Nancy A. Collins, page 10
Railsback flinched at the sound of Virgil’s name. It had been nearly a decade since he had heard the name spoken aloud. Joslin didn’t like talking about Virgil, and all of their employees and friends at the Country Club knew better than to bring up the subject. Not that there was any reason for Virgil’s name to come up in casual conversation. Last Hollis heard, Virgil was still stuck inside an iron lung at the State Hospital.
“But, ain’t there some way of getting around that? Some kind of spell you can work?”
“Ye don’t know what yore axin’. Ye got what ye wanted, but to get it ye had to give up whatever it was ye once had. Now ye come to me sayin’ ye want yore old luck back.”
“I don’t want all of it back, just some of it.”
“Luck ain’t like water in a rain-barrel! Ye can’t just take what ye want and leave the rest behind!”
Hollis’s frustration level had always been low, and eleven years of having things his way had done nothing to raise his threshold of tolerance. He grabbed Granny by one of her broomstick arms and spun her around to face him.
“Goddamn you, old woman! Can you do what I asked or not?”
Something struck Hollis’s right shoulder hard enough to make him stagger a few steps and let go of the old woman. The boy Jasper stood in the doorway, breathing hard, a split of wood clutched in one hand.
“You little son of a bitch!” Hollis snarled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “How dare you strike me?”
The boy bared his teeth like a feral dog and charged forward, the wood raised over his head.
“Jasper! No!” Granny cried, but it was too late.
Hollis disarmed his young attacker using his old commando training, sending the boy crashing into the wall, knocking down shelves and sending their contents flying. Jasper lay dazed amongst the dried herbs and preserved foodstuffs, a thin trickle of blood creeping across his upper lip.
“There was no call for ye to do that! He’s jest a child” Granny snapped at him as she knelt beside the boy.
“The little bastard shouldn’t have hit me!” Hollis snarled, massaging his shoulder. “Now, are you going answer me, woman, or am I going to have to get rough with you, too?”
There was a growling sound from underneath the house. Railsback glanced down and saw a pair of eyes looking up at him from between the loosely fitted floorboards, red as fresh-banked coals. Whatever the eyes belonged to, it was not a dog. Hollis let his fists fall open and stepped away from the old woman and the buy, his mouth suddenly too dry to spit.
“Y’all townies is all alike,” Granny Grimes said in disgust. “Always comin’ out here, demandin’ this,’ urderin’ that, as if havin’ flush toilets and `lectric lights make y’all something special! But for all yore gadgets and gee-gaws, y’all still come out to sec ol’Granny for yore hoodoo! Very well, I’ll do as ye ax. I’ll fix it so’s ye and yore woman can get a young’un. But it don’t come cheap. Ye pay me what it’s worth:’
“How much?”
“Well, I’m a simple woman used to simple ways, and there’s no changin’ me this far along. But th’ boy…th’ boy got his life ahead of him. I would like to see him get his-self a proper education…”
Hollis cast a dubious glance in Jasper’s direction. “What for? To study to be a half-wit? The child can’t even speak!”
“Oh, Jasper can talk, awright,” Granny said, patting the boy’s head like she would a dog’s. “When he has a mind to. But thas besides the point. I reckon ten thousand dollars will do jest fine.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Hollis shouted, the blood rushing to his face. “Are you out of your senile old mind?”
“Be that as it may,” Granny replied evenly. “But it is still th’ price. Take it or leave it.”
Hollis fumed for a long minute, trying hard to figure some other way of getting what he needed from the witch without coughing up the money, but he was over a barrel and she knew it. He grimaced and reached inside his jacket. “Very well …can you take a check?”
“What use do I have for a piece of paper with yore name on it?” Granny replied, spitting on the floor. “It’s cash on th’ barrel-head or nothin’. Thems th’ terms.”
“I don’t have that kind of money on me. It’ll take a couple of days for me to get together the funds.”
“That suits me just fine. It’ll take a couple of days for me to mix up th’ necessary potions. Come back out here in three days with th’ money, and I’ll have everything ready.”
Hollis did as he was told and returned in three days. But as he pulled up in front of Granny Grimes shack, he was alarmed to see the old woman talking to a man standing on the porch. The man was in his late thirties and thin as a rake, dressed in nothing but a pair of busted-out overalls and a filthy homespun shirt, holding a croaker sack in one hand. Hollis did not recognize the man, but he stayed put in the Cadillac, just to be on the safe side, until Granny’s visitor vacated the property, leaving her with the sack he’d been carrying.
“Who the hell was that?” Hollis snapped.
“That there was Waddy Creek. Lives on t’other side of th’ patch from me. He was seein’ about his young’un, Naddy. Seems the gal got herself in the family way. Waddy wants me to tend to th’ chile when her time comes. He was payin’ me in advance for my services.” She pointed to the sack lying on the porch, which twitched feebly, as if whatever was inside wasn’t through dying. “Speakin’ of which, ye got my money?”
“Here it is,” he said sullenly, handing over a shoebox held shut with a thick rubber band. “You want to count it?”
“I think ye got enough sense not to try an’ cheat me,” she replied over her humped shoulder. Inside the cabin Jasper was tending a pot of foul-smelling liquid bubbling atop the stove. The boy glanced up long enough to fix Hollis with a sullen glare, and then returned to stirring.
“I gots what ye need,” Granny said, holding a small leather pouch out for his inspection. Inside the bag was a finely ground powder the color of dirty snow. “Sprinkle this on her food and mix it up in her drank for the nest week, but do not spend yore seed with her. Then, on the night when the moon is dark, go to her bed as her husband.”
“Are you sure this will work?”
“That mixture can make a mule drop kittens! Jasper here is proof of that,” Granny replied
Hollis didn’t exactly know what to make of that last statement, or the way the boy looked at him. He wasted no time leaving Indian Mound Road and heading back into town.
“So, Doc…what’s the verdict?”
Dr. Bocage looked over the top of the lab report at the Railsbacks. They were seated side-by-side, Joslin’s hand folded inside Hollis’s bigger one, their eyes alight with a mixture of hope and dread that had become all too familiar.
“Well, according to these results, Joslin, you are, indeed, pregnant.” Joslin’s tight, anxious grimace melted into a genuine smile, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “Praise Jesus,” she said. “When am I due?”
“Judging from what you’ve told me, I’d put your delivery date at the end of October. Looks like y’all might have yourself a pumpkin child.”
“You really think so, Doc?”
“I don’t’ want you to get your hopes up too high, Joslin. But I am encouraged your color’s improved, and that your blood count is much better than those during your previous pregnancies. However, I want you to avoid anything that might possibly lead to stress! Stay in bed as much as possible. Let the maid handle the heavy lifting and the laundry. You just worry about making sure that baby has a happy Halloween.”
000
“Mister Hollis..?”
O “Yes, Willie-Jo?” Railsback said, looking over the top of the evening paper at the maid, a compact, middle-aged Negro woman, who was standing in his doorway. “What is it?”
“It’s `bout Miz Joslin,” Willie-Jo replied uneasily.
Hollis folded his paper and set it aside. “Is something wrong?”
“Thas just it, Mister Hollis,” Willie-Jo said. “I can’t rightly say. Perhaps if you come and take a look for yourself.”
Hollis followed Willie-Jo from his study into the kitchen. Several plates were arranged alongside the counter next to the sink. On the plates were the chewed bones of various cuts of meat, some of which still had bits of gristle clinging to them. Hollis readily recognized a T-bone steak and a couple of pork chops, as well as a chicken drumstick. A fourth plate was smeared with a dark, viscous semi-liquid that looked like congealed blood.
“When Miz Joslin went to lunch today with her mama, I took the opportunity to clean up her room. I found these here dishes shoved under her bed.”
“I don’t see any cause for alarm, Willie-Jo,” Hollis shrugged. “After all, she’s three months along now, and she’s eatin’ for two.”
“That’s not what I’m gettin’ at, Mister Hollis,” the maid said, her voice growing tighter. “I didn’t cook none of this food. Neither did Miz Joslin or anybody else! Everything here was et raw! And I can’t find the calves liver I had wrapped in butcher paper for tonight’s dinner. She can get herself poisoned doin’ like that-!”
Hollis reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of bills. “Here’s some money. Phone Seaman’s Grocery and have them deliver whatever you need to make dinner. And don’t fret, Willie-Jo. I’m sure Miz Joslin’s just fine-she’d just craving iron, is all.”
“Yes, Mr. Hollis,” Willie-Jo said, without much conviction, as she took the offered cash, “As you say, sir.”
000
That night, as they dined on chicken and dumplings, Hollis found himself watching Joslin eat. Funny how he hadn’t noticed it before, but his wife had undergone a significant sea change with her sixth pregnancy. She had gained weight and her china doll complexion was now as ruddy as that of a washerwoman’s. Where once Joslin had been an orchid, subsisting on nothing but sunlight and air, she now seemed firmly rooted in the earth, like a flowering plant …or a fruit-bearing vine.
“What are you staring at?” Joslin asked as she ladled another helping of dumplings onto her plate.
“Nothing, really,” he said, flashing his best reassuring smile. “I was just noticing how…healthy …you look. How are you feeling, honey?”
“Ravenous!” she said, with a girlish giggle. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I can ever eat enough! But Doc Bocage tells me that’s a good sign …he says I was probably underweight during my earlier pregnancies.”
“That a fact?” Hollis replied, pushing a dumpling around the edge of the plate with his fork. “Have you been, um, experiencing cravings lately?”
“Cravings? What kind of cravings?” she asked, cocking her head like a spaniel.
“Oh …ice cream and pickles, that kind of thing.”
“Heavens, no!” she said with a laugh. “That’s just an old wife’s tale, Hollis! Although, now that you mention it, I do have a hankering for pumpkin pie…”
000
He was standing on top of the Caddo burial mound, staring down at the pumpkin patch, spread out before him like a minefield. With the knowledge that comes with dreams, he knew something was waiting for him out there in the pumpkin patch. Although he was not sure exactly what it might be, he knew, whatever it was, it was most definitely evil and meant him harm.
Knowing these things, he realized that he was safe as long as he remained atop the mound and did not enter the pumpkin patch. Just as he started to relax, secure in his inviolability, he heard a baby cry. The sound seemed distant and yet close at hand, twisted by echo until it was somewhere between the wail of an infant and the yowl of a cat.
Although he realized it was impossible, since his child was still twenty weeks from being born, somehow the crying baby was his own. His son was lost somewhere in the pumpkin patch, helpless and afraid. And with the certainty born of nightmares, he knew that whatever it was lurking in the pumpkin patch was hunting for the child.
Suddenly he was no longer atop the burial mound, but down in the pumpkin patch. The pumpkins were unnaturally large and extremely orange, with vines as thick as snakes, the leaves as wide as napkins. Something grunted somewhere in the darkness, and he caught the rank smell of almost-animal on the night wind.
The baby cries again, and although he can tell it is somewhere nearby, it’s wail seemed muffled. Desperate to find his child before the thing in the darkness did, Hollis pushed aside the flowering vines, peered under drooping leaves …until he realized that something was wrong with the pumpkin at his feet.
He stared at the swollen orange fruit for what seemed like an eternity before noticing the fruit nearest the stem had been cut away with a knife, then carefully replaced, just like a jack o’lantern, except no face was carved into the rind. Although he did not know why or how, he was certain beyond any doubt that his son was inside the pumpkin. So he lifted the lid and peered inside.
The thing inside the hollowed-out pumpkin was not so much a child as a half-formed fetus, with an oversized head, an undeveloped body, and tiny matchstick extremities. Its eyes were huge and dark, like almonds painted black and pressed into the head of a marzipan doll. It had a lizard’s tail growing from the base of its spine, which wiggled like a worm in fresh-turned earth, and split feet like that of an ostrich. As Hollis stared in horror and loathing at the thing that he had made, his son opened a lipless mouth and mewled like a kitten.
Something in the darkness coughed like a lion at a watering hole, and he realized that the horror in the pumpkin shell had conspired with the thing that was stalking him to lure him away from the mound. He ran back in the direction of the Indian mound, but the geography of his dream had turned into that of a nightmare: no matter where he turned, the mound was nowhere to be found.
He charged blindly through the pumpkin patch, like a rabbit pursued by a hound, his heart thundering wildly in his chest, his eyes bugging in terror. He ran and ran until he collided headlong with something that knocked him to the ground. Trembling in fear, he looked up at the shadowy figure looming over him, expecting it to be the monstrous lurker from the shadows, ready to pounce on him with its razor-sharp claws and teeth.
Instead, the figure blocking his path simply stood there, motionless and speechless, its arms spread wide, like a fisherman demonstrating the size of the one that got away. With a sudden start, he realized what he was looking at is neither man nor monster, but a scarecrow.
He allowed himself a relieved chuckle at his own expense …until he saw the effigy’s face. Although its head was a burlap bag stuffed with straw, with shoe buttons for eyes and a crudely stitched mouth, there was no mistaking the seamed and wrinkled features of Virgil Bayliss staring down at him.
Hollis awoke choking on a scream. He lay there beside his wife, breathing fast and hard, uncertain whether he had cried out in his sleep. Joslin muttered something in her sleep and rolled over on her side, pushing her swollen belly against him. Hollis jerked away as if he’d touched a live coal, quickly pulling on his bathrobe.
Careful not to awake Joslin, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and headed downstairs to his den and its liquor cabinet. There he sat in his favorite easy chair and drank bourbon, staring out the window at the darkened landscape, until the rising sun chased away the last shadows of night.
000
Although he had long since moved his business out onto the highway, Hollis still took lunch “in town” at the Sip-N-Sup. That particular day downtown was more crowded than usual, so he had to park his Cadillac car a little further down the street than usual and walk back up the block to the restaurant.
As he headed in the direction of the Sip-N-Sup, Hollis saw the strange figure of a man moving towards him. The other man was dressed in dark, loose-fitting clothes and walked with the aid of aluminum arm-crutches, dragging his legs behind him like afterthoughts. Hollis stared so long at the stranger’s wasted lower extremities he did not think to look into his face until he was almost upon him. A horrible wash of vertigo overcame him, like that of a mountain climber whose handhold has unexpectedly crumbled in his grip.
“Hollis! Hollis Railsback!” Virgil Bayliss said. “Remember me?”
“Sweet Jesus! Virgil-is that you?” The shock and amazement that crossed Hollis’ face was indeed genuine. The golden boy of their shared youth was long gone, replaced by an emaciated stick figure with the sunken eyes and translucent skin of an invalid.
“Yes, it’s me-or, rather, what’s left of me.”
“How did you get out? I mean, I thought the doctors said your case was…”
“Incurable?” Virgil finished the sentence for him with a bitter smile. “So did I. But, the strangest thing happened about four, almost five months ago …I suddenly started to recover.”
“Is that a fact?” Hollis said, trying to keep his smile from turning into a rictus grin. “After all this time? Well, don’t that beat all.”
“I’ve never been one to question my luck,” Virgil said, without apparent irony, “And I’m not about to start now. The doctors say I’ll never be what I was, but within a few years I might be able to walk with just a cane.”
“Well, that’s just… wonderful, Virgil. Glad to hear it. Where you staying in town?”
“I’m living with my sister and her family, for the time being. And old friend of my father’s set me up with a job as a notary public at the courthouse. It ain’t much, but at least I’m earning my keep…”
“I’m happy things are lookin’ up for you, Virgil. Truly I am.”
“I reckon I should be the one offerin’ the congratulations,” Bayliss said, with a crooked smile. “I hear you and Joslin have a young’un on the way.”
“God willin’ and the creek don’t rise,” Hollis replied, crossing his fingers. “We had our share of troubles there, but it looks like our luck has finally changed in that department.”
“Amen to that,” Virgil said solemnly, nodding his head. “I’d offer to shake, but I’m afraid that’s out of the question.” He held up his right crutch, gripped in a pale, knobby hand. “I got to get back to the courthouse. This is my first day at work. Maybe we can meet for lunch at the Sip-N-Sup sometime soon? Just like old times.”
