Edward Lee - The Black Train

“Leave the man alone!” one of them squalled.

The mutt broke off, running excited circles in the clearing. But Collier knew at once: That’s the dog I…think…I saw in my room.

“What are you doin’ there, mister?” the dark-haired one squawked. She had smudges of dirt on her dress, and there was something about the way she stood and the way she looked at him that seemed hyperactive.

“I, uh, oh, I was just taking a nap.”

“Too much whiskey, huh, mister?” supposed the older one. She kept her back to him, and was leaning over as if looking into the creek.

“An alkie!” the younger girl half shrieked. “A rummy, like Mother says! Says there’s lots of ’em.”

Collier’s head thunked. “No, no, I’m staying at the inn.” Then he lied. “It’s nothing like that. I was just taking a nap in the woods, because it’s nice out.”

“Rummy! Rummy!” The little girl danced in the water, while the mongrel joined her.

Precocious little shit, Collier thought.

“Shut up, Cricket. Don’t be disrespectful…”

scritch-scritch-scritch

Collier felt he had to prove something now. Very carefully he stood up, and noticed that he’d slept off some of the drunk. Some but not all. Careful. He walked over. “What are you girls doing over here? I hear this noise.”

The dirty blonde looked up, smiled with a doughy face that seemed to droop. Her eyes looked dull in spite of the big, proud smile. “I’m shavin’ my legs, ’cos I’m a young lady now, and I gotta do ladylike things.”

“That’s what our mother says,” the younger one seemed to regret. “I can’t wait till I’m a young lady, too, so I can shave my legs.”

Collier almost winced at the sight. A cup of shaving lather sat beside the blonde, and indeed, she was shaving her legs in the creek, with an old-fashioned straight razor.

scritch-scritch-scritch

Then she splashed the lather off with creek water.

“Oh, wow, you should be careful,” Collier warned. “You ought to do that at home. If you cut yourself, you could get all kind of germs from that water.”

Both girls traded bewildered glances. Now the blonde splashed off some more, shot her gleaming legs up. She wriggled her feet in the air, and seemed pleased with the effect. “There,” she drawled. “All smooth now, just like a real lady.” The doughy face beamed back up. “My name’s Mary, and this here’s my sister, Cricket. I’m fourteen, she’s eleven.”

“Hi,” Collier said, and tasted a waft of old beer.

The younger girl jumped out of the water and poked him with a finger. “What’s your name, mister?”

“Justin.”

A toothy grin turned Cricket’s face into a lined mask. “You ain’t one’a them fellas who messes with little girls, are ya? Ya don’t look like it.”

Out of here! Collier thought. Kids these days—they see all this molestation stuff on Oprah . “No, no, but you girls have a good day, I have to go.”

“Aw, Cricket! What’cha say that for? Now you got him scared. Don’t go, mister. She’s just teasin’.”

“No, I’ve got to—” He winced again. “Please, Mary, be careful with that razor—”

Now she was doing her underarms, rather obliviously. Scritch-scritch-scritch. She shaved the lather out of one armpit, then flipped it off the blade into the water. Collier noticed a thread-thin line of red.

“See, you’ve cut yourself—”

“Aw, it’s just a nick, but I can’t do it right with this hand.” She held up her index finger.

First glance made Collier think she was wearing a fat dark ring but then he realized it was a bruise.

“I got one, too, but not as bad.” Cricket showed her own finger. “I stole a piece of sugarloaf from the store and got caught.” A manic giggle. “But that ain’t as bad as what Mary got caught doin’—”

“Shut up!”

The gritted-teeth mask again. “She got five minutes ’cos she got caught kissin’ a boy at school!”

Mary laid a hard hand across the back of her sister’s thigh. The sound cracked through the woods.

“Ow!”

“Serves ya right. Mister, don’t listen to her.”

Collier’s mind churned over too much at once. Who were these girls? Were they staying at the inn? Collier doubted it. Probably a trailer park nearby. Then: Those bruises, he pondered. He couldn’t forget Mrs. Butler’s painful demonstration of the “Naughty Girl Clips” in the display case…

scritch-scritch-scritch

“Oh, please, you really shouldn’t do that…”

Now the blonde was shaving the other armpit.

“Do mine next, do mine next!” Cricket insisted.

“There ain’t nothin’ to shave!” Mary almost wailed. “You ain’t got no hair yet!” Another gleeful smile shot back to Collier. “She’s jealous, mister, ’cos I got hair and she don’t. I got the blood, too.”

Collier’s throat thickened. “The…blood?”

“The Curse of Eve, like our mother told us ’bout. Eve did somethin’ bad in the Garden of Eden, so now all girls get the curse. But the curse gives us hair. Ain’t that right, mister?”

Collier stood speechless. He cleared his throat and asked, “Are you, uh, are you girls from town?”

“Oh, yeah. We was born here.”

“Where are your parents?”

Cricket wriggled her toes in creek mud. “Our father’s away workin’ and our mother’s at home. Where you from, mister?”

“California—”

Both girls traded another glance that seemed in awe.

“—but I’m just visiting here. I’m staying at Mrs. Butler’s inn.”

Mary splashed off her other armpit. It occurred to Collier just then that, for sisters, the girls couldn’t have looked more different.

“We don’t know no Mrs. Butler.”

Must be from a nearby town, and wandered over here. But…had it really been that dog he’d seen last night? No. It was just a dream. Just a hallucination…

Yet it wasn’t too far-fetched to think that the dog may have gotten inside. Mrs. Butler had even suggested the possibility.

“Oh, yeah,” Mary informed. “There’s a man at the cooper’s named Butler, but he ain’t got no wife.”

Cricket piped in, “One time he was all drunk and he offered us half a dollar to show him our—”

“Cricket! Be quiet!”

Collier’s contemplations stretched like taffy.

“Hey!” Cricket wailed now. “What’choo doin’?”

The dog frolicked in the water, chasing plops of floating shave cream. It seemed to be trying to eat them.

“He’s a silly dog,” Mary offered.

“Sometimes real silly…”

Now the dog yipped, thrashing circles in the woods. At one point it stopped abruptly, to defecate. It seemed to look right at Collier.

“He’s poopin’!”

“I have to go—good-bye,” Collier said quickly and began to walk off.

“Don’t go yet!” Cricket objected. “Don’t’cha wanna watch Mary shave her…”

Collier lengthened his strides.

As he made off, he heard:

scritch-scritch-scritch

He walked straight in spite of the dizziness: half drunk, half hungover. He slowed his pace up the hill he hoped to God would take him back to the inn. White-trash kids or something, he guessed. Poor, negligent parents, no decent role models. It happened everywhere. Then he thought: Or maybe…

Maybe it was another hallucination.

The finger clips? The dog? A young girl shaving her legs in a creek?

The half-heard sound of giggling stopped him. But he must be a hundred yards away now.

Some perverted gremlin in his psyche made him turn against his will.