Stories of Erskine Caldwell

  “That was a long time —” Les stopped and listened.

  Somebody had stepped on a dead limb behind the bushes. The crack of the wood was loud enough to be heard above the splashing and gurgling of the creek.

  “What’s that?” both of us said. “Who’s that?” Les asked me.

  “Listen!” I said. “Duck down and be quiet.”

  Behind the bushes we could hear someone walking on dead twigs and dry leaves. Both of us squatted down in the water until only our heads were above it.

  “Who is it?” Les whispered to me.

  I shook my head, holding my nose under the water.

  The yellow water swirled and gurgled through the tree roots beside us. The roots had been washed free of earth by the high waters many years before, and now they were old-looking and covered with bark.

  Les squatted lower and lower until only his eyes and the top of his head were showing. He held his nose under the water with both hands. The water was high, and its swiftness and muddy-heaviness made gurgling sounds that echoed up and down the creek.

  Suddenly the bushes parted, and Jenny came through. When Les saw her, his eyes popped open and he jerked his head above the water to get his breath. The noise he made when the water bubbled scared all three of us for a moment.

  Jenny was Old Howes’s daughter. She was about our age, possibly a year or two older.

  Les saw her looking at our clothes hanging on the bushes. He nudged me with his elbow.

  “What are you doing down here?” Les said gruffly, trying to scare her.

  “Can’t I come if I want to?”

  “You can’t come down here when we’re in swimming. You’re not a boy.”

  “I can come if I wish to, smarty,” Jenny said. “This creek doesn’t belong to you.”

  “It doesn’t belong to you, either,” Les said, making a face. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “All right,” Jenny said, “if you are going to be so mean about it, Leslie Blake, I’ll take your clothes and hide them where you’ll never find them again as long as you live. What are you going to do about that?”

  Jenny reached for the clothes. She grabbed Les’s pants and my shirt and union suit.

  Les caught my arm and pulled me towards the bank. We couldn’t hurry at first, because we had to jerk our feet out of the muck before we could move at all.

  “Let’s duck her, Jack,” Les whispered. “Let’s give her a good ducking. Come on.”

  We crawled up the bank and caught Jenny just as she was starting to run through the bushes with our clothes. Les locked his arms around her waist and I caught her arms and pulled as hard as I could.

  “I’ll scream!” Jenny said. “If you don’t stop, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs. Papa is in the pasture, and he’ll come right away. You know what he’ll do to both of you, don’t you?”

  “We’re not afraid of anybody,” Les said, scowling and trying to scare her.

  I put my hand over her mouth and held her with one arm locked around her neck. Together we pulled and dragged her back to the bank beside the creek.

  “Don’t you want to duck her, Jack?” Les said. “Don’t you think we ought to? She’s been telling Old Howes tales about us. She’s a tattletale tit.”

  “We ought to duck her, all right,” I said. “But suppose she goes and tells on us about that?”

  “When we get through ducking her, she won’t tell any more tales on us. We’ll duck her until she promises and crosses her heart never to tell anybody. She’s the one who’s been throwing dead limbs into the creek every day. I’ll bet anything she’s the one who’s been doing it.”

  Jenny was helpless while we held her. Les had her around the waist with both arms, and I still held her neck locked in the crook of my left arm. She tried to bite my hand over her mouth, but every time she tried to hurt me, I squeezed her neck so hard she had to stop.

  I was a little afraid to duck Jenny, because once we had ducked a colored boy named Bisco, and it had almost drowned him. We ducked Bisco so many times he couldn’t breathe, and he became limp all over. We had to stretch him out on the ground and roll him over and over, and all the time we were doing that, yellow creek water was running out of his mouth. I was afraid we might drown Jenny. I didn’t know what would happen to us if we did that. “I know what let’s do to her, Les,” I said. “What?”

  “Let’s mud-cake her.”

  “What’s the matter with ducking her? It will scare her and make her stop throwing dead limbs into the creek. It’ll stop her from telling tales about us, too.”

  “We’d better not duck her, Les,” I said. “Remember the time we ducked Bisco? We nearly drowned him. I don’t want anything like that to happen again.”

  Les thought a while, looking at Jenny’s back. She was kicking and scratching all the time, but she couldn’t begin to hurt us, and we had her so she couldn’t get loose.

  “All right,” Les said. “We’ll mud-cake her then. That’s just as good as ducking, and it’ll teach her a lesson. It’ll make her stop being a tattletale tit.”

  “She’s going to tell on us anyway, so we’d better do a good job of it this time. But it ought to make her stop throwing dead limbs into the swimming hole, anyway.”

  “She won’t tell on us after we get through with her,” Les said. “She won’t tell anybody. She won’t even tell Old Howes. Ducking and mud-caking always stops kids from telling tales. It’s the only way to cure it.”

  “All right,” I said, “Let’s do it to her. She needs ducking, or mud-caking, or something. Somebody has got to do it to her, and we’re the right ones to make a good job of it. I’ll bet she won’t bother us again after we get through with her.”

  Les threw Jenny on the ground beside the bank, locking her arms behind her back and holding her face in the earth so she couldn’t make any noise. Les had to straddle her neck to keep her still.

  “Take off her clothes, Jack,” Les said. “I’ve got her. She can’t get away as long as I’m holding her.”

  I reached down to pull off her dress, and she kicked me full in the stomach with both feet. When I fell backward and tried to sit up, there was no breath left in me. I opened my mouth and tried to yell at Les, but I couldn’t even whisper.

  “What’s the matter, Jack?” Les said, turning his head and looking at me.

  I got up on both knees and doubled over, holding my stomach with both arms.

  “What’s the matter with you, Jack?” he said. “Did she kick you?”

  Les’s back had been turned and he had not seen what Jenny had done to me.

  “Did she kick me!” I said weakly. “It must have been her, but it felt like a mule. She knocked all of the wind out of me.”

  “Sit on her legs, then,” Les said. “She can’t kick you if you do that.”

  I ran down to the side of the creek and came back with a double handful of yellow muck. When I dug it out of the creek, it had made a sucking sound, and the odor was worse than any that ever came out of a pig pen. The muck in the creek stank worse than anything I had ever smelled. It was nothing but rotted leaves and mud, but it smelled like decayed eggs and a lot of other things.

  I got Jenny’s dress off and tossed it on the bushes so it would not get covered with muck. Les was able to hold her arms and cover her mouth at the same time by then, because she was not nearly so strong as either of us.

  “She’s got underwear on, Les,” I said.

  “Sure she has,” Les said. “All girls wear underclothes. That’s what makes them so sissy.”

  “You’re not talking about me, are you?” I said, looking at him. “Because if you are —”

  “I’m talking about her,” Les said. “I know you have to wear the stuff because your people make you do it. But girls like to have it on. They don’t want to go without it. That’s why girls are so sissy.”

  “All right,” I said, “but don’t try to get nasty with me, because I’ll —”

  “You won’t
do anything, so shut up. Hurry and take her clothes off.”

  “Are we going to strip her naked?” I said.

  “Sure,” Les said. “We’ve got to. We can’t mud-cake her if we don’t strip her, can we?”

  “I know that,” I said, “but suppose Old Howes came down and saw us —”

  “Old Howes wouldn’t do nothing but spit and slip up in it. Who’s scared of him, anyway? I’m not.”

  After we had struggled with Jenny a while longer, and after her underclothes were finally off, Les said he was tired of holding her. He was puffing and blowing as if he had been running five miles without stopping to rest.

  I took Jenny’s arms and put my hand over her mouth and sat on her neck. Les picked up a big handful of muck and threw it at her. The muck struck her on the stomach, making a sound like slapping water with a plank. He threw another handful. It splattered all over us.

  While Les was running to the creek for another load, I turned Jenny over so he could smear some on her back. She did not struggle any more now, but I was afraid to release my grip on her arms or to take my hand off her mouth. When I had turned her over, she lay motionless on the ground, not even kicking her feet any more.

  “This’ll fix her,” Les said, coming back with his hands and arms full of yellow muck. “She’s had it coming to her for a long time. Maybe it’ll stop her from being a tattletale tit.”

  He dropped the mass on her back and ran back for some more.

  “Rub that in while I’m getting another load, Jack,” he said. “That’s what she needs to make her stop throwing dead limbs into the creek. She won’t tell any more tales about us, either.”

  I reached over and with one hand smeared the muck up and down Jenny’s back, on her legs, and over her arms and shoulders. I tried not to get any of it in her hair, because I knew how hard it was to try to wash it out with yellow creek water.

  “Turn her over,” Les said, dropping down beside us with a new load of muck. “We’re just getting started on her.”

  I turned Jenny over again, and she did not even try to get loose from me. Les had begun to spread the muck over her, rubbing it into her skin. He took a handful and smeared it over her legs and thighs and stomach. Then he took another handful and rubbed it over her shoulders and breasts. Jenny still did not attempt to move, though she squirmed a little when Les rubbed the most tender parts of her body with the mass of rotted leaves and mud. Most of the time she lay as still as if she had been sound asleep.

  “That’s funny,” I said.

  “What’s funny?” Les asked, looking up.

  “She’s not even trying to get loose now.”

  “That’s because she’s foxy,” Les said. “She’s just waiting for a good chance to break away. Here, let me hold her awhile.”

  Les took my place and I picked up a handful of muck and began spreading it over her. The muck was not sticky any longer, and when I smeared it on her, it felt slick and smooth. When my hands moved over her, I could feel that her body was much softer than mine, and that parts of her were very soft. When I smeared the slick mud over her breasts, it felt so smooth and soft that I was afraid to touch her there again. I glanced at her face, and I saw her looking at me. From the way she looked at me, I could not help thinking that she was not angry with us for treating her like that. I even thought that perhaps if Les had not been there she would have let me mud-cake her as long as I wished to.

  “What are you doing, Jack?” Les said. “That’s a funny way to spread muck on her.”

  “We’ve got enough on her, Les. Let’s not put any more on her. Let’s let her go home now. She’s had enough.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Les said, scowling. “We’re not half finished with her yet. We’ve got to put another coat of muck on her.”

  Jenny looked up when Les said that, and her eyes opened wider. She did not have to speak to tell me what she wished to say.

  “That’s enough, Les,” I said. “She’s a girl. That’s enough for a girl.”

  I don’t know, but somehow I believed that Les felt the same way I did, only he did not want to admit it. Now that we had stripped her and had smeared her all over with muck, neither of us could forget that Jenny was a girl. We had treated her as though she were a boy, but she remained a girl still.

  “If we let you up now, will you promise not to tell?” Les asked her.

  Jenny nodded her head, and Les dropped his hand from her mouth.

  We both expected to hear her say what she was going to do, and what she was going to tell, because of the way we had treated her; but the moment she was freed she sat up quickly and tried to cover herself with her arms, without once speaking.

  As soon as we saw that she was not going to call for Old Howes, Les and I ran to the creek and dived head-on into it. We squatted down until only our heads were showing above the water and began scrubbing the muck off us. Jenny looked at us, covering herself as much as she could.

  She still had not said anything to us.

  “Let’s get dressed and run for home,” Les said. “Pa would tear me up into little pieces if he caught me down here now, with her like that.”

  Jenny covered her eyes while we dashed out of the water and grabbed our clothes. We ran behind the bushes to dress. While we were standing there, we could hear Jenny splashing in the creek, scrubbing the muck from her.

  Les had only his shirt and pants to put on, and he was ready to go before I could even straighten out my union suit. He buckled his pants and started backing off with his shirt tail hanging out while he tried to find the right buttons for the buttonholes. I had been in such a hurry to jump in the creek when we first came that I had tangled my union suit, and when I would get the arms straight, the legs would be wrong side out. Les kept backing farther and farther away from me.

  “What’s the matter?” he said. “Why don’t you hurry?”

  “I can’t get this union suit untangled.”

  “That’s what you get for wearing underclothes in summer.”

  “I can’t help it,” I said, “and you know it.”

  “Well it’s not my fault, is it?”

  “Aren’t you going to wait for me?”

  “I can’t, Jack,” he said, backing away faster. He suddenly turned around and began running. “I’ve got to go home.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t scared of Old Howes, or of anybody else!” I yelled after him, but if he heard me, he pretended not to understand what I had said.

  After Les had gone, I took my time. There was no need to hurry, because I was certain that no matter what time I got home, Jenny would tell Old Howes what we had done to her, and he would come and tell my folks all about it. I wished to have plenty of time to think of what I was going to say when I had to face everybody and tell the truth.

  Jenny had left the creek by the time I was ready to button my shirt, and she had only to slip her underclothes over her head and to put on her dress to be ready to go home. She came through the bushes while I was still fumbling with my shirt buttons.

  “What’s the matter, Jack?” she asked, smiling just a little. “Why didn’t you run off with Leslie?”

  “I couldn’t get dressed any quicker,” I said.

  I was about to tell her how my union suit was so tangled that I had had to spend most of the time struggling with that, but I thought better of saying it.

  She came several steps closer, and I started to run from her.

  “Where are you going?” she said. “What are you running for?”

  I stopped, turned around, and looked at Jenny. Now that she was dressed, she looked the same as she had always looked. She was the same in appearance, but somehow I knew that she was not the same, after what had happened beside the creek. I could not forget the sensation I had felt when my hands, slick with mud, had touched the softness of her body. As I looked at her, I believed I felt it again, because I knew that without the dress and the underclothes she would always remain the same as she was when I
had first touched her.

  “Why don’t you wait for me, Jack?” she said.

  I wanted to run away from her, and I wanted to run to her. I stood still while she came closer.

  “But you’re going to tell, aren’t you? Aren’t you going to tell what we did to you?”

  She had come to where I stood, and I turned and walked beside her, several feet away. We went through the bushes and out through the woods to the road. There was no one in sight, and we walked together until we reached her house.

  Just before we got to the gate I felt my hand touch hers. I don’t know, but somehow, whether it was true or not, I believed she had taken my hand and held it in hers for a moment. When I suddenly looked to see, because I wanted to know if she really had taken my hand and squeezed it, she turned the other way and went through the gate.

  I waited in the middle of the road until she walked up the front steps and crossed the porch. She stopped there a moment and brushed her dress with her hands, as if she wanted to be sure that there was no muck clinging to it. When she opened the door and went inside, I was not certain whether she had glanced at me over her shoulder, or whether I merely imagined she had. Anyway, I believed she had, because I felt her looking at me, just as I was sure that she had held my hand for a moment.

  “Jenny won’t tell,” I said, running up the road towards home. “Jenny won’t tell,” I kept saying over and over again all the way there.

  (First published in Story)

  A Swell-Looking Girl

  NOTHING MUCH EVER happened in the upper part of Pine County until Lem Johnson went over into the next county and married a swell-looking girl named Ozzie Hall. About eight or ten years before there had been a shotgun wedding in the lower part of the county, it’s true; but Pine County was so large nobody in the upper part ever took much interest in what those countrymen down there were doing.

  Lem Johnson was a farmer. He worked a two-horse crop with a Negro called Dan. Lem lived by himself in a four-room house. The Negro, Dan, lived across the road in a cabin with his wife and half a dozen pickaninnies. Dan, the Negro, worked for Lem on shares.

  When Lem went over into the next county and married Ozzie Hall, it was the biggest event that had taken place in the Lucyville section of Pine County since anybody could remember. A man could live a lifetime and never see a thing like that happen again. She was a swell-looking girl, all right.