The Dirty Parts of the Bible: A Novel (23 page)

“First you want me to believe in demons—and now dragons?”

“Stop thinking like a damn Baptist. It’s a myth, boy. And the point is, every woman is a vessel of beauty, life, and love—though most don’t know it. And all the forces of evil in the world are dead-set against her. That’s why loving a woman is the hardest battle you’ll ever face. Love isn’t going to fall into your lap—you’ve got to fight for it.”

“You sure don’t make it sound very fun,” I said.

“It isn’t—not all the time. A women cries. She gets moody. Once a month, she bleeds out of her privates. Then you get her pregnant and—by damn, now you’re really in a fix. You think fighting a dragon sounds rough? Try holding the hand of a woman in childbirth.”

I began to see what he was getting at. Committing myself to Sarah—for better or worse, sickness or health, rich or poor—would be hard. I enjoyed being alone. I was comfortable looking out for myself and keeping a skeptical distance from everyone else. For me, even wallowing in self-pity had a certain pleasure. Maybe I was relieved—even glad—when Sarah ran out that door, because it was back to life as usual. The idea of getting mixed up with an unpredictable female scared me more than the thought that Sarah might really be cursed.

“If it’s so hard,” I asked, “is it even worth it?”

“That’s for you to decide.” Craw turned and looked out the window. “For most of my life, I didn’t think it was. My head was full of questions, like yours. And now that I’m finally getting close to the answers, I’m too damn old to do anything about it.”

It finally sank in—any other girl would be as much of a challenge in her own way. But I had never met another girl like Sarah. My choice was clear: find Sarah and face her demon—whether real or imagined—or spend the rest of my life jerking off to French postcards.

I pointed to the closet. “Throw me that pair of pants, please. And a shirt. I can’t go fighting demons in my underwear.”

“Or unarmed, either.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a string—a necklace of some sort. At the end was a small bundle of red cloth. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a few tricks in my arsenal—or at least up my arse.”

“What is it?”

“A charm—a talisman to ward off evil powers.”

When he waved it in front of my nose, I knew right away what the bundle contained. “Fish guts?”

“Catfish heart, to be precise. I told you it would come in handy. Nothing kicks the ass of evil like a catfish heart—it’s an old Indian secret. Why, one whiff of this could repel Satan himself.”

“I can see why.” As ridiculous as it seemed, I bowed my head and let Craw tie the string around my neck. He’d been right one too many times. Even if it was a sham, it made sense to use an Indian charm to fight an Indian curse. At the very least, it might dispel Sarah’s fears. That would be miracle enough for me.

With the talisman in place, Craw placed his hand on my head in a ceremonial gesture. Instead of saying a prayer, he recited a poem:

I have read, in some old marvelous tale

Some legend strange and vague,

That a midnight host of spectres pale

Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau’s rushing stream,

With the wan moon overhead,

There stood, as in an awful dream,

The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,

The spectral camp was seen,

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,

The river flowed between.

The hairs on the back of my neck tingled.
The river
—that’s where Sarah would be.

But when the old cathedral bell

Proclaimed the morning prayer,

The white pavilions rose and fell

On the alarmed air.

Down the valley fast and far

The troubled army fled;

Up rose the glorious morning star,

The ghastly host was dead.

At the final stanza, Craw’s voice swelled like the ringing cathedral bell itself. I gripped the talisman to my chest.

I buttoned my shirt and slid my legs into the pants one inch at a time, rough denim scraping against raw skin. Craw slapped my back. “I’m proud of you, son.”

I snapped on the Lone Star belt buckle he’d given me. “Time to slay a demon.”

“Almost forgot,” he said. “The demon’s only the first challenge—I haven’t told you what to do once you get the girl’s clothes off.”

“Don’t worry—I’m a fast learner.”

F
OR
the first time since Easter, I snuck out of the house, grabbed a fishing pole, and headed to the water. Only this time, I was after bigger game than bluegills.

I limped across the yard, dragging my left leg over the dirt. My body ached with each step, but the pain was exhilarating when I thought of Sarah. I even relished the sun searing my neck. What’s a knight’s quest without hardship? Everything good requires sacrifice.

Past the tall cedars, I slid down the bank towards the river. At the water, I bent down and washed the dried blood off my face. I hardly recognized my own reflection—cheeks swollen, arms cut and bruised, shirt soaked with sweat, pants caked with mud. I looked like I’d been wrestling alligators, not trying to win a girl’s heart. But if Craw was right, they were about the same thing.

Rounding the bend, I spotted her on the limestone ledge, sitting with her arms around her knees, holding the rosary Craw had given her. When I called her name, she gasped. “Toby—what the hell are you doing?”

I held up the pole. “A little fishing.”

She dropped the rosary and scurried backwards like a crab. “I told you to stay away.”

“I came to say I’m sorry.” I stopped at the edge of the rock—it was too high for me to climb up. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. I should have listened.”

“You still don’t believe me,” she said. “If you believed, you wouldn’t have come here.”

“I don’t know what I believe. But I trust you.”

She looked out at the water. “If you trust me, then go home.”

“I won’t let you go. Sarah, I’m here to fight for you.” I wrapped my fingers around the talisman. If it radiated any power at all, I needed it now.

“He’ll kill you.”

“Not with this.” I took off the talisman and held it up. “Craw gave it to me—it’s a charm to repel evil spirits.”

Sarah came closer and eyed the red bundle. “It won’t work.”

I passed it up to her. “There’s a catfish heart inside—it’s an old Indian secret.”

She took one sniff and pinched her nose. “You’ve got to be kidding. If you think I’m going to wear this—”

“It’s for me to wear,” I said. “Please—you’ve got to trust me.”

She turned her back to me. “You’ll die.”

“You’re right. I will die—someday. Everybody dies. But some things are worse than dying.”

She bent down and picked up her rosary. “Like what?”

“Like never living at all. Or only half-living.”

She fingered the beads a while, then brushed her thumb over the crucified Jesus. “Dammit, Toby—why won’t you leave me alone?”

I dropped the cane pole and stretched up my arm towards her. “Because I love you. And I know you love me—or at least you did.”

She reached down and pulled me up onto the ledge. At the top, my foot slipped and I tumbled over on top of her. I rolled over to keep from squashing her on the bed of sharp stones and jagged shells. I was already sore as could be—a few more scratches wouldn’t hurt.

There were tears in her eyes, but somehow they didn’t seem as sad as before. I cupped her cheek in my hand. “I want to kiss you, but I’d get blood all over your face.”

“Tobias Henry, you’re the craziest boy I’ve ever met.” She leaned down and kissed my cracked lips anyway, entwining my blood and her spit, my life in hers, braving the wrath of hell.

+ + +

Twenty years before, my father had thrown his life savings down a well, convinced that it was the devil’s money. Now I was bringing it back up in hopes of saving Father’s behind and kicking the devil’s.

Walking to the well, hand in hand with Sarah, I thought about my parents. Back when they first met, were they like Sarah and me? Did Mama ever wear a special red dress? Did Father steal glances down the front? For the first time, I felt terrible for not writing to let them know I’d made it safely. I resolved to send a telegram at the first opportunity, and I imagined how thrilled they’d be to hear about the money.

I knelt down by the splintered boards and dangled my hook over the hole. “There’s a big one down here—just you wait.”

Sarah laughed. “So
that’s
what the pole’s for. I was afraid you were going to hook me if I tried to run away.”

I started spooling out the line. “Craw gave me the idea. He said he couldn’t have fished me out with a pole—but I figured I could fish out the money.”

The hook hit bottom. My hands trembled as I reeled in the slack. As I swung the hook back and forth, it snagged on stones and caught on clumps of dirt. Then it grabbed onto something solid. I gave the line a yank to set the hook, sinking it into the tough leather pouch. I reeled slowly, deliberately; if my line scraped against a sharp stone, it would snap. My pole bent and creaked as though I were hauling in a northern pike.

Finally, the satchel came into sight, hanging by its flap. As soon as it was within reach, Sarah grabbed it. “I can’t believe this,” she said, jingling the coins. “It’s so heavy.”

“Looks like the curse is officially broken. Must be the catfish heart.”

Sarah beamed. “Let’s count it.”

“No—I want to savor the moment. Let’s take it to your secret spot.”

“It’s not so secret anymore.”

“I’m sure you’ve got other secrets up your sleeve. Or down your dress.” I didn’t need a beer to feel bold tonight.

She crossed her arms. “Hold your horses, Toby. I’m not taking you there till you put a ring on my finger.”

“Then let’s get married—tonight.”

“The courthouse is closed, silly.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

She only smiled. “Let’s not think about tomorrow. Savor the moment, like you said.”

I’d waited twenty years; one more night wouldn’t hurt—unless Jesus came back. If there was a God, surely he could hold off the Rapture two more nights for my sake.

+ + +

Back at the dinosaur tracks, I gathered some dead wood and started a fire—the one useful skill I’d learned on the road. The sky was deep purple and the air blowing off the river enveloped us in a thick, cool blanket. Fireflies danced over the river, cicadas buzzed across the bank, and a whippoorwill sang in the cedars above. Sarah sat transfigured in the firelight, her face and arms glowing as if illumined from within.

“I know you don’t care about money,” I said. “At least, you didn’t this morning. But there’s more than money in this bag—it’s our future. We can buy a car. A home.”

“This is my home.” Sarah looked into my eyes. “Right here, right now. Wherever you are is home.”

I pulled at the satchel’s rusty latch, and the brittle leather strap broke off in my fingers. Then I lifted the flap, revealing rolls and rolls of tightly wound bills. One by one, I stacked them in a pyramid before the fire; by the time I was done, there were twenty-three rolls on the pile.

I ran my fingers through the coins at the bottom, scooping them up and letting them fall in a shower of tarnished silver and bronze. “Have you ever seen so much money in your life?”

Sarah shook her head, a big smile on her face.

Each roll of bills looked like a short, fat cigar. I held one up and snapped off the twine holding it together. As I peeled it off, the first dollar cracked—then crumbled into pieces.