Journeyman (12 page)

The car he had won from Clay pleased Semon greatly. It had fairly new tires all around, with a spare just as good; the paint still held its original gloss and sheen; and the top was in perfect condition. He got in and started the motor. There was not a loose bearing to be heard. After listening to the hum for a while, he got out and pocketed the key.

“I’m much obliged to you, coz,” he said, coming out of the shed. “I’m damned obliged to you. It’s a pretty good car for the money.”

Semon walked toward the house. Clay went with him, running beside him with short steps in order to keep up with Semon’s long ones.

When they reached the corner of the house, Clay pulled Semon’s arm. They stopped, facing each other, and Semon bent down to look into Clay’s eyes.

“What do you want, Horey?”

“What do you aim to do now?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Aiming to go in the house?”

“Maybe, and maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You ain’t going in the room where Dene is, are you?”

“Calm down, Horey. Calm down.”

“Now, Dene is my wife and—”

“Well, what’s that to me?”

“Well, Dene is my wife, now, and I’ll be doggone if I want to have you thinking I’m going to let you claim her. Now, I ain’t going to stand for it. I wouldn’t be mean about it—I’m just telling you to stop where you are, if that’s what you’re aiming at.”

“Don’t come whining around me, Horey,” Semon said sharply, shoving Clay away with a sweep of his hand. “You lost, and I won. There’s nothing more to the story.”

“Now, you ought to be satisfied with taking Lorene. You take her, if you want somebody. I don’t care if you do take her. But you ain’t going to do nothing with Dene.”

“Just one more whine like that, Horey, and I’ll blow your brains all over creation.”

“Those dice of yours don’t happen to be loaded, do they?”

“They are my dice, and I don’t have to tell you anything about them. You got in the game by walking in unasked; walk yourself out, and stay out. I’ve heard enough of your whining.”

They went up the porch steps and through the hall together. Semon looked through each door as they passed. When they got to Clay and Dene’s room, Semon stopped and looked in at Lorene and Dene. He smiled, waved his hand at them, and strode inside.

“Maybe you’d better tell her, Horey, so she’ll believe it right off,” he said to Clay. “Go ahead and tell her.”

Clay sat down in a chair, wiping the perspiration from his face.

“Go ahead, or I’ll have to do it myself,” Semon urged.

“We had a little crap game out in the yard, Dene,” he began. “The three of us—Semon, Tom, and me. Semon cleaned us out. I had to put up the car, and I lost that. Then Semon made me—”

“Don’t stop,” Semon said.

“Semon made me put up you, and I lost again.”

Lorene was on her feet in an instant.

“You’re a dirty son of a bitch, Semon Dye!” she screamed at him. “You’re a low-down crook!”

Semon laughed at her.

“It was a fair game of craps,” he said slowly. “Clay took just as much of a chance of winning as he did of losing. The only thing is, he lost and I won. That’s the way gambling goes.”

“But you ain’t going to take her!” Clay shouted at him, jumping to his feet. “Now you just try and see if you can!”

Semon perked out his revolver and aimed it at Clay. Before he could pull the trigger, his arm was jerked down by Lorene. When he raised it again to fire the second time, she fought him tooth and nail, biting into his arm and scratching the backs of his hands. He yelled with pain, dropping the gun. He tried to kick her, but she clung to him.

There was plenty of time for Clay to reach the pistol on the floor at Semon’s feet, but instead of getting it, he ran to the other side of the room where Dene was. He grabbed her by the arm and was pulling her through the door when he heard Semon’s shout. Semon ordered him to stop where he was.

Clay turned back and saw Semon pick up the pistol and hit Lorene on the head with the butt. She fell at his feet unconscious.

“Come on back in here,” Semon said. “I aimed to handle this in a peaceful way, but it looks like you sons of bitches here won’t act like white people. Now, get back over there, and don’t make a move towards me.”

Clay went back as Semon had ordered him, and Dene clung to his arm.

“You get in that corner, Horey,” Semon said, “and stay there till I tell you to come out.”

After Clay had obeyed him, Semon laid the pistol on the table and picked Lorene up and carried her to the bed.

“Now, when you people decide to act like white folks, just let me know, and I’ll let you alone. I’d hate to have to shoot some of you when there really’s not a bit of need of it. So just make up your minds to act natural, and it’ll be all right by me.”

No one spoke in reply, and Semon went to the bed and sat down. He looked at Lorene a moment. She was breathing heavily, and her eyelids had begun to flutter. He watched her calmly while she slowly regained consciousness.

Lorene turned over and opened her eyes. She did not know where she was for several minutes, and when she did recognize the room, she could not remember what had happened.

Over in the opposite corner, Clay had become more calm. The perspiration had dried on his face and chest, and his head no longer felt hot.

“I’ll make a bargain with you, Semon,” he said slowly, prolonging each word.

“How’s that?” Semon asked, looking up from Lorene.

“I’ll go in debt to get her back—to have Dene back, I mean.”

“In which way is that?” Semon asked, interested in the proposal.

Clay walked across the room and stood in front of him.

“I’ll go to town and borrow some money to buy her away from you, if you’ll leave her alone now.”

Semon jumped to his feet and looked down at Clay.

“How much can you borrow?”

“I might could get hold of a hundred dollars on next year’s crop.”

Semon slipped the revolver into his pocket.

“Reckon you could rake together that much?”

“I can try,” Clay said eagerly.

“All right,” Semon agreed. “That’s a bargain. You get a hundred dollars and hand it over to me before tomorrow night, and I’ll give her back to you. That’s a fair enough trade for me.”

Clay clutched his arm.

“You’re not lying to me, are you? Is that the truth you say?”

“I swear before the living God, Horey.”

Clay ran to the door. He did not stop to look back at Dene in his haste.

“Where are you going?” Semon called after him, following him to the hall.

Clay did not stop to answer. He ran across the porch and down the back steps.

“I’m going to McGuffin to get the money,” he yelled back at Semon.

A
FTER SUPPER THAT NIGHT
Lorene took the bottle of medicine from the kitchen shelf and went down to Susan’s. She intended instructing Susan to give Vearl several doses of it every day, and to see that Vearl was taken to the doctor in McGuffin after she left. Lorene knew she could depend upon the woman to remind Clay until he would take Vearl. She had already planned to leave Monday morning for Jacksonville with Semon.

Semon and Dene were alone in the house. At first Dene was afraid to look at him; but later, after he had spoken so tenderly to her, she was no longer shy. Semon made her feel, for the first time in her life, like a lady.

“I’d like to speak to you about your soul, Dene,” he said first. “You can talk freely to me, knowing who I am. I’m a man of God, Dene.”

Dene hung her head to hide the flush that came to her face. She did not know what to say. After he had finished speaking, she noticed for the first time that there was a tingling in her body; the sensation frightened her.

“Speak, Dene,” he urged, moving his chair to her side. “Don’t be afraid to unburden your soul in the presence of a man of God.”

“I’ve always tried to do right,” she said. “I don’t want to be bad.”

“We are all wicked, Dene. There isn’t a man or woman in the world who isn’t wicked. But I know you don’t want to be. That’s why I’ve offered to help you. I want to help you. You can trust me, because I’m here to help you.”

“Would it be all right for me to tell you?”

“Now, Dene, don’t be afraid. What you tell me goes no further than me and God. It will do your soul good to tell me what’s troubling you.”

“It didn’t trouble me any until you came. But now I feel like I’ve been the baddest thing.”

“That’s your conscience hurting you, Dene. You’ll never be happy again until you come right out with it and tell me everything.”

“I’ve always tried to be good,” she said softly. “My mother taught me to be good and to believe in God. She said I ought never let the devil tempt me.”

“What kind of temptation was that, Dene?”

“She said it was wicked to love Clay before we got married.”

Semon leaned back and thought a moment, holding his chin in his hand.

“That’s bad, Dene. It’s very bad.”

“But that’s not everything, Mr. Dye,” she said quickly. “There’s a lot more I haven’t told you yet.”

“More?” he said. “You’ve been even more sinful than that, Dene?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Do you mean to say you sinned more times than that?”

“Yes, sir. I was wicked another time, too.”

Semon jerked his chair closer and took her hands in his. He patted her softly, stroking her hands and arms with his huge palm and fingers. She tried to draw away from him at first, but he shook his head.

“I want you to tell me what it is, Dene. I have a right to know. I’m a man of God. I came here to help you. You must tell me all about yourself before it’s too late. If you should die tomorrow, you’d go straight to hell as sure as the world you live on. But after you tell me, why, you won’t have to worry any more.”

“Oh, I want so much to tell you everything, Mr. Dye. I’m not used to talking to men, except to Clay, and I’m a little scared. But you are a preacher, and I know I can tell you. I’m the baddest thing.”

He stroked her arms from wrists to shoulders, rubbing the rough skin of his fingers up and down her tender flesh.

“Now, Dene, you’ll have to tell me the truth about what I’m going to ask you. Only the truth will serve. If you lie to me, the Lord will damn you to everlasting hell. Are you willing to tell me the truth, Dene? Now, remember, I’m not asking this as a man. It’s as the preacher that I am that I must have a truthful answer.”

“I’ll tell you the truth about everything, Mr. Dye. I want so much to tell it. I know I’ll never be able to sleep again at night if I don’t tell you. I’ve got to tell you!”

“Dene, is Clay Horey the only man you’ve ever had private dealings with? Don’t forget now—you must not lie to me. I’m a man of God, I am.”

“What kind of dealings do you mean?”

“We’ll have to speak plainly about this thing, Dene. I must ask you plainly, and you must answer me plainly. Don’t be afraid, because God is waiting to hear you.”

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Dye!”

“Have you ever admitted any other man besides Clay Horey?”

“You mean—to me?”

“I mean to you. That’s exactly what I mean.”

She turned away from Semon and tried to look across the room. She was silent for such a long time that Semon thought she had refused to answer him. He took both of her arms in his hands and pulled her around to face him. Once more, and slowly, he began to stroke her bare arms.

“Once,” she whispered, looking down at the floor.

“How come just once, Dene?”

“He only asked me once, Mr. Dye.”

“Why didn’t the son of a bitch ask you more? What was wrong, Dene?”

Semon trembled with anger.

“He was scared, Mr. Dye.”

“Scared of who? Scared of what?”

“He was scared of Clay.—And because I was a white girl.”

Semon jerked her painfully.

“Wasn’t he a white man himself?”

“No,” Dene said.

Semon jumped to his feet, pulling her with him. When they stumbled over one of the chairs, he kicked it with all his might across the room. Then he put his arms around her and held her tightly while he stroked her buttocks with his rough hands.

After a while he drew her head upward and looked down into her eyes. Dene’s head lay against his chest, and she had to look straight upward before she could see his face.

“It was a nigger, Dene?” he asked. “You got down and let a nigger have you?”

“I couldn’t help it, Mr. Dye! I just couldn’t!”

“Why couldn’t you? You could run away, couldn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to run away, though,” she said, drawing her head down and laying it against his chest. “I wanted him to do it.”

“You loved a nigger,” he said, looking down at her.

“Yes,” she said. “I liked him.”

Semon continued to hold her tightly in his arms. Once, when she tried to slip away, he crushed her more ruthlessly against his body.

“This is serious, Dene. It’s very serious. I don’t know what God is going to do to you about it. But I’ll pray for you, and you must pray, too. Some day He will forgive you. He always forgives folks who repent. But it’s serious just the same. This thing of white girls laying down with darkies ought to stop. It looks like it gets worse and worse all the time, though. I’ve had a lot of trouble about that. The girls seem to think that darkies are better than white men, or something. I don’t know what it is. White girls and women tell me that they just didn’t want to stop living with darkies, once they started. They all know it’s wrong, but they can’t or won’t stop it even to save their souls from hell. I don’t know what’s going to be done about it. The law won’t help none, because nobody pays any attention to it. It looks to me like a white girl ought to want to stick to her own color. There’s enough yellow darkies in the country now, and there’s more and more born every day. Pretty soon everybody will be the same yellowish color if this keeps up.”

Dene had begun to cry, and she tried even harder to get away from Semon. She wished to run and hide from him so he could not see her again. She knew she had committed a sin. She was convinced that it was the worst sin she could have committed.