“Anderson’s daughter. He’s the one in charge here. The wiry old man with the constipated look. Watch out for him. And his son, the big one, Neil. He’s worse.”
“I remember him from that night. I remember his eyes.”
“But most of the people here aren’t any different from you and me. Except they’re organized. They’re not bad people. They only do what they have to. Lady, for instance, Blossom’s mother, is a fine woman. I have to go now. Eat more.”
“Can’t you eat more than that?” Blossom scolded. “You have to get your strength back.”
He picked up the spoon again.
“That’s better.” She smiled. There was a deep dimple in her freckled cheek when she smiled. Otherwise, it was a commonplace smile.
“What is this place? Does just your family live here?”
“It’s the commonroom. We only have it for the summer, because Daddy’s the mayor. Later when it’s cold, the whole town moves in. It’s awfully big, bigger than you can see from here, but even so it gets crowded. There’s two hundred and forty-six of us. Forty-eight, with you and Alice. Tomorrow do you think you can try walking? Buddy, he’s my brother, my other brother, made a crutch for you. You’ll like Buddy. When you’re healthy again, you’ll feel better— I mean, you’ll be happier. We aren’t as bad as you think. We’re Congregationalists. What are you?”
“I’m not.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble about joining. But we don’t have a real minister, not since Reverend Pastern died. He was my sister-in-law’s father—Greta. You’ve seen her. She’s the beauty among us. Daddy was always important in the church, so when the Reverend died, he just naturally took over. He can preach a good sermon, you’d be surprised. He’s actually a very religious man.”
“Your father? I’d like to hear one of those sermons.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Orville. You think because of what happened to the others that Daddy’s bad. But he’s not cruel deliberately. He only does what he has to. It was—a necessary evil—what he did. Can’t you eat more? Try. I’ll tell you a story about Daddy, and then you’ll see that you haven’t been fair to him. One day last summer, at the end of June, the bull got out and started after the cows. Jimmie Lee—that was his youngest—went out after them. Jimmie Lee was sort of Daddy’s Benjamin. He put great stock by Jimmie Lee, though he tried not to show it to us others. When Daddy found Jimmie Lee and the cows, they were all burnt up, just like they say happened in Duluth. There wasn’t even a body to carry home, just ashes. Daddy went almost out of his mind with grief. He rubbed the ashes into his face and cried. Then he tried to behave like nothing happened. But later that night he just broke down again, crying and sobbing, and he went off by himself to the grave, where he’d found him, and he just sat there for two whole days. He has very deep feelings, but most of the time he doesn’t let them show.”
“And Neil? Is he the same way?’
“What do you mean? Neil’s my brother.”
“He was the one who put the questions to me that night. And to other people that I knew. Is he another one like your father?”
“I wouldn’t know about that night. I wasn’t there. You’ve got to rest now. Think about what I told you. And Mr. Orville—try and forget about that night.”
There was growing in him a desire and will to survive, but unlike any desire he had known till then, this was a cancerous growth, and the strength it lent his body was the strength of hatred. Passionately, he desired not life but revenge: for Jackie’s death, for his own torture, for that whole horrible night.
He had never before felt much sympathy for avengers. The basic premises of blood vengeance had always struck him as rather improbable, like the plot of
Initially his imagination was content simply to devise deaths for the old man; then, as his strength grew, these deaths were elaborated with tortures, which finally displaced death entirely. Tortures could be protracted, while death was an end.
But Orville, having himself tasted the bitterest gall, knew that there was a limit beyond which pain cannot be heightened. He desired Anderson to endure the sufferings of Job. He wanted to grind ashes into the man’s gray hair, to crush his spirit, to ruin him. Only then would he allow Anderson to know that it had been he, Jeremiah Orville, who had been the agent of his humbling.
So that when Blossom told him the story of how the old man had carried on over Jimmie Lee, he realized what he had to do. Why, it had been staring him in the face!
They had walked all the way to the cornfield together, Blossom and Orville. The leg had mended, but he would probably always have the limp. Now, at least, he could limp on his own—without any other crutch than Blossom.
“And that’s the corn that’s going to feed us all this winter?” he asked.
“It’s more than we really need. A lot of it was meant for the cows.”
“I suppose you’d be out there harvesting with the rest of them if it weren’t for me.” It was the custom, during harvest, for the old women and the younger girls to take over the village duties while the stronger women went out into the fields with the men.
“No, I’m not old enough.”
“Oh, come now. You’re fifteen, if you’re a day.”
Blossom giggled. “You’re just saying that. I’m thirteen. I won’t be fourteen till January 31.”
“You could have fooled me. You’re very well developed for thirteen.”
She blushed. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Thirty-five.” It was a lie, but he knew he could get away with it. Seven years ago, when he had been thirty- five, he bad looked older than he did now.
“I’m young enough to be your daughter, Mr. Orville.”
“On the other hand, Miss Anderson, you’re
She blushed more violently this time and would have left him except that he needed her for support. This was the farthest he’d walked on his own. They stopped for him to rest.
Except for the harvesting, it was hard to recognize this as September. The Plants did not change color with the seasons: they just folded their leaves like umbrellas to let the snow pass to the ground. Nor was there any hint of autumn spiciness in the air. The cold of the mornings was a characterless cold.
“It’s beautiful out here in the country,” Orville said.
“Oh yes. I think so too.”
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“Yes, here or in the old town.” She darted a sideways look at him. “You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, it’s great to be alive.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad you’re well again.” Impulsively she caught hold of his hand. He answered with a squeeze. She giggled with delight.
They began to run.
This, then, seemed to be the final stage of his years-long reversion to the primitive. Orville could not imagine a more unseemly action than the one he intended, and its baseness only heightened the bloody passion that continued to grow in him. His revenge now demanded more than Anderson, more than the man’s entire family. It demanded the whole community. And time to savor their annihilation. He must wring every drop of agony from them, from each of them; he must take them, gradually, to the limit of their capacity for suffering and only then push them over the edge.
Blossom turned in her sleep and her hands clutched at the pillow of corn husks. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, and beads of sweat broke out on her brow and in the dainty hollow between her breasts. There was a weight on her chest, as though someone were pressing her into the earth with his heavy boots. He was going to kiss her. When his mouth opened, she could see the screw turning within. Shreds of ground meat tumbled forth. The screw made a dreary rasping sound.
