Robert Coover - The Brunist Day of Wrath

The first thing Ben asked Mrs. Edwards when they were alone in the office afterwards was what else she could remember from that morning. She began to tremble, and he knew it would not be easy for her. He apologized and said he and Clara would be grateful all their lives for what she did, but he was only trying to figure out some things and put his mind at ease, and he thought he’d start with what she could recollect about Carl Dean. Carl Dean is hated and reviled by near everybody. They’d all heard him tell Elaine the night before, like a threat, that things were going to go bad for her. And he’d bared his chest like a wild animal, scaring the child half out of her wits. He left the camp right after that, his wheels spitting up gravel, and Duke and his woman saw him in his leather jacket drinking with the bikers at the motel, leaving with them later on. Ben heard him coming home late, noisy, drunk. Fell asleep in his van with his feet sticking out. Then, like a taunt, he parked the van right in front of the Meeting Hall before leaving. With a vulgar obscenity hanging over the rearview mirror. But though he’s what some would call rough trade, Ben believes Carl Dean is a good fellow at heart and he does not think it was in him to do what most people seem to think he did. They had a touching farewell up on the Point that morning and Carl Dean said he wished Ben was his dad, and he was sincere about it. Brought tears to Ben’s eyes. He’s not the only one with doubts. At lunch, Wayne and Ludie Belle said much the same, and Billy Don pointed out that Pach’s handgun, driver’s license, and utility knife were in the van when they burned it. Seems like he’d have taken those things along if he was planning on joining up with the bikers. He said Pach’ was pretty ticked off, all right, and he might have liked to kill Young Abner, but he didn’t think he would ever do anything to hurt Elaine, which was what Ben believed. And then Ludie Belle told him about Mrs. Edwards’ apocalyptic angels story and pointed out there was no place for Carl Dean in that colorful gang. Like as if, in Sister Debra’s lively imagination, he wasn’t really there, no matter what she says to the contrary. So that’s what he wanted to know about.

She said she was so terrified, it was like everything was speeded up and stopped dead at the same time, like it can happen sometimes in nightmares, but she did have the memory that that short bearded man with the pockmarked face, whoever he was, was there somehow, though sometimes it was like he wasn’t. When they were burying the body, for example, he didn’t seem to be there. Burying the body? I think it was a body, she said, though it wasn’t very big. But it was heavy. An animal maybe. This was before what happened to Elaine. She stumbled upon them during her dawn prayers and just froze. She was so scared. But it was dark and they were drinking and didn’t see her. They had shovels. Why had she never said this before? She didn’t know. Somehow it was just coming back. Like she’d been too afraid to remember before. The ugly one with the beard may have organized everything and stayed in the background, so she didn’t see him at first. Maybe he had always been one of them and had infiltrated the camp under false pretenses. Colin said he wasn’t who he said he was. No, Ben told her gently. That was Carl Dean Palmers. Sure of that much. Ben had put her underwear in a plain brown envelope and he handed the soft packet to her now. She didn’t open it, just started crying, couldn’t stop, was soon hiccupping with her sobs. He said he was sorry and left her there. He had more questions, but they’d have to wait.

But that explained some things. Why they were burying the body at the camp, Ben has no idea, though, since they may have been lying in wait for Junior and Elaine, it might have been a two-birds-with-one-stone thing. The sheriff found a stolen station wagon later that morning over near the mine — apparently they’d taken the brake off and rolled it down the hill — and it was likely they used it to haul the body here. Made less noise than their motorcycles, too. Accounts for their quick getaway when he and the others rushed down there. Ben doesn’t have much to go on, but he supposes from Mrs. Edwards’ story that the burying must have happened near where he found the flowery drawers. The grave’s probably not too deep, something they dug in a hurry. The trowel he has brought along should be enough. He’s fearful of unearthing a decomposing body, only hoping she’s right and it’s just an animal. But where to start? Everything looks wet and settled, the ground back here in the trees covered with bushes and dead leaves. Could take him weeks, and even then he might miss it. Then he sees it. An area blanketed with dead maple leaves. But under an oak tree. He carefully clears the wet leaves away and finds the patch of disturbed earth where nothing new is growing yet, slightly sunken. About the size of Rocky’s grave, too small for a grown person. A child? A severed head? The thought of digging up such a thing sends a shudder down his spine. Maybe he should turn this over to Sheriff Puller, he thinks, even as he begins to drive his trowel into the wet soil. But what he finds is not a child. Not a body at all. It all begins to make sense. He remembers now the rumors going round before they left. But why here? Because no one would think to look here. Which means they most likely didn’t know Junior and Elaine would turn up, not wanting anyone to know they’d been here. It also means they’re planning to come back. He could report it, but it would throw suspicion on him and the camp, might draw state and federal authorities to the area. They never said anything to any outsiders about the rape, wanting to protect Elaine, so there’d be a lot of explaining to do. They’d want to pin the theft on somebody, and the bikers aren’t around, and they know he and the others have been seen over there around the mine buildings, not to mention the gatherings of all of them on the hill. Which weren’t themselves completely legal, as he understands it from all the disputation. There are people who mean them harm and want to be rid of them and they could use this as an excuse. But he can’t leave it where it is. What if they came back? It weighs too much to move any distance. He’d need help and that would mean telling somebody, and he doesn’t want to do that. Not yet. It’s hard work with nothing but a trowel, but he can shift it far enough that it won’t be easy to find.

When he has done that and refilled and covered up the old place like it was before, he heads back to the house trailer. It’s late in the day. The trailer’s empty. Clara and Elaine are gone. He sees Mabel Hall through the kitchenette window hurrying over from her caravan looking fretful. His chest tightening, he steps outside to meet her.

I have not been a good mother. This is the despairing thought that Clara, seated beside her daughter’s hospital bed, is thinking. I have not paid enough attention. Though it is to herself she speaks, praying the while for guidance and forgiveness, she hopes Ely is listening. She does not feel him nearby, has not for some time now, but she believes he must be, for Elaine’s sake if not her own. They both need him now. Clara has given herself heart and soul to her church mission, which she has always thought of as Ely’s mission, too, and Elaine’s as well, her task to guide her daughter, hand in hand, toward redemption, the end so near upon them. But there was always so much to do, Elaine’s hand was not in hers too much of the time — how much of her devotion to this sacred calling, she wonders, has been worldly pride and vanity? — and now see here, her emaciated child, broken, embittered, lost, her hands shackled, her nose violated by the tube that, seemingly against her will, is keeping her alive. Often during the past few weeks, watching her daughter’s frightening decline, beset by doubt and weariness, Clara has thought she should ask someone else to take over. Hiram maybe. Or her new director of National Media, the bishop of the Eastern Seaboard. She even had a word with him about it. Did Jesus’ mother, cradling her son’s ravaged body, suffer the same doubts, the same regrets? What, at such a moment, does one care about the salvation of the world? She wishes she still had that little porcelain statue of Mary with her bleeding heart on her breast that Elaine gave her. It would speak to her now.