But the most uncommon thing about him was the fact that right smack on his temples was two horns—ram’s horns.
Also he breathed out breath that stunk a lime and brimstone and switched his old tail around like a snake in a cesspool.
Can you see now why Great Uncle Billy was uncomftable?
Or maybe you wouldn’t be, you’ns is so brave—there late of a night, with Lucifer in the flesh breathin his hot breath on you!
“Hi!” says Billy finally, cause the drink it does do one thing: it does take away that old yeller streak up a man’s backside. “Hi! Looks as how they’s a couple of us here lackin in sense. Else why would Satan be roamin these wet woods without no clothes on, shiverin and chatterin, stead a perched up on his nice warm throne in Hades?”
Satan quit a hee-hawin, scratched at his head, then begun to laugh all the harder.
Well now, this begun to get on Billy’s nerves. He was feelin a cold comin on, anyway, so he stomped his foot and said, “Hesh up! You’re enough to give a body the jumps with your infernal cacklin.”
Satan, he let out a big old belch, and scroonched down so’s to be more of a level with Great Uncle.
“Kind a sassy,” says he, “for a mere human, it do seem to me.”
And all this time, you understand, Billy couldn’t dast to move a budge.
“I presume,” says Billy—I mentioned he had the tongue?—“I presume I am being waylaid here for a better reason than to catch my death a pneumonee.”
“Hee haw,” says Satan; then he looked down slantwise, breathin out that brimstone. “Listen here to me, William Jacob Spiker—” He knowed Great Uncle Billy’s full Christian name, which was a genuine revelation in itself. “—if they’s anythin I mortally loathe and despise, it’s a man that wants somethin good and bad but don’t have the gumption to fess it up.”
“I’m mighty afraid I don’t foller you.”
“Ah, but I have follered you, William Jacob Spiker; all the way from Coopersville, when you first developed this here unhappiness you got lodged tight in your bosom. Been a waitin for you to call uponst me, waitin patient, but . . . well, blame it, hit’s cold out here!”
Satan give a shiver that like to knocked his eyeteeth out a his livin head.
“Well now,” says Great Uncle Billy, givin particular heed to the situation as best he could when you consider the corn whisky. “I imagine you are a mite chilly at that. My house is a poor one, stuck in the mud ta boot, but whatever warmth is there, she’s as welcome as the flowers in May to your use.”
Satan grinned and lit a big black cigar with the tip of his tail. “Very well,” says he, “I accept your invitation. I always talk better in front of a good fire anyhow.”
So they tromped back through them old woods to the wagon and clumb on in thout disturbin Ephriam-Ephriam or Queen Elizabeth III. Oncet inside, Satan begun to rub his hands together and Great Uncle Billy was fair disturbed to note how black his visitor was in the lamplight—black and bad-evil lookin, but also kind a sad.
Wellsir, when old King Lucifer had thawed hisself out, and stretched and lazied around, he said: “What I meant was, knowin you and your histry, I figured that sooner or later you’d be callin on me.”
Things was screwjeed and whirlin in Billy’s mind—I told you that. Under what a body’d call normal circumstances he was a smart man, but now—well, he filled him two cups with corn soakins, give one to the Devil and they drunk a solemn toast.
Says Billy: “I am a unhappy man.”
“Ahhh,” says Satan.
“Miserable dog lonely; whole dang life wasted, without a single solitary thing to show for it that I was ever on Earth!” says Billy.
Says Satan: “Ahhhh.” He gulped his liquor and they got down to business.
“I wish—” Billy starts out to say. Satan, he whupped out a pad a asbestosy stuff and wet the point a his tail, which also served as a pencil.
“William Jacob Spiker,” says he, “I presume you know the rules? I grant you one wish, whatsoamever it may be—within reason—and in exchange, I get your everlastin soul. You know all about that?”
Great Uncle Billy took him another swaller and nodded his head slowly.
“Just a formality,” says the Devil. “Always have to make sure, else it don’t work to my benefit.” Then he sneezed out a fiery sneeze that spread pieces a hot coal and cinder like they was germs.
“What is your wish?” says Satan, honkin his nose.
“Wellsir, your honor,” answers Billy, “it don’t require much thought at that. See here: For years I have been traipsin hither and yon, hither and yon, tellin folks all over the country all about my Miracle Mix and as how it’ll grow hair on a bunion and make em tall and strong and improve their complexion, and ekcetera—”
“I been watchin you,” quoth Satan, “with high approval.” He sniffled up one side a his nose and got his hind end up as close to the lamps as he could.
“Lies; untruths; falsehoods; and nothin else but—most a my growed adult life, come to nought. Nought, hear?”
They drunk them another cup a corn.
“Listen here to me,” says my Great Uncle. “You can take my old soul and play with it to your heart’s content—”
“If—” interrupts Satan, grinnin like a horse.
“If . . . you let me be tellin the truth just once. Lied all my days; now let it come to pass ever word I speak is a word a solemn fact. Just one time; that’s all I ask: just one time.”
“I know what you got in your head, William Jacob: a highly evil thought.”
“I reckon so.”
“Well now, that’s fine. Granted.” Satan smacked his black old lips and the drool, which was hot lava, come down his chin.
Billy rumbled out a sigh and settled back.
They sat listenin to the rain for a spell.
“Ony one thing worries me,” says Billy.
“Ask away, boy.”
“Well, what I want to know is, just what do you want to be goin around collectin up people’s souls for, anyhow?”
“Ridiculous question, boy.”
“I mean, what earthly good is a soul?”
Satan, he like ta ruint his jowls smilin. “No earthly good at all.”
“Well, but—what do you do with em?” Billy looked really perplexed. “I ask solely for information,” says he, “seein our business is closed, so to speak.”
Satan sipped at his liquor and scrooged up his face. “This here is a highly unusual conversation,” says he. “Hmm. You want ta know what I do with souls, hey? Let’s see now: give me a minute ta study . . . Hmm. You mean, what do I do with— Well, I— That is— Hellfire, what’s in this corn anyways? Danged if I can recomember; though I know well they is some reason.”
“Must be,” says Great Uncle Billy, “cause you sure work yourself into a sweat to get em. Well, she’ll come to you; meantime, have another snort.”
The rain had stopped now, but they didn’t appear to notice. Billy thought it would be best to treat the Devil civil, so they swapped stories and told riddles and before you know it, they was both flopped down on the floor of the wagon, breathin out that vile old alky breath and snorin twicet to the dozen.
Ephriam-Ephriam X found Great Uncle Billy the nex mornin, and let me tell you, he did have a time withal, cause Billy was all owly-eyed and had a head two and a half sizes bigger’n a punkin. Wellsir, they worked the wagon out a that mud and went on through the woods and it weren’t till they come to this little town name of Mt. Slocum, which is now the fish hatchery nigh Camano Island, that Billy recomembered. Then it all come back, fuzzy-like—not as twere a dream, you understand, but like as how it didn’t actually happen except in his mind.
His head was hurtin and his tongue felt like the entire Union army had marched over it barefoot; so he just sat sullen and surly and permitted Ephriam-Ephriam to make all the arrangements: bottle the new batch a mix, and ekcetera.
He didn’t remember most a the conversation
with the Old Black Man, except they was the notion he had played host to the Devil hisself, which seemed a sorry joke.
Now then, I want you’ns ta know that this here was fur trappin land. Mt. Slocum was a bitty place, but a fair town in them days: had its general store and cabaret and even a Catholic church, unless that is a false rumor. Lot a people there, anyhow, doin good business and makin money hand over fist. And all around em, big forests drenchy green with the wet and smellin a thick spruce and fir. Hi law, twas beautiful country then.
Now Dr. Marvel-O—Great Uncle Billy—rested on his tailbone till he felt summit better—leastways in body, for it begun to look as how this mood was a permanence—then, he took him on a fresh load a corn liquor—he was a drinkin man and drinkin men just don’t ever learn—and he pitched tent.
Then he waited till noontime; and begun to beat on his African Ectasy Drum, which was in reality a slop jar painted over with Crow symbols.
“Hey-O! Hi! Hi! Hooo-eee!” he shouted, “Gather ye round, Hooo-eee!”
As per usual, the folks begun to cluster all around, ta see who twas was makin such a all-fired racket. Then, when they was clumped up tight, Ephriam-Ephriam strutted out in his yeller and red and green silk finery and sung a parcel a songs, mostly glad songs, pickin that banjo faster nor a hummin bird’s wings.
When he was done, and that crowd was worked up ta fever pitch, then Great Uncle Billy stepped forrards and delivered his speech.
Great, great, how that man could talk! Angels couldn’t sing no sweeter about the Pastures a Heaven than he did about Dr. Marvel-O’s Miracle Mixture. Them words, I tell ya, lost all connection with anythin real, and he bout like ta spoke in tongues! Quoted, Billy did: the Bible—both Testaments—Shakespeare, poetry; the words come flyin out in the cold air and melted everybody down; flew and danced and jumped, all about how they was no moral reason for a man ta be run down and sickly and short and bald and important—no reason in the world, nosir, not when they was Dr. Marvel-O’s Mixture to be had, and for ony a dollar a full bottle.
Don’t you know, they was champin at the bit to buy—all the little old bitty runts and pipsqueaks and mealy-mouthed puds in the whole blamed town!
In a mite, the bottles was all gone: sold, ever one.
Well, old Ephriam-Ephriam waited for the crowd ta go away, then he put the things together and they was prepared to move on. (Hit weren’t such a good idea to stay around long afterwards, for reasons you can guess.)
“What’s this?” says Great Uncle Billy, oncet they was movin. “Eph, looky here.”
Twas a single bottle of the mix, settin all ta itself on the stand—and full up ta brimmin.
“Huh,” says Ephriam-Ephriam.
“Thought we sold em all,” says Billy, rubbin his chin. “Could a swore we did.”
Didn’t seem any more ta say about that old bottle, so they kep movin and in a little ways they was back in the woods agin.
And Billy got ta thinkin agin. “Nother town, nother pack a bald-faced lies,” says he. “I don’t know, Eph: I just don’t know.”
She got inky dark. And the stars begun ta twinkle up high in the heavens, what you see between the treetops.
And even if he would a tried, Great Uncle Billy Spiker couldn’t a felt no worse.
And that’s the way it went, for a spell. Then:
“Hoooeee! Lordy!” Twas Ephriam-Ephriam, in one a his rare talkin moods.”Hit’s a h’ant!” says he.
Billy blinked at his eyes, and peered out inta the dusk.
Now then, don’t you know that—mebbe two mile out a Mt. Slocum—along come this peculiar figure, just a creepin through the wood towards the wagon.
“Goddy!” says Great Uncle, jumpin up, cause this creature they spied was enough to scare a body within a ace a their lives.
And on hit come, like a regular old ghost, but turned out not ta be a h’ant, somever, but a bona fide honest man. Let me remark, they was a sigh a relief heard right along about then.
“Howdy,” says Billy, when the man come within hailin distance. “Youghrtn’t a skulkyfoot around thataway: been somebody else would a been plumb skeert.”
“Ha ha,” says the Stranger; and Billy could a bit off his tongue for speakin thus.
Now this’rn was a sight. Lean old sick scrawny: without the question, the weakest little dried-up whitey peachpit of a man either of em ever did lay eyes on to. Walked with two pine-wood canes, he did, and Billy swore that when he turn’t sidewise they wasn’t no detectin’ him at all. White as a sheet, grinnin out a bloodless thin old lips; but he had good eyes, good eyes he had, and when Ephriam-Ephriam X seen them, he unlaxed his holt on the quirt—with the help a which he had been aimin ta snatch that spook bald-headed at the first move.
“Ha ha,” says the Stranger. “I’m mighty sorry—can see where I would skeer anybody thout warnin. But I live close ta here and was just comin home from town.”
Good eyes and sad, had he, and they was strange ta behold setting straight in that pasty face a hisn. He weren’t no more than four feet high—did I mention?
Says Billy, “Good old ways to travel by foot, ain’t she?”
“Body gets used to it, I reckon,” quoth the Stranger.
“Your diggins up the road?”
“Nigh a mile, bit off the fork.”
“Well now, seems to me I receive a augury a storm,” says Billy, hunchin down his head and lookin at Ephriam-Ephriam. “Since we’ns is travelin that way anyhow, it don’t seem right to me that a body ought ta have ta walk.”
The Stranger made a examination a Billy’s face, then he says: “Thank you kindly,” and begun ta squirm and cripple his way to the seat. Great Uncle Billy give it some thought and decided he’d best lend a hand, or else that little feller would a plummeted sure.
“A quaff ta cut the evenin chill?” says Billy, oncet they was movin agin, but hit don’t behoove the Stranger. He ony set up straight as he could, answerin civil questions civil, but not inclined to talk a great deal.
Billy got out the jug, begged pardon and took him a good old pull. “Ahhh,” says he.
But somethin begun to get him about this feller. Twas actually a youngster, compared to Billy and Billy thought like this:
Lord God; here’s a picture! Two brothers if ever they was. That one gnarlied-up and wasted and ugly as a billy goat on the outside, but young and full up with years; this one gnarlied-up and wasted and ugly as a billy goat on the inside, but with all them years layin in the muck ahint. Lord God, thought Billy, wishin’ he could spell it out for the Stranger so’s ta make hisself clear: We’re two peas in a pod, but between the two which is ta be sought? And which ta despise?
He took on spirits for the spirits; which was a favorite joke of his.
So him, duded out in the soily black suit and specs a pure glass, him: DR. MARVEL-O, Great Uncle Billy, old and sad; Ephriam-Ephriam X, rottin out and decayed and still breathin when by rights he should a been to his Reward long afore; and this Stranger, this crippled boy—did I say anythin about that hump on his back standin out the size of a melon?—they rode along in the night.
Then they come to this fork, and the Stranger says: “This here goes off ta my house.” He waited, stumblin and stutterin in his speech. “Err,” says he, “Ah, gentlemen—may I—” Blushed right pink, that boy. “That is, would you’ns care for a dip, a snoose and a little tea, maybe—course, they’s nothin to keep you from sayin no.”
Billy gazed inta them big blue-green eyes and thought he had never seen anythin so all-fired sad: right old pleadin sad, as if it had taken the boy clear till now ta summon up the question.
“Wellsir now, you know,” says Billy, “we’d be delighted.” And they turned that old wagon off the fork and went over holes and ruts like to bounced em ta Kingdom Come and back. Then they drawed nigh a rickety-rackety old shack looked more like a out-house nor a home—clean and all; but tumbled down, without no one ta fix her up.
When they got inside, old Ephriam-Ep
hriam pronounced:
“Heyuuu Lord a mighty!”
Do you know what was in there, spang in the midst a the floor?
A ox.
A lean old starved-out shanky ox, squatted down in that room just as proud as you please, whupping that old tongue around so lazified, as sleepy and content as a hound dog. And twicet as much to home.
Billy squinted his eyes at Ephriam-Ephriam for him ta hesh up and settle down: poor Eph, he allers took a fright at somethin queer or not right as it should be; and from his point a view, a ox in the livin room were not right as it should be.
The Stranger looked sad. “Go on out,” he says, slow and embarrassy, “they’s compny tonight.”
And upon the Sainted Name—believe I’ll take a swear at this—that dumb animal, without that much brains, without the gumption of a cat, hit riz up like hit understood ever word and walked on out.
The Stranger, he got all glary eyed and sore like all of a sudden. Mostly he directed the venom of his spleen towards Ephriam-Ephriam, sayin:
“Make your fun, go on and make it. I spose the sight of a ox inside a house is a literal scream to you’ns. But I say, a body got to have at least one friend. Don’t matter none who nor what, long as it’s a friend!”
Billy got him out a elder toothbrush that he’d made, and dipped inta the snoose and found that twas good snoose.
“Mighty good,” he says ta the boy; but hit didn’t cut off his screechins.
“You’ns is the first ones been in here to visit me in goin on two year; I swear that to the Holy God!”
Great Uncle Billy, he understood. Didn’t know why; but they just didn’t seem to be anythin this boy could tell further about hisself that’s be surprisin.
“I’m—sorry,” says the boy, wringin his hands and lookin ashamed. “It’s been up at the crack and inta Mt. Slocum and then odd-job woman’s work for me; and folks don’t—well, they don’t understand. I shouldn’t a asked you’ns here: don’t rightly know how to act—but I did oncet! Yes I did! If ony I could recomember . . . Use to be strong, would you believe me: could do two men’s work, afore; and folks come to visit me. They come to visit me, and we’d play games and wrassle and just set and study . . . Course I allers had this hump, but hit never made me weakly and people disregarded the blame thing.” The boy begun to pace, like, hoppin around and around the floor. “Then I taken sick . . . wellsir, I may look funny ta you now, but I’m tryin to say, they was a day I did my share.”
A Touch of the Creature Page 3