The Night of the Hunter (19 page)

Bess, don't go 'way! Don't leave me, Bess! Wait! Wait now till I tell ye—

And the hands thudded back to the table and the old face was back to the picture again, his nose fairly brushing it.

Under—the—stern, he grated. That's whar I seen it! It was water black as No Bottom but I jedge it was ten foot down. Christ God Almighty, Bess, my heart like to bust inside me then—

He shut his eyes and slavered for a moment with the sheer horror of it and then he shook his head and lifted his eyes to the yellow lamp chimney.

—And like as not they'll think it was me that done it, Bess. Like as not Jake Arbogast and them deppities'll come and drag me off to Moundsville and slip me the noose, Bess. Oh, swee' Jesus save us all!

And he could hear her voice now as plain as the voice of the man downshore in the houseboat laughing and joshing his sweetheart under the summer moon. And so he knew he would have to tell it all to her, from the beginning: what it was that he had seen. And so he gulped and licked his lips and turned his face away from hers before he began, mouthing the tale with his thick, drunken tongue.

About ten this mornin' it was. I mind that, Bess, 'cause the nine-thirty eastbound was long gone. I taken Ben Harper's skiff. John said I could! And I was down there fishing for cats over the deep place below Jason Lindsay's west fence and directly I felt my hook catch on somethin' and I bent over the stern—Swee' Jesus, I can see it yet!—Swee' Jesus save poor old Uncle Birdie! 'Deed, Bess, I thought first it was a snag or a tree root and I leaned over the stern—Bess, you know how clear the water is down there except in flood stage. Well, that's right where it was, Bess, where the kids used to swim—where the water's way over a man's head.

Now he leaned closer across the table and his eyes burned back at the stern stare of the paper woman in the cheap tin frame. His fingernails bit into the table wood as he spoke.

—'Twas there I seen it, Bess. Down there in all that water. Ben Harper's old Model T and her in it!—Jesus save me!—Her in it, Bess—just a-sittin' there in a white gown and her eyes looking at me and a great long slit under her chin just as clean as a catfish gill!—Oh, Godamighty!—and her hair wavin' lazy and soft around her like meadow grass under flood waters. Willa Harper, Bess! That's who! Down there in the deep place in that old Model T with her eyes starin' and that slit in her throat just like she had an extry mouth. You hear me, Bess? You listenin', woman? Swee' Jesus save us all!

He paused, choking and gasping with fresh terror, and snatched up the bottle and greedily sucked from it the few drops that had not spilled, and then whirling as if at the footfall of an enemy hurled the bottle crashing through the wharfboat window.

And there hain't a mortal human, he whispered, not just to her but to the night now, to whatever ears might be harking at the shattered window through which the breath of the mist already curled. There hain't a mortal human I can tell but you, Bess. For if I go to the Law they'll hang it onto me.

He staggered sobbing to his feet and wallowing his way to the door like a listing boat, steadied himself against the jamb and stared off wildly into the darkness toward the shore to southward: where the tiny lamps of the shantyboats gleamed in the dark.

One of them, he whispered, slobbering into the stubble of his chin. It was one of them shantyboat trash done it. But they'll think it was me. Christ God Almighty, they'll think it was old Uncle Birdie!

And he stumbled back into the tangled blankets of his cot and fell to snoring, rousing up from time to time to quarrel with his dreams, while the eyes of the woman stared through the unwavering and golden lamplight: eyes unforgiving, dark with scorn and outrage now fifty years lost in the dust of the Ravens Rock churchyard.

I'm hungry, John. Let's go downstairs and eat supper. The door's locked!

Why did Daddy lock us in our rooms? Were you bad again, John?

Hush up! I'm thinkin', Pearl.

What about?

About gettin' away. Listen to me, Pearl. You've got to mind me tonight.

All right, John.

They huddled in the bedroom, hearing Preacher below in the kitchen eating the hot supper Icey had brought and taking his time about it because they would be there as long as he wanted them there and because presently he would climb the stairs and have the first real privacy he had ever known when he asked them the question again.

No matter what he says! whispered John. No matter what he does, Pearl—remember what you swore!

Yes.

But he thought: But there are ways. He will take her on his lap again and start in again about the secrets and she will commence to giggle directly because she loves him because she is too dumb to know what he really wants.

Preacher had finished his supper now and was singing while he rinsed the dishes and stacked them by the pump. And when the house grew still again John thought: You never hear him coming up steps because his feet are like leaves falling, like shadows in the moonlight. He is coming up them stairs right this very minute, I bet, and directly he'll unlock the door and we will hardly hear the key.

Hello there, children! Guess what? I saved you some supper. Have we got good appetites tonight, my lambs?

I'm hungry, said Pearl.

Why, sure you're hungry. And guess what's waitin' for you. There's fried chicken and candied sweets and cornsticks and apple cobbler!

Can I have my supper please?

Well, sure. Naturally. I'll go warm it up for you directly. But first—

Can I have milk, too?

Yes, little bird. To be sure! he cried, gathering her gently into his arms. But first of all we'll have a little talk.

Pearl frowned and put her finger in her mouth, remembering the night he twisted her arm.

—About our secrets! he said softly.

No, whispered Pearl.

No? And why, pray tell?

Because John said I mustn't!

Ah, but we both know what a bad, bad boy John is. In fact, I think we had better punish John tonight for the way he's been carryin' on lately. But we'll attend to John later, won't we, my lamb? Now let's just you and me talk. We'll have a nice little chat and we won't even let John open his mouth.

Pearl scowled at John.

You're bad, John! We'll have a chat and we won't let you open your mouth!

The moon had come up: a sickly wisp of silver in the last phase, hanging like a harvester's sickle in the apple tree below the grape arbor.

Do you have any secrets you'd like to tell me, Pearl?

Yes, she whispered, torn by those strange winds of yes and no.

What is it?

She was still, her eyes moving gravely back and forth between the two of them.

The money, she said softly and darted a glance at John.

Ah, of course! The money. And where is the money, little darling?

She began to sob.

John said—she choked softly.

Preacher slapped his knee and his eyes crackled dangerously.

Never—mind—what—John—said!

He thrust her to the floor and towered above them, radiant with fresh fury.

I've told you once, my girl, that John ain't even here as far as you and me is concerned. John don't matter! Can you understand that? Eh?

Yes.

John is a meddler! Do you understand that? John is a nasty, sneaking, mean little—!
Stop sniveling!
Looky here a minute! In my hand—here!

He shot his left hand into the alpaca coat and brought out the knife and bounced it twice in his palm: the blade still secret in the bone helve, awaiting the cunning button's touch.

See this, now? Know what it is?

Yes. I know.

Looky! What do you see now? What is it, Pearl?

I don't know.

Well then don't say, I know, if you don't. That's lying. This is a knife! Want to see something cute? Looky now!

He clasped the bone handle in his palm and, closing it, touched the button lightly with the finger named H and now the six-inch silver blade, honed to paper-keenness, flicked out like the clever bright wing of a toy bird. Pearl smiled.

How about that, now! he cried, proud as a child, but then his face snapped back into a mask of blanched leather and his lips curled angrily.

This,
said Preacher, is what I use on meddlers, my lamb! Get me?
For meddlers!

He laid the knife open on the bright calico of the quilt on the bed and lifted his eyes to the boy.

John, he said, might be a meddler, mightn't he? Or mebbe he's got better sense, eh, little lamb? John would be sorry he meddled! In fact, if John so much as breathes a word
—if he so much as opens his mouth—

Pearl ran over and reached a hand to take the cunning bright toy.

No! No, my lamb! Don't touch it! Now, don't touch my knife! That makes me mad! Very, very mad!

So she hugged the doll, humbled by this new sharpness in his voice, but then his face fell into softer lines as he smiled and laid the hand named Love on her soft, dark curls.

Just tell me now, he said. Where's it hid?

Pearl turned her eyes to nasty, bad John, stunned and frozen beside the white water pitcher on the washstand.

—the money! whispered Preacher, bending a little now, and flicking his tongue across his quivering lips. Think, baby! Think of all the nice things we can buy with it! A new dress for dolly and a new pair of shoes for you!

Where's Mom?

Ah, that's a secret, too, little bird. And I can't tell you my secrets till you've told me yours.

Can John have a present, too?

Well, I reckon so. We'll even buy a present for nasty, naughty John.

Pearl sighed and turned her awful eyes to the boy.

But I swore, she breathed. I promised John I wouldn't tell!

John—doesn't—matter!
he cried, leaping to his feet. Can't I get that through your head, you poor, silly, disgusting little wretch!

Pearl's mouth quivered and a large tear brimmed suddenly in each eye.

There now! See what you went and made me do? You made me lose my temper! I'm sorry! I'm real sorry! Sometimes the old Devil gets the upper hand and I just go all to pieces! Sometimes that old left hand named Hate gits stronger than his brother.

Pearl snuffled and wiped her eyes with her free fist.

Now! said Preacher, knowing that she was broken at last. Where's it hid?

John thought: Now there's nothing more for me to do but to do the bad thing. It is a terrible, awful thing but I must do it because there's nothing left to do. I must make a Sin. I must tell a lie.

I'll tell! he cried out.

Preacher did not reach for the knife; only his eyes swung dully and fixed the boy with a steady stare.

I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut.

No! said John. It ain't fair to make Pearl tell when she swore she wouldn't! That's a Sin!
I'll tell!

Preacher's eyes crinkled and then he turned to Pearl and smiled brightly.

Well, I declare! he chuckled. Sometimes I think poor John will make it to heaven yet! Did ye hear that, little lamb? With all his carryin' on—John's going to be the one to tell us after all.

And now his eyes snapped back to John like a whip and the voice meant business.

All right, boy! Where's the money?

In the cellar! cried John. Buried in the floor behind the big stone jar of pickled peaches!

Preacher picked up the knife and pressed it closed in the palm of his hand, never taking his twinkling eyes from John's face for an instant.

It'll go hard, boy, he said, if I find out you're lyin' to me!

I ain't lyin'! cried John valiantly, while he prayed that Pearl would hold her peace throughout this crucial ruse. Go look for yourself! It's all there! All that money—buried under a stone in the cellar! Right where Dad stuck it that day!

All right. Come along.

What?

Come along with me—the both of you—to the cellar! You don't reckon I'd leave you—

Don't you believe me?

Why, sure, boy. Sure. But just the same—come along. I'll risk no tricks.

He made them walk ahead of him down the stairway to the kitchen and they waited by the pump while he fetched a candle from the china closet and a match from the stove and John thought: Pearl, hush! Pearl don't say nothin'! Please, Pearl! Please, God! And he took his sister's hand and led the way down the steps into the cellar while Preacher followed, holding the candle high in his hand and John could feel the dripping hot tallow soaking through his shirt, while before them their long shadows darted and stretched across the floor among the apple barrels and the old trunks.

Now where, boy? And mind now—no tricks; I can't abide liars!

Yonder! John pointed, and the shadow pointed, too, among the bright, rich-gleaming rows of Mason jars on the shelves: the winter's provender of years gone: candied apples and parched corn and long, crisp pickle strips behind the shining glass bellies.

Where?

Right yonder behind that big, tall shelf there! Behind that stone jar! Under the stone in the floor!

Preacher was panting with excitement as he spilled tallow on the lip of the great stone jar and set the candle in it, holding it till the wax set and held it; then he fell to his knees and brushed the dust away with shaking fingers.

Why, this ain't no stone floor, boy. It's concrete! There hain't no stone here for nothin' to be buried under!

Now Pearl could hold herself in no longer.

John made a Sin, she said softly. John told a lie.

Preacher got to his feet slowly, his face gone as yellow as the flesh of a pawpaw before the frost. The hand slid slowly into the coat pocket and when it came out again the boy saw the striped tan and black of the bone hasp and the dull shine of the button.

Yes, Pearl. John told a lie. John just never stopped to think that the Lord ain't the only one that hates a liar.