Edge of Dark Water (10 page)

I was startled out of my thoughts when Jinx’s shovel hit the lid of the coffin. Jinx and Terry stopped for a moment. Jinx said, “We’re standing right on top of her.”

“We have to rake the dirt clear, prize up the lid, and take her out,” Terry said. “I brought gloves for it. They’re in the wheelbarrow.”

I got the gloves, and by the time I done that and looked in the hole, the wooden coffin lid was visible. Terry was pushing the last of the dirt off it with his hands. The coffin was made of wood so cheap it looked as if you could spit through it.

Jinx climbed out of the hole. Terry took the tip of the shovel and pushed it under the edge of the box, and started prying it up. It didn’t resist much. The nails squeaked like a rat, the lid lifted and cracked in the middle, and a stink came out from under it big enough and strong enough to deserve some kind of government promotion.

I turned and threw up. When I looked back in the grave, I could see the lid was off and I could see the body in the box. They had tossed her in on her side. She was thinner now and darker, and she still had on that old dress, which had sort of melted into her. She wasn’t blowed up no more. She had popped and gone flat against the bone. You could see where water had leaked in from below, making the bottom of that coffin come apart in places. If the wood had been a penny cheaper, she’d have fallen through the underside of it before she was in the ground.

“Those sons a bitches,” Terry said. “This thing wasn’t good for a day in damp ground.”

He reached in his back pocket and took out a handkerchief and tied it over his nose. Me and Jinx didn’t have a handkerchief, so we had to depend on scrunching up our faces and trying to think about something else. But me and her got down in the hole and yanked May Lynn out. When we did one of her arms come off, and I had to climb out and throw up again. By the time I got back down there, Jinx was throwing up in the grave.

Terry didn’t so much as cough, but when we finally got her out of the hole, he wandered off a ways and puked. I glanced at May Lynn, and her face was dark as old pine sap. There were no eyes cause bugs and worms and groundwater had done been at them, and she had been full of river when we pulled her out, so she looked way worse than that dead man under the money bag; and she hadn’t been near as long gone as he had. It didn’t seem right.

After a bit, Terry come back and helped us load the body into the wheelbarrow. We put the tarp down first and put her on top of it. We had to bend her some to make her fit, and she came apart a little more, and something fell out of her that I couldn’t recognize. Terry used the shovel to put it in the wheelbarrow. Jinx brought over her arm and laid it on top of the body. Terry folded the tarp over her on both sides and at the ends.

“Now what?” I said.

“The brick kiln,” he said.

N
ow, there’s no use going into all of it, but what I will say is it’s a wonder we didn’t end up being caught. I guess we didn’t because it was late and we didn’t see anybody but a couple of dogs. They came out to smell the dead meat and Jinx threw rocks at them and ran them off.

We took turns pushing the wheelbarrow, and it wasn’t no real chore, because what was left of May Lynn seemed as light as a new loaf of bread, without the freshness. The night was clear and the wheelbarrow squeaked a little. Her stench made us push the barrow along quite smartly.

Terry guided us to the back of his stepdad’s brick company. We stopped under a window, and me and Jinx made a cradle with our hands, and Terry stepped up on it and pushed at the window till it come up. He wriggled inside, and in a moment the back door opened to let us in. I pushed the wheelbarrow through the door.

I guided the barrow between rows of stacked bricks, and finally we came to a spot along the wall with a dozen brick beehive kilns. They all had metal doors on them, and there were some handles on the doors—wooden ones in metal slots—and on the wall between each door was a dial.

Terry fumbled a match out of his pocket and lit it to a twist of paper that had been lying on the floor. He turned one of the dials, opened a metal door. There was a hiss like a surprised possum. It was gas shooting up from a grate on the bottom of the kiln. Terry stuck the flaming paper through the grate, touched a spot inside, and the hissing turned to a whoosh; the heat from it nearly singed my eyebrows. The fire rose up and licked out with blue and yellow tongues, and in an instant, I was sweating.

“We got to wait a little bit,” Terry said, and closed the door.

There were some stacks of bricks, and we used them to sit on.

“It’ll have to heat to a very high temperature,” Terry said. “When it does, she’ll burn hot and rapidly. Her body will turn to ash, bones and all.”

I don’t know how long we waited there, but I know I was nervous the whole time. I kept expecting the constable and those mean old former kin of mine to burst in on us, but they didn’t.

Finally, Terry stood up and pulled on his gloves, which he had stuck in his belt, and opened the door; the flame inside was twisting and rolling. Using gloves and the shovels, we lifted the tarp with May Lynn’s body folded inside it, along with the broken-off arm and the dark part we didn’t know, out of the wheelbarrow. Together we carried the tarp to the open beehive, stuck the corpse in at the feet, and shoved. The flames went to work immediately. They licked at the tarp like they was hungry. Terry slammed the door. He looked at us. His face was popped up with sweat balls from the fire, and he looked like he was barely there with us.

“Someone ought to say something,” he said.

“I’m sorry it’s so hot in there,” Jinx said.

“Something else.”

“Goodbye, May Lynn,” I said. “You’ve been a good friend up until we didn’t see you much anymore, and maybe you had your reasons for that. And we thank you for the map and the stolen money, which has shown us a way to go. I hope you wasn’t hurt too long before you died. I hope it was quick.”

“I hope so, too,” Terry said, and made a choking sound. “You’re going to Hollywood, May Lynn.”

We pushed the wheelbarrow back to the graveyard and covered up May Lynn’s grave with the shovels. We loaded our supplies on the wheelbarrow, along with the shovels, and left. The graveyard was on the way to the river bottoms, so it had been best to leave the stuff there, and Terry, on one of his early trips, had put the bag of money in a lard bucket and buried it near May Lynn’s grave. He dug it up and we loaded it and the rest of the stuff on the wheelbarrow, right next to a small sealed cardboard box we had taken from the brick company and put May Lynn’s ashes in.

We headed out, and when we got into the woods, close to where our boat was, which was also close to where Mama was, I laid it on them.

“Mama not only told me about Cletus coming to the house, she’s going with us.”

“Say what?” Jinx said.

By that time, we were coming down a little rise, and they could see Mama sitting there in the moonlight on the log. She turned and looked at us and our squeaking wheelbarrow.

“Wasn’t you the one talking about a yellow dog and a goat?” Jinx said.

“She ain’t neither,” I said.

“No,” she said. “But there sure is a right smart lot of us now.”

After we loaded the boat and pushed the wheelbarrow off into the Sabine, Terry cut three long poles with a hatchet he had in his bag. We stretched the poles across the boat so that they stuck out long on either end, then we got in and Jinx held them in place while me and Terry paddled downriver to the raft. Mama used the can to bail out water.

“It took you a while,” she said. “I thought you had gone on without me.”

“We had to burn May Lynn up,” I said.

“You actually did that?” she said.

“In a brick dryer,” Terry said.

“Yeah,” Jinx said. “We got her somewhere in a box.”

“Oh my,” Mama said.

When we come to the raft, or barge, if you prefer, we loaded onto it. It was a good thing, too, cause we had been tight in the boat, and the water was coming through the bottom worse than ever, even with Mama bailing fast as a spinning windmill in a high wind. We took the paddles and pushed the boat away from the raft; it was already taking on heavy water by the time it drifted away from us.

After we was good and fixed, Terry got his hatchet and went to cutting the rope that held our ride to the tree. When it come loose, the raft turned sideways a little, then straightened itself and started to move forward in the slow but steady current of the river.

I looked back at the boat we had left behind us. It was tilting up slightly at one end, but mostly it was just low in the water. It got lower as I watched, and I’m sure within a few moments I would have seen it go down. But I never got the chance. The raft shifted a little as the river bent around a sandbar, and we had to go to work with our poles to guide it through the shallows. Then the river carried us beyond the bar and around a bend, and out of sight of the sinking boat.

I
t was such a bright night we could see the river good as day. We could make out sandbars and easily pole around them. We could see the spaces between trees clearly, and the moonlight lay on the tops of them like some kind of fuzzy halo. Slats of soft shadow fell over the water as if they was window blinds. Even the sticklike heads of turtles poking out of the water was easy to see.

After we had gone a ways, the river became straight and wide, and we saw a deer swimming across it wearing a rack of antlers on its head big enough to hang a rich man’s winter coats and a couple of hats.

Mama sat in the middle of the raft with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them while the rest of us poled. The box holding May Lynn was near her, and she had her head turned, looking at it, knowing what it was, I guess, though we hadn’t actually pointed it out as May Lynn’s resting place.

She wasn’t doing nothing to help, and we didn’t expect her to. Hell, we hadn’t planned on her going, so it was hard to have expectations. And what we all knew from just looking at her was she was weak and sick and could have been wrestled to the ground by a playful kitten. I was even afraid harsh language might knock her out.

I don’t know exactly how long we poled along like that, but we seemed to be making good time, and Terry said he figured we was five to seven days away from Gladewater, depending on circumstances and how hard we worked at it.

After a long while I began to feel hungry and in need of sleep because it had been one busy day, but I didn’t want to be the first to call out, and didn’t have to. We come to a place where the river went pretty thin, and Terry said, “Look over there.”

What there was to see was a little pool off the straight of the river. You had to be in just the right spot to see it. Too soon and all you saw was a big overhanging cypress and some droopy willows, and if you looked too late, you was past it. It was a shiny pool and didn’t look stagnant or mossy. It was a pretty good size, about twice the size of the raft. The water flowed into that place, turned around, and flowed out, keeping the spot clean and fresh, and from the dark of the water I figured it was deep, too.

“Go there,” Terry said.

Me and Jinx poled in that direction. It was a hard turn in that fast water, but we poled hard enough we got some speed up, and the raft glided into that little pool and bumped up against the shore.

I held my pole to the bank to keep us from floating back, and Terry took a hammer and nails from his bag. He drove a couple of long nails, darn near spikes, into the front of the raft, then got a rope out of the bag, uncoiled it, wrapped it around the nails, and bent them over a bit of the rope with the hammer. He tied off the rope to the roots of the cypress—those roots being considerable and sticking out from the bank for some ten feet, coiling down and around like fat snakes twisting into the water.

“We didn’t go too far before we holed up,” I said.

“I believe we have a good start,” Terry said. “And they don’t know how we’re making our run for it. Except maybe they’ll think by boat, since we stole your daddy’s. It’s missing, they might figure we’re going that way, but my first guess is they’re going to think the bus, and they’ll go to the bus station in Gladewater. That we caught a ride with someone. But we won’t be there, and they won’t know when to expect us.”

“He ain’t my daddy,” I said.

“What?” Terry said.

“Ain’t my daddy’s boat, cause he ain’t my daddy,” I said.

“No,” Mama said. “No, he isn’t. And Don, he’s pretty much a quitter. Something doesn’t work out immediately for him, he’ll leave out. That’s been my experience in more ways than one.”

I tried not to mentally count the ways, but I said, “Why he fishes with poison, ’lectricity, and dynamite is because it takes the waiting and trouble out of things.”

“It doesn’t matter, we have to rest, and it’s better that we don’t wear ourselves thin right at first,” Terry said. “We’re most likely better off traveling by day than night, even if we can be seen. The moon will be less bright tomorrow night, and even less so as we go. We’re more probable to end up getting wedged up on something or turning the whole thing over when we can’t see. During the day, we can journey more rapidly, even if we can be observed more easily.”

None of us argued. We were tuckered out.

Terry had stuffed a couple of blankets in his bag, and Mama had thought to do the same, and so had Jinx. They were all thin blankets, but there wasn’t much need for them on a nice night like it was. The boards that had been nailed over the logs were nice and smooth from years of people walking on them, so it was easy to stretch out and cover ourselves and get comfortable. Mama chose the middle of the raft, and I ended up close to her. She was warm, and she put her arm around me. The crickets sawed and the frogs bleated and the wind blew and the mosquitoes took a night off; the water beneath the raft rocked lightly.

“He didn’t want to be the kind of man he is,” Mama said in my ear.

“What?”

She was talking soft, and though Jinx and Terry might could have heard her, I’m sure they couldn’t have understood her.

“Don. I think he got broken early on, like me, only he was broken more. He came from a family that inherited much and his father turned it into less. The beatings he got took a toll, and, like me, he never thought he was worth anything. My family sure didn’t know what to do with me. It wasn’t that we didn’t get along, it’s that they seemed to be somewhere else even when I was there. I never told you much about them, my mother and father.”

“You said they died of smallpox,” I said.

“Yes. They did. But before they died, they might as well have been dead. Me and Don was the same to you. We didn’t do you any good, that’s for sure, but you haven’t become like us, and I’m not sure why.”

“I reckon you did your best,” I said. “But you still get to choose how you want to act and go, don’t you?”

“You do. But not everyone chooses well.”

“That’s on them,” I said.

“I know. I wear my mistakes like a coat, only it’s heavier,” Mama said.

“You did what you could, I guess.”

“I did what I could do, but it wasn’t much. I want to do better now. Don isn’t just a man without hope anymore. He’s a man without heart. I can stand one, but I can’t stand the other. Between what went on between us, him hitting me, there were moments that were very nice. Then it would start over. I got so I lived for the in-betweens.”

“What you said about Daddy—I mean Don—being a quitter,” I said. “You believe that?”

“I do,” she said. “But I been wrong before. Maybe he has more juice in him than I suspect. I know this, though: Gene isn’t a quitter, and neither is his pal Cletus, and certainly not Constable Sy. Neither will quit when he thinks he can get something for free, or when he thinks he can manage some kind of bargain in his favor. Those two will work themselves to death to get a free thing, and do nothing for something they can have for honest work. They’ll chase this money till they get it, or there’s no way for them to have it. I’m certain of that. I have known them as long as I’ve known your daddy, and I know that much about them. Somewhere inside Don I used to think there was a good man pressed flat. I thought he might blow up to size again at some point, but he didn’t. He wasn’t always bad to me, honey. There were times when he was good.”

“You said that,” I said. “It doesn’t comfort much.”

“It’s just those times got farther and farther apart, and I think he’s been flat so long he’s going to stay that way. What makes me proud of you is that you didn’t let either of us mash you down. You spring right back, and you got hopes. I used to have hopes, and I’m trying to remember what that’s like, and I’m trying to make sure you keep yours.”

“I’m trying,” I said. “But he was always bad to me, and wanted to be as bad as he could.”

“I guess I knew that.”

“Why didn’t you do something?”

“Because I didn’t have the spirit.”

This wasn’t a very satisfying answer, but I knew it was the best I was going to get. I decided I had to start with her this very night, and call it a new beginning. She touched my hand, and then was quiet. I snuggled in close. I felt like a sad old dog that had finally been petted.

During the night, we all awoke to Mama on the edge of the raft. She was lying on her belly with her head hanging over, puking. When she got what was in her out in the river, I got her back to the center of the raft and covered her and hugged her close, but she trembled like she was cold, which didn’t make no sense, as it was a warm night.

“I’m needing the cure-all,” Mama said. “That’s what’s happening. I didn’t bring any of it with me. I should have cut it back, not quit cold turkey. I’m so sick. I thought I heard God calling to me, but it was a whip-poor-will. I dreamed about that black horse again, and I saw the white one, but it was running in front of me, too fast to catch.”

“You’ll catch it in time,” I said.

She trembled for a while, but finally got still, and me and her both slept.

We was all up with the sun. Mama felt considerably better, and with the light I felt happier about our possibilities.

Mama, like Terry, had come well prepared. She had some hot-water cornbread patties in a bucket in her bag, and she gave us all a couple of them, and we drank water from a canteen Terry brought. It seemed the best cornbread I had ever eaten and the sweetest water I had ever drunk. Mama, I noticed, drank a little water but ate nothing.

After untying, we poled back onto the river and started out again. It was good water and the river was straight. We went along right smart-like and didn’t have to do anything much until the raft started to drift to one side or the other, then we’d have to push off hard to get back to where the water was swift and straight again. But with the current like it was, and the raft well built, we stayed mostly in the middle and kept making good time. It was hard sometimes to even feel like we was moving. Might not have known that was the case if I hadn’t looked toward shore and seen trees and such go by.

About the time the cornbread began to wear off and the sun was starting to get high and turn hot, we heard singing. It was sweet and it was loud, and there was a choir full of it.

“It’s as if angels have come down from heaven,” Terry said.

“Yeah,” Jinx said. “Or a bunch of people singing.”

It was pretty, though, like the songs was dancing over the water. As we drifted on, the singing grew louder. We finally came in sight of where it was coming from. A bunch of white people gathered on the edge of the river. Many were near the bank, but the rest went up a little slope of grass that at the peak was yellow with sunlight. A lot of the people were dressed up—at least, they was as well dressed as they got in East Texas—and down by the water was a barefoot man wearing black pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was waving around a big black book. A man dressed about the same way was standing beside him with his head down, the way a dog will do when you’re scolding it.

But it wasn’t a scolding. I realized what it was when I figured it was Sunday. I had sort of lost count of the days, but now I knew what day it was because of what I was seeing. It was a bunch of Baptists and they was attending a baptism. I knew because I had seen it before. It had been done to me, but I was so young I didn’t really remember much about it.

Someone was about to get dunked in the river. Way the Baptists saw it, that dunk in the river made sure you was going to heaven, even if before or later you knew a cow in the biblical sense or set fire to a crib with the baby in it. Once you was dunked and a preacher said words over you, heaven was assured and Saint Peter was already brushing off your seat and stringing your harp. Since most everyone in these parts was a Baptist, the fields and the prisons being full of them, it seemed like a pretty good deal.

As we cruised by, we saw the singers lift their heads to look at us. The children waved. Some of them got smacked by their folks on account of it. The preacher, his light hair shiny as gold in the sun, dragged the man standing next to him out into the water. The tails of their shirts floated up.

Passing them, we looked back and seen the man holding his nose, falling back into the preacher’s arms, being lowered down.

Mama, who had turned around to watch it all, said, “He has been baptized.”

“Like us, he can pretty much commit any crime he likes and he’ll be redeemed,” I said.

“Hush,” she said. “It isn’t exactly like that.”

We sailed on past the church folk.

The water was brisk because of all the recent rain, and  the river bent a lot, and sometimes when it bent and became narrow, the raft would turn so that the rear end became the front end, and there was no fighting it with our poles because it was so deep. We switched to paddles, but it was like trying to use ice cream sticks to get the job done.

Eventually, we come around a twist in the river and the raft started going around and around and finally it twirled down a little offshoot. All we could do was just keep our places and hope we didn’t tip. It turned shallow, though, and it got so we could use our poles again. In time we was able to push ourselves up against the shore. I jumped off and tied the raft to an oak.