Corrosion (16 page)

Her lower lip was trembling, and her cheek kept twitching, and she said, why me? What do you want with me? You’re a nice-looking boy. Why don’t you try to find somebody at school, somebody your own age? Why, I’m old enough to be your mother.

And just as soon as she said that, she knew she’d made a mistake, what with the fact that my mother was dead and all, and she tried apologizing, and I said, don’t worry about it, no offense taken, and as far as questioning my judgment in my choosing you to be my bride, well the choice was never mine to make.

* * *

We left late that night and Constance had calmed down somewhat, that is she wasn’t crying and screaming, not nearly as much anyway, but she still didn’t want to go with me, kept begging me to release her, said she knew that I was in pain, said that there were people out there who could help me, and I realized just how badly this man, this mountain, had poisoned her thinking.

The sky was the color of coal, and the stars and the moon shone dully, giving us just enough light to see a couple feet in front of us, but I could have led us blindfolded, that’s how well I knew these mountains. And I kept that shotgun pressed into the small of Constance’s back, and I tried making conversation, talking about politics and religion and such, but she wanted no part of it, so I took to singing old ’60s country songs, songs my father used to play on his Lenco turntable: George Jones and Marty Robbins and Don Gibson. D Key:
The lights in the harbor don’t shine for me. I’m like a lost ship adrift on the sea—sea of heartbreak.

Well, eventually she started talking to me, maybe because she didn’t like my singing voice, maybe because she was scared of the dark. She asked me questions, questions about my father, questions about my mother. What was she like? She had long black hair. She was a terrible cook. She loved me some of the time. She loved my father less than that. What did she die of? Sickness. She died of sickness. My father…he kept her body. Even after she died. He didn’t want to let her go. You can’t blame him for that. Life is too brutish and mean. You can’t blame my father. They took him away for loving her…

Late at night in the mountains, you start seeing strange things. A man hanging from a lodgepole, eyes bugging out from his skull, tongue lolling from his mouth; a coyote gnawing on its own wounded leg, blood spreading across the mountain floor; a woman in a white nightgown, waist deep in a river, rocking a dead baby to sleep; a miner from long ago, pickaxe in one hand, Carbide lamp in the other…

And here’s the truth: I wasn’t scared but she was, she was very scared, and not just of the ghost miner, she was scared of the mountain, she was scared of me. She asked me questions, but I didn’t ask her any because I knew her story, I’d always known her story. And then an icy wind blew across the mountain, through the skeleton trees, and death was spinning wildly through the air, and I knew that Constance wouldn’t be long for this world, maybe. And I knew that I wouldn’t be long for this world, certainly.

We made it to the Skull Shack and nobody would find us there. It was cold inside so I started working on making a fire, but I watched her from the corner of my eye, making sure she didn’t lunge for the shotgun, making sure she didn’t lunge for the door, but she didn’t, she was acting like a dog that’s been kicked for pissing on the carpet, all huddled up against the wall.

And it took me a long time to get the fire going because the wood was wet, and I started getting good and frustrated, and even though Constance wasn’t smiling, I could tell that she was enjoying every minute, watching me struggle, and I felt the urge to hurt her, but I didn’t, I would never hurt her, probably, I was here to protect her from the world, from this putrid, rotting, decomposing cunt of a world, and I told her, I’ll never hurt you, you’ve got to believe me, I’ll never hurt you, just don’t try escaping, this world should be strangled and beaten and left for dead.

So we got married and it was a quiet affair with no family and no wedding cake and there she was lying in the fetus position, shoulders heaving up and down, red hair strewn everywhere, blood trickling from her nose, eye swollen and purple-like.

And that’s the way it went for a long time, us married, but her not happy about it. We had plenty of food and plenty of drink, in fact, we had everything we would ever need. And I was sure that her restlessness would fade after a while, just as soon as she learned a thing or two about love and loyalty, but in the meantime it was a battle to stay awake. I just knew that if I fell asleep first, fell asleep at all, she would sneak out of the cabin with a pitter-pat, pitter-pat, and I’d be alone and more hateful than ever, so I stayed awake, maybe drifting off for a second here or there, but I’d always jerk awake with a coating of blood on my eyes, and she watched me, planning, planning.

I needed sleep, needed to do something. Eventually, I tried one of those cowbells around her neck. At first she thought it was real funny, saying that’s a crazy idea, Benton, but once the thing was bolted on, she saw that I was serious and she didn’t smile about it no more. Just know, I wasn’t meaning to be cruel, but it was getting to be awful hard to stay awake night after night after night after night, and now every time she’d get up to piss or get a drink of water, I’d hear that ringing and I’d open one eye and say, don’t go running off, you hear, and she didn’t, she didn’t dare.

Well, it’s hard to know how many days and nights we spent at the Skull Shack, but I started drinking more and more, that cheap plum brandy, and when I got good and drunk, I became mean, and I wasn’t proud of it, and then sometimes I’d cry and cry like a little baby, ask Constance: you know what it’s like always being an outcast, you know what it’s like always having people whisper behind their hands, saying that boy’s not right, that whole family’s not right? and sometimes she would just watch me like my father watching the rats, and sometimes the humanity would seep from her pores and she’d stroke my head and say don’t cry, it’s a lousy world, don’t cry, Benton.

* * *

And back at home, Aunt Rose and Uncle Horace sat at the kitchen table looking grave, staring out the porthole window at the ink-black trees, singing:
Oh where you have you gone, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? Oh, where you gone, Charming Billy?
And they called the local sheriff, and the sheriff pushed up the brim of his Stetson hat and shook his head and spat, said, we’ll keep our eyes open, yes we will, but when a kid his age has the mind to up and run away, there ain’t much we can do.

But I knew they’d come looking, sure as shit that. How long could we hide? Not forever, not even close. Please take this bell off my neck, she said. I’m not gonna run.

And her eyes were wide and soft and truthful so I believed her.

And she lied.

CHAPTER 24

Not much of a plan really, just wait until I fall asleep, swipe my gun and leave. She didn’t have the heart or guts to shoot me in the temple while I slept, and I was only mildly thankful for that because death comes in many forms, not just when you stop breathing.

Back outside and the weather was as nasty as it gets with the wind howling and the snow falling and I knew Constance couldn’t get far in this type of weather, knew that she didn’t know the mountains the way I did, but having her freeze to death in some snowdrift wouldn’t do me any good, so I looked and looked and I called out her name, and my voice sounded strange, didn’t sound like my own really, as if my body had been taken over by something troubling and terrible that I couldn’t name.

I had my lantern and the snow was knee deep and I looked for footprints, looked for breadcrumbs, but there were just endless layers of snow, a heavenly light illuminating the white plain, in every direction white lines of falling snow, and time didn’t exist anymore and Constance was out there somewhere, barreling down the mountain, or huddled beneath a tree, and I needed to find her. I stopped where I was and closed my eyes. And then the Soldier was standing before me with a gas mask wrapped tightly across his face, and he took me by the hand and we walked and I begged him to show me his face and he shook his head and we walked some more and the wind was angrier than ever and I was blind, but the Soldier led me.

Everywhere everything was white and when I looked at the sky, I could see the darkness, but then the darkness vanished and all I saw was the snow, and the sky was bright everywhere and the wind kept changing directions and the Soldier had his head down and he kept walking, not seeming to notice or care about the blowing snow. And I could hear the crunching of our boots and my feet were growing numb and I couldn’t stop shivering and then I saw Constance up ahead, barely visible through the mist, and she was stumbling through the drifts, the shotgun dangling from her hand.

Then the Soldier left and I called out her name and she turned to face me, gun pointed in my direction. She shouted for me to stop but I kept walking because I didn’t care anymore, and she cocked the weapon and warned me again, but I kept walking forward. It was a miracle, praise God, that I’d found her, and I knew some things were meant to be. When I was within ten or so yards of her, she squeezed the trigger and there was a deafening noise and I was on the ground and now the horizon wasn’t just white anymore, and she’d grazed my left arm, but I felt no pain despite the blood that was making the snow dirty.

Constance stood over me, and her face had changed, it had become that of the devil, with blood and scars and bruises all over it. She raised the shotgun again, but this time I was ready. I rolled out of the way and she fired and missed and I grabbed at her legs and got just a piece, and she fell into the snow and the shotgun fell from her hands.

One arm wasn’t working but I didn’t need it, I snatched the gun from the snow and got on top of her and pushed the barrel against her neck, and she fought, but her effort was halfhearted because she knew it was over, and I could have killed her, but I loved her, you’ve got to understand me, so I stopped, and she was choking and gasping for breath. Mustering all the strength I could manage, I lifted her and slung her over my shoulder, and she was almost a corpse, my father loved that woman with all of his might, that’s why he refused to let her go, what’s the crime in that?

Back up the mountain, shotgun over one shoulder, bride over the other. And now, forever, snow falling, wind howling, boots crunching, breath wheezing, devil laughing.

* * *

I made a tourniquet out of my T-shirt, wrapped it around my arm, and lit a fire, watching Constance as she sat in the corner of the Skull Shack, crying and crying, like it was she who’d been shot. And I felt some pity, but not too much, and one thing was clear: she wasn’t going to stay in the shack of her own volition, she’d leave the first chance she got, and wasn’t no cowbell gonna do the job nowadays.

She sat in the corner of the shack and she barely looked human, what with the way her face was all bruised and bloody and filthy, her hair all matted and wild. She watched with interest as I walked across the shack and removed an old piece of carpet. Sad and angry, I unlocked the padlock and slammed open the hatch door to the root cellar, motes of dust filling the air. Ugly thoughts taunting me. With some confidence, but not much, I grabbed the shotgun from next to the fireplace and said I didn’t aim to hurt her, told her to get on up and come with me. But she didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just stared at me, her body trembling like winter.

Gonna need you to go down to the cellar, I said, just can’t afford for you to go running off again. Know that I aim to feed you and take good care of you. No reaction. So I cocked the shotgun and aimed it at her head, but she didn’t budge even a little bit, calling my bluff, knowing I loved her too much to harm her.

And that’s the way it was for some time, me pointing the gun at her, and her just staring at me, staring right through me, if you want to know the truth of it. Gonna need you to go down to the cellar, I said again, and this time I took a few steps toward her. Her face got all worried-looking and she shrieked, and I raised the butt of the shotgun high into the air and came down hard onto her head. She melted onto the floor, and for a second I was afraid I’d hit her too hard and killed her maybe, but after a few moments I saw her move and heard her groan, so I knew she was alive, at least for the time being.

No turning back, I grabbed her by the feet and dragged her slowly across the floor, toward the cellar. The fire was burning and I felt warm and thankful to be alive, and I missed my mother more than anything, and I missed my father more than anything, and I wasn’t going to lose anybody else, not without a fight, not without a fight.

Her mouth was sort of bobbing open and shut, and she was mumbling something, nonsense all. And then we got to the cellar opening and I grabbed her beneath the arms and carried her down the wooden ladder toward the darkness, the great darkness where she’d stay.

And there was a cot with blankets and a pillow, and suddenly I felt very sad, knowing that nothing lasts forever, not even the wind or hills or rain, and I kissed her on her lips, and her eyelids fluttered open, and her eyes darted back and forth across her skull like fingerlings.

I started climbing back up the ladder, saying, I’ll see you soon, my love, my heart, my forever. I pulled myself out of the dugout and started to close the hatch, and then Constance pulled herself to her knees and, in a little girl’s voice, said, don’t leave me this way. Please. Don’t leave me this way. I stared down at her and she was just a shadow, I stared down at her and she was just my mother, I stared down at her and whispered I’m sorry. I closed the door and secured the padlock.