Alex Bledsoe - The Hum and the Shiver

He strummed again. The room abruptly seemed to grow clearer, as if a hazy curtain had been yanked away. He looked around, seeing his home as if for the first time. The cheesy landscape painting they’d bought on their honeymoon hung over the bed; straps of Susie’s bras protruded from the top dresser drawer. His brown loafers, one upright and the other showing the worn sole, lay on the carpet beside the door. The effect quickly faded, though, and then Susie came out of the bathroom, tying her robe.

Inside the case was a spiral notebook. He opened it and saw lyrics and chords in his own handwriting. He remembered that he used to write lots of songs, documenting his life through music; how long had it been since he’d done that? And why did he stop?

“I declare, that Coletta is going to get herself in trouble before long,” Susie said as she sat on the bed and began brushing her black hair. “She was an hour late, and I swear she smelled just like pot. She can only slip past so many pee tests before they catch her, I tell you what.”

Don looked steadily at his wife. He admired her shiny black hair, pale skin, and delightful slanted eyes. Her legs, where they emerged from under the robe, were smooth and soft. By the time his gaze returned to her face, she was also staring at him. “What,” she asked, “are you looking at?”

He smiled. “The most beautiful redneck Asian woman I’ve ever seen.”

She continued to stare; there was an unmistakable rumble in his voice. “I’ve been on my feet for sixteen hours,” she said warningly.

He crawled across the bed and growled teasingly, “Then you won’t mind being on your back for a while.”

He kissed her shoulder, and she giggled. “What’s got into you, Don?” she demanded, but did not resist as he pushed her back onto the pillows.

Later, she turned to him and said, “Now I need another shower. But if this is your idea of a midlife crisis, I have to admit I like it.”

“I’m not middle aged,” he disputed with a tired grin.

“And my eyes are round like Ping-Pong balls,” she said in a cliché Asian accent, swapping the l ’s and r ’s. She ran her fingertips across his chest; the remains of his youthful muscles were still there beneath the layer of sedentary fat he’d accumulated. “Seriously, what brought this on? Did you imagine I was that cute little clerk down at the Q-Mart?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just… I was out at Aunt Raby’s today getting the old Swayback family Bible. I hope I can find some family connection between me and Bronwyn Hyatt’s family that might let me get that interview with her.”

“You’re part Tufa?”

“Yeah, my right leg below the knee and the three fingers on my left hand. One of my ears is suspect, too.”

“Seriously? I guess it explains the hair and the teeth, but you never mentioned it before.”

“Never really thought about it before. But my great-grandmother was Tufa, and if I can track down her family in Needsville, it might give me an in with the Hyatts.” He paused, looking down at her hand now drawing lazy circles on his bare stomach. “The thing is, Aunt Raby mentioned that Grandma Benji used to sing weird Tufa songs. I checked online, and at the library: nobody knows anything about any Tufa songs. I mean, any songs that are specifically Tufa.”

“And all this made you think, ‘Hm, I want a quickie when my exhausted wife gets home’?”

“No, all this made me think about my guitar and the songs I used to write, which made me feel kind of… I don’t know, young, I guess. And that made me want a quickie with my exhausted wife, who I might add was up to the challenge.” He playfully yanked a stray strand of her hair.

She giggled, then stretched luxuriously. “Boy, I’ll sleep now. You know, one of the ambulance drivers who drops people off at the hospital is a Tufa. Bliss Overbay. I could ask her if she knows any Tufa songs.”

Don shook his head. “Nah, doesn’t matter. Just thought it was odd.”

Susie looked into his eyes. “I like you like this. All interested in something. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this way.”

“Been a while since I’ve felt this way.”

“Think it’ll stick?”

He shrugged.

She kissed his ear and took the lobe in her teeth. “Anything I can do to help it stick?”

He turned to her. “You’re doing a fine job already,” he said as he kissed her.

It took forever for night to fall.

The sunlight faded and at last the moon rose, casting enough light that Bronwyn could see the yard outside her window where the trees didn’t cast shadows. In that clear spot of silver, the haint would again appear. Eventually.

She rubbed around the point where the largest pin went through the skin of her thigh. Scratching was totally forbidden, but the itch had grown exponentially. She would be immensely glad to be shed of this monstrosity, and would hold Bliss to her Tufa timetable. She dreaded what she’d see when the Ilizarov mechanisms were removed, though; her legs, once the envy of all the other Tufa girls, would be permanently scarred. She pretended it didn’t bother her, but it did. She liked being the Bronwynator, the hell-raising hot chick all the other girls hated and all the boys wanted to take out on a quiet gravel road. That would be hard to maintain once she looked like she’d been through a blender, and she never, ever wanted a mere pity fuck.

She looked at the banners across her ceiling. Tomorrow she would take them down while Aiden was at school. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but there was no longer any meaning in the symbol for her. She would leave the army when her enlistment was up. Stop-loss wouldn’t apply to her; she was more valuable as a PR tool if she vanished back into the hills anyway. If she emerged into the public eye again, she might say something Major Maitland wouldn’t like. Besides, she knew her immediate future was here.

That should’ve brought a sense of relief, but instead the tight panic in her chest increased. The challenge she now faced was even more daunting. Her mother appeared so young, alive, and filled with music that it seemed impossible the night wind would take her. Her absence would send reverberations all through Cloud County, and probably to every Tufa who’d left as well. A First Daughter didn’t go without leaving a mark.

She heard cows lowing somewhere in the distance and glanced at her clock. Three minutes after twelve. The sound of cows after midnight was supposed to be another herald of death. Then again, it could just be insomniac cows. Not all superstitions had that supposed grain of truth to them.

The wind suddenly billowed the flag curtain into the room. Then it snapped back against the screen, as if the air pressure outside had suddenly dropped. At that moment a soft voice said once again, “Private Hyatt…”

Bronwyn swallowed hard and realized she was sweating. A haint could do nothing, she knew, except appear and speak to those meant to hear; nevertheless, knowing a dead person wanted to chat sent chills up her spine. She often wondered if the Tufa afterlife was the same as the regular one; Tufa passed through time differently, but once it stopped, they were like any other dead thing. When their song was over they decomposed, in both the literal and ironic sense.

So when someone crossed back to this world to deliver a message, everyone assumed it must be pretty important. Yet to be the recipient of that message left Bronwyn with a tingly, tangible fear completely different from the one she’d known during her ordeal in Iraq. Those people had wanted to do her physical harm; this haint might be after something else entirely.