Through Darkest America

Howie glanced at Cory, then turned quickly away. Aimie caught his look and laughed out loud. Maye giggled behind him, until Cory did something that made her gasp. Howie felt the heat rise right up to his hairline.

“You don’t pay no attention to them,” said Aimie, holding his chin firmly. “Just watch what’s goin’ on here.” She ran a finger over his cheek. “Where you from, Burt?”

“South.”

“South what?”

“Just south.”

“Well me an’ Maye are, too. Where’bouts?”

“It’s… kinda small. Don’t figure you’d know it.” “I might.”

“Uh, it’s Clinton.”

“Clinton?” She shrugged. “Don’t know it. Pardo’s your pa, Cory says.”

“No, he ain’t! I mean, kinda.” Howie wanted to bite his tongue. “Why? You know him?”

“Uh huh.” She raised one brow slightly. “Lord, ever’one knows Pardo. Hey, Burt, don’t you like me none?” “Well, sure I do.”

“You don’t act like it.” She showed him a pouty mouth. “What’s a feller supposed to act like?”

“Like you want to be, you know… friendly.” She studied him a moment, then sat up straight. “Say, you ain’t like them uncles of yours, are you?”

“No, I ain’t!” He felt himself color again. “I’m nothing at all like them and don’t you go sayin’ that!”

“Okay, don’t get mad or anything.” She settled back in his lap and leaned her head on his shoulder. Howie had to admit she felt fine enough, laying back like that, her face kind of pushed up into his shoulder. He looked down at her, and smelled the heavy perfume of her hair. He suddenly remembered the girl in the picture, the one on the beach at Silver Island. Lord, that had been a lifetime or two ago! The hours he’d spent wondering what she looked like under those tiny bits of swimclothes. There’d been more than one night when he hadn’t been able to sleep, or get her off his mind.

Aimie shifted in his lap and made a small noise. Howie felt himself stirring under her weight. He felt a quick surge of panic. Could she tell what was happening? He was sure she could, and… Well, damn, was there anything wrong with that? That’s what you were supposed to do, wasn’t it?

“Aimie.” He let his hand run along the curve of her arm. Aimie reached up calmly and slipped her dress off one shoulder. She took his hand and cupped it around her breast.

Howie couldn’t breathe. His hand trembled against a softness he couldn’t imagine. He didn’t believe what was happening—he was touching a girl in places he’d just thought about before. She… she was pulling her clothes down and lettin’ him see her and all and do whatever he wanted to and Lordee he wanted to do just about everything!

“Burt,” she said softly, “now you just wait up there.” She teased at the buttons of his shirt, grinning with her eyes. “Aimie. I don’t want to wait.”

“I guess Aimie was wrong,” she whispered. “Burt, he’s not no boy, for certain. No, sir, he ain’t no boy at all…”

Howie grasped her bare shoulders and turned her on his lap to face him. He pulled down her dress until her arms slipped out of the sleeves and the soft fabric bunched about her waist.

Aimie’s eyes were half closed, like she was looking at something real far away. Her lips curved in a lazy smile. Howie’s mouth was dust dry. He was vaguely aware of rustling and breathing behind him, but everything except Aimie seemed a thousand miles east of somewhere. He marveled at what he’d discovered—stared at her, eating up all the wonder with his eyes. When he touched her, the feeling ran up his fingers and filled every part of his body. He delighted in the way her skin turned gold under the flickering lamp. He touched the small breasts and watched them swell and wondered if anyone else knew those delicate mounds of flesh were neither soft nor hard, but something in between you couldn’t put a name to.

“Burt , oh, Burt!” Aimie’s lips were moist, slightly open. He bent to kiss them and his breath came harder. She finished his buttons, let her fingers play about his belt.

“Burt… I reckon we better find us a place to get comfortable.”

“Uh huh.”

“You want to do that, Burt?”

“Aimie…” Howie couldn’t talk anymore. He moved his hand around her waist and down beneath the folds of her dress. He touched the soft skin of her belly and the ache between his legs became an agony. He was sure he’d die right where he was if something didn’t happen soon. When he reached out to lift her in his arms she smiled up at him— then stiffened and pushed him away.

“Hey, what you want!” she cried angrily.

He stared at her, then saw she was looking past him. He let her go and turned to see a bearded face blinking in the light.

“You just—go on and git out of here!” he yelled. “St- start moving if you don’t want no trouble!” He marveled at his sudden boldness, telling grown men to get up and go and what he’d do if they didn’t. The head disappeared and Howie breathed a silent sigh of relief. He’d recognized the face, though. It was the man in the big tent who’d stared at him on the way in. Now what did he want? Howie was certain he’d never seen the man before.

“Listen, Aimie, I’m sorry about that. I ain’t got no idea—”

But Aimie had already forgotten. She wrinkled her nose at Howie and pulled him toward the straw pallet. When he was down she slipped the dress quickly over her hips and let it slide to her ankles. Howie stared. He fumbled at his belt, wondering why in blazes he couldn’t work something easy as a buckle.

“Aimie…  Lord, Airnie, you’re just—” She looked up at him and he let his eyes start at the long, naked legs and wander on from there. He dropped his trousers, stepped toward her. The room tilted crazily. All the breath went out of him and he hit the ground hard. There was a quick flash of Aimie, eyes wide as saucers, then she was gone.

The tent was behind him; night air filled his lungs. He yelled, and kicked out with his one free leg. Whoever was dragging him ’cross the ground wouldn’t answer and didn’t care much what Howie hit along the way. Gravel tore at his back and scraped his elbows raw. His head bounced over something hard and he cried out. Then, suddenly, it was over.

He stared up and saw black sky through ragged branches. A hand reached down and wrenched him to his feet. For a quick second, he looked close into Pardo’s eyes.

“Smart little son’bitch,” grinned Pardo. “Oh, you surely are… Burt!” Pardo’s big fist swung ’round and caught the side of his head. Howie went sick all over. Pardo hadn’t dropped him. “Burt, huh?” The hand jerked him close again. “How ’bout Howie?” He saw the fist coming but there was no place to go. Hard ground came up to meet him.

Pardo bent for him. Howie rolled away. A boot clamped down to stop him. His hand found a dead branch, swung hard, and heard air whistle past Pardo’s head.

Right away, he knew it had been a bad idea. Pardo’d kill him for sure, now…

“Drop that. Do it, boy.”

Howie did. His head rang like there was something loose inside.

“You shouldn’t oughta done that,” said Pardo.

“You shouldn’t oughta took my head clean off, neither,” rasped Howie. He tried to get his breath and pull his trousers up at the same time. “You didn’t have no call for that.

 No matter what!”

Pardo laughed at him. “Shit. I ain’t even finished.” “Listen—”

Pardo kicked him squarely in his ribs. Howie felt something break inside.

“Git up,” Pardo said flatly.

“I… can’t!”

“Git up, boy.”

“Pardo—”

Pardo kicked him in the stomach. Howie folded, threw up, and choked on his own bile. He lay on his side, his