Toby Olson - Tampico

They dug down into the earth to expose the roots, moving out and away from the stump as their shovels clanged into them. The roots seemed hard as iron, and when Larry sent the axe down into one and it bounced away they thought they saw sparks fly up. They dug, their shovels slipping between thick tuberous snakes, casting the dirt up behind them, and the sun rose and soon they were sweating and the pit they were making under the stump was growing, and soon the hole was a good twenty feet in diameter, ten deep, and the exposed root system was a massive basket rising above them, the stump and the roots a giant petrified spider, still as some odd prehistoric monument at the river’s edge.

“She was watching Matthew. He’d climbed into the root chamber, and I’d seen her creep up to a higher step so she could see over the hill of cast-up dirt. She had her hands in her lap up there, and her face was back in shadow under the archway of her hat and veil and I couldn’t see her eyes. But she was watching him, and so was I, jealous of her watching.

“He’d taken his shirt off and his curls were pasted to his brow with sweat, and his arms and chest were sweaty, slick and hard as the roots he was climbing among and blond as the nicks our shovels had gouged into their surfaces. He was reaching out for the taproot, deep in the twisted thicket of others, a straight column descending, and his body was limber as he slipped among the roots, and his bare arms were rootlike. He carried the axe against his chest, and at times the roots seemed to be piercing him. I saw his extended arm, the taproot near his fingers, then the earth moved.”

The nun rocked a little on her step, and he saw the tractor’s fender vibrate in the sun, then he looked back over at Matthew and saw the hole opening through the roots below his suspended body, years of hidden erosion, the whole far side of the chamber’s earth floor falling away, the cliff side gone, and he could see the river through the shaking roots as the stump settled and the axe fell, and Matthew caught in the roots looking out at him, the hint of a quizzical smile on his delicate, thin lips.

Theresa was a farmer’s daughter and she knew the tractor, and Larry climbed up and got the chain, then slid down again and stood at the edge of the root basket and reached the thick links in to Matthew. The roots held him at his hips and shoulders, but his arms were free, and he grinned at Larry and winked and then hooked the chain around the taproot. Then he reached out and gripped Larry’s arm at the wrist and they both looked up into the dark canopy of dirt and fiber. The stump had slipped a few feet down, blocking the sun, and Matthew’s blond limbs had grown darker, his chest and face deep in shadow, but Larry could see his blue eyes, his hair turned to amber, and could feel desire in his quick pulse. They said nothing, just smiled at each other, then Larry scrambled up the embankment again, dragging the heavy chain behind him.

Sister Theresa sat on the high seat, then fired up the tractor’s engine, its lung pulsing to life over the rush of the river, then worked it into gear and pulled ahead until the chain lifted from the ground and was taut and shaking in the air. Then she pressed the pedal down slowly, and the huge tires guttered and the chain vibrated, but the stump didn’t move. She backed off and looked over her shoulder at Larry, and Larry looked down at Matthew. His arm thrust out through the roots and his thumb was up, and Larry waved at Theresa, and she turned again, geared down, and pressed the pedal, and Larry stood there watching.

The tractor roared and the nun shook in her seat. The wheels guttered again, then began to turn, and the small tires at the front of the tractor rose from the ground and her veil lifted and waved in the air behind her. The chain hummed and Theresa rocked in her seat, and Larry saw Matthew shaking, the roots vibrating, and when he looked up the veil and the stiff white hat were drifting away over the river, and her dark hair was unfolding, pins popping free, and it blew out to stand where the veil had been, a dark wave riding the summer air, billowing, as were her black garments, and she was a nun riding a crazy horse or a hurricane.

The tractor bucked, the tires dug down reaching for purchase, and the stump growled in the earth, then Larry saw it shake and settle, and when he looked down Matthew was gone under a flood of dirt, and when the tractor stopped and the dust settled, the taproot was bent like a bow, the others twisted and flexed, and Matthew’s eyes were closed, his body impossibly entangled.

Theresa leapt from the high seat. Larry was sliding down the embankment, and they met at the edge of the root basket. She’d grabbed the bag, and Larry saw her hand disappear into the dark folds at her hip, then emerge again, dragging a white handkerchief. He had the bag open, the water jar on the ground, and while she wet the cloth, he looked in at Matthew, whose brow was dirt-streaked, his closed lids awash in dust, a few tiny pebbles at the corner of his mouth. He’d reached to push at the roots as they’d grabbed him, and his arms were extended, his palms open now in his unconsciousness, and Larry saw the place where a spur hooked his pants at the buttons, pulling them down, the beginning of a narrow stripe, tiny blond curls descending. Then he saw the sister’s bare arm and hand, the soaked cloth as she reached into the root tangle, and when he looked over at her, the black robes were gone and he saw the white, horizontal ribs in her binding, black hair spilling over ivory shoulders, and a mole near the crease at her sternum. Something shuddered, and he looked back, and it was Matthew. She’d flooded his lids and cheeks, and now the wet cloth was over his brow and he was stirring, coming awake and moaning. His eyes opened into clear focus and a moment of bewilderment. Then he was smiling, knowing it was she there, and Larry thought he was looking at her shoulders, the dark mole, then he was looking at him, a slight blush in his grin. He was okay, just stuck there, and for moments they were laughing. Then they felt the earth shudder as the stump settled again, and through the roots and below his suspended body they could see fans of earth fall across the opening, obscuring the coursing river beyond.

It was impossible. Roots at his ankles and knees, the small of his back, his armpit, the taproot pressing against his chest. And the roots were thorny and rough, and when Larry tried hacking away at them with a shovel the whole basket shook and a root pressed down onto Matthew’s neck and he looked up, his eyes wild for a moment, gasping for air. His pants were ripped, the fabric pierced by sharp spurs, and filamentary runners had woven their way into his hair.

Larry looked over at Theresa, but she was going, her black stockings and black shoes and her petticoats, and her hair bouncing at her white shoulders as she scrambled up the embankment and over it and out of sight. He looked in at Matthew, who was smiling. His eyes glanced up the embankment and he shook his head, and Larry looked down at his navel and the stripe of curls and they both blushed a little and grinned when their eyes met. Then Sister Theresa was climbing back down, dragging the heavy grease bucket and Larry was pulling his shirt off.

They reached in as far as they could, globs of grease in their palms, and coated his arms and shoulders, his neck, and the roots that entangled them. Then Larry climbed into the basket itself, slipping among the roots, until he could reach out and touch Matthew’s hairless chest, and he coated that, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks as he reached into his armpits, his slick fingers in musk. He felt a root press down on his leg, then Sister Theresa was in the basket too, suspended below him, the grease bucket hung on a nub, and he could see her stained scapulas, strands of her hair hung on the sticky roots and her extended white arms and her greasy fingers touching the buttons. He could feel Matthew’s breath on his cheek, and when he looked up their faces were inches apart and there was panic in Matthew’s eyes, and when he glanced down from them and along his slick stomach, he saw her hands on his bare hips, his pants and his underwear sliding down and his white erection just inches from her face.