Peter Matthiessen - Killing Mister Watson

Mister Watson sighed and said how homesick he had got for fresh palm heart and oyster-flavored pork at Chatham Bend, and how fine it felt to be back home in the Islands.

All the while young Mrs. Watson smiled politely, though she never left off murmuring to her baby. She had nice manners by our local standard, but she was tuckered out, looked a bit peaked. As the poor thing had a babe in arms and another on the way, Ted whispered it was only fitting to put 'em up in our house for the night. I didn't want to but I had to. Besides Laura Wiggins, nobody else had a spare room to put 'em in, on account of we had planned our house for children. Also-I might's well admit it-I didn't want just anybody claiming Mister Watson, who was Ted's friend before he ever knew most of these others.

Aunt Lovie Lopez-Penelope Daniels she was, married Gregorio-Aunt Lovie was jealous, and she could not hide it. She said, What? You aiming to take a desperader in your house with two helpless little children? She meant Thelma and Marguerite, cause Robert and the youngers wasn't born yet. Ain't you afraid? Aunt Lovie said.

I was afraid, all right, but my man weren't, and that was good enough for me, I said. Wouldn't be near to good enough for me, Aunt Lovie said, and they don't come no meaner'n my husband.

Gregorio Lopez, he come with the bark on, he was rough. Course you had to be mean if you was a Spaniard, back in them grand patriotic days. From Injun times, Spaniards wasn't popular in Florida, nor Cubans neither, and that is about the only thing ain't going to change.

That evening Mister Watson gave us all the news of Columbia County, where the Smallwoods came from. Columbia always were a bond between them. Mrs. Watson told me all about the fine new farmhouse he had built up near Fort White, how he got that land producing again after years of ruin, and how he aimed to do the same at Chatham Bend. She confided she was native born there in Columbia, said she knew about the blame was laid on Mister Watson in his youth due to his hellfire temper, as she called it. If she knew his evil reputation here, she did not let on. She was out to redeem him, it was plain to see, she had made that her holy mission in this life, she was real wide-eyed and serious about it.

Kate Edna Bethea, she was. He called her Kate, but that name was for him. All the rest of us that came to love her called her Edna.

"He's got him a feud going in Columbia," Ted whispered when he came to bed that night.

"That why he got so homesick for these parts?" Ted reached across and put his hand over my mouth, because Watsons was just the other side of a slat wall. I was irked that Ted was so impressed by Mister Watson, so proud about having a killer for a friend, though he wouldn't admit that in a month of Sundays. Saying nothing, I just lay there in the dark, hearing the south wind toss the palms, the hard little waves lick at the landing. I had this intrusion in my heart, as if something bad was growing through the wall from the other room. Ted was restless as a deaf old dog, puffing and twitching. I'd be darned if I would show my curiosity, knowing he was waiting for that across the dark. Finally he muttered, "Family trouble. Couple bad actors name of Tolen. Watson come back down here to cool off."

"Cooled them off, too? Or are they still alive?"

"Still alive, I figure."

There was something eager in my man's voice I didn't want to hear. I picked it up every time he told them stories of the mayhem he had seen up around Arcadia or over to the east coast, Lemon City. Being a peaceable good man who hated fighting, he was kind of bewitched by men of violence, of which we had plenty down around south Florida back in frontier days. Most of our Chokoloskee men were gentle, though you'd never know it, with their old torn clothes, dusty bare feet, and beards. For all their men's talk, they were little boys awed by bad actors, same way Ted was.

"Why did he tell you about that?" I whispered back after a while.

"I reckon he wants his friends to know he is trying to avoid trouble, and if trouble comes, how he acted in self-defense."

"Are we his friends?"

When Ted just sighed and started to roll over, I kept after him. "That man Bass that Daddy knew up in Arcadia-didn't our 'friend' call that self-defense, too? If our friend is such a peaceable feller, how come these people all attack him?"

"His wife believes in him, you seen that for yourself, and she was up there with him in Columbia. She knows his past. A preacher's daughter! If she believes in him, we got no reason not to."

I knew right then that Mister Watson had Ted Smallwood in his pocket. Ted weren't in the mood for no more questions, but we had Little Thelma and our Baby Marguerite under the same roof with a murderer, so I was determined I would see this through. I said, "Maybe them Tolens are in his way, like them poor Tuckers. And maybe one day the Smallwood family will be in his way too."

And my husband said, "It just ain't fair to talk that way. We know he cut Santini, but that's all we know. He never got convicted of a crime, far as I know of. There ain't no proof he ever killed a single soul!"

"How come he dusted out of here so fast after them Tuckers? And dusted out again, two years ago, when that carpenter just happened to die, too?"

"That feller's heart quit! And of course Ed knew that the blame would be laid on E.J. Watson, and by gosh, it was! He was scared about a posse, you can't blame him! When Guy Bradley got gunned down, who was the first man they laid it on? And Guy was killed way down there by Flamingo!"

I said, "I don't believe he was scared about a posse! He's too hardened by his sins to be scared of anything! He does what he wants and then he laughs at us, dares us to stop him!"

Ted's hand covered my mouth again. He pointed at the wall.

I was suddenly as bad upset as I ever been in my whole life, as if I'd known some dark truth all along but only recognized it after I had said it. Ted took me in his arms in that warm comfy way of his, big strapping man, you know, fine head of hair and big black mustache, and big deep voice he has only to raise once to clear the drunks and drifters from the store. "Ed Watson's a very good farmer," he reminded me, starting in on the little speech that all the women got to hear that night in every shack on our scared little island. "He's a hard worker with a good head for business, and a generous neighbor, too, always ready to help-they ain't a family in the Islands won't say the same."

This time he heard himself, the echo. "All right," he said. "But maybe a new young wife and family will steady him down. Ed opened an account this evening, paid out two hundred dollars just for credit. So I got no choice but to give that man a chance, cause he's the only customer we have that ain't behind."

"Talk about a good head for business, it's your friendship he has paid for, in advance! He thinks if he's got the postmaster on his side, and the House clan, too, Chokoloskee won't give him any trouble. Except he hasn't got the House clan! He hasn't got Daddy nor my brother Bill, nor young Dan neither. They're all leery. All he's got is you."

"How about my wife?" Ted whispered. When I didn't answer, he rolled his back to me to show he didn't want to hear no sassy talk. Being such a big old ox, there's no mistaking his intentions when he rolls.

I lay there quite a while. I wanted to say, Well, where does his money come from? You told me yourself, if that man had not had money, he'd be on the chain gang yet today, for attempted murder of Dolphus Santini! But I knew Ted would only say that Mister Watson's money must of come from farming in Columbia, and tell me to hush up and go to sleep.

Ted's esteem of Mister Watson was sincere, of course, and Daddy House felt somewhat similar. Admired his accomplishment, enjoyed his jokes, liked his good manners. And because they liked him-you couldn't help but like the man, Bill liked him, too-they was tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Ted said, he ain't the only one makes his own law as he wants it, and most of them ones that criticize him ain't anywheres near to E.J. Watson, not when it comes to good providers, solid citizens. Why, them plume hunters, them moonshiners back in the Glades are a sight more dangerous, they shoot at anyone who messes near their territory! Look what they done there to young Bradley!