The Evening Road

by Laird Hunt

  “What is this?” I whispered over to Sally.

  “Prayer vigil.”

  “Prayer vigil why?”

  “Against the hangings.”

  Sally said this and patted my arm then went and sat down and bowed her head next to a cornflower lady in a purple hat. As I watched, Sally gave that cornflower lady’s hand a squeeze and that cornflower lady smiled and squeezed her hand back.

  The world can shut your mouth for you sometimes. Get so big right there in front of you it won’t fit into your eyes. The Spitzers had a well out back of their house a couple of the other kids there dangled me down into. They did it ’cause I’d told them to. Mr. Spitzer had said over supper that night he had seen the moon sleeping down in that well once and I wanted to see it. I didn’t see any moon down there with the cold walls curdling all around me but funny thing was, before those other kids pulled me back up, I thought I heard it whisper at me. And what I thought I heard it whisper was “Surprise!” Mr. and Mrs. Spitzer both were waiting up top with switches for us and I never went back down that well and hadn’t much considered it since but that was the first thing I thought of when I looked out over that congregation: dangling down a tunnel into a dark had deep water for its bottom. Water and something else. Something waiting. Something in the deep didn’t yet have its name.

  Not a one of us said a word as we walked away from that place of worship. We just walked and kept what we didn’t have to say or didn’t know how to say to ourselves. Cornsilks and cornflowers sitting there side by side. Heads bent and shoulders touching. A whole houseful. A few times as we went, one of the boys breathed heavy or kicked a rock off into the ditch but that was about it as far as the serenades go.

  Which suited me fine. Let me dangle down a while longer over the dark water. Who doesn’t like some quiet? At home the animals were always hollering, or Dale was grumbling, or the floorboards were shrieking like they was still trees in the forest being chopped down. In Bud’s office there was always Bud snoring or Bud opening and shutting the window or Bud whooping because he had just made another sale or because someone had died the right way so he wouldn’t have to honor their policy or Bud telling me to answer the phone. There was some crickets and katydids come up to saw away at the evening along with the birds and squirrels, but you can’t call the evening sounds of the countryside loud. You get to walking—even with a sweat on you and the air too close for comfort and a long ways still to go and nary a wet drink to be had—and there ain’t someone jawing at you, then you can start to hear the sound of your own breathing and the sound of your own steps and feel the swing of your own arms through the atmosphere.

  I don’t think when it’s quiet. I don’t recall. I don’t bring back to mind, for example, Dale closing his magazine and asking the lady standing on our front porch in her heavy coat to come in. Come in and sit down and take a seat, even though it was as clear as the night was warm that everything about the stranger was wrong.

  Still, who ever heard of a quiet that didn’t come to a clatter about the time you were settling into it? Sure enough, it wasn’t more than some short minutes after we had struck off on a shortcut Bud knew through a tired-looking bean field and down what was looking like a sleepy lane when we heard Sally Gunner calling on us to wait up.

  “What in hell now?” said Dale.

  “Comes the angel lady again,” said Pops.

  “Let’s hurry up so she can’t catch us,” said Bud.

  But she caught up with us, did Sally Gunner, caught up and fell right in.

  “Meeting break up?” I said.

  “No, they’re still going, I told you they’re just getting started,” she said.

  “But you come running along to see how we were, see how we were enjoying our walk,” said Pops.

  “Hell,” said Dale.

  “What happened to your truck?” I said.

  “I promised it to some boys wanted to fetch some folks didn’t have rides over to the prayer vigil.”

  Bud and Pops stopped dead when Sally said this. Then they shook their heads and spit. For his part Dale shot me over a look I didn’t know how to read. Then they each one of them walked on.

  “Well, we’re shoe-soling it to Marvel,” I said.

  “I know,” Sally said. “I just wanted to see how you were coming.”

  “We’re coming.”

  “Sure you don’t want to go back? Join us? Join in?”

  “Lord Almighty, Sally. We’re going to Marvel.”

  “You mind if I walk along with you a spell?”

  Bud snorted.

  I told Sally I didn’t mind. I said I’d be just pleased as strawberry punch to have her stroll along through the evening with us. I told her we were having a grand old time walking all the way to Marvel especially after we had visited her fine vigil and wouldn’t hardly miss her truck a bit. Walking, I told her and gave out a big grin, was a sweet exercise and it was pleasant in the rare extreme to do when you had good company.

  “I agree, Ottie Lee. I completely agree,” she said.

  “Hell,” Pops said.

  Dale gave me over his look again but I still couldn’t read it. I mouthed over What? at him but I knew as soon as I had done it that he would think of me and Bud mouthing back and forth at each other in the car and sure enough he gave me the stinkbug eye and stomped off.

  The boys all three picked up their pace and walked ahead of us then so that after a while it was just me and Sally in the night. I jawed at her some more about the delights of two-footing and about how nice it was not to have to be riding in a fast truck to Marvel but she just sweetly smiled it all off. Once or twice I tried to set into something else tart to say about Abraham Lincoln and the angels but her smiles and nods and “I agree”s kind of wore me down. So we just walked. Feet and arms in smooth motion. Even our breathing come out about the same. I got it into my head that I wanted to tell her about the well and how the well had whispered “Surprise!” and how I had thought about that when I had seen her vigil, and so I told her, and she nodded and said it was a surprise, a wonderful surprise, for it was the future sitting there bowing its head.

  And it was when she said this that something happened. It wasn’t much of a something and it didn’t last long but there we went a-swinging and for a dozen or two steps I felt just exactly like I had floated away from myself and down the dark well and through the water and up into Sally and that I was looking along the road out of her little eyes. Up ahead I could see Pops, Dale, and Bud, and off to my side, I could see Ottie Lee—heavy-chested lady in a green dress with a neat little nose, a wrinkle or two around the eyes, hair limp in the heat, and a scowl on her face. The evening kind of pillowed up around me when I was walking along like that. Being Sally. Not being me. My feet stopped hurting and I lost some of my hankering to get somewhere so fast.

  “Why don’t we slow down a step,” I said. Only when I said it I was back over in my own self. Sally didn’t answer so I scrunched my eyes a minute and when I opened them I’d gone again through the well water and was looking back out of her eyes and this time, though I hadn’t noticed it before, I could see little points of light buzzing all around in the trees. They were pretty and I wanted to step off toward them but I knew I wasn’t supposed to so I just kept walking my borrowed long legs and swinging my borrowed long arms and when another dozen or two steps were over, Sally spoke out of my mouth and said, “It’s funny, everything looks different. Feels different too,” and I spoke through Sally’s mouth and said, “It surely does,” and Sally said, “Well, I just wanted to walk awhile,” and I said, “Stay on a minute,” and Sally said, “I don’t know,” and I said, “Why not?” and she said, “I don’t like where it is you all are going,” and I said, “Where is it we’re going?” and she said, “Aren’t you all going to the lynching?” and I said, “That’s the plan,” and she said, “That’s the wrong way,” and I said, “It’s wrong to go to a lynching?” and she said, “I think Bud’s cute, he’s awful cute,” and I
said, “But I am going, Sally, I am going to go,” and she said, “Don’t tell him, Ottie Lee,” and I said, “Toward the torch of clarity, the beacon of Abraham Lincoln’s bright light,” and she said, “I couldn’t stand it if you told him,” and I said, “I need some clarity, I need to see something true,” and she said, “Promise me you won’t tell him,” and I said, “Tell him what?” and she said, “He was nice to me once, I was so sorry to hear about his wife and daughter, especially his daughter, she was little bitty when she went,” and I said, “He was crying about them earlier,” and she said, “Bud Lancer was crying?” and I said, “Had to see it to believe it,” and she said, “He has a tender heart,” and I said, “You fetched along out here with your angels to talk about Bud?” and she said, “I never see my angels at night,” and I said, “The hell,” and she said, “Please don’t curse, Ottie Lee, I got to get going now,” and when she said this I was back looking out my own eyes and breathing out my own nose and the little lights in the trees were gone and there wasn’t anything to do except start thinking and remembering again and give out a spit and a shiver and watch Sally go.

  “Where’d she get off to?” said Bud. He and the others had stopped to let me catch up. As soon as I had, they started walking again.

  “Back to that church to pray, I reckon,” I said.

  “Church, hell,” said Dale and belched.

  “What were you trying to tell me a minute ago?”

  “Wasn’t trying to tell you anything.”

  “She thinks you’re cute, Bud. She likes you,” I said.

  “Hell in a horse wagon she does.”

  “It might even be love.”

  “I think I done been struck by lightning and now I’m going to die and you can bury me by the river and sing a few songs,” said Bud.

  “Sally Gunner, the angel runner,” I said.

  Bud set in to running in circles and flapping his arms. He was a lot more fun when he was being stupid and not crying or bragging and I ran off after him doing the same.

  “The two of you is scaring me now,” said Dale.

  “We’re flying toward the future!” I said.

  We flapped and fooled another minute then stopped and walked on laughing a nice while longer, then Pops stopped short and gave a low whistle. “Well, howdy, if it ain’t some cornflowers with a wagon,” he said.

  There wasn’t much of anything but moonlight to see by, but indeed there they were, four of them worrying away at a two-bench wagon stuck in a rut. We got up close and you could see it was three gals and a little old man. They all had on their Sunday best and when we come up out of the dark, the older of the three gals give out a shriek.

  “Get behind me now,” the man said to the gals. He had a deep voice despite his small size. They did as he said.

  “Got your wagon stuck, did you?” said Bud.

  The old man didn’t answer and the women were shaking their heads and looking over at us and muttering. Every now and then their big mule stamped a foot and flicked its tail.

  “Looks like they caught a rut,” said Pops.

  “You all got any water?” Dale said.

  The old man pointed up at the wagon and Dale went over and fetched down a jug from the back. As he came back with it, a moth flew in front of his face and he gave a start.

  “You’re not going to drink out of that, are you?” said Bud.

  “Hell if I ain’t,” Dale said. “You wanted to buy a cornflower bicycle before. Now you don’t want to drink their water?”

  “I’d of taken that bicycle if I’d wanted it,” said Bud.

  “I drunk with cornflower folks before,” said Pops.

  “Tastes just like water,” Dale said, spilling a good amount of it down his throat.

  “I’ll try some of that if these folks don’t mind,” said Pops.

  The old man nodded, slow and wary, and Pops sloshed some of the water out onto his face. He tried again and got some into his mouth. When he was done he handed me the jug and I got some down too. The old man looked back and forth between us. One of the women, didn’t look to me like she had the brightest bulb burning in her head, had gotten down on her knees and clasped her hands. She was looking straight at me as she did so.

  “You come over from Marvel?” asked Bud.

  “Yes, we did, seems like it keeps catching up with us, though,” said the man.

  “They got the show going on over there yet? Tell us something about it,” said Bud.

  “Don’t talk to them, Jasper,” said the older woman.

  “Jasper your name?” said Bud.

  “Last I heard,” said the old man. “I used it over in Europe when I wore the uniform. I use it on the papers to my house. People aren’t friends and family call me by my last name, though, and generally attach a Mister to it.”

  “You folks heading over to the prayer meeting?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “One they was holding over in the little meetinghouse a mile or so up that way? We been there. It’s going on right now.”

  The old man kind of squinted, then shrugged.

  “Well, Jasper, this is your lucky evening and you may still make it because my friends and I here are going to help you get your wagon out of that rut.”

  The old man looked at Bud for a long time, then he nodded.

  “We’d appreciate a speck of help,” he said. “We took the corner too fast.”

  “I’ll help anyone gave me water when I was thirsty,” said Pops. “That’s just Christian.”

  “Get on over here behind this wagon and give a push,” said Bud.

  So Bud, Dale, and Pops got behind the wagon and the old man took hold of the mule and when the old man said, “All right, now,” to the mule, they gave a big push.

  “Stuck good,” said Bud, wiping his brow and giving out a little wheeze when the wagon had settled again.

  “Yes, sir, it is,” said the old man.

  “But we ain’t licked yet. You gals get on over here and give a hand.”

  The three women looked at the old man and I looked at them. A minute or two later we were all of us behind the wagon. As we got ready to push, the young one that had been on her knees fixed me hard in the eye again.

  She said to me, “You shouldn’t be doing this on a day like today. Not on any day.”

  “Helping you?” I said.

  “None of it,” she said. “You know they had a bloody shirt hanging out a window downtown?”

  “I heard about that.”

  “It was all bloody. There were folks down in the crowd pointing up at it and laughing.”

  “Were you there? At the courthouse?”

  “They’d of killed me if I’d gone down there.”

  “Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

  She didn’t say anything else, just shook her head and shut her mouth, and thirty seconds later we had them unstuck.

  “These girls got some muscle to them,” said Bud.

  The old man didn’t waste any time and started to climb back up onto the wagon. Bud didn’t waste any time either and put a hand on the old man’s bird-bone shoulder. After pausing a few seconds, the old man stepped slowly back down.

  “You folks were looking to get out of town and to the prayer meeting, were you?” said Bud.

  “That’s right,” said the old man.

  “Things a little testy over there in Marvel at the present time, I imagine,” said Bud.

  “Oh Lord, here we go,” said the young woman who had spoken to me.

  “You settle yourself down and keep your dignity,” said the older woman.

  “Well, no cause for alarm,” said Bud, “but I expect you can reason out that us three here and the lady are fixing to catch the show. No disrespect to law-abiding folks heading in the opposite direction to a mixed-participant prayer meeting like yourselves.”

  The old man said nothing. I could see Bud nod in the dark and hear him suck a little of the hot evening air in through his t
eeth.

  “And that gives us a dilemma,” he said, “since you folks have a fine wagon and due to circumstances beyond our control we are without appropriate or proper conveyance, and we have farther than you to go.”

  “Appropriate and proper is the same thing,” I said.

  “This is not our wagon,” said the old man.

  “Whose is it?” Pops said.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” said the older woman. “There is plenty of trouble on this earth already tonight.”

  “Never said you did, ma’am,” said Bud. “Did I say they did?” he asked Dale.

  “No, you did not,” said Dale.

  “Lord come to us now,” said the young woman.

  “Get to your point, Bud,” said Dale.

  “My point?” he said. “Who says I have a point?”

  “He wants the wagon, Grandpa,” I said.

  Bud cocked his head to the side and held up his hands. “I didn’t hire her for nothing,” he said.

  Pops said, “This don’t seem right. Does it seem right to you, Dale?”

  Dale crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said. “It does not.”

  “Then I say we let them get on their way.”

  “And I say let’s let the lady decide,” said Bud.

  “Let Ottie Lee decide?” said Dale.

  “Why not? She’s got opinions on everything else.”

  They all turned and looked at me. The trembly young woman more than anyone else. Her and her Lord help us and bloody shirt and so on. Her and her I shouldn’t be doing this. Like I shouldn’t have done any part of my life. I paid those boys to dangle me down the well. Nickel apiece. I knew we’d all get whippings when I got back up. Earning whippings from the Spitzers was my specialty. My father used to say I was a chip off my mother’s bad block. Once I put some bits of broken glass in his bottle. He drank them down and didn’t die. We all do things. She was looking at me again, the trembly one. Because I was a woman. Jesus help us. And her lips were moving. Like it was me and the Lord both held the golden rope could yank them up out of all their problems.