He looked away and hurried on.
The story of his mama’s encounter with the devil wasn’t new to Billy; it had been passed on to him more than once over the years, and Billy would always associate its telling with the smell of moonshine on his grandfather’s breath. The drink meant that the details were vivid and foggy at the same time, but Billy had always paid him heed, and now he knew just where he was headed. The train tracks crossed over the road, forming a near perfect plus sign about a two and a half miles on down the road. He’d ridden through there in his papaw’s truck many times, and he knew a dense grove of pines lay between the crossing and the Coosa River to the west.
That grove.
Folk always said to be careful down there, ‘cause hobos sometimes camped in the area. But Billy didn’t care. He might be a bit afraid of the devil, but he sure didn’t give a flip about no hobos.
That grove was the place where the devil had sowed his seed. Billy had always known it, felt it in his bones, but up until today his papaw had never said a word about it. Maybe it hurt him too much to think on it. Or it could be he’d hoped to protect Billy from suffering. Still, Billy had noticed how Papaw always got real quiet whenever they passed the grove, keeping his eyes glued to the road before them. And this morning Papaw had finally confirmed this was the very place where the devil had sired Billy.
The sun had climbed higher above, and its unrelenting attention made the walk seem longer than it otherwise would have. Soon Billy’s mouth was dry as cotton, but sweat still covered him from head to toe. That would’ve been okay, but his feet had sweat in his shoes, causing his socks to bunch up. He could feel the beginning of blisters on both heels. He would’ve liked to kick them off and carry on barefoot, but the asphalt beneath them shimmered with heat showing false puddles in the distance that disappeared as Billy drew near. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow, careful not to push his cap back off his ears.
The sun burned dark spots in his eyes, causing him to blink. He stopped and let his lids close the curtain on the world. As soon as his vision blackened, his other senses ratcheted up, allowing him to bear witness to the world around him in finer detail. Bees buzzed nearby. A creature on heavier wings, a large bird, flapped overhead and flitted away. He could smell the river, the scent of dead fish and muddy undrinkable water wrapping itself around the odor of hot creosote from the telephone poles baking in the sun.
His eyes snapped open. All of this, he realized in a flash—the heat, the smell, the thirst—all of it was his father’s doing. The devil knew Billy was coming for him, so he wanted to give his son a tiny taste of hell. But was he trying to show Billy what awaited him down below, or could he be offering up an explanation of why he’d come up here to earth? Had he been trying to break free from his torments and maybe find a little love? No, Billy thought, shaking his head and digging his heels in deeper as he strode along. He wasn’t going to be turned around by fear or sympathy.
“You give me strength, Lord,” he prayed, pushing the words out softly through his dry lips. “You give me strength.” Still, doubt gnawed at him. If you could take the devil out with a rifle, wouldn’t someone have done it before now? He ran his dry tongue over his chapping lips. He stopped saying the words aloud, but in his mind he continued to repeat, “Give me strength. Give me strength.” After another quarter mile, the words changed to “Give me a sign.” Certainly, he reasoned, given the importance of what he was out to do, the good Lord could at least give him some form of encouragement. After all, He’d bestowed Gideon with a damp fleece, and Gideon had only been facing a human army.
The thought hadn’t even finished crossing his mind when a sound reached through the haze of prayer that had built up around Billy. It was a truck limping along on dying shocks, lurching across the pavement. He turned to see it was one of the robin-egg blue milk trucks that delivered for the Boardman Dairy. He stopped walking and narrowed his gaze on the face behind the windshield.
The driver tapped the horn once and waved his arm out the window. Billy sucked in a breath as the truck pulled up alongside him. He had his sign. Most of the drivers would’ve passed him by, but this driver was Moab Sasser, who everybody knew as Mo.
Mo wasn’t like most grownups. His body had grown to full size, but his brain hadn’t kept up. Billy’s papaw said Mo and his brother had gotten into a fight when they were little, and Mo’s brother had hit him between the eyes with a hammer. Pretty near killed Mo, according to Papaw, but somehow he’d pulled through. Billy reflected that it might’ve been the Lord’s own sweet justice that the injury had kept Mo out of the very war that ended up killing the brother who’d done it to him.
In the right light, when brightness and shadow played on his brow, you could still make out the dent left by the hammer’s cross-peen, the ridges above his eyes standing out with more prominence due to the relief between them. Mo could still drive and carry heavy things, though, so Mr. Boardman had followed his sense of Christian duty and hired him on.
Mo leaned out the window and called to him. “Where you headin’?”
“Down the road a bit,” Billy said, already walking toward the truck. He stood before the closed side door and stared through the glass.
Mo reached over and spun a crank to open the door. “I can give you a ride, but you can’t tell nobody. Mr. Boardman don’t like it when we let people into his trucks.” Seeing Mo from the side, Billy couldn’t help but notice how his belt strained against the soft paunch of his stomach.
“I won’t tell nobody,” Billy said, then watched as Mo gave a nervous look in each direction before waving him forward. Heaving a sigh of relief, Billy slid the rifle off his shoulder and climbed into the truck. The truck only had a seat for the driver, so he slumped to the floor and hugged the rifle to his chest.
“Kind of early for deer, ain’t it?” Mo asked, finally taking note of the weapon.
“Yeah, but I ain’t looking for deer.”
Mo nodded and pulled the lever to close the door. When he didn’t ask any follow-up questions, Billy realized he had satisfied whatever curiosity the milkman had about the rifle. Mo let off the brake, and the truck lurched forward, making Billy bounce up an inch or so before coming back down onto his bottom. Noticing his upset, Mo looked down at him with large, innocent blue eyes. His face was soft and beardless. “I keep telling Mr. Boardman she needs work, but he just keeps telling me he’ll see to it.”
“I don’t mind,” Billy assured him. “I’m just grateful for the ride.”
“How far you going?”
“Just down to the tracks.” Billy said, reaching up and pulling off his cap. It was a blessing and a deliverance to feel the air coming in through Mo’s window. Mo glanced down at him and smiled. Though Billy wouldn’t dream of letting his ears flop out like this in front of most folk, Mo was different. He never pointed out Billy’s odd features. And he always called him Bill or Billy. Never Billy Goat, like just about everyone else, including Billy’s own papaw, did.
‘Course Mo’s slow wit was not the only thing odd about him, and he sure knew what it was like to have folk make fun of him. Back when Billy was still just a baby, Mo had gotten himself into a patch of trouble. After getting caught peeping through any number of windows, he’d made an attempt to interfere with a young woman from his church. Mr. Boardman, his employer, got to talking with a few concerned fathers, and they decided they should take the situation in hand before things went too far. They got Mo drunk enough to pass out, then Boardman gelded him, nursing him on the farm till his wounds healed.
Everybody knew what had been done to Mo, but most agreed it was for the best. Polite folk would blush or look away whenever it got mentioned, but others, especially the guys a few grades ahead of Billy, took great pleasure in ribbing Mo about it. Still, Mo seemed happy enough. He could fish and go to the pictures like he liked to do, and he never got in trouble anymore.
The truck continued to bounce down the road, Mo keeping quiet and Billy lost in
his thoughts, until the truck banged over what had to be the train tracks. Mo stepped on the brakes and grabbed ahold of the door lever. “Lot faster than walking, huh?”
“Yep,” Billy said, pulling the cap back over his ears. “And cooler too.”
Mo smiled at him and turned the lever. The door swung open, and Billy worked his way up to his feet. He nodded at Mo. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be heading back to town in around an hour. Just got to take this special delivery down to Cedartown, then I’m turning right back around. I can give you a ride home if you’d like.” Billy’s mind returned to his mission, and he wondered if he’d even be alive an hour hence. Mo must have read his lack of response as hesitation. “I bet Mr. Boardman wouldn’t even really mind. Not since you’re just a kid.”
Billy climbed out of the truck, pulling the rifle strap back over his shoulder. “That’d be real nice, but if I ain’t here, don’t wait around for me.”
A line formed between Mo’s usually untroubled eyes, and his gaze shifted to the gun. “Everything okay with you?”
“Everything’s fine.”
Mo bit his lower lip. “You ain’t gonna get into trouble with that gun of yours are you? I knew your mama, you know? We was friends. She wouldn’t want me to let you get yourself in a bad way.”
Of course Billy knew Mo had known his mama. Mo had told him a hundred times. They started out in the same class at school, though Mo fell quickly behind after his accident. “Naw,” Billy said, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna get in no trouble.” For a second he considered telling Mo that he’d come to this place to find and kill his father, but something told him Mo might try to intervene. “Just gonna go practice shootin’. Wanted to get far enough out of town so nobody would complain.”
Mo’s brow smoothed and the smile returned to his lips. “Okay, then. I’ll be back in about an hour. You be right here,” Mo pointed downward, “if you want a ride.”
“Thanks, Mo. Will do.”
Mo nodded and swung the lever to close the truck door. The milk truck moaned and listed to the right. For a moment Billy worried it might die altogether, but then it backfired and crawled off down the road.
Billy took a second to get his bearings. He walked along the tracks to the exact center point of where the tracks crossed over the road and placed his left hand over the rifle’s forestock. Closing his eyes shut tight, he began turning, left to right, completing one, two, three complete circles. He couldn’t say why he did it; somehow it just felt right. “I’ve come for you, Devil,” he repeated with each turn. He thought for sure he’d feel something, a sense of evil or at least call of blood to blood. But there was nothing. Eyes still closed, he lifted his face to the sun. Billy could feel its distant fire reddening his skin. Then the scent of smoke caused him to open his eyes.
A feeble breeze from the river carried the smell of burning wood inland to where Billy stood. No. Not just wood. Hellfire. Billy knew it without a doubt. He turned toward the smell, and moved fast, digging his heels in as he walked toward its source.
Only a few feet of sparse, dry grass separated the road from the grove to the west. Billy’s skin tingled as he drew closer to the line of pines that stood sentry between the regular world and the world of slanting shadows where the devil had planted his seed in Billy’s mama. He could see the ground beneath the trees was carpeted with dry needles and peppered by the growth of new saplings. The spot just beyond the tree line lay cluttered with a half dozen or so bottles labeled either Nehi or Royal Crown, some of the bottles shattered, some still intact. Billy edged toward the broken glass and a prodigal pinecone crunched beneath his step. A fat horsefly buzzed past him, and Billy could feel a vibration build in him, like a tuning fork had been struck and his soul was responding.
He paused only a moment before crossing the line, but the instant he passed between the trees, Billy felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. A big part of him wanted to turn back, leave the devil to his own devices and forget the whole thing. Then he remembered his mama’s restless soul and he carried on.
His feet felt leaden as he forced them to take one step after another. As he continued along, he took deep breaths to follow the smoke smell, and he focused his gaze on the forest floor beneath his feet, keeping an eye out for high roots and other pitfalls. He didn’t notice a low-hanging branch until it reached out and snagged the ball cap from his head. The cap flipped a few feet up into the air then landed on a bed of dry pine needles.
When Billy stopped and turned back to retrieve the hat, he felt the tips of his ears bend down. He knows I’m here, Billy thought to himself. And he knows who I am and what I mean to do. Billy stared at the dirty red cap. He wants me to show myself to him. As his son. Maybe he’s been calling me all along? Billy felt an unexpected flutter of hope in his heart. Would he be claimed? Welcomed? Taken away from this world where everyone mocked him, from this world where he’d never really belonged? Forgetting the cap altogether, he turned back in the direction of the smoke and took several quick and careless steps. A root caught the toe of his shoe and flung him to the ground. The rifle barrel struck his temple as he tumbled down. He gasped as his ankle twisted.
Was he imagining it, or did he hear laughter?
Anger burned up his spine, nearly overpowering the pain from his swelling ankle. The fall had scraped the palms of his left hand, leaving it coated with blood and pine tar. His pants were torn at the left knee and the shredded fabric was red with blood. His right ankle throbbed, and he winced as he shifted his weight onto it. It hurt, but it wasn’t broken.
He hated himself. Maybe he deserved the pain. He’d been ready to betray Heaven and his mama’s memory, and all it had taken to turn him was the thought that Hell might welcome him. He took the gun in both hands and released the safety.
Billy moved slowly now, full of caution, willing himself to grow accustomed to the pain. Knowing that he’d taste revenge soon carried him forward, even when his feet didn’t want to move. Again, he heard laughter, and he aimed himself straight toward its source. The scent of smoke grew stronger with each throbbing step. A hundred yards seemed as good as a mile in his current state, but he carried on until he reached a small clearing.
He stopped dead, shifting the rifle into his right hand and bracing himself with his left against the tree. His palm stung as it rubbed against the bark, but it didn’t matter. There, right before Billy, with his back turned to him, sat the devil himself. He was settled down before the fire, chuckling and singing to himself in a language Billy didn’t recognize. It certainly wasn’t anything ever spoken in the Bible.
Billy was surprised to see the devil had black hair, as he’d expected it to be yellow like his own. The skin of the devil’s neck was darker than Billy’s too. The devil’s wide shoulders were jerking. Billy stepped out from behind the tree and moved as quietly as he could to see what his father was up to.
The devil held a bloody knife in one hand and a mostly skinned rabbit in the other. He continued to sing as he pulled the last of the skin off the dead animal. He leaned over to lay the knife on the ground, then retrieved a sharpened stick. He impaled the rabbit and held it over the fire, letting its flesh roast.
For a moment, Billy wondered if he’d made a mistake. The dark hair and brownish skin didn’t resemble Billy’s at all. The black eyes looked nothing like his blue ones. Then Billy’s gaze fell upon the devil’s ears. The tops of his ears were swollen thick and pale, and they bent in over themselves. Billy continued to circle the devil until he could see his face full on. The smoke rose up around it, but rather than disguise him, it revealed him for what he truly was. The nose, unexpectedly twisted at the top, completely flatted like a goat’s at the bottom. The black eyes and hair couldn’t hide the fact that this was Billy’s own father. Grasping the rifle tightly in both hands, Billy stepped into the clearing.
The black eyes looked up, and the devil held the burning rabbit corpse up before Billy. “You hungry, kid?” the devil as
ked, though the words sounded funny coming from his lips, not like any normal person talked. “I got for you, if you hungry.”
Billy didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. He took a few steps closer, amazed to be looking into the face of his father at long last.
“No?” the devil lowered the rabbit back to the fire, but kept his eyes on Billy. “You hurt, kid?” Billy took another step toward the fire. The devil’s lips twisted into a smile. “No, you okay. You tough like me. Tough enough to be pugile, a boxer like you say.” He turned the rabbit. “Come sit. I tell you about my best fight.”
Billy shifted his stance so that his shoulders were square with the devil he faced. He lifted the rifle, keeping its buttstock high on his chest, slid his left hand to the forestock, and pressed his cheek against the stock. The devil’s eyes widened in surprise, and he tried to stand, but Billy’s finger had already found the trigger. Pressing it straight, just like his papaw had taught him, he eased it back until the rifle fired. Smoke met with blood as the bullet expanded in the devil’s chest and carried him backward.
Billy stood there shaking so hard the rifle fell from his sticky, sweaty grasp. The gun bounced on the ground, and the boy fell flat on his own butt, crawling away backward from the sight of the dead devil. He struggled to catch his wind as he lay there on the ground staring straight up toward heaven. At the sight of the patch of blue sky high overheard, his body stopped trembling and a strange calmness fell over him. He rolled over and pushed himself up. The rifle lay a few feet away, and he went to retrieve it. Somehow it felt heavier now, even though it had lost a bullet’s weight.
Billy stood tall and drew nearer the fire. He looked down at the wasted body of the rabbit, blackened in the flames. He felt bad for the poor beast. His eyes drifted to the hole in the devil’s chest. He did not feel bad for his father. Defiler. Betrayer. Liar. Devil.
Phantasma: Stories Page 9