Peter Matthiessen - Shadow Country

“To all intents and purposes,” Lucius said shortly.

“Henry went home quick because right away them ones that was drinkin wanted to know who brung along that nigger. Course they knew it was Houses and we spoke right up but that didn’t stop ’em, nosir, they was huntin trouble.

“Henry didn’t need no warnin. By the time we got home, he already had his gear in his old skiff. Pap had left before the crowd started to turn ugly so he said, ‘Them men ain’t goin to bother you none, Henry. Heck, they like you.’ And Henry said, ‘ ’Spect so, Mist’ Dan. They liked Mist’ Watson, too.’ He left that night.”

A few minutes later, Bill spoke up again. He could not put the burned man out of his mind. “Whilst you was over talkin with his brothers, Colonel, Henry told me he was through with life but life weren’t through with him. I just hated to see him so bad hurt that he would say somethin like that.” He looked stricken. “And knowin no words I could say to help when he was dyin, that made me ashamed.

“After all the years that good man give us, after we promised Daddy House we would protect him, how come we never kept track of him? Let him know he weren’t forgotten by our family; tell him we was wonderin how he might be gettin on? I never done that, nosir, I did not. Too much pains to take over a nigra-was that my thinkin?

“Funny, ain’t it? My cousin-in-law over to Marco, the one helped lynch that colored feller some years back cause they give him a white man’s job in the clam cannery? That cousin never missed a meal till the mornin he never come down to eat his breakfast. Died peaceful in his sleep at home after a nice long life. How do you figure that one, Colonel? You reckon God just thundered down, ‘All is forgiven, Boy, cause you ain’t nothin but a redneck idjit that never knowed no better. It’s them ones like your cousin Bill that knowed better and turned away that I am abominatin in My sight.’ ” Bill shook his head. “I never did commit a crime against a black man and darn glad of it but I never done nothin for ’em neither, not even when I had the chance. You reckon that’s why I feel so bad about Henry? Because I knew better?”

House lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the westering sun that fired the windshield.

“Kind of late to help him now. I missed my chance. Sins of omission, they will call it where I’m headed for.”

From here and there across the prospect of Golden Years Estates came the grind and bang of earth-moving machinery. At Panther Crescent, finding Bill’s wife away at church, they sat outside sorting the day’s events.

Bill said, “So Lucius Watson finally learned Henry Short’s story and made friends with the House clan, too-that mean you’re through with it?”

“Know something, Bill? I might be. But first I have to get to Hell and hear my father’s side of it.”

“Lordamighty.” Bill House laughed. “Where you off to, Colonel, this late in the day? Which ain’t none of my darned business,” he added hastily when Lucius remained silent. “What I mean, don’t wait around here just to keep me company. You got a long drive home.” Lucius assured him he’d be happy to wait until Bill’s wife came back in case Bill needed a hand with all those panthers.

Hearing a car coming, they got to their feet. Bill House waved with a broad smile of welcome as his wife climbed out with a food basket on her arm. For how many long years, Lucius Watson thought, had there been nowhere he was expected, no dear friend to greet him with warm supper? All that awaited him was that stranded barge on a remote salt creek; he felt invaded by a dread of home.

“He’s back safe, Mrs. House!” he called. “I never got a chance to bump him off!” But he had hailed her with a gaiety he did not feel, and Bill House turned to look at him. “Listen,” Bill said. “Better stay and eat some supper with us, Colonel. Talk about old schooldays with Miss Betty here.”

“Thank you, I have to go,” he said, lest they think he’d been awaiting an invitation. Awkward, he thrust out his hand and House, still puzzled, shook it warmly. “So long, Colonel. Hope we ain’t seen the last of you,” he added, as Betty House said shyly, “Lucius? I sure am happy to meet up with you again. Will you come see us?”

When his car started up, the Houses waved. “You ain’t such a bad feller, Colonel,” Bill called after him. “Maybe you never was.”

By the time he reached Caxambas, there would be a moon. His mind turned and returned to that brass urn. Was that what he’d been dreading? That waiting presence, gathering moon glints in the window? The thing spooked him-not those brown bones but the spirit sealed in with them. He had no wish to be alone with Papa in defenseless sleep.

Making his way along the woods road to the old sheds by the creek, he took pains with the potholes. He shut the car door carefully when he got out and made his way out to the barge over the spindly walkway. Down the still creek, a raccoon fishing mud clams at the tide edge sat up to peer around and watch him pass.

Noisy on purpose to warn away the ghosts, he wrenched open the salt-swollen door. Framed in the window, in silhouette against the mirror of the creek, the urn awaited him. Stopped short on the threshold by unnamable emotions, he was startled when his own voice said, “Papa? I’m home.”

In a tumult of unsorted memories and premonitions, he crossed to the window and with both hands lifted the urn, touching it to his forehead to break its spell. “May God forgive you, Papa”-how inappropriate this was, since, like his father, he had lost faith in any deity. What should he do with this damned thing?

He lay down wide-eyed on the moon-swept cot, clasping his hands on his gut to quell his restlessness. In the morning he fetched Rob’s envelope from the car, made coffee, sat out on the deck.

Luke:

I am writing down as best I can remember the events of New Year’s morning, 1901, so you will better understand why I ran away. It takes all the courage I have left to let you read this. I’m taking you at your word that it’s the truth you’re after.

You and Eddie were still in school, living with Carrie and Walter in Fort Myers, when Wally Tucker fled Key West with his pregnant sweetheart to escape bad debts and scandal, having heard that Mr. Watson at Chatham River would employ them. Some months later, your father’s hogs sniffed out two shallow graves beyond the cane fields. Wandering out there calling in the hogs, the Tuckers discovered the remains of two young cane cutters. These men had told Wally that they wished to quit but were owed more than a year’s back wages and could not get “Mr. Ed” to pay attention.

The Tuckers fled the Bend without their pay. I found them rushing their stuff down to their little sloop, almost hysterical. He murdered Ted and Zachariah! “That’s impossible,” I said. “He paid those boys last month and took them to Fort Myers. I saw them off myself.” Well, we did, too, but it’s Ted and Zachariah all the same! Though they didn’t dare say so to his son, they were terrified of what might happen if the Boss found out what they knew. When I got angry, asking Tucker if he was accusing Mr. Watson, he did not back down. Who else ? he said. He was in tears.

I ran out through the cane fields to that place and I smelled those bodies long before I got there. The ground was hog-chopped all around. I went in close enough to look and had to get away on that same breath to keep from puking. The bodies were all bloated up, half-eaten, but there was no question it was Ted and Zachariah.

By the time I got back, the Tuckers were gone. Papa lay like a dead man in the house. He was drinking very heavily that year. According to Aunt Josie, who came flying out to warn me to stay away from him, Wally put his Bet aboard their sloop, then took his gun and walked up to the house and pounded on the wall to wake the Boss, demanding the wages they had coming. Your father was furious because two workers were quitting without notice with the cane harvest hardly begun; he was further incensed when he threatened to strike Wally and Wally raised his gun. “You point a gun at E. J. Watson, you conch bastard, you better damn well shoot him. Go on! Shoot!” That drunken bellow terrified Aunt Josie because it sounded so insane, but as usual, E. J. Watson knew his man. Wally Tucker was no killer, never would be. Moving to strike him, Papa reeled and stumbled and fell down and the Tuckers fled.