Part 10 (1/2)

”She died from it.”

”I know.”

”I got it like she did.”

”Whereabouts? Whereabouts on your body?”

”My throat that I know of.” Touching it with a k.n.o.bby finger. ”My p.e.c.k.e.r.”

Franklin did not doubt that either of these could be true, but he mistrusted Vernon's diagnostic skills. ”How does it feel, exactly?”

”I can't swallow too good. Sometimes I can't hold my water.”

”That probably wouldn't be your p.e.c.k.e.r, but it might be something connected to it.” Franklin sat nodding, a.s.sessing such of his patient as he could see without lifting the blue paper. Vernon's skin a wrecked Rorschach of sun damage. The calf of his right leg puckered on both sides around the old wound. One finger sheared away at the second knuckle. ”You saw a doctor for that too, I suppose.” Pointing to that last. ”One of your many engagements with the medical community.”

”No,” said Vernon. ”My dad done that on the stove. I cut it off and he cauterized it.”

Franklin drew breath.

”I don't know what become of the rest.” Sitting under the blue paper, holding the hand up and studying it as if it possesses vatic properties, his mind going back to the missing flesh and bone as to some lost opportunity for divining. ”I was a boy. I never did ask what he done with it.”

1955.

Creed.

MY BROTHER BLAMED IT on smoking but I don't know. Smoking ain't what killed my father before her and he smoked his whole life. What killed him was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned mule. on smoking but I don't know. Smoking ain't what killed my father before her and he smoked his whole life. What killed him was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned mule.

Ruth.

HER COUGH SHAKES THE HOUSE. In cold weather it emerges on smoke and steam. She usually has a cigarette burning but even when she does not her breath in the frigid house is white like all the rest. At least in her cold back bedroom, never mind the grate. Not that she does not appreciate the work that went into it or the compa.s.sion. She remembers the day they put it in, Vernon and Audie and Creed and Preston. She remembers how they cut the hole in the wall and filled it back up, all for her comfort. She does not have the heart to say how far the actual fell short of the intended, but they all know. They all know by the blankets they bring her when the weather gets cold and her cough shakes the house.

She relies on her sons and she relies on her daughter gone off to nursing school in Syracuse and she relies on the cancer that will kill her if she lives long enough. Her breath comes hard. She lies awake in the black of night listening to the gunshot bursts of sap exploding in distant trees. She coughs blood and she b.a.l.l.s tissues and drops them to the floor alongside her cold bed and she waits. Morning does not come and death does not come either and so she lights a cigarette in the dark and listens to the bursting of trees and the snoring of her grown sons in the next room. The three in one bed. Then and now and forever and ever.

Preston.

AUDIE HAS A LONG MEMORY. You have to grant him that.

Audie.

I WANTED HER WANTED HER to stop was all. to stop was all.

Ruth.

HER MIDDLE SON goes from the house to the barn, from cold to colder still. Opening the door just a crack and sliding through it and closing it again. There are chickens in the barn, chickens and an old horse and a wind that howls between the barn boards where the drifts have not yet blocked its entry, bearing snow that spills over itself and tumbles down its own alluvial flanks like sand. goes from the house to the barn, from cold to colder still. Opening the door just a crack and sliding through it and closing it again. There are chickens in the barn, chickens and an old horse and a wind that howls between the barn boards where the drifts have not yet blocked its entry, bearing snow that spills over itself and tumbles down its own alluvial flanks like sand.

He has something hidden in the breast pocket of his coveralls. He stops and unb.u.t.tons his coat and presses his fingers against the fabric, fearing that his pa.s.sage through the narrow door crack has squashed his treasure flat. Cursing his careful thoughtlessness. But the denim is s.h.i.+t-stiff and his fingers are frozen and he cannot determine much. He creeps along the wall, stepping in snow, toward a bright window where he can draw the thing out and look. Chickens scatter. Cellophane gleams. A half-pack of cigarettes shakes in the snowlight. Crushed yes but not beyond salvaging. He takes one out and holds it like some venomous thing alive and bent on treachery. Runs his fingers along it to nurse it back to shape. Blows into the pack to expand it and shakes out the rest and does the same, restoring them one by one. All is not lost.

He climbs to the hayloft where the wind howls wilder yet. The lathe has a worktable built into one end of it and he clears it off. A single electric bulb crusted with sawdust hangs low above it and he switches it on. He puts the cigarettes down on the worktable where they skitter, wind-s.h.i.+fted. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and draws out a darning needle he has kept there, stolen likewise from his mother. Through the eye of it a hair from the horse's tail, just as he remembers. He sets it down on the worktable and it slides a little and he recovers it and stabs it through his cuff for safekeeping and then he takes out the first cigarette and applies himself to it. Squinting. Summoned here as to the night-dark shop of some poor shoemaker, working wordless magic.

Preston.

HE SURE DIDN'T MEAN IT as any joke. Not like they all did with Margaret that first time. What he wanted was to kill his mother's taste for cigarettes, which by then was going to take a whole lot more than a little bit of horsehair. I don't know that it would have done her any good if it'd worked. If she'd taken the hint and just up and quit. Probably not. It was probably too late. Maybe she would have breathed better toward the end but it still would have been the end. as any joke. Not like they all did with Margaret that first time. What he wanted was to kill his mother's taste for cigarettes, which by then was going to take a whole lot more than a little bit of horsehair. I don't know that it would have done her any good if it'd worked. If she'd taken the hint and just up and quit. Probably not. It was probably too late. Maybe she would have breathed better toward the end but it still would have been the end.

To hear Vernon tell it, she smoked the first one that evening without even taking note of the difference. The house was shut up tight and it raised a stink like you wouldn't believe and she didn't even take note of it. Most people it'll make sick to their stomach quick enough. That's how far gone she was even then, and she still had a few years left. Creed got his coat and went out into the barn for a little fresh air but Audie just sat there and took it. He was waiting to see what would happen and he wanted to be there when it did. Vernon stayed with him. He knew what was up. He wasn't anybody's fool. And he figured he ought to be there right along with his brother.

After she smoked the first one Audie went in to check on her and the smell was worse in there but she didn't seem to mind it. He sat down at her bedside for a while and she lit up another. That one must have been the last straw. I guess it got to her stomach directly without going through her nose because the next thing you know, up comes dinner. She wasn't eating much by then, but it came up.

Audie.

I THOUGHT SHE WAS DYING THOUGHT SHE WAS DYING. I thought I'd done it. I thought I'd brought it on.

Ruth.

VERNON DOESN'T KNOW which of them to care for first. The woman or the man. His mother choking on sour vomit in her bedclothes or his brother gasping and aquiver on the floor. He calls out for Creed but Creed does not answer. Perhaps he does not hear. He cannot know the extent of this, and so Vernon does not blame him either way. The cigarette still burns on the bed linen and he squashes it out in a pool that looks like egg white. The fallen match has gone dead on the floorboards but he grinds it out with his toe for good measure and glares down at it and then grinds it out all over again. It is something he can be sure of. His mother doubles over and vomits once more, emptily this time but with no less force than prior, and then she brings herself erect. With an arm to each side she steadies herself against the effort and pulls in a crippled half-lungful of air. He pats her on the back and utters some apology or promise and goes to his brother, calling for Creed again as he steps around the foot of the bed. He kneels and wraps himself around his quivering brother Audie and enfolds him there upon the cold board floor and they lie together a moment like Union soldiers spooning. Audie calms a little. His breathing steadies. One leg thumps the bedstead in a doglike rhythm and Vernon reaches to suppress its beating. His mother speaks or merely gasps but either way it is the sound of some vengeful haunt making its ragged accusation. So Vernon rises to his knees and goes to her again, telling Audie to get up if he possibly can and go fetch Creed. which of them to care for first. The woman or the man. His mother choking on sour vomit in her bedclothes or his brother gasping and aquiver on the floor. He calls out for Creed but Creed does not answer. Perhaps he does not hear. He cannot know the extent of this, and so Vernon does not blame him either way. The cigarette still burns on the bed linen and he squashes it out in a pool that looks like egg white. The fallen match has gone dead on the floorboards but he grinds it out with his toe for good measure and glares down at it and then grinds it out all over again. It is something he can be sure of. His mother doubles over and vomits once more, emptily this time but with no less force than prior, and then she brings herself erect. With an arm to each side she steadies herself against the effort and pulls in a crippled half-lungful of air. He pats her on the back and utters some apology or promise and goes to his brother, calling for Creed again as he steps around the foot of the bed. He kneels and wraps himself around his quivering brother Audie and enfolds him there upon the cold board floor and they lie together a moment like Union soldiers spooning. Audie calms a little. His breathing steadies. One leg thumps the bedstead in a doglike rhythm and Vernon reaches to suppress its beating. His mother speaks or merely gasps but either way it is the sound of some vengeful haunt making its ragged accusation. So Vernon rises to his knees and goes to her again, telling Audie to get up if he possibly can and go fetch Creed.

1990.

Preston.

I WANTED TO GIVE WANTED TO GIVE that trooper a piece of my mind but I didn't get there quick enough, so I just watched him drive off and balled up my fist and shook it in the air and came on back into the house all steamed up. Madder than a wet hen. I'd have set Creed down right there and talked to him like a Dutch uncle if they hadn't already put him through the wringer all day and half the night. So all I did was ask who they'd gotten him for a lawyer. He looked at me like I'd turned into a talking sheep or something. Like he knew more about these things than I did. He said he didn't need any lawyer, and I knew then. I said everybody needs a lawyer and if you can't afford one they'll appoint you one. They've got to. He knew that from his cop shows. I knew he knew it. He gave me a look that said it was just now dawning on him for the first time, and Margaret put out her hand and made me stop. There'd be time in the morning, she said. that trooper a piece of my mind but I didn't get there quick enough, so I just watched him drive off and balled up my fist and shook it in the air and came on back into the house all steamed up. Madder than a wet hen. I'd have set Creed down right there and talked to him like a Dutch uncle if they hadn't already put him through the wringer all day and half the night. So all I did was ask who they'd gotten him for a lawyer. He looked at me like I'd turned into a talking sheep or something. Like he knew more about these things than I did. He said he didn't need any lawyer, and I knew then. I said everybody needs a lawyer and if you can't afford one they'll appoint you one. They've got to. He knew that from his cop shows. I knew he knew it. He gave me a look that said it was just now dawning on him for the first time, and Margaret put out her hand and made me stop. There'd be time in the morning, she said.

I wasn't just mad on account of Creed but on account of Audie too. We'd given him some supper and he was all right, but those troopers should have been ashamed of themselves. You don't call a neighbor to check on somebody like Audie. Maybe you do if you're a relative from out of town or something, but not if you're the d.a.m.ned state police and you've got men in patrol cars on every road between here and Albany. You send somebody out is what you do. You send somebody out. After I brought him back home Margaret told me to call the barracks, but I didn't call because I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. I'm not working for the state police. I wasn't then and I'm not now and I don't plan to start up anytime soon. Their whole problem was they were too busy coming after Creed.

The first thing I did next morning was give Mary Spinelli a call over in Utica. Her father used to do my father's work and she has the practice now. I knew she wasn't the lawyer for the job on account of she mainly does wills and trusts and real estate and like that, but I thought she ought to know who was. She flat-out couldn't believe they'd kept Creed all day and never given him access to counsel. I could practically hear her shake her head over the telephone. She said she'd read about Vernon in the paper and she knew a little something about farm boys like the Proctors and if a fellow like that was ignorant enough to refuse a lawyer that meant he was ignorant enough to require one. Too ignorant not not to have one. Which was my thought exactly. She didn't go so far as to say the troopers had taken advantage of him but I knew what she meant. She gave me some names anyhow, and I wrote them down. to have one. Which was my thought exactly. She didn't go so far as to say the troopers had taken advantage of him but I knew what she meant. She gave me some names anyhow, and I wrote them down.

I let them finish the milking before I went over. I still had a full head of steam up. Margaret tied me to the table and made me drink another cup of coffee. She makes it weak, so it didn't do me any harm. I looked up the numbers of those other lawyers in the phone book and drank my coffee and kept an eye out the window, and once the co-op truck had come and gone I went over.

I asked Creed if he'd signed anything and he said yes. I asked what. He told me he'd signed what they'd talked about all day, he and Del Graham and some other fellow, Burnes. A trooper, I figured. All day and half the night. All day and half the night without a lawyer. Never mind. Whatever it was he signed I didn't think it sounded too good. I asked him what it said and he told me he had a copy right there I could look at if I wanted and read it for myself. He had it folded up into the breast pocket of his coveralls. It looked about a million years old already when he took it out. I don't know how long he meant to keep it in there but I was glad I got my hands on it. I told him I'd give it back to him after I made a photocopy down to the library. For posterity.

Del.

I SENT THE PAPERWORK SENT THE PAPERWORK to Ben Wilson's office early the next morning. It was my interview and it was my confession and I sent it over myself. It was going to be a busy day around the district attorney's office, and I thought even as I was sending it over that it would end up on the bottom of somebody's in-basket just by default. If only for a little while. They were expecting the final report from the medical examiner too. I thought that that would be of some interest. I didn't expect there would be anything there to contradict the confession and it turned out that there wasn't. There were some developments I hadn't thought about or even imagined-the s.e.m.e.n, mainly, which suggested I'm not sure what to this day, maybe nothing-but there wasn't anything to contradict the story as Creed had laid it out. I didn't think there would be. I was confident that we'd done a thorough job. I thought he had explained it all pretty well. to Ben Wilson's office early the next morning. It was my interview and it was my confession and I sent it over myself. It was going to be a busy day around the district attorney's office, and I thought even as I was sending it over that it would end up on the bottom of somebody's in-basket just by default. If only for a little while. They were expecting the final report from the medical examiner too. I thought that that would be of some interest. I didn't expect there would be anything there to contradict the confession and it turned out that there wasn't. There were some developments I hadn't thought about or even imagined-the s.e.m.e.n, mainly, which suggested I'm not sure what to this day, maybe nothing-but there wasn't anything to contradict the story as Creed had laid it out. I didn't think there would be. I was confident that we'd done a thorough job. I thought he had explained it all pretty well.

You try to understand how another person's mind works. I think that's the hardest thing. It surprises you sometimes. But unless you understand how another person's mind works you can't necessarily make sense of the evidence in front of you. Take that bed. Take those men. Two of them left alive and one of them dead. Whatever evidence is left on the bed is so ephemeral as to be useless. It tells one story as well as it tells another. If you weren't there you couldn't be sure. Reading it is like trying to hear a tune somebody whistled last week. You can't do it.