Swamp Sister

She looked at him, a look that he used to admire – cold superiority.

'Shad, don't talk like a Civil War throwback. You know better. I taught you better.'

She had taught him, and he did know better. But he frequently spoke his own dialect just to show her that he was still independent of her. He knew it railed her. 'All right,' he said. '1 forgot.'

She went to the bed, sat on the edge of it, removed her heels, crossing one nyloned leg over the other. 'Undress me, Shad,' she said simply.

He stalled, keeping in the centre of the quiet room, sensing the trap closing in on him.

'Listen at – to me, Iris. I got something that needs to be said.'

'Later, Shad. Undress me.'

She held a long slim arm up to him, the pale hand halfhanging.

He could always handle girls – young ones, girls of his own breed, the all-giggles-and-no-brains ones. But this woman with her poise, her intelligence and worldliness was too much for him. He felt stupid and cloddish around her, putty-like. He went to the bed and took her hand, but nothing else.

'It's like this here,' he began.

Her right arm circled his neck, tugging his lips down to hers. Her mouth mumbled into his. 'I know. I know about it. We'll discuss it after a bit -'

She knew about it? How? About Dorry? No, she couldn't, or she wouldn't be acting this way. What then?

He thought about last night, of Dorry who was young, nineteen young. He thought about now, of this woman in his arms who was old enough to be his mother. He started to struggle, to push her away. Everything was sickening, the clammy sweat, the moist hot mouth, her hands.

'Iris -'

But she threw a hand flat against his chest. A warning, frightened gesture. He saw fear in her eyes.

'Listen!' she hissed.

He did – and heard it. A soft, almost cautious tread in the hallway. They froze like a pair of hound dogs butting their wet noses into a belt of scent. Everything beyond the closed door seemed to be frozen, too. They watched the door, waiting. Then they watched the brass doorknob take a slow clockwise turn. Nothing happened.

Shad wet his lips and eased his head around.

Who? he asked with his eyes.

Larry, she said with her lips.

She was clutching his arm tightly, and it came to him that her nerves were a lot worse than he'd suspected. He could see in her eyes that she might fly apart at any moment. And that made him more frightened.

Her hand gave an imperative jerk on his arm. He looked at the door. The knob was moving counter- clockwise. Shad let out his breath. He thought he heard something moving, but couldn't be sure.

'Thought you said it was safe,' he accused her.

'It always has been, hasn't it? I don't know why the fool has stopped writing.'

'Well, how do I git out of here? I ain't fixing to git myself husband-shot, you know.'

'Hush, won't you!'

Their heads panned together, following the curtained sweep of the windows. Someone, a shadow, was moving silently along the screened porch. They stared at the bedroom porch door in a quiet kind of horror. The knob turned slyly. Shad couldn't face it any longer. He felt like an animal at bay. He started to get up, clenching his fists. Culver was a city man, a soft, not-so-tall man. He'd bust him a quick one in the mouth and be long gone.

'Don't!' she whispered frantically. 'For God's sake, don't!' The shadow was flitting across the windows again, going away.

'Your hat!' she said suddenly.

'What?'

'You left your hat in the dining room!'

'Oh my God! What'll we do?'

'I don't – I'll say you came to check the generator. Yes, it's been acting strangely. I'll say you must have forgotten your hat.'

'What was the goddam generator doing in the dining room?'

'Don't be stupid! You fixed the generator and came into the house for your money. You forgot and left your hat on the table.'

'All right,' he said. 'It'll have to do.'

He wanted out of there bad. He could see nothing but trouble coming from the Culvers; coming like Jort Camp on a bender. As a rule he played honest with girls, but this one he was going to have to skip. He'd decided against telling Iris that they were through. It was too risky. He had other problems. He was running out of money fast. That meant he'd have to get back to the Money Plane. Well, this time he wasn't going to play around. He'd arrange to get all the money; arrange to meet Dorry somewhere handy, and they'd clear out.

'Shad, you can't go yet. It's safe now. He's gone away. He thinks I'm napping.'

Shad scowled. 'We ain't got us the time now. Besides, I'm all hop-toady inside after him sniffing around.'

'But we were going to talk about the money from that airplane.'

They were just words at first. In his eagerness to get free of the woman and her house, which had suddenly become as dangerous as a cocked shotgun, he let the words slip into the back of his brain -but he snatched them out fast and looked at them again.

'What?'

'The eighty thousand dollars. Everyone says you found it.' He stared at her, tasting his lips, her lipstick.

'What are you saying?'

She was impatient with him. 'The whole village is talking about the money you found. It's true, isn't it?'

He started shaking his head before he could find the words to deny it. 'No-no, I don't know what they're talking about. I didn't find no Money Plane.'

In his mind was a morass of desperation, filled with skull-crushing deadfalls of self-reproach at his own stupidity. That was why everyone was acting so peculiar, why they were tagging around after him, watching every move he made. I shouldn't have left home, he thought. Shouldn't have gone to pass out all those tens.

'You're lying, Shad,' she said quietly.

He shook his head again.

'You did find that money. And you promised that if you ever did you'd bring it here to me. Why are you treating me like this?'

'You crazy as the rest of 'em! I tell you I didn't find nothing!'

'Don't lie to me, Shad. You said you wanted to tell me about it when you first came. You said you wanted to talk to me. You meant the money, didn't you? What else could you mean?'

He clutched at it. 'I was trying to tell you that we was through. That's the something I had to say.'

She gave a cry like an animal being hurt. 'Shad! You don't mean that! You can't mean it.'

He stuck to it doggedly, nodding his head.

'Yes, I do. I – I found me another girl – a younger girl.'

He'd wanted to hurt- he knew her vanity was the only thing that would get the Money Plane from her mind -and he couldn't have done a better job if he'd gone to the pasture and brought in a handful of dung to throw in her face.

'Younger-' she said it as though it was the one valid word out of all the thousands, making something solid and tangible of it. 'Younger than I.'

'Well, my God,' he cried. 'I'm only twenty! And you- you-'

Fury blazed up like cornstalk on a hot day.

'You filthy little hillbilly! You contemptible little moron!' She stood up, looking wildly about the room for a weapon, anything. She saw her nail file on the dressing table and started for it.