The Bighead (23 page)

She reeled in the
fantasy.
Stop it!
she yelled at herself.
You’re with a
priest!
She struggled to put back the
pieces of her thoughts, remembered what she’d been talking about.
“When you guys finally fix the abbey up, I hope you get
air-conditioning.”

“
Oh, I’m sure we will. The
Church will dump decent scratch into the place. They want to turn
it into a state-of-the-art rehab center.”

Her struggles began to
ease, more pieces refitting. “It’s still interesting, though. You
know. The bricked up office, and all those personal effects still
in the nuns’ dorm rooms. And what about that strange wall
downstairs where there shouldn’t even
be
a downstairs? Someone tried to
break through that wall. I wonder why.”

“
We’ll find out soon,”
Alexander promised her. And just the simple fact that he’d used the
pronoun “we’ll” delighted her. It meant that he was
including
her.

“
My tired old ass couldn’t
bust through it, fine. Then I’ll rent a goddamn jackhammer, bust
through it with that. Ten to one, though, we’ll be disappointed.
Probably just an empty room back there. ’Unexcavated,’ just like
the prints said—” The priest paused then, as if startled. All at
once he seemed to be squinting at the wood-plank side of the booth.
“Hey, what’s this?”

Jerrica leaned over the
table, knowing that she shouldn’t—for the drastic incline of her
upper body only highlighted her cleavage. Some devilish part of her
wanted more notice out of his celibate self, wanted him to see her
attributes.
Does he fantasize?
she wondered.
Are priests
allowed to do that? Does he wish he could go to bed with me if he
weren’t celibate?
She leaned further, her
hardened nipples poking through the sweat-damp white haltertop.
But—

The cruel inducement
collapsed.

What was he looking at?

She saw scratches faintly carved into
the side of the wooden booth. “What’s it say?” she
asked.

“‘
The Bighead Was Here,’“
he recited. “What the hell is that?”

“
Oh!” Jerrica celebrated.
Finally there was something she could tell
him.
“The Bighead,” she said. “It’s,
like, a local myth. Charity was telling me about it last night, and
so was some old guy at the bar. It’s some child-monster that
supposedly roams the woods, looking for people to eat.”

Alexander refilled his beer
mug. “What? And this
myth
is supposed to be true?”

“
Well, no of course it
can’t be true. But it’s part of the culture out here. All cultures
have their legends.”

The priest rubbed his chin, his eyes
thinned. “Well, there’s something about legends that always seem to
have some root in fact. Vampirism and porphyria, for example.
Lycanthropy and lupine hebephrenic syndrome. Schizophrenics who
believe they’re possessed by demons, aliens, what have you. My
point is, however far-fetched, there are quite a few ’myths’ that
actually harbor more truth than fabrication.”

It was an interesting point, but
Jerrica couldn’t help but laugh nonetheless. “I don’t think we have
to worry about a hill-bred monster-child trying to eat
us.”

“
Hope you’re right,”
Alexander said. “I’m sure I’d leave a bad taste in his mouth, dirty
as I am right now.”

Jerrica laughed again, tipsily now.
Er, perhaps, a bit more than that. She’d only had a few beers thus
far, but now she realized how thoroughly they’d snuck up on her.
And it was no wonder. She hadn’t eaten all day, she’d been out in
the sun, working in the abbey’s furnace-like heat. Of course
alcohol would impact her more than usual. Suddenly her better
judgment, if she even had any to begin with, slipped away. Her
boldness surged as it frequently did. Her old self never failed
her. She always knew when she was about to say something she’d
regret, immediately before she said it.

“
Father,” she said. Aw,
Christ, the beer was whacking her now, dizzying her. She quickly
jerked her head. “Can I—uh, would you mind if I asked a personal
question.”

“
Hey, personal questions
are the best kind,” the priest said, and with that, Jerrica staid
another laugh; she’d told Charity the same exact thing just
yesterday, during their conversation about Goop.

“
I mean, you don’t have to
answer, I mean, you know, if it puts you on the spot or anything,
but—” She blinked hard, to clear her head.
What on earth is wrong with you, Jerrica!
she hollered at herself.
You can’t
ask a priest something like that!

Of course she couldn’t. But she asked
anyway.

“
If you weren’t, you know,
a priest, would you, you know… Would you be attracted to
me?”

After the words left her mouth, the
regret fell on her head like a cave-in.

But Father Alexander shot a sly smile.
“Hey, if I weren’t a priest, I’d be all over you like black on a
bible,” he said.

What an answer!
Jerrica blushed, and that wasn’t easy.

He laughed outright at her expression,
poured them two more beers. “But I don’t want you to think I’m
teasing you, so I’ll give you the whole gist.” Shit. He was getting
serious now. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jerrica, and the grace of
God allows me to perceive and admire and acknowledge the beauty of
women, and of all people. But that’s where the buck stops, just to
set the record straight. I got holy vows that I’ve made to God, and
I ain’t gonna break ’em for no one.”

“
Oh, but I didn’t mean
th—”

“
I know you didn’t, I’m
just saying. I can’t look at a woman in lust, I can’t look at a
woman in sexual desire. I’m not allowed to, so I don’t. I admire
your beauty because God gave it to you, and anything God gives is
beautiful.”

She tried not to show her
disappointment with this vocal appendix, and she knew it was
ridiculous to be disappointed at any rate. He was a priest, for
God’s sake! What was she thinking?

Thankfully, he broke the ice of the
silence, laughing, “And besides, you should’ve seen the stuff I was
doing when I was a teenager. I made Ted Kennedy look like Mr.
Rogers.”

She laughed it off. Of course she did.
She couldn’t possibly have been thinking—

“
Hey there, blondie,” a
sudden voice intruded. “I’se say, you’re about the purdiest thing I
ever did see. You’s make my whistle blow, shee-it!”

Both Jerrica and the priest looked up
at the same time. Some tall lean redneck, with long stringy hair, a
tractor hat, and a sparse goatee had stepped right up to the front
of their booth. Beer reeked in the wake of his voice, and some fat
kid stood right behind him.

Alexander didn’t falter. “Hey, man,
bug off. Can’t you see the lady and I are having a private
conversation? Private means you ain’t invited.”

“
Hail, holy man, who’re
you, huh?” The guy leaned back, hands on hips, and laughed. “I’se
ain’t talkin’ to you, I’se talkin’ ta her.”

“
Yeah?” Alexander mocked,
“Well’s lemme tell ya somethin’, Einstein,
I’se
talkin’ ta you, an’
I’se
tellin’ ya ta beat
feet an’ mind yer own business.”

The bearded kid grinned.
The grin was menacing, His pecs flexed beneath a black t-shirt that
read showed a Care Bear proffering a middle finger. “I’ll’se do you
a big favor, priest, an’ pretends I’se didn’t hear that. I’se
talkin’ ta the lady, see, and a lady this hot
is
my business.”

“
Fuck off,” Jerrica said,
her face crimped with distaste.

The kid and his fat sidekick laughed.
“Don’t’cha know no respect? Cain’t be sayin’ words like that’n
front of a priest.”

“
Fuck off,” Alexander
said.

“
My, ain’t you somethin’!
What’cha gonna do, Father? Shoo me off with that collar’a
yours.”

“
I’ll kick your ass up and
down the street,” Alexander said very coolly, “if you don’t grow
up, get a life, and leave us alone.”

Silence descended on the bar as though
the roof had fallen in. Still faces peered. Alexander recognized
the situation: a redneck stalemate. But something was going to
happen, and it was the bearded kid who’d have to make the first
move.

The kid rubbed the crotch of his
jeans, smiling sharp as ever. “What’s a purdy thing like you doin’
in a bar with a holy man anyway, sweetcakes? He fuckin’ you? You
suckin’ his cock? Hail, I’se thought priests weren’t supposed ta do
stuff like that, ’cept ta each other, ain’t that right,
Dicky?”

“
Uh, that’s right Balls,”
the fat kid said, hefting his gut. “An’ would ya git’a load’a the
titties on ’er? Shee-it! I thinks I just gotta have me a squeeze on
’em, an’ I’se think this old man priest here ain’t got the nuts to
do nothin’ ’bout it.”

Alexander stubbed out his butt. “If
you touch her, I’ll smack you in the head so hard you’ll see
stars.”

“
Yeah?” Another guffaw.
“We’ll’se see ’bout that.” The grin held, dark eyes slitted over
it. Then—

“
You better not,” Alexander
calmly warned.

Then this bearded, long-haired kid
reached down very quickly and grabbed Jerrica’s left breast. She
winced, squealed, and—

SMACK!

—
Alexander punched the kid
in the side of the head so hard he saw stars. The kid reeled back,
arms reeling, landed on a table and broke it. Then he slid to the
floor.

Alexander stood up, fists clenched but
with a look of total peace on his face. “How about you, fat boy,”
he inquired of the other. “You want some too?”

The fat kid stammered, took a hesitant
step forward. “I’se—I’se’ll bust yer head, priest!
I’se—”

Alexander nearly smiled. His left hand
darted, grabbed the kid’s lovehandle and pinched down like a claw.
The kid wailed. Then Alexander’s right fist collided solidly with
the kid’s jaw.

SMACK!

A strange sound, like a bat striking a
cement floor. Pain contorted the fat kid’s dumpling face as he,
too, reeled backward and fell.

“
You boys get out of here
before you start to bother me,” Alexander said, then kicked the
first guy in the butt as he was crawling up. “You don’t want to be
late for bedcheck at the reform school, do you?”

Both of them stumbled away, grumbling
and wobbling for the door. Patrons laughed and
applauded.

“
That was…wonderful!”
Jerrica celebrated.

“
Not for my hand it
wasn’t,” Alexander replied, shaking it. “Like punching a couple of
big rocks. Those boys must have concrete where their brains should
be.” Then he looked dismally at the broken table, groaned, and
whipped out his diocesan checkbook. “Sorry about the damage,” he
apologized to the crusty keep at the bar. “The Catholic Church will
be more than happy to reimburse—”

“
Forget it, Father.” The
keep was chuckling. “Believe me, it’s worth the price’a fixin’ a
table to finally see someone kick tail on those two punks. Gracie!
Git the father and his friend here another pitcher—on the
house.”

“
Hey, thanks,” Alexander
delighted. He sat back down with Jerrica. “That’s damn nice of him,
slipping us a free pitcher.”

But Jerrica remained astonished by his
previous feat. “You really are a trip. I can’t believe it, I just
got to watch a Catholic priest beat up two rednecks.”

Alexander lit up again, shrugged.
“Sometimes you gotta break bad on these kids—it’s the only way
they’ll learn. But I’ll tell you, when I was their age, the bad
guys were a hell of a lot badder than that.”

Outside, a heavy motor could be heard
rumbling. Then tires squealed out of the lot.

Alexander chuckle under his breath.
“Naw, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about those fellas
anymore.”

—
| — | —

ELEVEN

(II)

The Bighead were gittin’ horny again,
an’ hungry. It’d been a long day hikin’ through the woods an’ over
the hills’n dales, an’ bys now, the Lower Woods where Grandpap
raised him seemed farthers away ta him than the moon.

Yeah, the Lower Woods, they was behind
him now. They weren’t his home no more.

The Outside
World—
that
were
his home now…

The sun were dippin’,
takin’ its fine bright light from the sky. Darkness were comin’, it
were. And as The Bighead clopped along, through bushes’n vines’n
the thicket, he was rememberin’ his Grandpap an’ alls the things
the old man taughts him. Fer years, old Grandpap had hisself a
truck, an’ he’d drive out fer a spell ever now’n then, ands come
back with some rube gal he’d picked up hitcher-hikin’ er somethin’,
an’ that’s how Bighead learnt ’bout the birds’n bees an’ ’bout how
ta bust a gal’s poon an have a nut. A’corse, it never worked out
quite like the way Bighead thought it’d. “Tarnations, boy!”
Grandpap’d wailed once, after watchin’ The Bighead bust a chick.
“God shore did hang a pecker on you, He did! Big as Grandma Meyer’s
rollin’ pin it is! Problee ain’t
never
gonna git ta come proper
hangin’ a pecker that big! S’post ta fuck ’em an’ come in ’em,
Bighead, ands give ’em a baby! Ain’t s’post ta kill ’em!” The
Bighead were confused by this; he wanted ta do what were right, but
it didn’t look like he were doin’ it, no sir. His dick so big it
were killin’ gals, that weren’t the way it was s’post ta be, not
accordin’ ta Grandpap. But what could he do!