Neal Barrett - Through Darkest America

Without opening his eyes he reached over and let his hands slide down Kari’s soft nakedness. His fingertips brushed the tips of her breasts, wandered past the flat curve of her belly, and came to rest between her thighs…

Papa looked down at him, his big shadow covering the sun. “That’s wrong, Howie,” he said sternly. “I taught you better, boy. The Book says that if a man do consort with the beasts, then he shall become as the beasts…”

“No, Papa, it’s Kari. She’s a girl. She ain’t meat! Honest!”

“Howie, I done everything I could for you. I took you into Bluevale and let you see the stuffed nigger and got you a bone-handled knife. And then you go and do a thing like this.”

“No, Papa, it’s Kari. She…” He turned to look at her and the big mare grinned up blankly and reached out to grab him between his legs. Howie shrank back in horror…

“You can look all you want, Howie,” she told him, “but just don’t go feeling around or anything.”

“Kari?”

Papa’s arrow dug into her face, just above her mouth. Another quivered in her eye…

“Don’t, Papa!” Howie cried. “Please don’t!”

Papa was trying to ready another arrow, but he was having trouble with it. His eyes were black and empty and he couldn’t wipe the dark away without dropping the bow. With his other hand he struggled desperately to keep his belly together, but they’d split it bad and the guts kept falling out in soft puddles to the ground…

“Just look is all,” said Kari. “Don’t go trying to touch something…”

When he woke up he knew right where he was and what had happened and just what they’d done to him. He heard his own scream somewhere and then the pain came down hard and put him under again.

The next time, he prayed for sleep or death or anything, but nothing happened. The hurt was unbearable, but he couldn’t leave it. He knew there were places to go that were dark and soft and quiet where you couldn’t feel anything at all, but he didn’t know how to get there…

He could see, with his good eye. The gray wall. A spider- web crack like a tree branch winding up past the dim torch. Without moving his head he could look down and see his arms strapped to the chair and his legs spread over the flat logs. Everything seemed all right between his legs. They hadn’t done that yet. They would, though, Howie knew. Jacob was going to take it all.

There was a dull, rumbling sound somewhere. Like thunder. Or a faraway drum. He listened a minute and it came again.

He tried to look around the room but the slightest movement of his head sent pain ripping like a knife through his skull. It… Wait, now. That was something worth knowing wasn’t it? He thought a minute. It was hard to think with the pain.

Pain was bad.

And good.

Bad and good at the same time. Could that be so? It was, if he could do it.

And he could. Because he had to. He couldn’t stay there. He had to get away from the pain. Get away—or give himself to it. Let it take him and put him in that place again. If he couldn’t do it, maybe the pain could do it for him.

He cried out and cursed himself and begged himself to stop. He shook his head as hard as he could and opened and closed the empty eye again and again and again and it seemed like it took an awfully long time, but he made it.

It was cold to the bone and Carolee took all the covers. That was just like a little sister—let you freeze your butt off and then next morning sure as light she’d be telling mother it was him that—

“God, nooooooo! ”

“Hey, easy now.” The big hand clamped his head hard against the back of the chair. “It’s goin’ to hurt, but it’s going to get better. Just sit still, if you can.”

The man poured something cold as ice into his empty socket. Only it wasn’t cold for long. It was a hot, fiery coal and it burned all the way through his brain and out the back of his head. He couldn’t even get the scream out before the darkness pulled him under.

He wasn’t gone near long enough.

When he looked up the man was still there. “Who…” He tried, but couldn’t make the words.

“I ain’t anyone you know, and no one you’re goin’ to,” said the man. “Is the hurt some better? Don’t try to say nothing. You sure ain’t fit to. That stuff won’t last forever, but it’ll dull the pain some and give you time to rest. What ever good that’ll do you.”

He came down close to Howie and he could smell the faint odor of sweat and the strong smell of whiskey. “You know he’s comin’ back, don’t you? Reckon I don’t have to tell you that. Son of a bitch! Godamn son of a bitch…”

The man stumbled in the half light and caught himself on the chair. Howie moaned.

“Oh, Lordee, I’m sorry about that! I sure didn’t mean to hurt you none. Don’t need that, do you? Know what that bastard’s doing? Well, shit, ’course you don’t. He’s killin’ us all, is what. It ain’t just you. Son’bitch goin’ to have us all dead ’fore it’s over, ’s what he’s goin’ to do! If old Monroe wasn’t coldern’n a stone out there someplace we’d… Listen, boy, if I could I’d be more’n glad to cut your throat for you an’ I know you’d thank me for it. Only I… ain’t got the heart for it no more. Or the stomach, neither. I just can’t , is all. I wish to hell I could…”

When he came out of it again he wasn’t sure whether he’d dreamed the man or not. The hurt was some better, so maybe it was real. The pain was still there, though—simmering just below the screaming point.

He wondered how long he’d been in the room. He had no feeling for time anymore.

An hour? Two? Longer than that. A day or so, maybe. Or a week, for all he knew.

His throat was parched dry, the sides sticking together making it hard to swallow. He tried to work some spit into his mouth but the motion warned him. It wouldn’t be too hard to wake up the pain again.

The thunder was closer now. He dully remembered hearing it before. Once, it came so close the room shook and a veil of white dust trickled down the wall in front of him. He watched it, following the slow path with interest.

“Howie. Come on, now, Howie.

“What? Papa? Is that you?”

Jacob’s harsh laughter exploded in his face. Howie came fully awake.

“By God, boy, you ought to be up there! It is life … it is what a man was born for!” Jacob’s whole body trembled. His voice was near ecstatic. “A soldier don’t need eyes for that. He can feel it and smell it all around him. The world’s bein’ shaped up there. God’s voice is in the heavens!”

He stopped, like he was coming back from some far place. “Don’t guess you care much ’bout that, do you?” He showed Howie his terrible grin. “Reckon you got other things on your mind. We got a little time for that, too. We will take time, Howie. We surely will.”

Jacob’s hand reached out. Howie saw what was coming and tried to pull away. A long finger slid over his chest and up his face. He screamed when the finger found what it was looking for, and when he felt himself slide under again, he hoped maybe this time he’d just die and not come back any more…

The cold water hit his face and set him gasping for breath. It ran down his forehead and hurt terribly when it hit the empty place. He tried to suck in the stray moisture with his tongue.

The thunder came again, closer than ever, shaking the room and sending gray stones rattling to the floor. Jacob cocked his head and listened. “We ain’t got much time, boy, and I’m sorry for that. Got to get back up there, Got to.” He came close to Howie. So close Howie could smell the sweet odor of death that seemed to cling to the man like an extra skin. “Had to come here, though. There’s things between us that has to be. And I know you understand what I’m saying. Things that’s got to be set right, Howie, or it just ain’t no good for either of us. You know that…”