Harry Crews - A Feast of Snakes

When he did look up for the first time, there in the bleachers on the opposite side from the dog fighters, sitting side by side, solemn and unsmiling, were Berenice and his wife, Elfie. He felt the sudden thrust of fear start in him. He couldn’t think what they might be doing together. Elfie had been sullen and unusually quiet that morning. She’d hardly spoken to Coach Tump when he came into the trailer. Joe Lon didn’t know what it was about and he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want anything except possibly to howl and he couldn’t do that with everybody there watching.

Willard Miller came down out of the bleachers and sat on his heels on the edge of the pit. “Buddy Matlow ain’t gitten his dick sewed back on; he’s dead.” He spoke in a hushed, careful voice. “Berenice’s daddy says he was dead before they got to the hospital.”

“Jesus,” said Joe Lon. He felt a little sick to his stomach. “The poor bastard did catch some shit in his life, didn’t he.”

“Nobody deserves to have his dick cut off. Listen, go up and bring the whiskey down here, would you?”

Willard got up and went into the bleachers. When he did, Elfie got up and came down to the pit. She didn’t come into it but stood on the edge, watching him.

“What you and Berenice doing?” he said finally.

“She come by.”

“What for?”

“Talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Us.”

Joe Lon wished to God Willard Miller would come back and stop her talking to him. He raised his eyes to the bleachers and saw Willard standing up beside his daddy, looking down upon them but making no move to bring the whiskey.

“She told me what you said.”

Joe Lon vigorously massaged Tuff’s haunches.

“She said you said you loved her true. True love.”

“Don’t,” said Joe Lon. “Christ, don’t.”

“Said you put it in her … and then stuck it in her … and then back again. Back again even after … after you … after the other.”

He could only stare up at her dumbly.

“You never done that to me, Joe Lon, honey.”

“No,” he finally managed to say, “I never did.”

“Does it mean you don’t love me with true love?”

“No,” he said. “For God’s sake, Elf, git back up there and shut up about this. You don’t know what the hell you’re saying.”

“I know what I know,” she said. “After she told me I looked. She showed me and I looked. It’s on the sheets. It’s all over the sheets in my own bed, you and her and everthing.”

“Elfie, goddammit, git away from me.”

“Joe Lon, honey.”

“What?”

“I cain’t look at the babies any more. I tried this morning after she showed me and I cain’t look at the babies any more. I’m too shamed. You shamed me so I cain’t look at my own babies.”

She turned and went back up the bleachers. Joe Lon called to Willard Miller and he started down the bleachers but then stopped. Joe Lon followed his gaze to the place Willard was looking and Berenice had started down the bleachers toward him.

Christ, they were taking turns. They were all going to take a turn at him. “You gone bring me the goddam drink, or what?” he shouted up at Willard Miller. But Willard didn’t move.

The first thing Berenice said was, “She knows.”

“Berenice,” he said. “I may have to kill you.”

“I made a clean breast of it,” she said.

Joe Lon savagely massaged Tuffy’s broad, muscled chest. “I told everybody. I even told Shep. It was something about poor Buddy getting his … that happening … the way it did and all. His blood is all over the living room. I couldn’t stand it. So I told just everybody. Shep said he understood and he’d always love me.”

“Love you,” he said.

She turned and went back up the bleachers. He watched her go and saw that Shep was sitting with Elfie now, talking earnestly, head to head.

Willard came down with the whiskey. “What’as you waiting for?” demanded Joe Lon.

“I didn’t think I ought to break in on that. What was it they’as saying to you anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, here comes the fucker from the debate team to give you some more nothing.” Willard turned and went back up the bleachers to where the dog fighters had just cracked another bottle.

Sure enough, Shep was coming down into the pit with him. Joe Lon didn’t think he could stand it. There was a sudden blood lust on him. He was afraid he might fall upon Shep and tear his throat out.

“I come to tell you about Sheriff Matlow,” Shep said.

Joe Lon opened his mouth to say he didn’t want to know anything, that he couldn’t stand to have anything else told to him by anybody. But instead of speaking he simply croaked, a hoarse, cracked noise deep in his throat. He opened the whiskey Willard had brought down and took a drink.

“Listen,” said Shep in a shy, deeply embarrassed voice, “I know about you and Berenice. About how you were lovers. How in love you both were a long time ago here in Mystic. Love … Well, love … And then yesterday at your house …”

Joe Lon stood up and stretched his neck to breathe. He felt as though he had his head in a sack of cotton. The dog fighters had moved down a little closer to the pit. They sat now in the second row. They stared intently at his daddy’s Tuffy, who had not barked or even growled but still stood with his dark ears forward on his head, leaning in the direction of the other penned bulls where they barked and growled and howled in their cages.

“Walk him around, boy,” called Big Joe. “Take him around the pit.”

Joe Lon led Tuff through a tight little circle around and around the pit. They were betting up there, making the bets that would stand tonight between the owners. Shep had never stopped talking, saying he understood. Berenice had told him everything and he understood everything. Joe Lon wanted to tell him that he didn’t understand anything but he didn’t trust himself to try to speak.

Shep followed him around the pit, close at his shoulder on the opposite side from Tuff. “… and he actually handed me his … his penis. Put it right in my hand and the blood was everywhere. It was cut off clean, I mean smooth at his belly and the blood was pouring out of the place where it was cut like it was a spigot. A blood spigot.”

Joe Lon turned his pale, stricken face to Shep and managed to say: “Why you telling me this?”

“He said to,” said Shep. “I thought I told you. He said to.”

“Said to?”

“In the back seat, we got him in the back seat, and the doctor was driving and the last thing he said to me was, tell Joe Lon.”

Joe Lon walked faster. The murmuring voices of the dog fighters floated into the pit over the constant barking of the caged bulls. More people had come into the bleachers now. High on the east side. Mother Well sat beside Victor, the snake preacher. As he watched, they both stood up and started down the bleachers seats toward him.

“Joe Lon,” said Shep. “He said that. That’s what Sheriff Matlow said. He said: Tell Joe Lon. But…”

Victor, the tight tufts of twisted hair shining in the weak sunlight like screws driven into his skull, was coming directly toward him, and Mother Well was a step behind him. Joe Lon had stopped. They were staring right into his eyes and he couldn’t look away.

“… but I think he was trying to tell me something else. I mean I think Sheriff Matlow wanted me to tell you some thing. That’s the way it sounded. Tell Joe Lon … Then he died. Just quit breathing.”

Joe Lon stood in the pit and watched Victor and Mother Well come right up to the barrier and stop. Everything seemed to move at three quarter time and there was about it the quality of a nightmare. Mother Well had a handful of snake rattles. She rolled them through her fingers like beads. Joe Lon could see each of them separate and distinct as they moved against the marble-smooth skin of her hands.