Penn's Woodland

by David Connor

  “Did you…find out…about Judah?”

  “How are you?” Ewan asked.

  “Fine. Do you…know any…thing?”

  “I spoke with a great many people.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “I am not certain.”

  “How…can…you not be?”

  “His family has moved, this I learned. Several I spoke with were reluctant as soon as I mentioned his name.”

  “And mine?”

  “Look me in the eye, Pennsylvania.”

  “It is dark. You…cannot…see me.”

  “I can sense you,” Ewan countered.

  “What did…you learn…of Judah?”

  “I know he was hurt. Savagely. Nearly torn apart, all accounts say. Some think by a beast, others by a human with beastly tendencies.”

  “This…I have heard. Yet not…so bluntly,” I said.

  “I traveled many miles. I spoke with a girl, just older than you—a young woman—with skin the color of cinnamon, a friend of Judah’s and his sister.”

  “Lula March?”

  “Yes. It pains me so, but I promised you honesty. She claims you nearly tortured Judah to death. Says it would have been a blessing had he died.”

  “Oh.”

  “I met the mother just afterward. She tells a different version. Lillian is her name. When her words finally began to flow, she admitted it was rough helping Celia Mobley nurse the poor, battered boy back to health once the doctors did what they could. But she also claims Celia Mobley adored you, as if you were her own, and that she never for a moment thought you capable of bringing Judah such harm.”

  “So…Judah is…alive. Was?”

  “He did not die that night, or immediately following.”

  “Oh.” I could think of nothing more to say.

  “I wish I knew more, Pennsylvania. The Mobley family fled mere weeks after—for Mississippi. Then Judah headed off on his own some time later, according to Lillian March, who kept in touch by post. Judah relocated to New York, she believes.”

  “He spoke…of Harlem…the few times…we met…when we were…older. He’d read about…it in the papers. He always…wanted…to go.”

  “Perhaps he did. We know he lived after your final meeting. If nothing else, we’ve also proven there are people who believe in you, Pennsylvania. Perhaps you must get out of this house to find them. I could not wait to tell you that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where did you awaken…the morning after?”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Here. In my…own bed,” I told him.

  “Tell me about the day,” Ewan requested.

  “Why?” I asked a second time.

  “It may help bring more light, a light of truth. How did you get here? What did you do?”

  “I do not know. Of my own…motion…I suppose. If I’d…had a fit that night…when…it is entirely possible I may have…been lucid enough at a later…point…to walk home…but not…recall doing it afterward.”

  “Your sisters, what have they told you? How did they act?”

  “We…went about…my birthday…like normal the following day, in so much as what passed for normal before. I did not know…precisely what was amiss…for several more. And perhaps I lied…before. No, I surely…did…for pity. Auntie Virginia did…not come to see me…at the start of my eighteenth year…out of curiosity…or simply to mock me. She came…to indict me…for my crime. ‘The final incident’ was the term for what I did to Judah?”

  “You heard one of them mention Judah’s attack for certain that day?”

  “No. The cryptic nature…of their words…led me to believe I was in their crosshairs…for escaping. Nearly a week…had passed…by the time Georgia asked…about my clothes…and told me what had happened to him. That, however…means nothing.”

  “You did not awaken in those clothes. Who undressed you and put you to bed?”

  “Myself…I believe.”

  “Or someone else. Georgia? Did they know—your sisters—that you even met up with Judah when you snuck out? What reasonable conclusion could one draw from seeing you hold hands with him at four that you kissed him eleven years later or had sex with him several more after that? You could have snuck out simply for the thrill of that alone. Are you even certain the rendezvous was real? Did you confess to it? Did your father know? Was he around then, still? The pieces of the puzzle just do not fit together, Pennsylvania. And what of the blood? You’d have been covered. The assailant surely would have been, from what I know of the injuries.”

  I wanted him to stop.

  “Spells or no spells, you could not forget the blood, Pennsylvania! There would have been so much of it!”

  I begged him to with my eyes, no more.

  “There would have been blood on your body, in your hair, under your nails…Did Georgia bathe you? Did she mention any? Did you see it when she picked up your clothes? Did she wash your sheets immediately? They’d have had blood too, no doubt. And so would have the window, the drapes, anything you touched or brushed against, probably even that damned tree I cut down, however small it was then, at the side of the house. There’d have been an unmistakable trail and much more, Pennsylvania! Judah’s hair, his flesh, all the way home, mutilated bits of him would have come with you!”

  “Stop it!” I held my head in both hands. “Too…much, Ewan! The recollection…is…lacking. My brain…is too damaged…then and now…to make sense…of potentially…altered remembrances!”

  “Shh. Okay. I will stop.” Ewan took my hands away from my head and held them. “It is of such importance, though…what you just stated about altered remembrances. You cannot use your memories as evidence. Please accept the possibility that Judah was attacked after you were snug in your bed. Could that not be true?”

  “Supposition. Postulation. You see me…as you wish to. You…promised…me facts. We know…no more…than before.”

  “Except that Judah did not die that night. Some teenagers found him. They were cutting church on a Sunday morn. If he is still alive, he knows you did not hurt him.”

  “Or he knows…that I did. Until…I hear…from his lips…which one is factual…why should I not…consider myself a monster?”

  “I will find him then.”

  “The world…is too large…to find people purposefully lost.”

  “I can check records. Obituaries. It is not so difficult, really. Bad news is fast. If I cannot find a record of him right away, that is more promising that he is alive and well.”

  Ewan collected a tear as it ran down my bristly cheek. He could see me now, I figured. Night clouds had parted, and moonlight was suddenly plentiful. I could see him, too.

  “I apologize for not alerting you first to my touch,” Ewan said. “I am also sorry this news brings you sorrow. I will find Judah. I will do this for you.”

  “Your hope…rings false…even for…someone…of your station. Without knowing…where Judah lived…it would be impossible…to know…where he died.”

  “You feel he is dead?”

  I shrugged.

  “Because he never made contact?”

  “Why would he? I…hurt him,” I said.

  “I could start there, in New York.”

  “So…far away.”

  “You loved him.”

  “I have…loved no other.”

  “And never can?” Ewan brushed my lips with his thumb.

  “That night…is not…here.” I touched my forehead. “But here,” I laid my palm to where my heart beat behind it, “I feel there is a reason…Judah never wrote.”

  “Or he did and his letters were kept from you.”

  I could not argue that theory, so I countered with something else. “Georgia hides me…from others’ judgment. Auntie Virginia…thought it best to incarcerate me…even before…I did harm…because she knew…I was…a beast who someday would.”

  “You’re the beast, or is she?”

  �
��Here.” I patted my bare chest. “I feel…that I am.”

  “No.” Ewan grabbed my wrist. “You feel it here.” He put my hand with his to my head. “You have convinced yourself with fear. As hard as it is to live like this, after so much time, it has become difficult to consider something different. Right here…” Ewan put his palm atop mine at my heart then. “If you open it up to me, you will soon see yourself as do I. The scrollwork you designed, that which already makes up the walls of the gazebo, it represents your broken heart, is that not true?”

  My artwork resembled halves of abstract hearts in various sizes, all upside down and askew, none lining up to make one whole. Though I offered no confirmation, Ewan said, “I knew it. A bone is stronger after healing when it breaks,” he said. “A heart never is. It never mends fully. It will always break again more easily than before. You put this into your pencil image. I put it into my work.” Ewan’s hands both still rested on my body.

  “Release…me,” I commanded.

  “Your heart will always hurt because of Judah…because of how you have been forced to live, but if you—”

  “Let me…go or I’ll yell.”

  “Pennsylvania…”

  “The spells…come with…the feelings. And then…I turn.”

  “Turn?” Ewan whisper-shouted. “The moon is full, Pennsylvania. I’d also wager you are aroused at my touch. Yet, still, do you not remain human? Do you not remain lovely to my eyes? You are not some bloody mythological creature of the night that Abee Mobley and your sister Virginia summoned from a printed page, a nonsense storybook. Let me find the truth for you.”

  “Have you yet…to conclude…why it is…you care?” I looked deeply into Ewan’s eyes then. No answer came forth, from them or from his lips. “Have you?”

  “You intrigued me at first. Like a new project,” he gave in and said.

  I stood. He fell forward. I pointed in anger. “I am…no blasted project,” I said bitterly. I spun around to flee, but Ewan grabbed the leg of my full-length underwear.

  “I did not mean to insult you or imply—” he began.

  “Unhand me.”

  “At the risk of affronting you further, of being facetious,” Ewan said, “I came to envy you somehow.”

  “That is laughable.”

  “I regret your inner turmoil as if it were my own. Yet something about the solitude I covet.”

  “Any pleasure it would bring…I assure you…would be…short-lived…for a man used to travel and fame…such as yourself.”

  “It is more than that now, Pennsylvania. What I feel for you is so much more than intrigue or coveting.”

  “Either share it…then—what you feel…or let me go.”

  “I shall do both, my precious Pennsylvania.” Ewan released me and then swiped at his face as if scrubbing with soap. “Curiosity, you see, over such a brief period, has turned to affection. Your thousands of words, perhaps, those I’ve read, make me feel as if I know you so well. I would do most anything for you, Pennsylvania, anything you ask…except leave you alone. That I cannot do. I want to…spend time with you. More time. Because…Because I…”

  “Your words…come like…mine now.”

  Ewan smiled. “Because I love you.”

  I said nothing.

  “I sense it may be requited.” Ewan tugged at the fabric at my ankles until I returned to the floor right in front of him. “If not now, maybe someday?” he asked. “Can you offer me hope, Pennsylvania, as I offer some to you?”

  “Could it…be Judah…in the woods? His body? His bones? It was…the last place…I saw him.”

  “Two-thirds-of-a-decade ago. The skeleton means nothing.”

  “Unless…it means…everything.” I went to stand. “My father…”

  Ewan grabbed my wrist again. “What of him?”

  “They call it…a curse. One I have…inherited.”

  “What? The spells? Affection for men? Is it the mixing of race?”

  “I do not know.”

  “If I learn the truth…If Virginia doomed him, as I read in your diaries, for human desires more than some heinous act never committed, will that convince you that you are no monster?”

  “Nothing…may. Save for Judah’s…testimony…against it.” I reached to pull the wallpaper back into place. “Unless you find him…which you won’t…bother me…no further.”

  “I will find out more. I will return.”

  “I will not answer.”

  “Why? Why have you suddenly turned against me? Against us?” Ewan grappled for any part of me to touch.

  “The notion…of us…was silly…from the start. You are not…a man of honor…as proven through your actions…with the woman. I am a man…imprisoned…be it of my fragile mind…or for a crime. I will remain…where I am from fear…or because…I deserve such. You…will unfairly remain…betrothed to that pitiful, unknowing socialite, quite worthy of more than your deceit…because it…serves you…somehow.”

  “It need not end like this for us.” Ewan’s uncertain hand finally settled on my neck.

  I shivered.

  “Please,” he said. “I feel it too. Your quivers come not from cold or that fear of which you spoke. They originate at my contact, because you enjoy it.”

  “Remind me. What is she…called?”

  Ewan looked at the ground. “Fiona.”

  “Does it bother you…at least?”

  “What?”

  “That you lie…with her…and do not love her?” I asked.

  “I’m not at all certain I have ever loved anyone I’ve lain with,” Ewan answered.

  “Have you ever lain…with anyone you…loved?”

  “I just said—”

  “They are not…the same question.”

  “Then, no,” Ewan said. “I have not.”

  “That is sad,” I said.

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “Now go.”

  “I would like you to be the first. I yearn for you deeply.”

  “Is it I…or simply…a male body?” I separated myself from Ewan’s grip.

  “I assure you, young Pennsylvania, there are no shortage of men I could have.”

  “Then why me? A real reason, I seek.”

  “That is a question. Why anyone? Why does anyone fall for someone the moment they see them, the instant they touch? I do not know the answer. I only know that I want you.”

  “Though your words are some…I have most longed to hear…I reject them…and their sentiment.”

  “For why?”

  “Because…I must.” I sighed, and then stood and walked into the darkness, away from the light from the air, and from Ewan.

  Chapter 5

  Pennsylvania

  The problem with sleeping all day was that it brought on insomnia at night. I know I’d dozed and was close to certain I’d had another spell, but still I could recall every chime of the clock I could hear from the living room, if facing the right way in bed. I had tried to resist what was left of Ewan’s touch on my flesh, yet was thick again with arousal, my biological functions seemingly unattached to my conscience. With the first rays of sunlight infiltrating my tiny window through bare limbs outside the morning after, the sun not yet risen above them, I was also sweating from what would be a particularly humid day. Georgia had come early with a tray. I shed what little I wore along the way to it, in definite need of a bath and fresh breeches, and checked to see what was waiting between the up-sliding panels. The metal and glassware sent off a glimmer. There was juice, milk, and sweet tea. Georgia thought I was thirsty, it seemed. The Courier was missing several pages, including its front. This did not surprise me. My news was always censored.

  I touched my face. I had not properly groomed for two days. My shaving blade was dull. Since the night of my escape at seventeen years, three hundred sixty-four days, I was used to finding the straight razor in the morning and returning it in the afternoon. Georgia had brought it to me nearly a week ago, and I’d neglected to return i
t, not purposefully. I didn’t think so, anyway. It needed sharpening now, was the point. I doubted it would even remove my whiskers anymore, let alone serve any other purpose. Georgia had not asked for it back, nor had she provided me with another. Apparently, she was neglectful as well.

  I gulped down the milk, which would not stay fresh for long, and then the juice. I walked to the loo with my pitcher. Standing nude in the center of the room, I swallowed a generous helping of ambivalence with the tea. I was thirsty, but also regretful concerning part of last night. I had forced Ewan to go, yet as I twisted the water from the linen towel back into my basin, I pretended he could see me cleaning myself. “I like to wash up in the morning from the bowl, in the larger section of my room, Ewan, rather than be confined to the smaller, stale bath,” I explained. He asked if I minded that he watched. I told him I had hoped that he would.

  Running the rag over every ridge, wetting every crevice of my body, I allowed him to take me in with his eyes, until such time as he could take me for real, to touch, to taste, or to feel me inside of him. I felt the morning air creeping in from between the sideways bricks. Some remained out entirely. I was not so vigilant last night for some reason. To be honest, I’d hoped Ewan might return, despite my insistence that he not, for real, not just pretend. The breeze on my wet, naked body enticed my organ to grow even more. And when I sensed more than air—cigarette smoke, I believe—I became fully hardened. Was he actually there? Was Ewan really watching, or was it yet another figment of my taunting imagination?

  “I never returned to the inn last night,” he said. “I came back almost immediately with a new plan. I slept off and on against the side of the house, but mostly I listened and watched you thrash about in your sleep.”

  “Did I…sleep?” I asked the wall directly opposite him.

  “I believe so, yet quite fitful.”

  I bent over, deliberately and slowly, my back still to Ewan, pouring more water from the pitcher to the bowl. “Then that…answers that.” I dipped the cloth into it, stood, and wrung it out over my head. The water trickled down my shoulders, between them, and down my bare back. It followed the curvature of my body and ran between the split of my buttocks, concentrating to a stream, then pattering onto the floor at my large, bare feet. I scrubbed at my hair with the remnant next, working it into a frizz of damp clumps. I shook like an animal immediately after, spraying the room with sparkling, shimmery droplets, some that must have reached Ewan at the opening. Back to the basin, facing away, I leaned over to wet my washcloth once more, exposing myself—my opening that would welcome his organ—to the fullest, I knew. Balling the rag in my fist, I followed a path I imagined Ewan exploring with rough-skinned fingers and after that his tongue. I tended to each armpit next, with a wrung-out cloth and a turn. I lingered there a while, enjoying the play and also the fact that my throbbing member reacted to knowing Ewan looked at it wantingly.