that's not all—come on, Marjory, you've got to see this!"
"No I don't!"
"Okay, we're going to explore, see if we can find the radio. There's probably another way out if we look for it."
"Duane!"
"What?"
"I'm coming! Just wait, don't go anywhere! And don't try to hide and then jump out and scare me! I hold grudges for life. Nobody ever gets off my grudge list, Duane!"
The entrance to the cave was just a waist-high hole in the wall, then a passage like a big drainpipe or slightly sloping well that she could shuffle through while bent nearly double. The floor and walls were rock and rock crystal, it was like being in the hollow of an enormous geode. In places Marjory was dazzled by her own light. The floor was covered with something dry, crisp, almost papery, that rustled unnervingly underfoot: layers of parchmentlike leaves or husks. She couldn't identify what it was and didn't care to pick anything up, but the pallid carpeting took on a spectral glow in the beam of her flashlight. Some of the litter looked suspiciously like old snakeskin, she thought. God. Fear ran up the backs of her legs like an icy blowtorch.
"Duane!"
"Yeh, I'm here, I can see you."
"I'm t-t-terrified of snakes, Duane!"
"There aren't any. Some salamanders. They won't bother you. No bats either, it's not a bat cave. But it was used for something once."
She reached the end of the passage, banging a knee painfully on a crystalline outcrop. Duane was there, reaching up to help her down into the cave. In the sweep of the flashlight beam Marjory saw Puff sitting casually on a boulder with one leg cocked over her knee, drawing slit-eyed on the joint Duane had given her. Puffs hair was sleek around her head and combed down over her breasts. She'd removed her halter top and wrung it out, but she still wore the necklace of sharks' teeth. In this setting, essentially naked, round eyes elated as an animal's, Puff looked coarse and threatening, a Paleolithic princess.
"Hi, Marj! Take a hit, and you won't mind being so wet. If you turn that flashlight off, then you can really appreciate this place. Maybe you ought to wring out your shirt, you could catch a really bad cold. I'm getting the sniffles myself."
Marjory turned off the flashlight and stood breathing in a room in the ground, jolted by every pulse of her body. At first she couldn't see a thing except the glowing tip of the joint between Puffs thumb and forefinger. Then there was a hint of light, like the sky before dawn. The walls around her were a rough grayish-green, but with many chinks and fissures that revealed quartz crystal. Gradually Marjory could distinguish both Puff and Duane, dark but dimensional against a background of subtle colors: lavender, ochre, a deep glowing pink.
"Fuckin' fantastic," Puff said, exhaling. Marijuana smoke was shockingly pungent in the thin, odorless air of the cavern. "But this isn't all of it." She looked over one shoulder. "He's back there, somewhere. Way back. Every now and then I hear a blast from my radio. Scout's honor. Duane heard it too, did
n't you, babe?"
"H-how could there be any kind of reception d-down here?" Marjory said, keeping her voice low. She disliked the ghostly quality of their echoes.
"Good question. Mostly it's static. Definitely heard some voices, though. Just like when I was up there in the woods. Here's what I think. There's probably a bunch of them, like gypsies, living in another part of this cave."
"I'm not so sure," Duane said.
"Makes sense to me. They rob stuff, and hide all the loot in here."
"And go in and out through that waterfall each time?" Duane muffled a sneeze with his one hand. "Not worth the trouble." He sneezed again.
"Bless you," Puff said, and for some reason made the sign of the cross in the air with the glowing tip of her joint. "Well, like you said, there's probably another entrance. Which I hope we find real soon, because I don't intend to get soaking wet again."
"Maybe g-getting wet's not the worst thing that could h-happen to us," Marjory said.
"Marjory, you'd better take that shirt off before you get pneumonia."
"Can't. I'm m-modest."
"Leave your bra on then. Here, have a toke; then we need to come up with a plan."
Marjory unbuttoned her shirt, turned her back on them, wrung the shirt out and put it back on again.
"We haven't heard anything for a while," Duane said. "I know a little about caves, and this one could go on for a couple of miles. I think you ought to kiss your radio good-bye, Puff."
"Thanks a lot!"
"Look, we're probably near the surface and that's why there's some light, but the sun will set in another three hours, and then it'll get pitch-black in here. Do you know how easy it is to get lost in a series of caves?"
"Yeh, I guess," Puff said dispiritedly.
"That's settled, let's go," Marjory said.
"Not yet," Duane said.
"You just said—"
"This is a very interesting cave. It might even be valuable. Like the one up in Kentucky where they kept this guy's body in a coffin with a glass top. Floyd Collins, I think his name was."
"What happened to F-Floyd?" Marjory asked.
"Buried alive in the cave he discovered. Anyway, I want to take a look around here while we have time. As long as we can hear the waterfall we won't get lost."
Puff and Marjory just looked at him. Duane shrugged.
"Okay, I'll go by myself. Meet you all outside. Marjory, could I borrow the flashlight?"
"Duane, what if this place is full of gypsies, or—worse."
Duane grinned. "What's worse?"
"I don't know. Come on, let's just go."
"Ten minutes. I'll look around for ten minutes, then I promise I'll be back. Of if I find a better way out, I'll call you."
Puff got up. "That makes sense. I'm not getting wet again. I'll go with you."
Duane looked at Marjory.
"Okay. I don't want to get wet, either. I hope you know what you're doing, Duane."
6
He could find no music.
The radio played, but only voices he wished not to hear.
Why had he taken the radio in the first place, in broad daylight with people around? The girl screaming, calling him names . . . because the desire to take it, the third radio he'd stolen in a week, was like a hunger that surpassed the need for food.
Because music quieted the voices. But now he could find no music.
Arne?
No. I won't listen!
They're coming, this time. They'll find us here. And then they'll take you away, and what will I do?
Not only his mother's voice. The others, moaning, pleading. But she silenced them. Only his mother had the right to speak to him.
You have to go now. Don't let them find you here. Don't let them find me. Come, now. Come to mother. You know I'm the only one who cares about you. I'm not angry because of what he made you do. You know I'm not angry. Come a little closer, Arne.
Can't!
Darling. Why?
On . . . on his grave. Made me swear. . .!
So awful of Enoch. So cruel! That this should happen to us, to you and I, Arne. But there's still a little time. I can make it right again. In your heart you know this is true. But they're coming. (Stop! You're confusing him. Not another word from anyone!) Men, Arne. Murderous men, they will hang you when they see this place! How can you explain? They'll drag you by your heels and hang you by the neck unless you—Quickly. Save yourself. Save me, too. Just reach out, take me in your arms. My boy. Oh, my lovely son . . .
"Mamaaaa!"
7
The blond young man in the tie-dyed T-shirt said, "We're looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you guys saw her? She's about five feet six. Good tan, like us. We're from Florida. And, uh, she's probably got her radio with her, it's a Grundig. One of those big jobs. What's she wearing, Smidge, do you remember?"
"Shorts, I guess. Unless she changed into something else while we were zonked. Yeah, and the necklace probably. I've never seen her without it, have you, Deke?"
"Oh, yeh, yeh, her shark's tooth necklace. You'd know her right away if you saw her. Name's Brittany, but she likes to be called Puff."
Boyce looked at Rita Sue, who shook her head.
"No, sorry," Boyce said. "Actually we're looking for somebody ourselves."
"Oh. What happened to your foot?"
"Dropped a crankcase on it."
Deke looked around blearily. His eyes were bloodshot. He wore Levi's with his tie-dyed shirt, and needed a bath. He hadn't shaved for a while. He was half bald; the rest of his hair was gathered into a ponytail that sagged over one shoulder. The girl, Smidge, had a raggedy mane and the starkly hungry eyes of a pretty werewolf. Despite their tans they had the shy, baffled demeanor of subterraneans who hadn't ventured out into the light recently. They fidgeted and looked lost.
"Don't know where we can get something to eat around here, do you?" Deke asked Boyce and Rita Sue. "When's the last time we ate, Smidge?"
"Tallahassee, I think. But Puff has all the money. She's got the gasoline card, too. She better not have taken off with somebody, I'll ream her liver."
Rita Sue said, "There's a general store up the road where they sell ice cream and stuff."
"Thanks, but we're fucked until Puff shows up. Might as well go on back to the woody and wait on her there, Deke."
"Hey, right," Deke said brightly, as if it had been his idea. He was a little unsteady on his bare, dusty feet. "Listen, how long you guys going to wait around for your friend?"
"Not much longer," Rita Sue said, spacing her words meaningfully.
"Well, okay, we'll, uh . . . if you see Puff, you know. Wouldn't happen to have a can of beer in your car, would you, partner?"
"Fresh out," Boyce said.
"Those are the breaks. If you're in the mood for blotter, I've got some. The best. Just look us up. We're parked, uh, where'd we leave the wheels, Smidge?"
"Up that hill there behind the millpond."
"Some what?" Rita Sue asked, frowning.
"Blotter, dear," Smidge said, looking keenly at her and then showing her overbite in a smile that caused Rita Sue to fold her arms defensively across her breasts. "Acid. Guaranteed good trip. Want some?"
"No, thanks."
"I love what you've done with your hair. Or is it natural?"
"Yes."
"Well, come on anytime you're in the mood for a swinging party. I'd like to get to know you, what did you say your name was?"
"Rita Sue."
"That's darling. So, we'll probably be here another day or two. Who knows? Bring your buddy when she comes around, if she's as good-looking as you are, Rita Sue."
"Smidge, I'm not feeling so hot. Let's move on, huh? Nice meeting you guys."
When the two were out of hearing Boyce said to Rita Sue, "She sure was looking at you funny."
Rita Sue said, "There wasn't anything funny about it. Boyce, you can be so dumb."
"How?" Boyce said, injured.
"Ne
ver mind. Now my back's starting to burn up because you didn't rub enough sunblock all over. I want to go home. If Marjory Waller isn't standing right here in ten minutes from now that's exactly where we're going, and she and Duane can hitchhike."
"Want me to spray your back?"
"I can't take my shirt off here, there's a million people."
"We'll drive up the road apiece and see if we can find Duane and Marjory. Then where there aren't any people I'll pull off and spray your back for you with Solarcaine."
"Okay. It hurts like the dickens. The backs of my thighs, too."
"I can take care of it."
Rita Sue looked at Boyce for several moments, then lowered her lashes.
"Let's get us some ice cream first. Then we'll find a place."
"What if Marjory shows up here?"
"She can wait. She's kept us waiting long enough."
8
"Mamaaaaaaaa!"
"Ye Gods, what was that?" Marjory said, unsure whether the calamitous whinny was human or animal in origin. They were all bunched up in a passage of the caverns as confining as a broom closet. Duane's breath was on her cheek, and Puffs ragged fingernails were digging into her forearm. She had the flashlight in her other hand, the beam wigwagging, inflamed ripples snuffing against bare, blank walls as far as they could see. "Puff, let go!"
"Sorry. It was him, wasn't it? Must've been him."
"I don't know," Duane said. "It could have been the radio. But you hear some strange sounds in caves. Sometimes you'll hear voices that are a mile away on the surface. If you let yourself imagine a lot of stuff—"
"Duane, would you scrooch back a little so I can get by you?"
"Where are you going, Marjory?"
"Out of here. Back the way we came. I've had enough. It's like being toothpaste in a tube."