Once There Were Sad Songs

by Velda Brotherton

  She took a deep breath but didn’t let go of him. He didn’t move, clung to her just as tenaciously. Maybe he was hurt. The fright that had snatched her voice still wouldn’t let her speak. In those few moments she had learned the difference between delighted terror and mind-rending fear. On the bike she had been assured of her own death but swept away by the thrill of adventure. Not so here. There was nothing thrilling or delightful, only the threat of imminent and horrible death.

  In the stillness, the gentle fall of rain, she grew conscious of his breath hot on her neck, his chest rising and falling against hers. Their bodies soaked, touching, heated and chilled at the same time.

  “Steven?”

  “Hmmm?” He didn’t stir.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-hum.” Still no movement other than his hand pressing against her back. Keeping her close.

  Something quickened deep inside her. His lips searched along her neck, up to the curve of her jaw, and found her mouth. Rainwater ran over his face. She tasted its sweetness mingling with his own flavor. He nibbled at her lower lip until she relaxed the grip of her clenched teeth, the firm pinch of her mouth, and allowed him entrance.

  His mouth, lips, tongue were smooth like warm, velvety chocolate. His probing, neither harsh or demanding, left her breathless.

  She was suddenly alive, electric, intensely aware of every inch of her flesh against his.

  Moaning into his mouth, she let go all inhibitions, embraced the erotic, exquisite feelings that darted through her.

  Reudell didn’t believe in kissing, and she had missed it so since Levi had died.

  Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Not Reudell. Unbidden, he had intruded in her thoughts, fed the guilt that lay dormant there. Enjoyment of sex was a sin. A terrible sin made even worse when it was with someone not your husband.

  Bereft, cast out of paradise, she stiffened and pushed Steven away. What was she doing? What was he thinking?

  “Stop, please. Stop it now.”

  He froze, broke contact between their lips. As if deprived of life, her aching mouth reached for him, even as she told herself this was wrong.

  In the murky aftermath of the storm she tried to see his expression, but couldn’t. His voice, bled dry of any emotion, telegraphed it quite well. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to... Sorry. Caught by the moment, I guess.”

  A great emptiness filled her when he rose to his feet, broke all contact. He reached a hand down and she took it, stumbling, struggling to stand in the ankle-deep water. He pulled her up out of the depression, and in the dim light she saw sadness like a smear over his blue eyes.

  Filled with a deep sorrow, she laid the palm of her hand along the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

  Briefly, quickly, he turned his lips into her hand and made a tiny sound deep in his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Steven. Truly sorry.”

  He pulled back, looking so vulnerable, so in need, so terribly young. Desire and regret clutched at her insides, and she raised on her toes to kiss him full on the mouth. As if they were young and innocent and in the throes of an impossible first love, her body responded to his reaction. Loins aching, nipples rigid with desire, her mouth opened to his tongue.

  This time she didn’t bother to imagine the consequences. This time it would be all right. Surely God would not punish her again for seeking a brief joy from this life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Soft and hot, wet and cold, the sensations threatened to awaken old memories too long buried in the recesses of Steven’s mind. A time when life offered promise, had he known how to take it in his grasp. This woman touching him, loving him. He grew hard and needful, a condition so unexpected and painful he cried out and felt a fool. She murmured things he didn’t understand in a voice that whispered of angels and long-missing souls and desires he had forgotten existed. She took him into her warm, moist sweetness, into her heart and soul, and there made him whole. Released him from a destructive fear of self to ride with the wind, to follow the storm over the mountains, to burst into flame and brilliant lights and trail across endless skies. He fell where life was serene and loving and comforting, and she lay in his arms, having gone with him the whole way.

  Crooning to her in a ragged voice, he held her close to his rapidly beating heart and rocked them both. How long had it been since he’d made love in the rain? He couldn’t remember. Hell, he couldn’t even remember when he’d last made love. Not like this. If ever like this.

  Amid the scattering of raindrops, his tears burned trails along her cheeks. She rested, dragged from the edge of exquisite madness, where she had stared into an indistinct, glowing face that shone with the light of new birth. Thought, this is God. The real, true, only God. And he smiled at her and was gone.

  Coming to herself, shivering, she saw that she and Steven were naked and didn’t remember how that happened. How they came to be lying bare to the world in the sopping wet grass under a clean-washed sky in the aftermath of a monstrous storm.

  Touching. Clinging. Absorbing. It felt so good, so right.

  But it wasn’t right. Could never be. My dear Lord in Heaven, what had she done? Perceptions of guilt smothered her. This was not what she had intended, this coupling with a man for carnal pleasure alone.

  Oh, Liz, you are such a prude.

  Had he said that, this man with no conscience, no morality? Or was it her own inner scoldings, a justification for having fallen from grace?

  The rain faded; a drip, a drop, a pitter and patter, and it was gone, leaving behind glistening tears suspended from trembling leaves.

  Mouth against his neck, she stirred. Needed to pull away, but couldn’t. He tasted of salt and wild grasses and earth, of wind and wildness, and he would not let her go. Instead turned his face, buried his mouth and nose in the hollow of her throat. Suckled her flesh.

  A longing to nourish him filled her, but she pushed it away. That wasn’t what he needed. Foolish old woman.

  Stop calling me old. You don’t know.

  It was up to God to save her, weakling that she was, for she could not pull away, instead tightened her hold on him, shivering from the cold, reluctant to separate from him. If she let go, she would surely tumble into the fires of hell, from which there would be no redemption.

  Oh, Lord Jesus, forgive me, I’ve committed a most grievous sin.

  Go away, Mary Elizabeth, go away. You aren’t welcome here anymore. I am Liz, and I am free.

  We have sinned.

  “Go away.” She hadn’t intended to shout, could not call back the words.

  He stiffened. Withdrew.

  Warmth drained, leaving her senses exposed. She reached out to him. “No, not you. Not you.” Feeble words dragged from a throat clogged with fear, guilt, despair. Denied his embrace, she felt abandoned, alone.

  Wiping her eyes, she gazed upward. He stood, bare backsides to her, trying to pull on his soaked clothes but not having much luck. She stared at the mud-smeared muscles that rippled with each movement, wanted to reach out and touch that young, virile skin. Finger the scar that jagged along his back. But she didn’t. What would he think of her?

  “Coward,” she whispered, but it was too late to make amends.

  He’d managed to pull on the muddy cutoffs and, with boots in hand, stalked off.

  If she hadn’t vowed there would be no more tears, she would have burst out bawling.

  You are a silly woman. You deserve it. A stupid, silly prude of a woman.

  Tugging on her jeans, she didn’t bother to zip them, or put on her bra before shrugging into the soaked shirt. She slunk back to camp, hoping to slip into her tent without being seen.

  What she found was not three curious, ogling men, but Steven hunched, thumbs tucked into his waistband, amid total havoc. Both tents had been ripped from their stakes and, along with blankets, clothing, and bedrolls, were wrapped around tree trunks and strung from limbs in soggy blues, yellows, and reds. Two of the motorcycles lay tangled
against a stand of willows and the other was nowhere to be seen. The clearing resembled a combat zone in vivid color, one cottonwood tree ripped out and left lying where once her tent had been. Shoulders slumped, Steven stared at the chaos. There was no sign of Lefty or Shadow.

  Without compunction, she laid a trembling hand on his shoulder. He twitched, pulled out of reach. Angry with her, and rightly so.

  He shot her a glance, as if to ask what she was doing there.

  “Are they all right? Do you suppose—?”

  “They’re okay. Probably hiding somewhere. Playing games.” He cupped both hands around his mouth. “You can come on out. This isn’t funny.”

  From the clump of nearby brush, Shadow emerged, staggering and holding a hand to his head. “Lord a-mercy, it’s a miracle. I’se alive, I’se alive.”

  Lefty followed. “Asshole. You had brains, you’d stir ’em up with chitlins, put A-1 Sauce on ’em, and eat ’em.”

  Without waiting for Shadow’s reaction, he pounded on Steven’s shoulder. “Some ride, that, huh, ole son?”

  All three bandied with each other, uttering nonsensical but jovial remarks. Their lively camaraderie made Liz feel as if she had suddenly bounced from one alien world into another. That earlier passion between her and Steven could well have been a dream, or at least an illusion brought about by their near brush with death.

  When she glanced toward him, he deliberately turned away. Or so she thought. Perhaps he was simply caught up in the moment, but she felt shut out.

  “Man, just look at this shit,” Lefty hollered, and did a little jig, grabbing at a dangling shred of sleeping bag caught in the tree above his head. “We gonna have to sleep out in the rain with the critters now. The snakes and ’gators. Her too, she.” He pointed at Liz, cawed a silly laugh, but his eyes showed a bold disdain.

  “Aw, hush,” Steven said. “There’s no ’gators in Arkansas, and snakes wouldn’t come near your ornery hide.”

  “Says you. Who tole you they ain’t no ’gators in this place? Look like Louisiana to me. See, down there at the water? Perfect place for a mama ’gator to hole up. An’ I ain’t thinking ’bout my hide.” He leered at Liz.

  Overcome with amazement, she glanced at the men one by one. Shadow’s bemused expression, Lefty and his foreboding eyes, Steven, who rarely allowed any emotion to cross his features.

  But he had held her close in the rain and they had made love and he cried.

  She studied him, perceived no vestige remaining of that earlier man.

  Of them all, Lefty was perhaps the strangest and most scary, but Steven and Shadow took his mood swings in stride, so he was probably okay. But he sure did blow hot and cold. He was right. The place was a shambles, and they’d be lucky if they could find food to eat in this mess. As for sleeping accommodations, well, the prospect looked bleak.

  Steven bent over and retrieved a soiled and tattered garment, raised his eyes to gaze directly at her, clutching the remains of her nightshirt. Heat swarmed over her. Had she actually rolled around in the mud with this fascinating heathen? Had sex with him in a ditch of water, right out in the open, with a storm howling overhead? She moaned aloud.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked and started toward her, his earlier disappointment obviously forgotten.

  She retreated a step to get out of range of his power. “Sure, fine. What’re we going to do for a place to sleep tonight?”

  He twisted a feral grin her way. “Let’s get this stuff gathered up and assess the damage.” An outrageous wink flaunted what they had done together. Back to his old self.

  She frowned, whirled to show her back and her disapproval. Shuddered under his laughter.

  Lefty gave her one of those hard glares. “Oh, hey, yeah, ole son. That’s what we’ll do, assess the damage.”

  The sharp tone, aimed as it was right at her, appeared to catch Steven’s attention. “Back off, man.”

  “She your whore, we supposed to just sit back and watch? You might ought to pass her around.”

  Shadow retreated, and she wanted to follow him.

  Nausea boiled into her throat. Before she could do more than blink, Steven hit Lefty right on the jutted-out point of his chin. The squashing sound of the blow was loud in the silence. The small man bounced backward to land on his backsides, both legs protruding straight out like sticks. He struggled to prop himself up but rolled to one side like a loose puppet.

  Frozen, they all stared down, then Steven stuck out his hand to help his buddy up. Lefty accepted, then rubbed at his jaw. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

  “Well, shit, ole son, you didn’t need to go and do that.” A lack of animosity in the words only made the moment more frightening.

  Blindly, Liz fled the scene, wishing she had a place to hide. She’d go back to her car. She could walk there. And then just drive out to the main road. Somehow she’d find her way from this place. Leaving behind the three men, who acted as if nothing unusual had happened, she fought her way through the brush in search of the trail. Torn up by the storm, the ground a carpet of ripped leaves, branches and parts of trees, nothing looked familiar. On Steven’s bike they had leaped into the clearing from somewhere high above. A meadow. No matter where she looked, everything appeared unfamiliar.

  Damn them all. How could she have been so stupid as to think that following these three dregs of society was a wise move? She’d obviously taken complete leave of her senses.

  Pausing, she listened, but she’d come so far she could no longer hear their voices, nor could she tell one direction from the other without the sun. Soon the hollow would be swallowed by darkness, making it even more difficult. And here she was, caught between an unknown wilderness and three strangers, one or maybe all of whom were definitely dangerous.

  Clenching her fists, she sank onto both knees. Whether to pray or simply remain there out of defeated exhaustion, she wasn’t sure.

  ****

  Steven was only vaguely aware she had left. He couldn’t stop deriding himself for slugging his only friend in the world. The one man who'd made it possible for him to survive each day. And worse, he’d hit him over a woman. Still, it was coming up dark and he didn’t want her wandering around in the woods lost.

  He gestured toward his friend, who dodged as if about to be hit again.

  “Hey, I don’t want to fight, ole son. I just want my share of her.” Half teasing, half menacing, so no one could know his true meaning.

  “Dammit, don’t start that shit. I’m in no mood. We have to get this place cleaned up, build a fire and dry some of this stuff out, or we’re going to spend one hell of an uncomfortable night. You know you don’t want the woman, you just want to stir things up, get under my skin. Now come on, let’s get busy.”

  Lefty’s dark eyes reflected sorrow. “Yeah, what you think, you? You might be the same. Don't really want her, jest want you self to stir things up? You ain’t never hit me before, man. In all these years, you ain’t once laid a hand on me except in play. Now you do it for a piece of—”

  “Watch it,” Steven said. “You just watch it.” Damn, what was wrong with him? What did he care what Lefty thought of Liz? She’d come along, she’d be gone the same way. And him left to pick up the pieces if he shattered this friendship over her.

  “You saved my life, ole son. Now how can you treat me this way for a fuckin’ woman? I don’t understand.”

  Steven blinked hard, and there he was back at the LZ. His wounded buddy in his arms. Lefty, cradled in S’n’M’s arms. All he could think, “Get him out, get him out.”

  Bloodied, muddied, gaunt, S’n’M crouched on both knees and hugged Lefty close.

  “Hold on, man. Hold on. Die on me, now, man, and there ain’t no one left. I’ll get you out of here. Oh, Jesus, don’t die.”

  Eyelids squeezed shut so his face throbbed. Where was the goddamned chopper? The jungle wept, tears echoing on fat leaves like gunfire. Time suspended. Stopped.

  Head back, mist
like a suffocating blanket. “Goddamn you, don’t do this, you son of a bitch.”

  In his arms, Lefty dragged in a breath, held it for so long S’n’M pounded his chest. Air whooshed out, sucked in. Rattled.

  Smoothing matted wiry hair. Crooning. “Don’t you go, man. Not without me.” Cradled in his arms, blood leaking, soaking into his shirt. Above, the sky thick with smoke, clouds, rain. Empty sky. Silence.

  Enemy in the bush, VC always a heartbeat away.

  All hell broke loose. Off to his right, automatic rifles chattered, spouted orange fire. A chopper whump-whomped above the rise, erupting from the bowels of the earth.

  S’n’M clawed in the mud for his M-16, released his bleeding buddy. Hot. LZ was hot. Oh, God, they’d leave them there.

  Lefty slid into the mushy paddy. S’n’M’s clawing fingers came up with the rifle.

  Fire. Shoot at the bastards.

  Bellowing, “Don’t leave,” into the sky, shout swallowed by the noise of the hovering chopper. “Don’t leave, I’ll get ’em.”

  Hunkering on his knees, rifle butt snugged into his hip, he fanned a spray waist high. Cut the devils in half.

  “LZs not hot anymore. I cooled it off. Come back, come back.” Frantically gesturing toward the chopper, he swung back to his friend. “Come on, you fuckers. Come on.”

  Lefty choked, tried to roll over so he could get up, peered at S’n’M through rain-drenched, reddened eyes. “Jesus God, I’m killed. Git the hell outta here, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

  Stooping, S’n’M slid the feebly struggling body into a shoulder carry. “I got you,” he screamed and staggered forward, sideways, backward. He didn’t know, didn’t remember.

  Flat on his back. A hand shaking him. “Easy, buddy. Take ’er easy now. We gotcha. Can you walk?”

  His own mud-drenched hand clawing at the sky. His voice yelling, “You got him? You got him?”

  “We got him. Come on. Let’s go.”

  Shit, he was on the ground, in the mud. He lurched to his feet and went down. The medic caught him in both arms and his head toppled sideways to rest in the hot blood saturating his shirt. Lefty’s blood.