James Dickey - Deliverance

Bobby and I ate another big dinner, and went up to bed. There was no need to talk anymore; all the talking had been done. Now was the time for the finding or the not finding.

The next day we went out to see Lewis, who was much better. His leg was raised in pulleys, and he was reading the county paper, which had a story about Drew’s disappearance, and an account of dragging the river for him, with a picture in which I could recognize myself and Deputy Queen. He had his fist up at my face, and I knew that the picture had been taken during the last part of the time we had been talking. I looked like I was being tolerant, just barely listening out of courtesy. Everything helped; this too.

There were no policemen with Lewis, but he was not alone in the ward anymore, for the night before they had brought in a farmer whose foot had been run over by a tractor. He was at the other end, and asleep. I told Lewis what had happened, and told him that Bobby would drive his car back down to the city and his wife or somebody could come after him whenever he was ready to move. That was all right with him.

Bobby and I walked over to say good-bye to Lewis. He was eased back in the pillows.

“I ought to be out of here in a week or two, myself,” he said.

“Sure,” I said. “Lie back and enjoy yourself. This is not such a bad town.”

Bobby and I drove back to Biddiford’s to wait for the sheriff.

He came at five-thirty, and evil little Queen was with him. The sheriff took out a piece of paper. “You can use this for a statement,” he said. “See if it says what you told us.”

I read it through. “It’s all right,” I said. “But I don’t know these place names. Is this the right name of the rapids where I said we capsized?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the name: Griffin ’s Shoot.”

“OK,” I said, and signed it.

“You’re sure, now,” Sheriff Bullard asked.

“You better believe I’m sure.”

“He ain’t sure,” Deputy Queen said, a lot louder than any of us. “He’s lyin’. He’s lyin’ thu his teeth. He’s done somethin’, up yonder. He’s done kilt my brother-in-law.”

“Listen, you little bastard,” I said, and my voice was really quivering. “Maybe your brother-in-law killed somebody. Why are you bringing in all this talk of killing? The river did all the killing we saw. If you don’t think it’ll kill you, get your stupid ass on it and see for yourself.”

“Now, Mr. Gentry,” the sheriff said. “Don’t talk like that. Ain’t no call for it.”

“Well, this’ll do till there is,” I said.

“He’s lyin’. Sheriff; don’t let him go. Don’t let the son of a bitch go.”

“We got nothing to hold him for, Arthel,” the sheriff said. “Nothing. These boys’ve been through a lot. They want to get back home.”

“Don’t let him go, I’m telling you. Listen, my sister called up last night, and she was just a-crying. Benson ain’t come home yet. She knows he’s dead. She just knows it. He ain’t never been gone this long before. And these fellers was the only ones up in there, when he was.”

“Now, you don’t know that, Arthel,” the sheriff said. “What you mean is, they was the only city fellows.”

I shook my head as though I couldn’t believe such stupidity, which was the case, sure enough.

“Y’all can go any time you want to,” the sheriff said. “Just leave me your addresses.”

I did and said, “OK. Let us know if you find anything.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be the fust.”

I slept again, as in a place beyond all sleep, around on the other side of death, and came back, floating, when I thought I heard the ringing of the owl on the other birds, in Martha’s wind-toy at home. It was early, and we were free. I dressed and went to Bobby’s room and woke him. The woman who owned the place was up, and we paid her with the last of our money and drove to the filling station to get Lewis’ car. The sheriff was sitting there talking to the owner. We got out.

“Morning,” he said. “Y’all getting an early start, eh?”

“Thought we would,” I said. “What can we do for you?”

“Not a thing,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure you had your keys, and everything you need.”

“We can make it fine,” I said. “There is one thing, Sheriff, though. We owe some fellows up in Oree for bringing these cars down to us. Would you tell them that we’ll send them the money, just as quick as we get back to the city? They’ll believe you before they will us, because you live up here; they know who you are.”

“Be glad to,” he said. “What’re their names?”

“Griner. They run a garage up there.”

“I’ll get word to ‘em. Don’t worry about it. And you say they’re the last people you saw, before you got down here?”

“The last and only. There was also another man with them. I don’t know who he was.”

“Maybe we ought to know who he was. I might even go up there and talk to all of ‘em myself. And you kin be sure I’ll tell ‘em about the money.”

“OK. We’re going along now.”

“Take it easy going home,” he said. “And, buddy, let me tell you one thing. Don’t ever do anything like this again. Don’t come back up here.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said. I grinned, and slowly, so did he. “Is this your way of telling me to get out of town and not show my face in these-here parts again?”

“You might say that,” he said.

“Aw, now, Sheriff, you know we ain’t no hired guns,” I said, like Texas. “We’re all bow-and-arrow men.”

“You listen to me, now, boy.”

“You ought to be in the movies, Sheriff. Or go live in Montana. You could probably find worse bad men than me in either one.”

“I might do that,” he said. “Not much action here, I can tell you. A few people stealing chickens, and a little moonshining. Not much action.”

“Not till we came.”

“Yeah; we don’t want no more of that. Dragging that river’s tough.”

“Neither do we; you won’t see us again.”

“OK. So long. Have a good trip.”

“So long. And I hope Deputy Queen finds his brotber-in-law.”

“Aw, he’ll come in drunk. He’s a mean bastard anyway. Old Queen’s sister’d be better off without him. So would everybody else.”

I started to get in Drew’s car.

“‘Fore you go, buddy, let me ask you something and tell you something.”

“Ask me.”

“How come you-all ended up with four life jackets?”

“We had an extra one. In fact we had two. You’re liable to find another one downriver. They float, you know. Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“You done good.”

“Somebody had to do something,” I said. “I didn’t want to die, either.”

“You ‘us hurt bad, but if it wudn’t for you you’d all be in the river with your other man.”

“Thanks, Sheriff—I’ll take that with me.”

“You damned fucking ape,” he said. “Who on earth was your father, boy?”

“Tarzan,” I said.

Bobby settled into Lewis’ wagon, and I got a map from the rack at the station and buckled down in the other car.

“Let’s go get the canoe,” I hollered over.

“Jesus, no,” he said. “Leave it. I never want to see it or touch it or smell it again. Leave the goddamned thing.”

“No,” I said. “We’re going to get it. Follow me. It’ll just take a minute.”

Some kids were playing in the canoe, and I thought this was a good sign, indicating that Deputy Queen wasn’t around. Also, they might have washed out Lewis’ vomit, or some of it, anyway. I got the kids out and took a long look at the hull. It was really battered and beat-up, not only along the bottom but on the sides clear up to the gunwales in some places; I felt the rock shocks all over again, just looking at them. There were a couple of holes—small holes—close together in the middle, but it could have stood some more, though maybe not a whole lot.