Rudolph Wurlitzer - The Drop Edge of Yonder

"Are we dreaming each other?" she asked.

"No." He thrust into her so violently that she screamed. "Now?"

"No," she whispered, guiding him back.

"Now?"

"Yes," she moaned. "Now."

Later that night, as they lay side by side, her voice was so distant that he had to hold her in his arms in order to hear her:

"A long time ago, in a faraway land, there was a girl who spent all her days playing by the side of a big muddy river. The girl had been born with special powers and knew how to speak to all the life forms that lived on the river, including fish, frogs, snakes, and insects, as well as several mischievous water spirits who considered themselves very special and in control of everything that went on.

"One day, the girl made fun of the water spirits, telling them that she knew more about the river than they did and that they weren't doing a very good job of handling the floods and the greedy fishermen that were making the river a dangerous place. She advised them that if they knew what was good for them, they should consult her, as she possessed a special gift. The water spirits, most of whom were old and cranky, became angry with the girl's vanity and decided to teach her a lesson by placing a curse on her.

"The curse made the girl so afraid that for three years she was unable to leave her bed. One night in the middle of a thunderstorm, an old dwarf appeared in the village and told the girl's mother and father that she had been imprisoned in the shadowy realm that existed between life and death. To break the spell, the old man told the girl to stand by the river every night and pray for the water spirits to guide her back to life. Several months later, after listening to the girl's wild and hysterical songs, the river spirits finally agreed to lift the curse, but only if she accepted three conditions: that she never forget that she was an ordinary human being who could never understand the mysteries of nature; that she leave the village, the river, and her family behind; and that she never spend more than a few days in any one place. When the girl began to weep at her terrible fate, the river spirits took pity on her and told her that one day, after many adventures, she would meet a man in a strange and violent land who had also been imprisoned by a curse. If they had compassion for each other, they would have a chance to be released from their in-between worlds — even if it meant that one of them would die so that the other might live, and that a child would spring from her loins."

ater that morning, roused by a commotion of hooves and (shouts, they stood together at the window, looking down at the Warden who sat on his horse in front of the saloon, along with Stebbins and a ragged platoon of mounted soldiers and prison guards.

The Sheriff and the doc came out of the saloon, along with the photographer and a few whores and drunks who weren't ready to give up celebrating the birth of Shookville, as the town had been renamed.

"We know that Zebulon Shook was wounded when he took off from Sutter's Fort," they heard the Warden say. "And we know that he rode up here and raised all kinds of hell."

More people came out of the saloon to listen.

"Shook was here all right," the Sheriff said. "He came here to deal with his Pa after he killed three men and shot up the saloon."

The bartender spoke up. "If he hadn't done what he did, a lot of us would be dead and the saloon burned to the ground."

Incredulous, the Warden shook his head. "Are you saying that Zebulon Shook killed his own father? I find that hard to believe."

"If he hadn't killed him, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you," the doc said. "And I'm not the only one."

"That's right," said a voice from the crowd. "He saved our bacon."

"The man is a saint," said one of the whores.

"Where is he now?" Stebbins asked.

"Dead, most likely," the Sheriff said, "or if he ain't, he's in Colorado or Mexico."

"He shot a man called Plug," the doc said to the Warden. "I think he was one of your prisoners."

"I took a photograph of Zebulon Shook holding his dying father in his arms," the photographer added. "If you like, I'll show it to you."

The Warden dismounted and walked up to the steps of the saloon, then turned to address the crowd. "Let me make this very clear to you people. Zebulon Shook is an outlaw He has caused damage and suffering across the entire state. Because of him, innocent people have died, including my own wife and son. This man lives with the devil on his shoulder. Anyone found harboring him or withholding information about his whereabouts will be arrested."

When no one spoke up, the Warden pushed his way into the saloon.

On the street, Stebbins pulled the photographer aside. "My newspaper will pay a good price for your photographs. I've been filing reports on Zebulon Shook since the start of his outlaw career. I came out to California with him and wrote my first dispatch about him for The Nenz' York Herald and two Philadelphia papers. I know more about Zebulon Shook than any man alive."

The photographer was interested. "I'll take your portrait where the shoot-out happened. You can stand in front of the bullet holes and the busted tables, none of which have been removed. You pay me if you send a picture to your paper."

"Of course," Stebbins said as they walked into the saloon. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

he Sheriff and the Warden will make a deal." Zebulon said as they struggled into their clothes. "Then they'll bust down the door and shoot us."

As if to verify what he said, there was a shot from the saloon, then another, followed by a scream.

Halfway down the hall, he hesitated.

"North," Delilah said, as they hurried down the stairs two at a time.

Then they ran for a stand of trees, where Delilah had horses waiting for them.

'HEY RODE BENEATH A COLD SHIVER OF METALLIC STARS, their horses' hooves thudding over the black earth. Before dawn they reached a lean-to, a strip of canvas nailed between two oak trees. In front of the lean-to, three saddled horses were hitched to a log near the remains of a small fire.

Hatchet Jack stumbled towards them, pulling on his pants and reaching for a gun-belt hanging from a branch.

He looked at Delilah. "I figured you and him for old Mex."

"He wanted to. I didn't," she said.

Hatchet Jack pointed to Elijah's otter cap pulled over Zebulon's forehead. "I know that bonnet."

"Pa's dead," Zebulon said. "He got himself shot."

Hatchet Jack turned away, kicking dirt on the fire. "It was gold that done it, that and leavin' the mountains."

Hatchet Jack disappeared into the lean-to. He came out carrying his rifle and two saddle bags that he cinched over a horse.

"I should have left you in that ditch," he said. "It would have saved me and everyone else a lot of trouble."

"Who's leavin' who in what town?" Large Marge said, swaying out of the lean-to.

She slowly hoisted herself onto a horse. "I guess you know they're comin'. But I ain't stayin' to find out."

She galloped off, followed by Hatchet Jack.

Delilah walked over to her horse, then stopped, looking back at Zebulon.

"Go with them, if that's what you want," he said.

"I was thinking we should head for Mexico," she suggested.

"I'm finished with all of that," he said. "And maybe with you, too."