David Markson - The Ballad of Dingus Magee

“But supposing she gets a relapse or something, after all the…” Hoke edged closer to the bedroom, peering within to see Miss Pfeffer gazing bleakly at nothing from beneath her blankets. “Why, a helpless woman all alone after a experience like that — I’d be right honored to sit a spell, ma’am, if’n you’d rest easier? I could jest blow out that lamp there, and then make myself to home in the parlor—?”

Hoke again thought he heard the doctor moan, or perhaps it was only the closing door. Miss Pfeffer sighed once. Then, distantly, with infinite weariness, she said, “Yes. Thank you. I—”

Then Miss Pfeffer did turn toward him, staring somewhat oddly in fact, as if she had only now become aware of his presence. But Hoke had already started to blow into the chimney. The light died.

“Well, now,” he offered. Even in the new darkness he retained the impression that Miss Pfeffer continued to stare, though there was only silence. “I’ll mosey on out front then, I reckon,” he said finally.

“No. Wait. Mr. Birdsill, I—”

“Yes’m?”

Another moment passed. Miss Pfeffer’s voice was strained. “Mr. Birdsill, I know it will sound forward of me, but — well, after that terrible encounter, thinking he was just a young man in difficulty, and then learning that he was…”

“The most murderous outlaw in the untamed West, yes’m. But you can relax now, because I done bested him in mortal combat and—”

“Yes,” Miss Pfeffer cut in. “It was quite shocking. Mr. Birdsill, would you mind if—”

“What’s that, Miss Pfeffer?”

“It’s such a comfort to a girl to know that someone sympathetic is nearby. Would you remain here, Mr. Birdsill, in my room? On the chair? If you don’t think it would be too compromising for an unmarried gentleman, I’d feel far more secure—”

“Well — why, sure, ma’am, I’d be more than—”

“Thank you, Mr. Birdsill. You’re so understanding. You may use tobacco if you wish. As a matter of fact I’m partial to the odor.”

“Well, it jest does happen I got me a cigar here,” Hoke admitted.

He sat, smoking, holding his derby hat on his knee. They were quiet again. But still he had the sensation that Miss Pfeffer was considering him in that puzzling, thoughtful way.

Then Hoke suddenly believed he realized what it was. “Why, Miss Pfeffer,” he cried, “you’re truly ill from all you went through, ain’t you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Miss Pfeffer protested. “Nothing. Don’t trouble yourself about poor me…”

“But I can hear you from all the way over here. You’re—”

“No, I’m fine. It’s only—”

“But ain’t there something I can git you — more blankets or—”

“I’m afraid I’m using all of them already. Oh d-d-dear, it’s-it’s—”

“Well, we jest got to do something, or else you’ll—”

“Oh, dear, if I only had a sister here, or some kinfolk. Because there’s only one way to stop it. Oh, forgive me for even mentioning it, Mr. Birdsill, but — but—”

“Yes’m?”

“Oh, heavens, would you think me shameless if I—”

“Oh, ma’am, I couldn’t think badly of a well-bred lady like yourself, no matter what.”

“Well, it’s — the only cure for a chill like this, is — oh, forgive me, but I’m certain you’ll understand, in such emergency, if you c-c-could—”

“Miss Pfeffer! You want me to—?”

“It will be my death if you don’t, I truly fear it will—”

“Oh,” Hoke said. “Oh! You wait, then. I jest got to git out’n my—”

“Thank you, Mr. Birdsill. Oh, thank you. I feel warmer already, I truly do. But — dear heavens, this is so compromising, I hope you don’t think—”

“Oh, no ma’am, I wouldn’t never—”

“But—”

“Yes’m?”

“Isn’t this the way people would — I mean married folk, of course — somewhat in this same manner, although with a certain arrangement, like—”

“Miss Pfeffer, ma’am?”

“And then like—”

“Miss Pfeffer!”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Pfeffer said. “Oh, dear. And now the chill has come back, just dreadfully, dreadfully! Why, it’s so bad, I don’t believe I’ll be able to stop shivering for anything at all—”

“Married?” Hoke cried. “Married! But—”

“Because I’m ruined, ruined!” Miss Pfeffer was weeping hysterically. “Oh dear, dear, how could you do this to me? A poor, defenseless girl like myself, trusting you, looking to you for protection in my moment of need—”

“But Miss Pfeffer, it weren’t me who started the—”

“Oh, what have you done! Taking advantage of me when I was helpless, helpless! You’ll have to many me. If you don’t, I’ll—”

“But Miss Pfeffer!” Hoke was fumbling for his trousers, swallowing hard. “But—”

“Stained, my honor stained forever! My virtue lost—”

“Please,” Hoke pleaded, “Miss Pfeffer, get aholt of yourself. It weren’t nothing more than—”

“I’ll kill myself—”

“Huh?”

“If you don’t make an honest woman out of me, I will! I must! There’s no other salvation, none! And my blood will be on your hands, Mr. Birdsill!”

“But Miss Pfeffer, ma’am, I know I been courting you and such, but it weren’t for — I mean I jest couldn’t afford to go to Belle’s too often, but now I already done got what I–I mean…”

Miss Pfeffer wailed in the darkness. “With a gun!” she cried. “I’ll get a gun, and I’ll put a bullet into my heart. Two bullets. Six! On your doorstep, Mr. Birdsill, for all the world to know who wronged me—”

“But I got to have some time, I…”

“Time?” Miss Pfeffer’s voice changed abruptly, and again Hoke felt that she was eyeing him strangely. “How much time?” she asked him.

Hoke struggled with it. “A year?”

Miss Pfeffer wailed.

“A month, then?” Hoke ventured.

“Midnight,” Miss Pfeffer declared.

“Midnight?”

“Midnight,” she repeated. “It is now approximately ten o’clock. If you don’t come to me with a man of the cloth by midnight, you will find my mortal remains upon the doorstep of the jail.”

“A man of the—?” Hoke’s head was swimming.

“Until then, Mr. Birdsill.”

“But—”

He stumbled out, gathering his hat and coat mindlessly as he went. He was muttering to himself, all the way into the dark street, so he did not see the shotgun until it loomed beneath his very nose.

“Okay, you son-um-beetch,” she said, “is no damn lie then, hey?”

“Huh?” Hoke had sprung back instinctively, his hands shooting up. He dropped his jacket. “Now blast it all, ain’t I got enough troubles of my own without—”

But the enormous weapon was pressing against his chest now. “You make bim-bam with that horsy paleface, you son-um-beetch? Is true what I hear, hey?”

“Now who ever went and told you such a lie? And where’d you get holt of a shotgun like—”

“Never mind where I hear. Never mind shotgun neither. You try to get married up with that horsy twat or no, yes hey?”

“Aw now, Anna…”

“Stick up your damn hands again, you son-um-beetch.”

“Now lissen here, I got things to do. There’s a dangerous desperado over there in jail I got to keep track of. And on top of that I—”

“You keep track that one-arm feller instead, I think. I think you forget everything damn else, go find him pretty damn quick.”

“One-armed feller? Find him for what? You mean that crazy preacher?”

“Preacher feller, oh yes, hey. I give you one hour, maybe two. Then damn quick you marry me, never mind that paleface bim-bam. I give you until midnight is damn all.”