Provinces of Night (38 page)

What are you doin out?

I’m just out, he said. Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t know the world
was coming to an end till I saw all those refugees camped out in there. Have they not ever been cold before?

Don’t you listen to the radio? They got warnins out about a ice storm. Done hit Alabama.

It looks like it’s hit your front room. That bunch looks ready to start breaking up chairs for firewood.

You better be checkin on your grandpa.

I just came from there. He said he’s denned up like a badger and dragging the dirt in after him. And he didn’t even need a radio.

You might ought to be huntin a hole yourself.

He smiled slightly at this and gestured toward the coffee pot. I thought I’d stop by a minute and see if you’d sell me a cup of coffee.

No, I’ll give you one. Give you a cup of coffee or a drink of whiskey either one. Which do you want?

I guess I’ll take the coffee, he said.

But she had produced from between her huge breasts a flat halfpint of clear whiskey. She tilted it to study the bead.

You don’t have a cup of coffee down there, do you?

Here. Take a little dram of this. It’s heated to body temperature already and it’ll go down like sweet milk. I’d even put a nipple on it if you wanted.

He took the bottle she was proffering. It did indeed feel warm to his touch. He unscrewed the cap and drank and stood by the window looking out to where the wind blew the cold trees. All the monochromatic world seemed in motion.

What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve got the whole world’s troubles to sort out and you’re runnin behind already. Did somebody die?

No. I don’t know. I guess they did somewhere, nobody I knew died. I guess I better be going. I thought I might drive off down to Clifton.

You took Albright’s car away from him?

He’s been driving that pickup truck Gene Woodall used to drive.

She grinned, turned to cap a lid over the popping grease. Ain’t a fool a wonderful thing? she asked.

He wasn’t sure who she meant by that, but he didn’t ask. I’ll see you,
he said. I’m going before this ice storm or whatever spreads from your front room.

Pile up in there with that bunch of drunkards, she said. About midnight I’ll come drag you off to my bed and show you how to stay warm. Goodlookin thing like you. I’d keep you for a goodluck charm.

You’d give that up soon enough, he said, reaching her the bottle.

She waved it away. Take it with you. You never know when a snake’s goin to bite you.

When he went out the day was more chill yet but he drove off into it anyway. A bleak feeling lay in the pit of his stomach heavy as a stone. He knew this was purposeless and could come to no good end but any sort of end at all was better than his life. Time had been grinding to a halt and he no longer possessed the tools to set it to motion again. He kept thinking he ought to turn back but he drove on into the leaden day. The wind spun a few snowflakes against the windshield.

The closer he got to Clifton the stranger the weather grew and by the time he cut off the switch before the pink house it was snowing hard and the wind was blowing it in shifting windrows ephemeral as smoke. When he got out of the car bits of ice scoured his face like sand.

He knocked and waited a while. He kept glancing back at the car and at the street. So far the wind was whipping the blacktop clean but the Dodge’s tires were slick and it was a long way back to Ackerman’s Field.

The door opened, the screen was unlatched. He was expecting Raven Lee but it was the mother herself who stood aside and bade him enter. He went in and stood awkwardly in the small parlor, not quite knowing what to make of the civility he was being shown.

I was just looking for Raven Lee, he said.

Well, she ain’t here. She’s uptown somewheres. Maybe the drugstore, she sets in there and reads them old magazines.

I guess I’ll go look.

You see her tell her to get herself home. They’re callin for ice and freezin rain on the radio and from the looks of things it’s already here.

I’ll tell her. He turned to go. He already had the door in his hand when she spoke again and he paused.

You talk right up to her. I can tell you think a lot of her but she’s a little pushy. A little overbearin. You speak up or she’ll run right over you.

He didn’t know what to make of this or even how to reply to it so he just nodded and pulled the door closed behind him.

She was not in the drugstore or in the Eat and Run Cafe. Nor about the snowy streets, which were as bare and bleak as if the town lay under an edict that shuttered its citizens inside. He sat with the Dodge parked at the curb and sipped at the whiskey and kept one eye out for the law but the law itself seemed denned up somewhere with the dirt pulled after. He drank and searched the streets as if he could conjure her appearance by sheer will. It was his intention to marry her on the spot or as close to it as possible. Or to launch himself into insane recriminations about Neal. He had no idea what his intentions were beyond the next sip of Itchy Mama’s whiskey, which had now cooled far below 98.6, and watching the snow list and slide on the glass. The day was failing and down the street where the poolroom was the nightlight came on, the harsh blue neon bleeding into the frozen air like ink in water.

He cranked the car and drove around the city square, down side-streets blown free of snow. Snow was sticking now on the uneven surfaces of folk’s lawns and in the glow of the streetlights it had a bluish cast.

He was about to cut his losses and leave when he noticed a brick building with a brass plaque that said
LIBRARY.
He parked the car and went in. She was sitting at a table reading a book, her back to the door, and she did not turn toward the noise the door made opening or closing. She was alone at her table and he crossed and seated himself opposite her.

What are you reading?

She looked up from her book, her eyes lost for a moment in transit from the place the book had taken her to this room with its oaken tables and the intense young man sitting across from her. She looked for a moment as if she couldn’t fathom who he was or why he might care what she was reading.

Then she said, What are you doing here?

It’s snowing, he said, meaning to say anything but that.

You drove forty miles to give me a weather report? I could have got that from the radio. Or looked out the window.

You didn’t tell me what you’re reading.

Rebecca
by Daphne du Maurier. It’s about my favorite book, and I’ve probably read it a dozen times already. Is the snow really starting to stick?

Your mother said tell you to get home. What’s the matter with her? She treated me very nearly as if I was human.

She’s desperately searching for a bridegroom, Raven Lee said. She’s measured you for a suit and tie and decided you’re better than nothing.

I’m not sure I know what you mean.

She gave him a small cryptic smile. You will here in a minute, she said. Let me get this book checked out and if you’re so set on driving me home I guess I’ll let you.

When she rose with the book and her purse and crossed to a desk where a bluehaired woman sat he saw that what he had judged a blouse was in fact a maternity smock and that beneath it her waistline had thickened considerably since they had sat in her room listening to the old man’s records. While he waited for the library card to be processed he crossed to the glass double doors and stood looking out. The night had darkened and all he could see was his reflection and snow drifting against it. Then Raven Lee’s reflection turned with the book and approached him. Her reflection slid an arm through his. They went out.

Did you see that woman watching you? She was wondering if you’re the proud father.

He opened the passenger door and she got in. He closed the door and came around and climbed in. It was very cold and he cranked the engine and sat for a time with a hand cupped over the heater vent and watching windshield wipers clear the snow.

It’s starting to stick now, he said.

I’m showing pretty good, don’t you think? she asked, laying a hand on her swollen abdomen. This is what they call showing, you’ve heard people say that, she’s starting to show. I may be better at showing than I expected to.

To have something to do with his hands and to avoid answering her he eased the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. There seemed
no other cars anywhere and he backed around and turned in the street and drove to the square where the traffic light went from red to green shuttling phantom cars through the windy snow. He did not speak until he had laboriously maneuvered off the twisting sidestreets and down the hill to Raven Lee’s house.

What are you going to do?

Have you read
Rebecca?

Yeah, I read it a long time ago. It’s pretty good.

It’s just about my favorite book.

He had left the engine running for such poor heat as the heater was pumping out but it was still cold in the car. You said that, he said. What are you going to do?

I’m going to read it again.

Beyond her clean profile the porchlight flared like a cheerless beacon. The door opened and he could dimly see the mother come onto the porch and stare at the car before the cold drove her back inside.

I guess it’s Neal’s baby?

You guess correctly. Neal’s the only guy I ever got serious enough with for things to get to this point. And they sort of reached this point without me knowing what was going on. I guess you could say it’s sort of out of my hands.

You never told me what you planned to do.

She turned to look at him. He thought she might have smiled but in the poor light he couldn’t tell. I don’t know how much you know about biology but this is something that’s pretty much happening on its own. I’m not doing anything. Or planning on doing anything, except having a baby.

I meant like an operation. There are doctors who will perform abortions, for enough money.

Not in Clifton. Besides, I’m way too far along. It wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to kill this baby.

I reckon Neal knows.

Oh yes. He knows in no uncertain terms. Mama seen to that. She was trying to make him marry me, even with him denying right down to the ground that it was his baby. I said to hell with that. I’m sixteen years old, I’m not signing the rest of my life away to some jerk who’d
lie about a thing like that and can’t even keep his pants zipped. Anyway, he’d already quit coming around. I think he must have some sort of sixth sense that warns him when this happens.

That sorry son of a bitch. I’ll kill him.

This time she did smile, and leaning toward him in the darkness, laid a hand on his arm.

If you’re going to start in killing folks right and left you may as well start with me. He didn’t waylay me in some dark alley and rape me. Club me over the head and drag me back to his cave. We did it, the both of us, I’d be lying if I blamed it all on him. He can just walk, and if I walk, it sort of goes with me.

God, he said.

I guess this is just my way of telling you to get the hell away from me and leave me alone, the way you asked me to do that time.

I must be the dumbest person in the world.

You’re pretty dumb, all right.

Brady can see the future like a man reading a newspaper and Neal’s got this fabulous sixth sense. All this shit just blindsides me out of a clear blue sky.

Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself. At least you don’t get morning sickness. You’ll get over it. You might even learn something from it. If it ever happens to you you’ll know not to walk out from under it.

I’d know that without having to learn it, he said.

Little by little the windowglass had gone opaque. Rain had begun to mix with the snow and instead of tracking down the glass it was freezing in a thin translucent skim that made the streetlamps blurred and otherworldly. The interior of the car seemed the world’s last outpost, these two the last two survivors.

I’ve got to go, he said. Likely I’ll slide off the road and be walking in this mess and it won’t be nearly as much fun as it was with you.

That was sort of fun, looking back on it. Probably because I’m comfortable with you. I was never comfortable with Neal, though I guess a look at me would make you doubt that.

Were you pregnant by then? That night by the river?

Of course I was. I was even a tiny bit pregnant that night you got the crap kicked out of you. I’ve never known you when I wasn’t pregnant.
I haven’t seen Neal since before that night Junior brought you over and we met. He doesn’t even seem real to me anymore. Like I dreamed him or something. He just came to me in a dream and knocked me up and then I woke up.

You don’t have to be so crude about it.

That was the least immaculate conception you could possibly imagine.

I’ve got to go.

Then go. No, wait, not yet. Anyway you don’t have to go. Sleep on the couch, I doubt if Mama would say a word. By now she’s probably thinking any Bloodworth is better than no Bloodworth.

Don’t think I wouldn’t like to. But it’s getting slicker all the time and I’ve got to get back. Somebody has to make sure the old man has wood brought in and a fire kept up. He’s sort of got to depending on me.

She had opened her purse and taken out a small wirebound notebook and a pen. She opened the notebook and wrote a number on a page and tore the page out. Here. Do something for me. When you get back to Ackerman’s Field, I don’t care what time it is, call this number. That’s a girlfriend of mine and she’ll tell me tomorrow.

Why on earth would you want me to do that?

I’m hooked on you. No, I don’t guess I’ll ever see you again but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking you’re iced over in a ditch somewhere. Will you do it?

I guess I’d do about anything you asked me to.

Except leave me the hell alone.

Except that.

She couldn’t get the door open and he had to reach across her and shove the door hard with the heel of his hand. It opened with a soft shriek of splintering ice and he slid across the seat after her and helped her to the door. The sidewalk was iced over and they walked in the grass beside it. At the door she squeezed his hand hard for a moment but there seemed nothing at all to be said and when he turned back toward the street the world glittered like an ornate world fashioned from ice.