Turtleface and Beyond (11 page)

“Cut deep enough so that you draw blood,” said Clifford. “That way you'll get most of the poison out when you suck on it.”

“Is this safe?” I asked.

Willis was beginning to shake. “Don't worry,” he said, “I can take it.”

“I mean the blood,” I said. “Is it safe for me to suck on blood? How far are we from the wedding? Maybe I should wait.”

Clifford said, “Don't wait another minute. Every second counts when you're dealing with venom.”

So now Clifford was an expert on this subject. In all the years I'd known him I'd never once heard him discuss snake venom. Willis trembled some more and pushed his beefy leg onto my lap.

“Please, Georgie,” he said to me. “I don't want to die. Just get it out, please.”

I sized up the spot and tried to hold his leg steady. Clifford slowed down a little and turned to look back as I made the cut. The knife was not as sharp as one would like for such an operation. I had to press down pretty hard just to break the skin. Willis let out an anguished howl.

“Oh Jesus!” he cried.

I was making a mess of it. Instead of a neat X I carved a set of short ugly gouges around the two original tooth marks left by “the serpent.”

“Quickly,” said Clifford, “suck it!”

Little curly hairs sprouted up from Willis's beefy leg. He was pretty much sobbing from the pain now, and sweating like a hog. His leg felt like a big wet sponge.

“That blood's going to stain your pants,” said Jolene.

This was true. A line of blood trickled down Willis's calf and into my lap. I wiped it away with my hand, and then leaned down and shut my eyes. I placed my lips on Willis's leg and sucked his salty, musky blood into my mouth. I tried not to taste it, but as soon as it hit my tongue I began to gag. I kept myself there for just a moment longer, to preserve the appearance that I was still extracting something, and then I popped my head up and spit Willis's blood out the car window. It dribbled against the side of the car in a string of red slime.

“Turn here,” said Jolene.

We'd arrived at the wedding. What an entrance! Clifford pulled the car into the middle of a bumpy meadow where everyone else had parked. Willis sat there heaving and mopping sweat from his brow. Clifford handed him a handkerchief and told him not to let his blood get on the car seat.

“Did you get all the poison out?” Willis asked me.

“I don't know,” I said. “Sure. I got it. I think I did.”

“Maybe you should try again,” said Willis.

“I got most of it,” I said. “I'm pretty sure.”

Jolene stepped out of the car and said, “Damn it, we're late. Come on, Cliff, the ceremony's already started.”

Clifford looked at the two of us, me underdressed, and now stained with blood, and Willis panting dramatically in the backseat.

“We'll find a doctor at the wedding,” said Clifford. “You wait here, Mr. Cotcher. Come on, Georgie.”

I got out of the car and tried to smooth out my clothes. There was a big spot of blood on my thigh and some smaller ones on my shirt. I ducked my head back in the car.

“Excuse me, Willis?” I said. “Do you think I could borrow your tie, just for the ceremony?”

Willis looked very put out by this request. I would have felt badly about asking except that I'd just sucked poison out of his leg. Plus his blood had ruined my clothes. It seemed like a reasonable trade. Willis begrudgingly loosened his tie and placed it in my hand.

“I'm leaving,” said Jolene.

“You should try to relax,” Clifford said to Willis. “The less your heart pumps, the less the poison can spread.”

“What?” said Willis.

Jolene grabbed Clifford and the two of them walked away.

“My leg's still numb,” said Willis.

“We'll find a doctor,” I told him. And then I added, “A good one,” hoping that this would make him feel better. I trotted off across the meadow to catch up with Clifford and Jolene.

The ceremony was well under way, like Jolene had said. Everyone was sitting outside on hay bales facing the bride and groom. As we got closer we could hear the preacher saying something about the long journey they were about to embark upon together.

Jolene was mortified. “I can't believe we're late for this,” she said.

“We didn't miss the vows,” I pointed out. I was trying to get my tie on as we walked.

“Who do we know here that's a doctor?” asked Clifford.

Jolene said, “Clifford, you are not going to disrupt Margaret's wedding to find a doctor for that idiot. He'll be just fine.”

Clifford thought about this and, predictably, deferred to Jolene's judgment. We sat down in the back row just as our friend Amanda stood up front and began to play something on her accordion. Luke looked out over the assembled guests and swallowed deeply. He appeared pale and unhappy. Margaret's face was stern and resolute. She looked nice in her white dress though. And there were flowers in her hair.

Amanda shut her eyes and swayed back and forth with the slow rhythm of whatever hymn it was she was playing on that accordion. The song was interminable. People began to shift about on their hay bales and look at their watches. We were all sweltering under the sun and I became increasingly worried about Willis back there in the car.

Finally the preacher stepped forward and made Amanda stop. She nodded and took a seat. The preacher smiled out at us and remarked at what a handsome crowd we were. Everyone chuckled. This process was taking forever. I can never understand why they always drag a wedding out like that. We all couldn't wait to get out of the sun and find the bar. It occurred to me that if Willis were to die now I would have sucked on his leg for nothing.

The preacher backed up and took the hands of Margaret and Luke into his. He was a bit of a hippie, this preacher, with his stringy gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail behind his head. He wanted everyone to join in on the blessing. We were supposed to channel good energy toward them, or something like that. I looked out toward the car and saw that Willis had gotten up from the backseat. He was standing there propped up against the car with his head resting in his hands. He peered over in our direction and then began limping awkwardly across the field. His bad leg moved stiffly, as if it were wrapped up in a cast. Eventually Willis fell down, face-first, and did not get up.

The preacher was about to proclaim Margaret and Luke man and wife, but first he asked us all, “Does anyone present know of a good reason why this couple should not be married here, before God? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while people adjusted themselves again on those scratchy hay bales. Amanda stood up and strapped on her accordion, preparing to drone through another hymn. Willis was still lying out there on his face and I couldn't stand it any longer. I took advantage of the silence and called out, “Is anyone here a doctor?”

The entire gathering jerked their heads around and glared at me.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I have no objection to the marriage. Sorry about that. I just need to borrow a doctor. It's urgent. There's a man out in the meadow who got bit by a snake. His leg is numb.”

Somebody called out, “Was its head triangle-shaped?”

I guess that was a standard question. I said we thought that perhaps it was. Someone asked if there was a rattle on its tail and I said I didn't know for sure, but thought not. An older gentleman from up front got to his feet and walked toward me.

“I'm a doctor,” he said. It was Margaret's grandfather, Mr. Fiske. He was actually a veterinarian, and he had retired a few years ago, but this was no time to be picky.

“I'll be right back,” Mr. Fiske said to his family. “Go on without me.”

Jolene shot me a look of extreme contempt. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered.

Clifford stared down at his feet. Mr. Fiske hobbled up the aisle, trying to move as quickly as he could.

“We'll be right back,” I promised. “I'm sorry for the disturbance.”

Waves of confusion washed over Luke's face. Margaret bit her lip and prepared to soldier on. Mr. Fiske and I hustled out to the meadow and left all that behind us. I heard the preacher say, “Now, where were we?” and there were a few forced chuckles from the guests.

“I'm sorry about this, Mr. Fiske,” I said. “I feel awful for pulling you away.”

“It's all right,” said Mr. Fiske. “I was falling asleep. I'm afraid Margaret's chosen a retard boy for a husband.”

“He's not so bad,” I said.

“I didn't say he was bad,” said Mr. Fiske, “just slow. Now, where is this sick person?”

“He's right out here,” I said.

We soon came upon Willis lying facedown in the grass. I was worried he had expired, but then I saw his large body rise and fall with labored breaths.

“What's gotten into him?” asked Mr. Fiske.

“He's been poisoned,” I said. “Or he thinks he has.”

Mr. Fiske pushed at Willis's fleshy side with the tip of his shoe. “Wake up,” he said.

Willis stirred a little and lifted his head. “Is it a doctor?” he asked. “Am I dead?”

Mr. Fiske looked at me. “Where did you find this fellow?”

“He was standing by the road back there,” I said. “He got out of his car to relieve himself and something bit him. See, look at his leg.”

The spot on Willis's leg was a bloody mess on account of my handiwork with the knife.

“A snake did that?” asked Mr. Fiske.

“No,” I said. “I cut an X over the bite mark and sucked some of the poison out.”

Mr. Fiske's face twisted up like he'd just eaten a lemon. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“It's in the
Boy Scout Handbook
.”

“That organization is run by a bunch of lunatics. Lunatics and homosexuals. Did you know that?”

“I didn't know that,” I said. “Clifford thinks it was a cottonmouth that bit him.”

Willis rolled over and gazed up at us. “Am I dead? Am I going to die?”

Mr. Fiske shook his head. “No, son. No, you're not.” He called everyone “son,” no matter what their age. Willis here was probably fifty years old. Mr. Fiske pulled a silver flask from his breast pocket, unscrewed the cap, and splashed some of the liquor on Willis's wound. Willis screamed.

“Oh, it stings!”

“I bet it does,” said Mr. Fiske. He took a nip from the flask and then passed it to me. “You better have some of this too, after sucking on that boy's leg.”

I touched the flask to my lips and it made them tingle. The liquor went down like hot syrup.

“White lightning,” said Mr. Fiske. “Disinfectant.” He took back the flask and splashed a little more on Willis's leg. Then he made Willis take a swig himself.

“Whoa,” said Willis, after drinking it down. “What was that? Is that medicine? Are you a doctor?”

“I'm a veterinarian,” said Mr. Fiske. “And you'll be just fine. Quit your whining and get out of the sun.”

We helped Willis to his feet and sat him down under a tree. Mr. Fiske gave him another hit off the flask and then told him to try to go to sleep. The ceremony was over now and we walked back to congratulate the new couple.

“Is he really going to be all right?” I asked Mr. Fiske.

“Sure he is.”

Mr. Fiske and I each took one last nip from the silver flask and then he placed it back into his coat pocket.

By the time we returned, most of the guests had made a beeline for the bar. It was a hard-drinking crowd and that lengthy ceremony hadn't helped things. A few people commented on the blood on my outfit, and I had to readjust my tie and button up my coat. No one seemed too concerned about Willis's condition. Luke's father, a wiry little fellow with strange, leathery skin, told me he had chopped the head off a rattlesnake with an axe one time. When he went to fetch the skull as a souvenir, the detached head bit him right on the hand, “just like in
Old Yeller
.”

I didn't remember that part of
Old Yeller
, but I told him it was a remarkable story. I asked him if he'd cut an X mark over the bite and sucked out the poison.

“Everybody knows that trick don't work,” he said. Everyone but Clifford and me.

I went to find Clifford, but he was busy with Jolene and I didn't want to encounter her ire. A bluegrass band started up and people hooted as Margaret and Luke danced around in front of us. Luke got dizzy and had to sit down. Margaret's father took over and he tried to get the band to slow the tempo but they wouldn't. Then the rest of us joined in and whooped it up until dinner.

I brought a plate of barbeque over to Willis but he was still asleep under the tree where we'd left him. He was breathing and appeared okay, so I placed the plate of food beside him and went back to the festivities.

As dinner wound down Luke got up and told us all to be quiet. He held up his glass and said, “This is the most important day of my life, so far. I never thought I'd get married. It just wasn't something I thought I'd want to do. But Margaret here convinced me it was a good idea, and, well, we'll see how it goes.”

Then he got out a guitar and played a Willie Nelson song, “To All the Girls I've Loved Before.”

Margaret got up and said she didn't know what to say after that. “I know some of you think Luke isn't good enough for me, but you don't know him the way I do. He's a good man.”

Jolene was crying but I wasn't sure about what. Clifford decided to stand up and make a speech as well.

“You two are a real inspiration, and I know you're going to be very happy,” he said. “Those of us who are married already really appreciate it when our friends get hitched too, because now we're all in it together … What I mean to say is, if you stick with it, you will find rewards. Really. Don't get divorced, especially if you have children…”