Red was holding a .38 revolver in his hand as he emerged from the shadows of the huge oaks that masked the beginning of the clearing. The light was poor but Toomer interpreted the gaits of the other three men and could tell the gauge of each shotgun as they passed between the hives.
The men were laughing as they caught sight of the dogs in the bus. Toomer heard their laughter, thick with the bravura of men deep into the bottle, and though he was crouched on that bottom step, his eyes dark and appraising, his eyes steady through their fear, he saw that Red was not laughing. His two hands tightened on the rope.
When the light caught the Pettus boys between the eight deep humming boxes of bees, when they walked across a predetermined point, a zone of violation and trespass from which he knew there would be no turning back, Toomer yanked the rope. Two of the hives crashed off their bases and fell into the road, one of them striking Mac Pettus on the leg. In an instant, the bees were on them. Red sprinted toward the river slapping at the first wave of bees that stung his arms and face. Then, as he ran, there was a single moment when he felt as though his whole body was on fire and he protected his eyes with his free hand and fled toward water, dropping his revolver on the edge of the bank just before he plunged into the creek and clawed his way to its soft mud bottom where he felt the saltwater ignite each sting like a match in his flesh. For as long as his breath allowed, he stayed submerged in the kind and beeless creek, his eyes exploding with light whose source came from the fiercely honed and polished stingers that moved and contracted deeper into his body. When he surfaced, one of his eyes was closed and the other filled with the delicate silver of a moon small as a nail clipping. He began pulling stingers out of his face, working down, and taking his time looking back up the bluff at Toomer's bus.
The other three men had run in a panic down the dirt road they had come in on. Toomer chuckled, hearing their screams grow dimmer as they headed back toward the highway.
"I ain't gonna let no white boys hurt my chillun," he said to his dogs as he limped among his pets trying to calm them. They had shifted to the other side of the bus now, still in a frenzy, still bound in a strangely ineluctable bondage of something rooted deep in all of them, in the subliminal frontiers of the species. Toomer rubbed his hands along the shoulders of the big dogs who had commandeered positions by the windows facing the river side of the bus. He felt the stiff, arched withers of two German police dogs who ran together and often teamed to fight and get licked by the Gray. Staring out into the night, he saw nothing but he knew the bees had assured his safety that night. He lit a kerosene lamp.
Red Pettus, his face and body swollen, came dripping out of the creek, nauseated and feverish after the attack. He saw the light go on in the bus. Searching on his hands and knees along the bank, he retrieved his.38. Then, he began to walk toward Toomer.
The phone rang at the Meecham house. Ben and Mary Anne were talking at the kitchen table. Lillian was making a novena at the Catholic Church and Bull had the duty at the air station. Ben answered the phone and heard the voice of Arrabelle Smalls frayed with hysteria and almost unintelligible as she wept and tried to speak at the same time. Her dialect deepened as she spoke, abandoning the smooth lyrics she had been trained to use when she worked in the houses of white men. Here on the phone, she screamed at Ben in the voice of the sea islands. The Gullah-fleshed cry of her girlhood.
"Go get Toomer, Ben, and make that boy come on over to my house tonight. Make him come on over. He got a stiffy side to him, Ben, but I be so scared about the Pettus boys. I hear just now that he grab hold to Red today and make that boy holler and it just not a good time to be colored in this town. So you got to fly and take hold to Toomer and make him come to my house tonight. I just hear the Pettus boys been runnin' their mouths about scarin' Toomer for what he done to Red. He's a stiffy boy, so you just go drag him out of that bus and tell him his mama say for you to do it. Go on, now. Get on gone, Ben. Please. Please."
"I will, Arrabelle," Ben said. "I'll have to call Dad. Then I'll go get Toomer. I promise."
"What did Arrabelle want?" Mary Anne asked.
"Where's Dad's number?"
"How do I know? He's on duty."
"He leaves it near the phone in case Mama wants to get in touch with him."
"Yeah, he also threatens her with death if she calls him for anything besides a death in the family."
Ben found the number scribbled on the cover of the small thin Ravenel telephone book. He dialed the number quickly.
"Why are you shaking, Ben?" he heard Mary Anne ask strangely.
"I'm not shaking," Ben answered.
"Yes, you are. You're shaking all over. Your hands are trembling."
"Hello. Hello. May I speak to Colonel Meecham, please."
"What's wrong? What did Arrabelle say?"
"Hello, Dad," Ben said.
"What do you want, sportsfans. I can't just shoot the shit. I've got the duty."
"Yes, sir. I know. Arrabelle just called and thinks that Toomer might be in trouble. Red and his brothers are going over there to get him. I'm going to take Mama's car and go pick him up and take him over to Arrabelle's. Is that all right?"
"Negative," Bull answered. "You stay right in that house. You hear me? Keep out of that nigger shit. You don't want to get between the niggers and the grits when they go for each other's throats. Consider yourself locked up in your quarters."
"But it's Toomer, Dad. He might be in trouble."
"I don't care if Toomer is being attacked by the whole Mediterranean fleet. You are not leaving that house. You got it? You read me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Toomer can take care of himself, hog. Over and out. And don't you leave that goddam house."
Hanging up the phone, Ben walked to the kitchen table and sat down. His hands were trembling out of control and adrenaline flowed through his body in giant, unseen torrents. He tried to hide his hands from his sister.
"Why did you call Dad? Why didn't you just take the station wagon and go get Toomer?"
"I don't know."
"Were you afraid to go to Toomer's?"
"No."
"Were you hoping Dad would tell you not to go?" Mary Anne said.
Ben looked up at his sister, looked into her eyes, felt the fear in his stomach, half sea, half fire and said," Yes."
"Then I'll go get Toomer," Mary Anne said, rising and going toward the back door.
"Stop, Mary Anne!" Ben shouted. "You can't go out there!"
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because Dad ordered us to stay in the house. We're confined to quarters."
"You're confined to quarters. He wouldn't dream in a thousand years that I would go get Toomer. So you just sit there and shoot jump shots until I get back. I won't be long, brave brother. Brave golden boy."
"You can't go, Mary Anne. Goddam it! You can't go! I can't let you."
"You can't stop me," she said.
"What about Vishnu, Mary Anne? What about your goddam Vishnu? What about your goddam Hindu god of self-preservation?"
Mary Anne turned and walked for the door again. Then she stopped and faced Ben, the kitchen light reflecting off one lens of her glasses, and said," What about Toomer, Ben?"
"All right, all right you sickening little bitch," Ben screamed. "You know I can't let you go because if something happened to you Dad would never quit punching me. But if he calls, you'd better cover for me. Sometimes you don't know when to stop, Mary Anne. You don't know when to quit running your mouth and just let things alone. I know what you're doing. I know what you're doing and it really pisses me off."
"I can't help it, Ben," Mary Anne smiled with a grotesque sweetness. "We sickening little bitches just do these things sometimes. Now you better hurry. Mom keeps her extra key in the ashtray."
"I wish she had taken the goddam car," Ben said putting on the flight jacket his father had given him for his birthday.
"Just go get Toomer."
Moments after Ben pulled
out of the driveway and Mary Anne heard the station wagon squealing down the street, the phone rang again. She knew it would be her father and she let it ring ten times before she answered it.
"Colonel Meecham's residence. Mary Anne speaking," she answered pleasantly.
"The phone's been ringing for three days, sportsfans. I'm glad you found time to answer it. Let me speak to Ben, on the double."
"Don't you want to talk to your sweet, adorable oldest daughter first?"
"Hey, I don't have time to crap around with you. Put Ben on the line."
"I decided just tonight that I was going to name my first son after you, Dad. Isn't that a tremendous honor. Aren't you pleased beyond words. I'm going to call him Taurus or El Toro."
"I'm gonna give you five seconds to get Ben on the phone and if you don't I'm coming right home to put a dozen hash-marks on your butt."
"But you can't come home, Daddy-poo. You've got the duty. They shoot Marines if they desert their posts. Before I get Ben I just want to tell you one thing I've been thinking about that I think you'll find mildly humorous."
"You need a working over bad, hog. You're getting rock happy in this burg. Get Ben on the phone."
"Just this one observation, Daddy-poo. You told us that you got your nickname because of your large neck and the fact that you were stationed at El Toro. Well, it occurred to me how funny it would have been if you had been stationed at a base named La Cucaracha. You'd be Colonel Cockroach Meecham right now. Pretty witty, huh?"
"Get me Ben," Bull said in a suddenly subdued tone.
"Uh oh, the voice of the killer. He's in the bathroom, Dad. He can't come to the phone."
"Get him on the goddam phone."
"He says he has stomach cramps. I think he has diarrhea."
"I don't care if he's passing bowling balls, I want him on this phone."
"I'll go see if he can come to the phone," she said, laying the receiver down and not returning to the phone for a full minute. When she finally picked up the phone she said," He's passed out on the bathroom floor, Popsy. He's screaming for me to run out and buy him some Preparation H."
"Mary Anne, I'm going to ask you one question and you better answer me straight. Has Ben gone to Toomer's house?"
"I cannot tell a lie, Dad. That always has been one of my greatest virtues. I can joke and tease and mess around, but I just can't lie. No. Ben has not gone to Toomer's house. He's upstairs screaming for Preparation H."
"Did he go to Toomer's place, Mary Anne?"
"Mary Anne?" she said. "Who is that strange creature? I know who sportsfans is. I know who jocko is. I know who hog is. But who is this person, Mary Anne? I do not know such a person."
"Is your mother's car out in the driveway? This is important, Mary Anne because Ben may be in bad trouble if he goes out there. I just called Arrabelle and she said the Pettus boys have more guns than I have short hairs. Now, you've got to tell me if Ben went to Toomer's."
"Do you remember what you always tell us, Dad? Meechams always help out the little guy. When someone's in trouble you'll find a Meecham right there lending a helping hand."
"I ordered him not to go. He disobeyed a direct order," Bull said.
"Are you afraid, Dad?" Mary Anne asked.
"Hell, no," Bull growled. "Afraid of a few skinny grits? I've fought in two wars, sportsfans. I'm not afraid of nothing."
"Ben's real afraid, Dad. He was too afraid to let me go with him. If he gets hurt it's going to be your fault because you didn't have the guts to help him."
"I'm on duty for Chrissakes. I can't just waltz out of here, Mary Anne."
"Just admit it. You're afraid. Big Bull Meecham is afraid. It's not a sin to be afraid."
"I've fought in two goddam wars, you little broad," Bull screamed.
"Ben's never fought in one," she answered.
"When I get home tomorrow, Mary Anne, there better be miles and sunshine between us because, so help me, God, I'm going to rearrange your face."
"Nighty-night, Daddy-poo, and one last thing."
"What?"
"Stand by for a fighter pilot. "And Mary Anne hung up the phone.
Bull immediately called Virgil Hedgepath. When the colonel answered, Bull said," Virge, this is Bull. Ben's in some kind of trouble. Can you get dressed on the double and come over here for an hour as O.D.? I'm leaving now so there's gonna be a time when I am just a plain fucking deserter."
Unhooking the Mameluke sword, Bull threw it on the desk in front of Captain Bledsoe who was the junior officer on duty with Bull.
"Cover my ass, Captain. Colonel Hedgepath is on his way."
"Aye, aye, sir. I don't think there should be any problems at all."
"You're not bad for a gravel cruncher, Captain. Carry on. I'll be back as fast as my little ass will carry me."
Bull ran to his squadron car and headed it quickly toward the main gate. As he returned the salute of the guard and headed toward Ravenel, he realized that he, Bull Meecham, for the first time in his life, for the first time in his history as an officer and a Marine, had deserted his post.
Red returned to the bus slowly but without caution. His face was swollen, obsessed, and pale with a need for vengeance. He came from the water and the marsh possessed by a stern angel that burned in the blood around his eyes.
In the bus a fresh resurrection of the warning cries arose as the dogs caught the scent of returning peril. Toomer could not control them, could not silence one of them, though he screamed and lashed out at all of them within reach of his voice or his hand. In the kerosene glow he stared out toward the river, seeing nothing but his own reflection, unable to see the danger whose approach was published in the nostrils of the orphan pack who surged protectively around him. It was an aboriginal darkness now that Toomer studied, waiting for a face or a voice to materialize. He needed something to confront. He needed to see or hear Red. All he could see were the distant lights of Ravenel strung like a bracelet down the river shore. All he could hear were the dogs and the rush of blood through his ears.
Then Red screamed at him and entered a perimeter near the bus where the light gave him a surreal visibility. "I got to hurt you, Toomer. I got to hurt you bad."
"Get on n-n-now, Red. Get on home now 'f-f-fore somethin' else happen," Toomer said.
"We were just gonna scare your black ass, Toomer. For what you did to me today at Fogle's. A nigger's got to learn not to go touchin' a white man."
"You got what y-y-you ax for, Red," Toomer shouted over the noise of the dogs.
"It wouldn't-a hurt nothin' if you'd just let me have my fun. You made everyone laugh at me, Toomer. The whole town's laughin' at me. And now they'll laugh some more because of you and your fuckin' bees. I got to teach you, Toomer. I got to teach you that I'm a white man. I got to be treated with some respect. You ain't never respected me in your whole life, but you'll goddam respect me from now on. That's what I came back to teach you."
"G-g-get on, boy, before I get y-y-your m-m-mama on you."
One of the police dogs had mounted the small kitchen table and was barking in a blind rage, snapping his fangs at Red through the window. Red fired at him through the window and knocked the dog off the table and onto the small wood-burning stove that stood at the back end of the bus. The dog was dead when Toomer reached him.
When Toomer rose again to face Red his expression had changed and his eyes seemed akin to those of the pack for the first time.
Spittle flecked his lips as he screamed," I'm gonna get you, Red. I'm gonna hurt you for that, boy."
"You ain't never gonna do nothing to me again, nigger," Red said, squinting through his one blue eye that was still open and functional. He aimed the gun for the big Gray, but did not see Toomer coming over to pull the Gray from the window. The bullet caught the black man full in the stomach and for a moment the two men looked at each other in a suspended moment of horror, of incredulity.
"Did I get you, Toomer?" Red cried out. "I didn't mean to get you. Oh, G
od, I didn't mean to get you. "But he could hear nothing and Toomer could hear nothing but the scream of the dogs. Toomer stumbled toward the front of the bus, trying to keep his balance as he weaved his way through the dogs, trying to keep the blood in his body with his two hands. Unsteadily he fell against the front window of the bus and his right hand grasped for the handle to the front door. At first he could not find it, believed it was not there, that it was betraying him at this final moment, until finally he had it, cold, in his hand, and he slammed it back hard toward the window, opening the door, and freeing the dogs.
The dogs poured through the door with the Gray in the lead. Red had waited too long to interpret Toomer's harrowing walk down the center of the bus. When he saw that Toomer meant to set the dogs on him, he sprinted thoughtlessly toward the dirt road and the highway, passing the hives in a blur of recognition, and making it almost to the first line of trees before he heard the sound of a pack in full cry, and in one voice, pursuing him.
One hundred yards from the bus, the Gray pulled Red Pettus to the ground. The Gray, eyes yellow, man-hating eyes, went for Red's groin. The other dogs followed closely, going for the face, the throat, the arms, the stomach, anything that was flesh, anything that belonged to the man who had hurt Toomer. Red twisted and fought but every time he moved meat was torn from his body. He reached up to knock a dog from his ear and found he had no ear. The forest filled up with the screams of Red and the growling of the pack until gradually only the noise of the dogs was heard.