Strange Seed (23 page)
because I have much I want to say and I don’t know how to say it and I want you to understand.
As if even she—Rachel—could understand.
An infant doesn’t make the effort to under why its mother’s touch makes it feel good, it merely enjoys.
(But that wasn’t too apt a comparison, was it?
Because she
did
want to know.
Not passionately, just out of curiosity, if only to assure herself that the magic would last.)
I want us both to understand.
In a sentence—I’m certain Paul and I are going
Daylight through the front window was cut off suddenly.
Rachel reached out and switched the lamp on.
to stay.
For good, I hope.
It’s Paul’s decision, ultimately.
But I think he feels the way I do.
We’re getting electricity and a telephone by the end of the month, and that will certainly help.
I could suffer through a pioneer existence another two weeks, I imagine (Paul had me stacking firewood this morning), before climbing the walls.
She felt something at her feet.
She looked.
It was the cat, purring and kneading the rug and looking contentedly up at her.
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“I’ll put in a word or two about you, don’t worry.”
The cat meowed softly, then wandered away, toward the bedroom.
I’m still waiting for you to pay us a visit.
You’ll quickly see why I’ve taken to this place, why it’s worked its magic on me, and on Paul, and Mr. Higgins, who would live nowhere else.
I keep asking myself, was it only a couple of weeks ago that I was so dead set on
The desk was suddenly awash with light.
Rachel glanced out the window to her left, then turned back to the letter.
to whom had she been writing? she wondered.
And what she been writing.
“Dear Mother,” she read aloud, “I wanted to write this letter particularly because I have much I want to say”…
She studied the letter quizzically a ;moment, then set it on the desk.
Much she wanted to say?
Why to her mother?
She had said all she wanted to say, and that was to Paul, who was the only one who really mattered.
She crumpled the letter and dropped it into the wastebasket near the desk.
She stood, crossed the living room, went into the bathroom, then to the tub, where she turned the water on.
EVENING
“So that’s what I mean, Paul.
I feel good about this house.
I feel…”
“Secure?”
“That’s not really the right word.
I don’t know if there
is
a right word.
Secure?
Yes, though not strictly in the sense of…what?
Safety?
Out of danger?
I never felt physically in danger.
Though, looking back, that probably doesn’t mean very much.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I feel I’ll be able to live here.
With you.
That
we’ll
be able to live here.”
“And all that’s happened?”
“It’s behind us, Paul.
It’s painful to remember it, yes.
I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.
It’s very, very painful.
But I guess the trick is…is
to
remember it.
To try and look at it objectively.”
“Can you do that?”
“I don’t know.
I’ll give it a try.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.
With your help.”
“My help?”
“Your guidance.”
She grinned quickly.
“That’s a silly word, and I’m sorry.
But it’s what I want from you.
It’s what I feel you can give me, whether you know it or not.”
A long pause.
“Are you surprised?”
“Surprised at what?”
“At this abrupt turnaround in my attitude.”
“It wasn’t really that abrupt.
I saw it coming.
You probably didn’t even realize it, that it was coming.
I guess you just had to be persuaded.
I guess you had to persuade yourself.
That sounds awfully cryptic, doesn’t it.
But it’s true.
You stay here long enough and, despite everything, this place grows on you.”
“Yes, I know, it becomes…”
“And, really, all things considered, it beats the hell out of New York.
And we’ll work out the problems we’ve still got.
You’ll see.
It’s just a matter of time.”
“Well, we’d have problems wherever we were, Paul.
It’s not a matter of degree, it’s a matter of kind.
And I think I prefer the kind that face us now.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Rachel.”
He smiled.
“Because we’ve got a shitload of problems, for sure.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I just wanted you to know—this house, everything…all of it feels good.”
Ellen Waley knew she shouldn’t be here, in this car, Gary Hallock’s car.
She’d been warned about Gary—“He’ll eat you alive,” Jackie told her, “and then000”
Raised eyebrows, a nod of the head—
He’ll spit you out.
She hadn’t needed to say it.
Everyone knew about Gary Hallock.
What he lacked in brains—one of these years he would finally graduate, then perhaps the arm would take him—he tried to make up for in cock work.
Tried?
Succeeded!
Practically every willing girl in the school had had him—been had by him—at least once.
And there was no lack of willing girls at Penn Yan High.
Ellen half wished he wouldn’t hold her so tightly while he drove.
The road was bad, a dirt road, and it seemed only with great reluctance that he had brought car’s speed down from seventy-five, on the paved road, to slightly less than fifty here.
The old car rattled and whined like it was on its last breath.
“Gary,” she said, “don’t you think…”
But he hadn’t heard her.
The noise of the engine and the wind rushing past the open window meant she would have to shout, and she wasn’t up to that.
She leaned over, said into his ear, “Gary, can we stop soon?”
Gary grinned—machismo, expectation, a dash of idiocy.
He wasn’t really handsome, Ellen thought.
He was intriguing, though—dark, tallish, with a lot of wavy hair.
“Sure,” he said.
“Sure.
Can’t wait, huh?”
Ellen smiled an affirmative smile.
Gary slowed the car to thirty, negotiated a sharp left turn skillfully, punched the car up to fifty again.
Yes,
Ellen told herself,
this was probably a mistake.
But it was too late, thankfully, to correct it.
She wondered briefly how many of the other girls had had the same—albeit weak—misgivings, or was she somehow superior to them, more discriminating?
“…could go in there,” Gary was saying.
He jerked his head to the left.
“What do ya think?”
Ellen looked.
They were approaching an old farmhouse; an upper window was boarded up, the front yard was a mass of weeds.
To the casual observer it had all the signs of abandonment.
“What if someone lives there?” Ellen said.
“Aw shit,” Gary said, “what do you mean?”
He took his foot off the accelerator, let the car slow to twenty-five, pushed the brake pedal hard.
Ellen reached out instinctively, put her open hand against the dashboard, although Gary had strengthened his hold on her.
“There ain’t nobody livin’ there.
Who the fuck would live there?”
They were almost in front of the house, now.
“I don’t know,” Ellen said.
“I just think…”
Then both of them saw the woman.
She was behind the front door; she could see them, they knew.
But she was looking straight ahead, at the road.
Gary and Ellen watched her for a few seconds.
“Let’s go, Gary.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, and, surprising Ellen, touched the accelerator gently and rolled past the house at a safe, slow speed.
She looked questioningly at him.
After a moment, and with effort, he grinned.
“Don’t wanna disturb the lady in her meditations, do we?”
He paused a moment, then went on, “Road ends up here.
We’ll stop there.
We’ll have some fuckin’ fun.
That all right with you?”
He chuckled.
And yes, it was quite all right, quite, quite all right.
Perfect.
And Gary again brought the car to a quick halt.
He turned the ignition off, looked around.
There were sunlit yellow fields to either side of the road and, ahead, and to the west, at the horizon, a small, dark pine forest.
“Nice, huh?” Gary said.
A honeybee, logy in the cool air, bounced against the windshield a few times.
“Can we roll the windows up?” Ellen said.
“You roll ‘em up.
I gotta drain the lizard.”
He opened his door.
“I’ll be right back.
You can get those clothes off in the meantime.”
He nodded at Ellen’s green, bulky sweater and white Levi’s.
Ellen grabbed the bottom of the sweater with both hands, lifted, exposed her ample breasts, hesitated.
She felt his eyes on her, enjoyed it, then pulled the sweater over her head.
“Like that?” she said, and threw the sweater into the back seat.
“Yeah,” he said, “like that.
But don’t get started without me.”
He got out of the car, leaned over, stared, grinning at her breasts for a long moment.
“Keep ‘em warm,” he said, turned, and walked off, into the fields.
Ellen waited.
When only the back of his head was visible above the tall weeds, she unbuttoned the Levi’s, slid the zipper down, pushed the pants, and her underwear, to below her knees.
She hesitated, certain she had heard something on the road behind the car.
She turned, looked.
Nothing.
She turned back, slipped out of the pants and underwear, threw them into the back seat.
She sat quietly for a moment, then glanced to her left.
Hurry up!
she wanted to call, wonderfully, ecstatically aware of the moisture collecting between her legs, of the warm, tingling sensation in her breasts.
She turned slightly to her right, closed her eyes, waited, body bent forward, hands between her thighs.
Hurry up!
she thought.
She heard the car door open, opened her eyes.
“Well,” she whispered, “it’s about fucking time!”
She started to turn to face the door.
Stopped.
Enjoyed the warm hand on her breast.
“That feels good,” she murmured.
She closed her eyes again, felt the other hand come around and cup her right breast.
“That feels so good, Gary.”
“Gotta drain the lizard,” she heard.
The hands left her breasts, pushed her head gently toward the passenger door, descended to her waists, lifted her, set her down so she was lying on her stomach on the car seat.
She spread her legs happily.
“Gotta drain the lizard,” she heard again.
She wished vaguely that he’d stop saying it; it almost spoiled the mood.
“Do it, Gary!”
And Gary screamed—a harsh, tortured, fear-ridden scream.
A scream at a distance.
From the fields.
Ellen froze.
The hands left her.
“Gary?” she whispered.
She heard the screams repeated.
She scrambled to a sitting position, instinctively reached for her clothes on the back seat, saw a mound of dark hair through the back window.
