Tim Pratt - Sympathy for the Devil

Nope.

“Listen,” I say. “Don’t you understand? He don’t work for free. You gonna lose your-”

Off in the desert comes a sound, raucous and ugly. It throws my mind into confusion and perplexes my tongue.

A rooster crowing.

Just like that we’re back under the oak tree, air all moist and close, skeeters and no-see-ums digging at us. She’s skinny again, and tired and sick, and I am just a dumb dog.

She jumps up and grabs her bag. “Three more Sundays, dog, and I’ll leave this place forever.” She runs on down the road, back to that tarpaper house.

Across the river, Red Rooster crows again. I head on home.

Seventh Sunday

My back hurts, and my head. The chain is too tight, and it’s rubbing off all the fur about my neck.

Just after sunrise, Red Rooster comes strutting down the road like he owns it. He’s been to the crossroads. I pick my head up slowly. My ear bleeds, little weepy drops.

“Was she there? She still sick?” I say.

He struts on past, like I’m not there.

I’m hungry.

Eighth Sunday

The Dark Man takes the chain off and gives me dinner.

Thank you, boss, I say.

Red Rooster has just come back from the crossroads again. He tosses his head, comb waggling. The Dark Man squints at him and Red Rooster finds elsewhere to be, quick as he can.

The Dark Man lays his hand on my head, and it hurts less.

Have you learned your lesson? He asks.

Yes boss, I’m sorry, I say.

He gives a little grunt and goes back into the shack. I wait until the door shuts. I go up onto the porch and sniff around ’til I find the spot where he poured the dream dust on me. There it is, sweet and spoiled-milky, settled into the cracks of the boards. Mebbe enough. Mebbe not.

The Dark Man will go to her at the ninth sunrise; she’s got one Sunday still to wait. Next week Mr. Moon is ripe and full. Mebbe a big moon can help a little bit of powder do its work.

Ninth Sunday

The Dark Man is rearranging jars in the cupboard.

Boss? I ask.

Yes, he says, not turning around.

Boss, how come that cupboard never gets full? How many jars can that old cupboard hold?

He laughs, tosses the jar in his hand up in the air and catches it. Inside, something wretched flutters, then goes still.

It’s a funny thing, he says. There’s always room in this cupboard for one more.

He glances at me over his shoulder.

It’s an hour ’til sunrise. You can go if you want, he says. Say goodbye to her.

Why I need to do that, Boss? I ask. She’ll be back here soon enough.

He laughs at that, sets the jar down and touches my head.

You are my good dog, he says, my creature.

That I am and nothing else, I say.

Go on and catch a rabbit, he says, and takes up the jar again.

Yes boss. Thank you, boss.

I go out and pause on the porch to take a back scratch against the rough old boards. A good long scratch.

I run down the road, stop just before I reach the crossroad. I know he’s here.

Come on out, Fussybritches, I say.

Red Rooster bustles out of the grass, all puffed up with vexation. He hates that name.

What do you want, dog? I’m busy on the Dark Man’s task. I got this girl to watch for him, he says.

Do tell, I think. I expect a dumb dog like me wouldn’t know much about it.

The Dark Man wants you to fetch him up some John the Conqueror root, I say.

I’m not the fetch-it boy round here, he says.

The Dark Man says you pick it nice and clean, like he needs it. But if you don’t want to go-

He’s off and down the road at a trot. When that big waving flag of a tail disappears over the hill, I run on to the crossroads.

So thin. Like she’s the one been chained up all those days.

“Dog! You’re back! Where’d you go? Bad dog, not coming to see me. I had to sit here all alone, with a nasty rooster staring at me all the time. He wouldn’t move, not even when I threw rocks at him.”

I wish you had better aim, I think.

She’s petting me, but we don’t have time. I shake myself hard, throwing up dream powder all around us. She sneezes, and I do too. We sneeze again and she commences laughing, then coughing, so hard she can’t stop. I’m still sneezing-that bad milk smell is all up in my nose-and when I stop, she’s breathing like she’s just run a race, with a big smear of blood across her lip.

Oh, Mr. Moon. Help this dumb dog.

“What’ve you been rolling in?” she says, and coughs again. Then her eyes do a flutter. “I’m so tired, dog. I think now you’re here, I’ll close my eyes…”

And just like that we’re out on the dream road, not near the house, but not near the city either. We’re somewhere in between, where we took our walk and she threw that stick. She’s strong again, and pretty, all done up in her sparkly dress.

“You listen to me, girl,” I say. “You get on outta here, straight you wake up. The Dark Man wants your soul for his cupboard. You stay here, he’ll get you for sure.”

“He’s going to help me.” She smiles and takes the cards out again. She starts that fancy one-handed shuffle.

“How far you going to get sick as you are? What good playing cards do you in the graveyard? He means to have your soul, and he’ll get it if you tarry here.”

“He can’t take my soul, dog.”

“He’s the Dark Man and it’s Sunday number nine. He can take what he pleases now.”

“No, dog.” She bends down to me. “My soul was taken long ago,” she says, and hikes up her long skirt for me to see a cicatrix of scars across her belly and thighs. She’s been mistreated, this girl has.

“He can’t hurt me any more than I been hurt,” she says and I can see the beatings and the screams and bad times, swimming just below her skin.

You’re a child and you’re wrong, so wrong you can’t imagine. You don’t know about souls and what they worth. Don’t know how much you can lose. You ain’t seen the cupboard.

I say it, but no sound comes out.

No need for Red Rooster now; envious time has fled. The light is changing. It’s dawn, and we’re back at the crossroads.

The Dark Man steps from the high grass, takes off his best hat and gives her a bow. His coat is brushed, his boots polished to a killing shine.

Good morning, my dear, he says.

“Good morning sir. My name is Sally,” she says.

Hello, Sally. How may I help you?

She hands over the cards, and he begins to shuffle. I know what comes next, and head to the oak tree to lie down.

The lesson takes about an hour. All that waiting, for an hour in his company. He hands the cards back to her one last time, and she shows him what she’s learned. He applauds.

A pleasure to meet you, Sally, he says, I hope to see you again. He takes off his right glove and extends his hand to her.

I turn my head away as she reaches her hand over. They shake. Down by the river, Red Rooster screams in triumph.

“Thank you, but I’m heading west,” Sally says, and picks up her bag. She slings it onto her shoulder, coughs with the effort. Then she looks the Dark Man right in the eye.

“Your dog is coming with me,” she says.

He smiles. I don’t believe that’s so, Sally. He can be trouble, that dog, but he is mine.

“He’s coming with me,” she says. “We’re going to take care of each other.”

The Dark Man looks over at me, all quiet in the grass.

Is that so, dog? he asks. You leaving Red Rooster and me for greener pastures?

I look at her. Sally. She pats her thigh in a come-on gesture. I put my head down again.

No boss, I say to him. I am your good dog.

Sally calls me, pats her thigh again. I don’t look up. The Dark Man laughs.

Good day, Miss, I think we will meet again soon, he says. Sooner than you might think.