The Bighead (19 page)

“
I—” Jerrica blinked. “I
guess I see your meaning.”

“
But you don’t believe a
word of it,” Alexander challenged her now. “You’re appeasing
me.”

“
No, I’m not!”

“
Sure you are.” He chuckled
at the wheel. “But don’t worry. You will see the light before your
life on earth is over. You will arise to the Kingdom of
God.”

Now Jerrica smiled. “Oh, yeah? How do
you know? Are you psychic? Did God whisper that in your
ear?”

Alexander’s glance turned blank as a
carved wood totem. “Yeah,” he said. “As a matter of fact, He
did.”

They drove on for a spell,
in silence.
That got her thinking,
Alexander felt sure.
Good. That’s my fuckin’ job. That’s what God is paying me
for.

They’d already gone to
Hull’s, the general store, where Alexander purchased flashlights,
batteries, several alcohol lanterns, work gloves, and cleaning
supplies. Then they’d driven slowly about town—
Not much of a town,
the priest
noted—where Jerrica pointed out the local bar, the diner, then took
him down the block and explained the “sewing shop” enterprises.
Evidently it was common for non-resident clothing companies to come
here and employ women at a minimum wage. Oppression, he knew, was
relative. And more oppression passed them when they turned and
headed out. “And there’s Donna’s Antiques,” she said, pointing to
the high clapboard building. “It’s really a brothel.”

“
Oh yeah? I ought to walk
in there and ask them if they have any 1820 Sheraton bow-front
chests in Hepplewhite walnut. Can you imagine the looks on their
faces?” Alexander laughed behind the padded wheel. “A priest?
Walking into a whorehouse?”

Jerrica shared the hilarity of the
image. “Somehow I can’t quite picture that.”

“
Wouldn’t be the first
whorehouse I’ve walked into.”

“
You’re kidding
me?”

“
I haven’t always been a
priest, you know,” Alexander admitted. He’d visited, in fact,
several such establishments in Saigon, sex for a ten, blowjobs for
a buck. It was even cheaper in the field. God had a knack for
payback; three times Alexander had been sent to the med unit with
cases of the clap so virulent he felt like he’d been plugged into a
mobile generator.
You live and
learn,
he thought. Before he’d been
embraced by the priesthood, the sins of the flesh hadn’t been
foreign to him. Some of the things he’d seen in The Nam bordellos,
as a non-participant, were appalling: “Butt-bangs” and “fletch
parties,” 20-man blowjob galas, G.I.’s paying 12-year-old hookers
to fornicate with dogs. If anything, the sorority girls in college
were as bad. Sex and drugs and rock and roll, and if you had to let
your English proff sodomize you in order to pass—well, hey! And a
little coke money never hurt anyone, right? Once Alexander had TA’d
a philosophy course and was astounded by the number of girls who’d
offered themselves for higher grades, and he’d been even more
astounded by the things they’d offer to do. Evil was everywhere,
and it had a lot of different faces. Seeing it was how one learned
about the world, and sometimes learning hurt. But Alexander, unlike
most priests, had no problem admitting his less-than-saintly days;
denial was as false as lying bold-faced. “No, I haven’t always been
a living model of Christian thesis.” He laughed again. “But at
least I am now, so I guess that’s all that matters.”

Jerrica didn’t get the joke. She
seemed very focused right now, full of questions she wasn’t sure if
she could ask. Alexander had seen it many times: women were
fascinated by the notion of celibacy.

“
If you—” Jerrica stumbled.
“—don’t mind my asking, when, uh, when was the
last…time?”

“
1977,” he answered without
even having to think. He’d almost married that one, hadn’t he?
They’d had sex seven times in one night.
Talk about getting things out of your system.
Yes, he’d considered marrying her, but right now
he couldn’t even remember her name.

Jerrica looked pale.
“That’s almost…
twenty
years.
”

“
Uh-huh,” then, just as
brazenly, “And, no, I haven’t masturbated since then either. That’s
usually the next question.”

“
Good God,” Jerrica
whispered.

“
Yeah, He is.”

They both laughed at the
remark. He could tell she had many more questions bubbling in her,
but she wouldn’t ask now.
Christ, people
think priests are made of tissue paper,
he
thought. And he knew he was no exception; before the priesthood,
they’d been on par with the Marquis de Sade. He could tell,
too

—
just by
looking
at her—that
Jerrica Perry was no stranger to the sins of the flesh. Maybe it
was her aura…

They passed an old, steepled church.
Alexander, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, crossed
himself.

“
Don’t bother,” Jerrica
said. “Charity told me that church is closed.”

“
So?” He shrugged. “It’s
still the house of God, full of the presence of God.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Where
are we going now?” He’d been heading out of town actually, back to
Route 154. “Well, I guess I better drop you off back at the house,”
he said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do at the abbey.”

Jerrica turned briskly in the
Mercedes’ leather sat, her face suddenly alight. “Oh, Father,
please! I’m dying to see the abbey. Let me go with you.”

“
Out of the question. It’s
dirty, it’s dangerous. I’ve got a lot of grubby work to
do—”

“
Please,
Father! I’ll help you.”

“
No way.”

She leaned forward, her breasts
compressed in the bright-white halter. Alexander could smell the
lovely scent of her herbal shampoo.

“
Pleeeease,
Father,” she nearly whined. And her smile
escalated to something bright as the glare of the sun.

Alexander frowned.
Christ, what a sucker for a pretty
face.

He pitched his butt, lit another,
waved a hand.

“
Oh, all right,” he
agreed.

(III)

She were preggers, this
one. Red-hairt, she were, an’ skin so smooth’n white likes nothin’
he ever seed. Big high tits,
twice
the size’a his fists, an’, a’corse, that big
preggered belly.

The Bighead licked his
chops.

He’d walked miles since
mornin’, crunchin’ along, thinkin’ ’bout his dreams’a the castle,
the angels, an’ the Voice he’d heard, sayin’: COME. An’ that’s when
he come upon this li’l red-hairt thing. She were buck nekit,
warshin’ herself in a creek. That were about the only cause’a
Bighead’s object-shure-uns: that she were warshin’. See, Bighead
liked his gals
stinky,
’cos it occurred ta him that bein’ stinky were part’a bein’
real. Bighead hisself, fer example, he were a
might
stinky, on account’a he ain’t
took a bath since the day he were born. Didn’t see no reason ta.
When The Bighead walked through the woods, see, he’d bring a stink
alongs with him that’d make a buzzard puke. An’, yeah, he
hisself
liked
the
smell’a shit an’ piss an’ buttcrack, an’ b.o. Liked ta taste it
too. Somehows, tastin’ up a gal who’d just warshed were like ettin’
a possum-gut stew with no spice.

Were kinda bland, it were…

Anyways, this red-hairt
preggered gal, Bighead were watchin’ her from behind a fat tree,
and she were bendin’ over just then, warshin’ her backside, an’
when she done so, Bighead could see her pie, he could. An’ it’s
were a
big
pie,
that red fur goin’ round the slit, an’ the slit bein’ bigger’n a
groundhog hole. So’s that’s when Bighead got ta thinkin’. So far
he’d hadda problem havin’ a proper fuck with a gal on account’a
their poons weren’t never big enough ta take alla his pipe. But
this gal here, with that yawnin’ baby-hole onner? This might be
somethin’, yes sir!

That might be just the pocket ta take
alla Bighead’s meat…

She screamed ta high
heavens, she did, when The Bighead walked out from behind that fat
tree, showin’ his big warped head, an’ the eyes in his face, one
biiger’n the other an’ lower, an’ a’corse that big smilin’ yap
fulla long crooked teeth like a dog’s. He hauled her up a’shore.
She screamed so loud she did, ’n’fact, he thought she might break
her voice. He socked her groggy with his fist, thens went down
onner, suckin’ that purdy red pussy’a hers, ands at first she
tasted kinda creeky-clean, but once he gots ta suckin’ hard, a
bunch’a cheesy stuff came out her hole, reals tangy-like, an’ that
just made The Bighead’s day. Wished he had some’a ol’ Grandpap’s
flatbreads or cattail pancakes, he did, ta wipe that girlcheese
onto. Then he’s started fuckin’ her right there in the creek mud,
after hockin’ a big loogie onner hole, ands at first her pussy were
a might accommodatin’, even fer Bighead’s big pole. He humped her
fierce, he did, whiles she just lay back screamin’ inta the big,
bright afternoon sky, an’ there were milk sprayin’ out her big
titties whiles he humped her, which Bighead thought were kinda
neat. Just li’l sprays like mist, they was, an’ white as a
spiderweb. Bighead, ’n’fact, were so intrigued by this that he
leant over an’ sucked hard on them big milk-filled titties, whiles
he continered fuckin’ her. He musta sucked a
bucketful’a
milk, he musta, and’s it
tasted warm’n sweet, an’ he could’a swored her titties was about
half the size once he were done, him havin’ sucked out all that
good mama’s milk. Sucked ’em dry was about what he did, till
there’s was nothin’ left in ’em. But lo’s an’ behold-

He was humpin’ her so fine’n dandy,
pluggin’ his 14 inchers’a cock in an’ out that big slippery
red-hairt puss, whens she just started ta bust up, just like the
rest’a ’em. His dickknob felt her insides startin’ ta pop, an’
things breakin’ inner, an’ he could’a swored he felt his big pecker
pop that baby right in the eye, an’ thens she broke her water,
which Bighead cupped in his hand and dranked, an’ it were warm an’
good, but it were no con-ser-lay-shun. With all the gals Bighead’d
fucked, not one of ’em hadda poon big enough take alla his meat,
not even this red-hairt with the biggest poon he’d seed yet. She
started bleedin’ like the time he bit the head off that weasel, she
did, only she weren’t bleedin’ out her neck stump. Turnt the water
red, it did, all that blood, gushin’ out her like a tap, an’ she
just murmurt with her green eyes flutterin’, an’ she
died.

Bighead were depressed, he
were. Once—just
once
—he wished he could finda gal with a poon big enough fer him
ta come proper. He’s comed right in that baby’s face, he supposed,
thens pulled out, an’ he figgurt he oughta bust her noggin’ open
an’ et her brain, but then he’s got another idea.

See, this gal was
preggered, as in
real
preggered, like she were about ta drop that crumb-snatcher any
day. So’s he just got back right down on that bloody red-hairt
pussy’a hers, ands he started suckin’ The Bighead sucked hard, he
did, and ’ventually he started hearin’ somethin’ tear inside’a her,
ands he sucked an’ sucked an’ sucked till—damn!—that baby inner
belly started comin’ out.

Bighead, in his mind, began ta
rejoice, he did.

He hauled that baby outa there an’
held it upta the sun…

It begun ta cry, it did.

Ands Bighead smiled.

‘
Cos although he’d et a
lotta ay-dult brains in his time, never once had he ever had the
opportunity ta et a baby’s brains.

No sir!

««—»»

Them baby’s brains?

He bit a whole in that soft skull, an’
he sucked them brains right out that baby’s l’il head, he did, like
suckin’ a duck egg the way Grandpap’d taught him.

An’ they was good, they
was.

Yes sir!. Them baby’s
brains was
real
good.

They hadda tang’a salt, like a
ay-dult’s, but they was real warm too, an’ had somethin’ of a sweet
taste along with it, likes they’se had sugar in ’em…

(IV)

“
The administration office
was sealed,” Alexander said, peering at a photocopy of the
first-floor blueprints. Upon arriving at Wroxeter Abbey, he’d
immediately knocked the boards off the windows on either side of
the long central hall, to let in light.

“
They
sealed
it?” Jerrica didn’t
understand. “Isn’t that strange?”

“
No, not really,” the
priest replied. “Diocesan laziness. Wroxeter was a hospice for
dying priests, like I was telling you and Charity this morning.
Obscure, out of the way. The in-patient records weren’t deemed
critical, so the Church decided to just leave them here rather than
go to the expense of transporting and filing them in Richmond. The
chances of those records ever being needed are a million to one. So
they simply transferred the few remaining in-patients and had the
office sealed.” Alexander peered up from the blueprints. “And I’d
say that the office has to be somewhere along this
wall.”