Part 23 (1/2)
”Come for him, Kalu!” Shull screamed.
Kalu drop-leaped out of the branches between us.
Gentlemen, don't ask me to say too much what Kalu was. Bones, yes-something like man-bones, but bigger and thicker, also something like bear-bones, or big ape-bones from a foreign land. And a rotten light to them, so I saw for a moment that the bones weren't empty. Inside the ribs were caged puffy things, like guts and lungs and maybe a heart that skipped and wiggled. The skull had a snout like I can't say what, and in its eye-holes burned blue-green fire. Out came the arm-bones, and the finger-bones were on Shull Cobart.
I heard Shull Cobart scream one more time, and then Kalu had him, like a bullfrog with a minnow. And Kalu was back up in the branches. Standing by the grave, still tweaking my strings, I heard the branches rustle, and no more sounds after that from Shull Cobart.
After while, I walked to where the black fiddle lay. I stomped with my foot, heard it smash, and kicked the pieces away.
Walking back to the cabin seemed to take an hour. I stopped at the door.
”No!” moaned Evadare, and then she just looked at me. ”John-but-”
”That's twice you thought I was Shull Cobart,” I said.
”Kalu-”
”Kalu tookhim , not me.”
”But-” she stopped again.
”I figured the truth about Kalu and Hosea Palmer, walking out with Shull,” I began to explain. ”All at once I knew why Kalu never pestered you. You'll wonder why you didn't know it, too.”
”But-” she tried once more.
”Think,” I bade her. ”Who buried Hosea Palmer, with a cross and a prayer? What dear friend could he have, when he came in here alone? Who was left alive here when it was Hosea Palmer's time to die?”
She just shook her head from side to side.
”It was Kalu,” I said. ”Remember the story, all of it. Hosea Palmer said he knew how to stop Kalu's wickedness. Folks think Hosea destroyed Kalu some way. But what he did was teach him the good part of things. They weren't enemies. They were friends.”
”Oh,” she said. ”Then-”
”Kalu buried Hosea Palmer,” I finished for her, ”and cut his name and the prayer. Hosea must have taught him his letters. But how could Shull Cobart understand that? It wasn't for us to know, even, till the last minute. And Kalu took the evil man, to punish him.”
I sat on the door-log, my arms around my guitar. ”You can go home now, Evadare,” I said. ”Shull Cobart won't vex you again, by word of mouth or by sight of his face.”
She'd been sitting all drawn up, as small as she could make herself. Now she managed to stand.
”Where will you go, John?”
”There's all the world for me to go through. I'll view the country over. Think me a kind thought once in a while when we're parted.”
”Parted?” she said after me, and took a step, but not as if a web of music dragged her. ”John. Let me come with you.”
I jumped up. ”With me? You don't want to go with me, Evadare.”
”Let me come.” Her hand touched my arm, trembling like a bird.
”How could I do that, take you with me? I live hard.”
”I've not lived soft, John.” But she said it soft and lovely, and it made my heart ache with what I hadn't had time before to feel for her.
”I don't have a home,” I said.
”Folks make you welcome everywhere. You're happy. You have enough of what you need. There's music wherever you go. John, I want to hear the music and help the song.”
I wanted to try to laugh that thought away, but I couldn't laugh. ”You don't know what you say. Listen, I'll go now. Back to my camp, and I'll be out of here before sunup. Evadare, G.o.d bless you wherever you go.”
”Don't you want me to go with you, John?” I couldn't dare reply her the truth of that. Make her a wanderer of the earth, like me? I ran off. She called my name once, but I didn't stop. At my camp again, I sat by my died-out fire, wondering, then wis.h.i.+ng, then driving the wish from me.
In the black hour before dawn, I got my stuff together and started out of Hosea's Hollow. I came clear of it as the light rose, and mounted up a trail to a ridge above. Something made me look back.
Far down the trail I'd come, I saw her. She leaned on a stick, and she carried some kind of bundle-maybe her quilts, and what little food she had. She was following.
”That fool-headed girl,” I said, all alone to myself, and I up and ran down the far side. It was hours until I crossed the bottom below and mounted another ridge beyond. On the ridge I'd left behind I saw Evadare still moving after me, her little shape barely bigger than a fly. Then I thought of that song I've told you before:
On yonder hill there stands a creature, Who she is I do not know, I will ask her if she'll marry . . .
Oh, no, John, no, John, no!
But she didn't stand, she came on. And I knew who she was. And if I asked her to marry she wouldn't answer no.
The rest of that day I fled from her, not stopping to eat, only to grab mouthfuls of water from streams.
And in the dusky last end of the day I sat quiet and watched her still coming, leaning on her stick for weariness, and knew I must go down trail to meet her.
She was at the moment when she'd drop. She'd lost her ribbon, and the locks of her hair fell round her like a shadow. Her dress was torn, her face was white-tired, and the rocks had cut her shoes to pieces and the blood seeped out of her torn feet.
She couldn't even speak. She just sagged into my arms when I held them out to her.
I carried her to my camp. The spring trickled enough so I could wash her poor cut feet. I put down her quilt and my blanket for her to sit on, with her back to a big rock. I mixed a pone of cornmeal to bake on a flat stone, and strung a few pieces of meat on a green twig. I brought her water in my cupped hand.
”John,” she managed at last to speak my name.
”Evadare,” I said, and we both smiled at each other, and I sat down beside her.