Once There Were Sad Songs

by Velda Brotherton

  “What about water?”

  “Shadow found the big thermos. We can use the creek to wash up tonight. You got water, a cooler, some food. Help us out?”

  Firelight reflected in his pale eyes like tiny flames. A relief, because she didn’t want to see what might really be hiding there. When he turned to look down at her, she saw twin reflections of herself. Where she didn’t belong. In his eyes. In this place. Stranded and alone with three men she barely knew. One with whom she’d committed the worst of sins, well, almost the worst. Turning away from him, she whispered a silent prayer to the God who had followed her here despite all her efforts to prevent it. Because, God forgive her, she had enjoyed every moment in Steven’s arms and, should he take it in his head to seduce her again, she would not hesitate. And here he was, asking her to remain with them. For another day. It couldn’t be helped.

  Then what? Another excuse, another reason to stay, until she became their “motorcycle chick”? Bound to them and their skirmishes as firmly as she had once been to Reudell’s fanaticism? Exchanging one nightmare for another?

  She licked her lips. “And I’ll be staying here with you and him?” She gestured toward Lefty.

  “And you’re worried that the two of us might attack and rape you? Me and my friend over there? Set free of Shadow’s calming influence?”

  He was mocking her again, but this time it didn’t make her angry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Surely you can understand I’m a bit nervous.”

  He touched her in a tentative gesture, pulled away as if burned. “Yes, I guess. No need to be, though.” He smiled, and she saw the man he’d been, once, a long time ago. It eased her apprehensions.

  Just like that, it was decided, and for some reason she felt a sense of relief. She wouldn’t have to leave, not just yet. A strange look came over him, but he walked away without saying anything further. She sensed he was angry at her presumptions and wanted to tell him she was sorry.

  After lengthy discussion, they decided Shadow could indeed make the trip out first thing in the morning. They still hadn’t found Steven’s bike, and Lefty’s needed major repairs.

  That settled, Shadow opened several unlabeled cans of what turned out to be beans, Manwich, and chili. He’d scrounged a storm-battered pan from a pile of dead brush along the creek bank and dumped the contents of the cans in it to heat. He’d come up with plastic spoons and washed them. When the soup bubbled, he dipped servings out into the emptied cans, stuck a spoon down in each, and passed them around.

  Liz sat where he’d left her, gazing off at the mountains. Wrapping socks around two hot cans of food, Steven carried one to her and, when she took it, sank down beside her without asking permission. The ground was wet, but so were his pants.

  She didn’t speak, and so he didn’t either, preferring silence. Both ate quickly. She appeared as hungry as he and finished off the odd mixture without comment as to its taste.

  A couple of times he glanced her way. Mud streaked her hair and clothing and most of her pale, freckled skin, but her challenging expression was pensive, as if she had a lot to think about.

  Setting the empty can aside, he steeled himself for what he hated to bring up. “Uh, Liz?”

  Her head swung in his direction, and when he didn’t go on, she asked, “What?”

  “Your sleeping bag.”

  “What about it?” Her eyes pinned him.

  “We can’t find it.”

  “Oh, good. That’s fine.”

  “Well, you’ve got a tent, we’ve got sleeping bags, so we thought—”

  “No, absolutely not. Not on your life. No.” Crawling to her feet, she glared down at him.

  Shit. He hunched his shoulders. “It could storm again.”

  “No.”

  “The ground is hard and wet. It’ll be cold, too. Rocky, lumpy.” He tried out a grin, patted the ground. “You can’t sleep on it, even in a tent.”

  “And you want to share your sleeping bag with me?”

  “Well—” He raised his shoulders. “Not precisely.”

  “What then? Precisely.”

  “Well, we’ve got three bags and Shadow found a blanket. If we open up the bags, we can put two under all of us, put the other and the blanket over us. And if we scrunch up we can all fit in your tent out of the rain.” She wasn’t going for this, not even marginally. He didn’t much blame her. Yet he waited for her decision.

  “And all sleep together? All piled up together? Are you crazy?”

  “I may be, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Plenty. It’s got plenty to do with everything.” She wished he’d stop looking up at her like that. Like a puppy or, worse, like a manipulative man. The light from the fire cast shadow pockets over his features, giving him a sinister look that didn’t help at all. It said to her, If you don’t feel sorry for me, then be afraid of me. Unfortunately, that’s exactly how she felt this very moment. Sorry and afraid. But she would not show it.

  “It’s not even raining. You guys just roll up in your bags and sleep by the fire. I’ll take the blanket in my tent and we’ll all be fine.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say. But if it storms again, you’ll feel bad, us getting all wet. And you won’t sleep a wink, all those rocks under you.”

  “Then I’ll just have to feel bad and not sleep.”

  “You’re taking your frustrations out on all of us.”

  “What frustrations?”

  “Your, you know, your feminine frustrations.”

  “My feminine frustrations?” Icy cold words. He'd hit a nerve.

  He swept an arm around, looking as if he might be ready to run. “Well, yeah. You know.”

  “Stop saying ‘you know.’ Trouble is I do know. Exactly. And I don’t like it. Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this.” She mimicked the hang-dog expression, exaggerating by turning down her mouth and rolling her eyes. “You are not sleeping with me. You and your ratty friends. Just because I─”

  He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Just ’cause you what?”

  “Just because you,” she amended, but still didn’t go on.

  “Oh. Because I?”

  From the devilish expression she guessed he was enjoying this more and more. The deeper hole she dug for herself the more fun he had.

  “What did I do? Tell me?” he asked, palms spread wide.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  “And you, my dear Liz, know exactly what you did, too. And therein lies the rub.”

  “Quoting Shakespeare to me now? For crying out loud, just who are you anyway?”

  Another shrug. “Just a poor old wore-out hippie trying to make his way without stirring the waters. And don’t try to change the subject. We were talking about what we did and how much we both enjoyed it, I believe.”

  “I did not. I. Did. Not.” She literally threw herself away from the confrontation, reeling into the closed flap of her tent, which Shadow had erected. Probably hoping he could pile in there with her, just like the other two.

  Liar. Mary Elizabeth, you are an avid liar. You liked it and you know it. And you want more.

  “You stay out of this,” she muttered to that voice. The one that had lured her out here in the first place. The one Steven insisted on calling Liz.

  But the thought remained buried deep in her psyche, for she couldn’t yet face bringing the admission out for examination in the cold light of those warped beliefs of Reudell’s church. She may have run, but the dogma clung to her the same as if she were trying to wade up out of the deepest quagmire. And each time she closed her eyes, she saw Brother Edward, hands raised toward heaven, beseeching his Lord God to save these sorry wretches. And runaway or not, she was indeed a most sorry wretch. How could a child of God be a wretch? Therefore, she was not a child of God. But Brother Edward claimed all his flock, children of God, were sorry wretches. Him most especially, cause he liked to peer at women
's breasts. What a dilemma. Easier to simply not believe in anything.

  A few moments later, a hand she recognized parted the tent flap and tossed in a blanket, still warm from the fire. She waited for him to start his begging again, but he went away and she felt deeply remorseful. After a while, she wrapped up in the cover that smelled of wood smoke and fell asleep, coiled in the far corner of the tent like a child in the womb.

  ****

  Disappointment rode heavily on Steven’s shoulders. He slumped under its weight and stared morosely into the fire. He’d really thought he could talk her into taking all three of them into the tent. Doing so would have established a measure of her feelings for him. But it hadn’t happened, and so after he tossed her the blanket he’d slogged back to join Lefty beside the fire. Shadow had traipsed off somewhere, probably to take a leak and enjoy a semblance of quiet.

  “Women, huh?” Lefty grinned. Enjoying the hell out of her curt dismissal.

  The campfire wavered orange across the Cajun’s dark countenance, leaving shadowy sockets from which his eyes glimmered like hot coals. His white teeth flashed.

  The expression annoyed the hell out of Steven. “Stuff it, and quit that apeshit grinning. Damn, I wish we had some coffee.”

  “He found the pot, no coffee. Looks like it’s gonna be a long night, sleeping out in the open with the boogers. Look like you coulda had some influence with that gal. Never can tell about women, huh, S’n’M?”

  The name, dredged from their past, grated on Steven’s nerves. “I’ve asked you not to call me that anymore.”

  “Why’n hell not? Always have.”

  “Doesn’t suit anymore, that’s all. We’ve come a long way from ’Nam, or if we haven’t we sure as hell should have.”

  “She’s just a little poon, mon, no sense in coming unglued.”

  “Drop it, would you? What the hell is this anyway?”

  “You know, S’n’M. This is Lefty. Not just some prick you ain’t never seen before. Don’t go getting all hot and bothered at me. I just asked a simple question. Is she or ain’t she just some poon?”

  “Goddammit, leave it. Go piss up a rope.”

  From the darkness, Shadow chuckled softly. Steven hadn’t heard him return, but he settled across the fire from them. Keeping his usual distance. He’d never really become a true part of their lives, except in the sense that they tolerated him. He was like a groupie with no place else to go. He fed off their adventures, their disagreements, their camaraderie, because he had none of his own. And like Steven and Lefty, he couldn’t go home for reasons he’d never revealed except in the most vague of references.

  “So, what you laughing at?” Lefty bawled. He rarely spoke directly to Shadow unless he was annoyed.

  “Experienced me a mental picture is all. Saw ole S’n’M holding a rope, saw ole Lefty trying to aim his prick and stay out of the way of the fallout. Nothing like hot piss rainin’ down on a cool summer’s night.”

  “Jesus, are you ever serious?” Steven tossed a stick into the fire, watched sparks dance off into the night air.

  After a long silence, broken only by the burring of night creatures singing their varied tunes, Shadow spoke in his serious voice, reserved for when he was about to get maudlin. “They shot all the heroes.”

  “Oh, mon dieu, here we go again. It’s not like you was about to be a friggin hero or anything like that, is it? I mean, you cain’t be a hero if you ain’t got you a war.”

  Shadow glanced up, eyes white in the darkness. “Did anyone find the tape deck? We could put on some Dylan, shut this freak up.”

  What the hell? Shadow never reacted like this. What was going on around here? Had the woman so totally disrupted their unique affinity that it would come apart?

  Even as that possibility rushed through Steven’s mind, Lefty heaved to his feet. “Freak? Freak? What the hell you mean?”

  “Ah, guys. Come on. Let’s have some peace, could we? All this bitchin’ and moanin’ is giving me a headache.”

  “He got no call, saying I’m a freak. No call.” Lefty appealed to the peacemaker in his friend.

  “Okay, he didn’t mean it, did you, Shadow?”

  “My sister was a hero,” the black man replied to the question.

  A whippoorwill launched into a long series of unbroken mournful calls, adding pathos to the situation and giving Steven a case of the shivers. The damn thing wouldn’t shut up.

  “Eight years old, just a baby, but she was a hero.”

  No one replied. Steven considered this odd turnaround from the taciturn Shadow who’d always hugged his secret home life quite close. He liked to talk about the march on Washington and how he got clubbed bloody, but this was the first time Steven had heard of a sister.

  “I was fifteen, and I carried her home in my arms with her blood running down both my legs into my shoes.”

  “Aw, dammit. Aw, hell,” Steven said, pushed away visions of dying children that hovered in the surrounding darkness.

  For once Lefty had no smart remark, only sighed.

  “I can still hear the last breath she took. Her little head lolled against my chest and she just stopped breathing, like she was glad it was over. I handed her to my poor old granny and walked away; out the cruddy door, down the pissed-in hallway, and past the brothers on the stairs, stirring and jiving. They didn’t even say they was sorry it happened, man. That’s how it was then.

  “And I went out and I beat me some heads, and I never stopped. I left old Black Bottom after that. Saw the last of Detroit. I ain’t never been back, either. But it’s all the same everywhere. One way or the other, the man’ll git you.”

  Lefty rattled in another breath. “That’s just bullshit.”

  “What you know, you crazy-ass Cajun?”

  “Much as you. Ain’t got no monopoly on downtrodden, just ’cause you’re black. I’m sorry your sister died, but you ain’t alone in the suffering, mon.”

  In all their years together, Steven had never felt them stray so far away from their friendship as this. Things were being said that might open sores that wouldn’t heal. Something was happening he didn’t quite understand, and he realized with a start that he’d seen it coming. The feeling of impending doom had hung around ever since the woman had shown up, and he expected it to get worse. Much worse. And not a thing he could do about it, either. Too late, way too late.

  “Want to know what started that little old riot in Black Bottom, like to tore Detroit apart?” Shadow waited a split second, but Steven sensed he wanted no reply, rather needed to gather his courage to go on. Finish the story.

  “A police raid on some families celebrating the return of their sons from Vietnam. Black families.”

  “Lucky you’uns wasn’t affected,” Lefty said.

  Steven touched his arm. “Shut up, man.”

  Lefty growled but did as he asked.

  “Pigs thought they was getting them a bunch a dopeheads in a pitiful club in the most godawful slum ever created. Instead they found a celebration. What a world. Old whitey couldn’t admit he was wrong and back off, no sirree. Teach them niggers to fool with the man.”

  Reeling under the raw hate emanating from the gentle black man, Steven wondered how Shadow could’ve hidden this animosity all these years. Palled around with a white bigot like Lefty and a white no-account bum like himself, and never let them know his true feelings. What in God’s name was Shadow still doing running with them?

  “That’s when I decided I wanted to go to ’Nam. But I was too young, man, and by the time I could’ve gone that son of a bitch Johnson had settled the score. Give up and let you guys slink home like losers. Let folks spit on you and call you names. I felt bad, man. Real bad for all of you, even if some of you was white.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, you little prick,” Lefty said.

  “For once in your life, would you shut the fuck up,” Steven said. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked Shadow.

  “No matter. I think I’ll
hit the sack. I’m bushed, man.” Shadow rose as if he’d never brought up the dreadful subject, sorted through the sleeping bags, and took one to the far side of the fire. Like a sentry on guard, he spread it in front of the door to Liz’s tent and lay down.

  Steven stared into the fire. Hell of a bummer.

  Lefty remained strangely silent for a long while but finally could contain himself no longer. “What the hell do you make of all that?”

  The man could never ruminate alone. “I’d rather not talk about it.” It would be a long time before he slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard his mother’s last words to him before he went off to ’Nam. Remembered the betrayal of what he’d done.

  “See to the place, son. After I’m gone, don’t just let it sit out here all alone. Forgotten. You’ll do that, won’t you?” Her plea had come back to haunt him later, though at the time he wondered why she was being so foolish as to talk about her own death, when he was the one going off to die.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, felt the warmth of the fire on his cheeks, and saw the flames eating at her house. Hot tears leaked from under his lids. He hadn’t cried since Jennie left him. Now it seemed all he could do. After enduring three tours in ’Nam you’d a thought he could’ve endured anything. But he’d come back believing everything would be all right, lest, how come he’d been allowed to live? And it hadn’t been. Yet.

  Suddenly Steven wished he was in that rainbow-colored little tent, all wrapped up in Liz’s arms. Safe and loved and warm.

  He shivered uncontrollably and fetched his sleeping bag. It would be a long lonely night for all of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liz awoke to a soundless night. No wind stirred tree or bush or leaf, no creature so much as murmured. She often awoke in that hush before dawn when time stood still. Night had passed, day had not yet arrived. But this was different. A peaceful expectation enclosed her, as if something marvelous was about to happen and she'd be okay with it.