Manroot (10 page)

She knocked on his door.
He called, “Come in.”

She left the door ajar, for she didn
’t like the way Justin looked at her now, his smooth lips curling, his eyes sharp. Sally had thought him handsome – and to most he might have seemed so, but there was about him an aura that Katherine mistrusted.

“
Telephone, sir.”

His eyes flicked over her and stopped, resting on her legs and the short skirt.
He came close, too close. “Who is it?”

His presence unnerved her.
She wanted to say, “I don’t know.” Instead, she blurted out, “Sally.”

“
Tell her I’m not in, but sweetie – I’d be in for you.” His hand brushed her breast. She left, but his cruel words followed her: “Don’t act so high and mighty with me. When you’re through being the old man’s whore, you can be mine.”

Rage made her want to turn around and smack his arrogant face, but she couldn
’t afford to do that. She could tell the Judge, but in the past when she had merely hinted at some sort of insult, he grew livid with rage, questioning her again and again. Was she certain that she had not flirted with the offending party? No, she could do neither thing; she must wait. It wouldn’t be too long…the cottage was so close.

Sally was told that Just
in was not in. She called twice more, but Justin had left instructions to tell her he had checked out.

Pushing aside this unpleasantness, Katherine felt good, keeping busy making the apple pies for dinner.
Both women had their sleeves rolled up, their arms powdered with flour, cutting the dough. The kitchen was fragrant with the pleasant aroma of spices and cinnamon. Suddenly the world went dark.

“
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Frieda whispered, crossing herself. The kitchen bulb burned weakly, yet outside the window, the sunlight was gone. It was dark as the darkest night, yet it was noon. They heard shouts of alarm and the sound of running feet coming from other rooms in the hotel. Both women stood frozen like statues for what seemed an eternity, but was only minutes. Like an unseen hand turning on a light, sunshine again flooded the room.

Then they heard it, the scream
– an awful, hoarse sound that went on and on. It issued from somewhere outside at the back of the house, a scream so full of terror that it fluctuated in pitch until it became one ongoing agonized roar. The women clutched each other in fright. Mr. Taylor came running through the kitchen and flung open the back door. They followed him timidly into the yard where they could see the bushes by the shed trembling violently.

Mr. Taylor grabbed a stick from the woodpile and advanced toward the bush.
“Come out,” he commanded, and the sound of his voice seemed to have a calming effect, for the shrubbery still waved, but less violently. He parted a bramble bush, cursed, and sucked his finger where he had been stabbed. Cautiously again, he parted the branch; behind him they peered, trying to see.

The sight froze them to the spot.
They could see him clearly now, thrashing, tearing at the shrubbery…then he stopped momentarily as if a new idea had crossed his mind in his madness; they watched in horror as Bruce lifted his hands up and tore out large clumps of his hair. His face was a frozen gray mask of terror – his eyes bulging white and rolling wildly in his head, his lips frothed with bloodstained saliva that oozed slowly down his chin.

“
Bruce…Bruce,” Mr. Taylor called, but he was beyond hearing.

The hotel owner turned to the people gathered behind him, and as if they couldn
’t see for themselves he said, “It’s Bruce having some sort of fit. Send for the doctor.”

Others appeared, watching helplessly as Bruce thrashed about the bushes with the tortured screams still issuing from his throat.
They all knew he was slow, yet no one had ever seen him in a fit. From the firehouse they came and subdued him with a net, took him off struggling wildly against his captors.

Later, they were told it was the eclipse.
He, not knowing, had stared up at the sun unblinking, watching nature’s phenomenon. Now, in addition to his other afflictions, Bruce was totally blind! Katherine shivered. Me Maw had told her of this…beings who were born under a bad star. She had always believed before William that she was one of those unfortunates, but now…

Katherine had trouble sleeping that night.
She was remembering all sorts of legends, myths, and spells that she had been told about when she was a child.
The Golden Bough
, which William had brought her, talked of legends, too…of omens good and bad, and she was sure that an eclipse was a very bad omen. The smell in her newly papered room added to her discomfort; she barely slept, just dozing a bit to find frightening things waiting for her in her dreams. She knew others in the hotel were uncomfortable with the odors of fresh paper and paint, but this was when redecorating always occurred, in the off-season…it was late April. She went to open the window slightly for fresh air. A nagging thought she couldn’t quite place followed her back to bed. Try as she would, it was something about the room. Something was different, something had changed!

Next morning, she dressed slowly.
That’s when she noticed it – it was gone! It had always sat on the window-ledge. She looked under the beds, tore every drawer apart, flung the silk dresses William had bought her on the floor, then ran out to the ash pit and sorted feverishly through the rubbish that was there. It had barely a foot of trash…it must have been cleaned and hauled away recently.

W
hen she looked up at the gray sky, there was someone on the balcony. “Lost something, honey? Want me to help you find it?” She became aware that her slip strap had broken; she was standing there in her madness with her breasts exposed. She ran back to her room, hearing Justin’s laughter on the porch above her.

It wasn
’t there! It wasn’t anywhere, the heart-shaped box. She went over the contents in her mind: a cigarette butt, a cuff-link of William’s, the imitation pearls, three strands of William’s hair, a pair of red garters, and the prize manroot, the corn-husk doll. It did look like so much trash. The workmen must have thrown it away… A chill went through her; she shivered. She felt in an inexplicable way that the magic of the box had brought William to her…now it was gone and she felt winter in her heart. There were two bad omens in one day. She fell into bed and burrowed under the covers and cried until she could cry no more. Frieda came looking for her, pronounced her ill, told her to stay in bed. She did so for three days; she would not eat, only now and then taking a sip of water. From the den she stole a bottle of whisky. Her mother, Papa, William, and all the others – they searched for answers in the amber liquid. It made her sick and crazy. She wanted to tear the heart out of the world. William came on Friday and was told by Frieda that Katherine was out of her head. He could not believe what he found. She had torn all the silken gowns to shreds, breaking all her nails in the process. Her fingertips bled. He carried her to his room, filled the tub with soapy water, and washed her, telling her, ‘It’ll be all right,’ but he didn’t believe it himself, for the unaccustomed smell of whiskey on her breath made him think of blowsy women and lonely nights. He had trouble retrieving her unscathed in his memory; jealousy boiled like a frantic thing within him. He wanted to know with whom she had drunk the whiskey. He spoke, asking his questions gently, holding the beast of jealousy at bay. His anger grew as she neither answered him, nor even tried. He took her silence as guilt.

Gently he washed the bruises where her body was injured from bashing herself into the furniture.
Lovingly, he dried her, then wrapping her in his dressing gown, he carried her to his bed. He ordered food and tried when it came to coax her to eat. He held the glass of buttermilk to her lips, but she would not swallow. He was annoyed at the raucous laughter from below where a poker game was in progress. She seemed not to notice. From his pockets he took the scraps of paper, the newspaper ads, and he read them to her. He read on and on of acreage and cottages, and forest land…anxiously watching her face to see if she had heard.

“
It’s too late,” she wearily answered. “The magic has worn itself out. The eclipse…it’s a bad omen, and the April moon,” she said, her voice rusty with disuse.

“
No, darling, it’s nothing but one of nature’s wonders,” he assured her.

She babbled about boxes and the manroot; he suspected that she was s
till drunk.

Sitting on the bed beside her, he smoothed her forehead.
“Kathy, what is it?” he pleaded.

Her voice was an angry screech.
“I told you…it’s too late. The magic has worn itself out.”

He regretted bringing her the books of myths; he promised himse
lf he would bring her no more. He asked the question that burned like a fire in his brain. “Do you love me?”

She ignored the question.
“The eclipse – it’s a bad omen.”

“
I know about the eclipse and I heard about Bruce. Maybe I can give him and his mother some sort of work at Hilltop.”

She seemed to be as one talking to herself.
“It’s too late; the painters have thrown it away.”

Nothing he did or said got through to her; he would try what had bonded them in the beginning.
Undoing her dressing gown, he very lightly touched her breast. Reaching down with his tongue, he traced the circumference of her nipples; he traced her stomach, her hips, with a touch that usually inflamed her. She lay before him cold as stone. He felt as though his love had become abuse. He stopped, pulled the cloth together, retired the sash. He felt the deep humiliation of her indifference. She rose and went to the porch and walked out and breathed deeply as if she had been deprived of air. The night sounds surrounded them; there was the pleasant smell of early honeysuckle. He put his arm about her shoulder. She shook as if with revulsion. Quickly, he dropped his arm from around her. Anger flared, high and bitter. He did not know her; she was not the Kathy he had left – she was someone strange and different who was keeping terrible secrets from him. Controlling himself, he asked, “Do you wish to go?”

She nodded a silent yes and started for the steps.

He slammed the door, bolted it, and went into the bathroom to draw a bath. He turned on the tap, the water gurgled, running noisily into the rub. And his frame shook with fear.

The moon came from behind a cloud for just a moment before hiding again.
It was not silver or even orange; it was blood red. That was when she knew: it had come, the omen that foretold evil. It was here on the steps with her. It cleared her head; she felt the soul of the hare beating within her.
She was hunted
. A slim hope turned her, intending to rattle his door, but it was too late, just as she knew it was…the magic had worn itself out. In the dark night she could not know where it lurked, yet she felt its presence. She knew it was there.

Halfway between two points, she could not decide; it was as far to run down as it was to run up.
She sensed it above her, somewhere in the dark. In terror, she started down the wooden steps, but before she reached the lower porch she heard the rustle of dry leaves and the trellis shook. He leaped from it, and upon her, like an avenging angel – landing on her back, sending her crashing forward onto the wooden slats. Splinters tore into her palms; her breath was expelled from her lungs by the force of his body. Vicious fingers grasped her throat, cheating her of air. The point of the knife stung her neck.

“
I want what the Judge gets,” he hissed. She struggled beneath him, trying to regain her knees; the knife pressed deeper into her throat. He tore at the loose dressing gown, gaining easy access to her bare buttocks. Light filtered across the slats, as the moon once again emerged from the night clouds. The sight of their shadows thrown forward across the boards paralyzed her; it seemed like a giant insect squirming across the slats. She thought of the praying mantis and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer in her head. Fiercely, she struggled under him, but fingers like steel pried her legs apart. He entered her cruelly, blind with lust. She chose not to feel anything of this evil attached to her like a parasite, thrusting, thrusting. It went on for an eternity; her breath stilled, held down, stuffed in her throat, her nostrils flared seeking air, she tried to bite the hand that held her so tightly. Her teeth finally worked until they achieved their goal. She sunk them into his flesh…and for just a moment he loosened his hold. A scream, a sigh, a moan so high, so inhuman, escaped her…that he wasn’t sure it emitted from the form he rode so viciously. Lights went on, flooding the porch. They were framed as if in a still photo, in their pose of degradation.

Doors banged, voices shouted, c
reated momentary relief. He was out of her; she heard the knife clatter through the slats of the porch. With limbs like jelly she tried to right herself. She could only manage to regain balance on her hands and knees. Trembling, she looked upward and saw his face looking down. William’s face was ashen; his eyes gleamed with fury as he saw her on all fours, her buttocks gleaming in the moonlight.

Someone yelled, “
Well, I’ll be damned!”

Justin struggled with his pants, looking up at the Judge.
“I’m sorry, Judge, if this was private stock. I couldn’t help it. She’s been after me to meet her out here…she likes doing it like this. Whoa, just like an animal she is. Sorry, Judge.”