Stories of Erskine Caldwell

  She did not answer him.

  He walked cautiously to the door.

  “What’s the matter, Annie darling?” he said.

  She was holding the morning paper in her hands behind her back. Suddenly she drew her arm up as though she were fighting mosquitoes and slammed the paper on the table. Then she took several steps toward Uncle Jeff. Uncle Jeff backed into the hall.

  “Of all the humiliating, scandalous, low-down —” she began.

  “What is?” he asked anxiously.

  “This!” she cried, beating the newspaper against the palm of her hand. “What will my boarders think of me? How long do you think the schoolteachers will be allowed to board in my house after this? What will the respectable, honest, God-fearing citizens of this town think of me after this? How can I walk along the street and hold my head up now? Oh, why did I ever marry you in the first place!”

  Uncle Jeff stared at her in amazement.

  “What happened, Annie?” he asked.

  She took one more look at him, gripped the paper in both hands, and marched to the stairs. She stopped there for a moment, looked at him again before bursting into tears, and then ran upstairs to her room. She slammed the door shut but did not lock it. Uncle Jeff went up the stairs behind her and walked noiselessly into the room. She had thrown herself across the bed, on her face, and she was crying hysterically. Once during the time he stood not knowing what to do, she turned her face and looked to see if he were in the room. As soon as she saw him, she turned her face away again, and cried.

  Uncle Jeff sat down on the bed beside her and tried to ease the newspaper out of her hand. When she felt it move, she gripped it so tight he could not get it from her.

  “Now, Annie,” Uncle Jeff begged, “you ought to tell me what all the trouble is about.”

  Aunt Annie sat up and glared at him. The tears were dripping down her cheeks and disappearing into the fabric of the counterpane.

  “Why did you do it, Jeff?” she asked at last, weakly and hopelessly. “Oh, Jeff, why did you?”

  “Do what?” he said. “Why did I do what?”

  “Go to that house in Savannah and be arrested and have your name printed in the paper like this,” she said quickly. “You have deceived me, Jeff. You have done this to me — brought all this pain and humiliation to me.”

  “I didn’t get arrested, Annie,” he said confusedly.

  She opened the paper and read aloud how the police had raided a house on Webster Street and had arrested Emma Weeks, nine girls, and a man who gave the name of Jeff Newsome.

  When she finished, she looked at Uncle Jeff curiously.

  Uncle Jeff shook his head bewilderedly.

  “Did you go to Savannah?” she asked coldly.

  “Yes, but —”

  “Did you go to Emma Weeks’s house on Webster Street?”

  “Yes, I went there, but —”

  Aunt Annie closed her lips tightly while he was trying to explain. Each time she spoke, she opened her mouth only enough to pronounce the words.

  “Were you arrested and taken to jail?”

  “I dreamed about it,” he said in confusion. “I dreamed I was in jail. But I wasn’t arrested at all, or put in jail.”

  “You’re lying as big as the broad daylight, Jeff Newsome!” Aunt Annie said. “You are sitting there telling me the biggest, blackest lie of your life! You got out on bail somehow, and now you sit there and lie to me about it. It looks to me like you would have sense enough to admit it when it’s all here in the Savannah paper.”

  Instead of trying to protest any more, he wondered how he would ever succeed in convincing anybody in town that he had not been arrested in the raid on Emma’s house. He knew Emma well enough to figure out that she had had her own house raided in order to have him booked at the police station, and he knew now that she had done it in order to jolt Annie. He was convinced that when Emma discovered he had left her house, she had persuaded somebody to give his name to the police so her plan to jolt Annie could be carried out. Emma was smart enough to think that fast. And besides, Emma liked to have her house raided every few months, anyway; it was the best advertising she could get.

  Aunt Annie was looking at him coldly.

  He did not know how to go about trying to explain the thing so she would believe him.

  “Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” Aunt Annie demanded.

  “Now, Annie,” he began, casting about in his mind for some method of handling the thing, “it’s not like you think it is. I didn’t —”

  Aunt Annie suddenly leaned forward and grasped Uncle Jeff’s hand. Her face was flushed and there was a kind of softness in her eyes that he had not seen in a long time. She smiled at him, too.

  “Jeff,” she said slowly, “I haven’t been a good wife to you lately. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve done nothing but scold and find fault. Being like that has made me miserable, and I did more scolding trying to cover up how bad I felt. The last time I kicked you out of bed and made you sleep in another room I hated myself so much I wanted to die. I didn’t tell you how I felt then, because I was all the time hating myself so much I couldn’t admit it. But I can tell you now, because I feel —”

  Her eyes were so soft they looked as if they would melt any second.

  “Will you forgive me, Jeff?”

  “Me? Forgive you?” he asked unbelievingly.

  She nodded, holding his hand tightly.

  “Well, I guess so,” he said, “but —”

  “Never mind saying any more, Jeff,” she said.

  “But I don’t know how to explain —”

  “What kind of a woman is Emma Weeks, Jeff?” she broke in. “How old is she? How long have you known her?”

  Uncle Jeff settled back on the pillows Aunt Annie propped up for his head and wondered how Emma had known all this was going to turn out as it had in the end. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. It was a mystery bigger than life itself to him.

  Aunt Annie unlaced his shoes, lifted his feet onto the bed, and smiled down at him. Uncle Jeff wiggled his toes and waited for her to come into his arms. He had already decided it would be better if he never attempted to convince her that actually he had not been arrested in Emma’s house and had not been booked with the girls at the police station.

  (First published in Jackpot)

  The Visitor

  NO ONE KNEW IT except ourselves, but some day Laura and I were going to be married. Laura was only seventeen then, while I was a few years older, and we had plenty of time to talk about it before her mother would even think of letting us marry. First of all, of course, I would have to go away to Richmond or Washington or Baltimore and get a good job and begin making enough money for both of us. Laura and I were certain that we would not have to wait longer than another two or three years. She had just finished her second year away at boarding school.

  Since the middle of June, when Laura came home from school to spend the summer, we had been having the most wonderful time together that any two people could possibly have. She had been at home only a week or ten days and I had been to see her almost every night, and, of course, Sundays. Her father’s peaches began to ripen after the first week in June, and since his orchard was only a mile or two away we went there every Sunday afternoon and sat under the trees eating the fruit, or else we went down to the pasture with my hat full of peaches and ate them beside the brook water.

  The next Wednesday I had to go away with my uncle for a few days into another county, and when we came home late Saturday night I went to bed right away so I could be up in time to see Laura early the next morning. Before we went away on my uncle’s business trip I told Laura that I would certainly be back home by Sunday and that I would come over in the morning and stay all day. In the afternoon we planned to go to the orchard and stay there until dark.

  Laura was waiting for me in the porch swing when I went over to see her the next morning. I was about to run up the steps a
nd kiss her quickly before anybody saw us, but before I could reach her a strange girl opened the screen door and came out on the porch. I had never seen the girl before and Laura had not said anything to me about her coming. There was something about her that was so nice I did not know what to say. I stood staring at her awkwardly until Laura turned around and put her arm around the girl’s waist and introduced us to each other. I don’t know what it was unless it could have been the clothes she wore, but she was so different from Laura that I could not stop staring at her. Laura’s clothes were just like hers, but there was something about the way her dress fitted her that made me unsteady on my feet. I felt lightheaded for a few minutes and my arms and legs had very little life in them. I was so confused by the way she looked that I did not hear her last name, but when Laura called her Drusilla I went closer to her, repeating the name under my breath over and over again. I had never heard of anyone named Drusilla before, and the girl was so lovely and her eyes so blue and her dress fitted her so smoothly that I did not know what to say. I shook hands with her though, and then I went with them to the porch swing.

  I sat down between them and held my hands together in a way that I had never done before.

  “Drusilla and I are roommates at school,” Laura said to me, trying to reach my hands with her fingers.

  I sat still and did not say anything. I had been looking forward for a whole week to this Sunday when we should be alone together and Laura’s friend had come so unexpectedly, to me at least, that I not only resented her being there but actually hated Laura just a little for having her in her home. But I still could not forget the way she looked when I first saw her standing at the screen door.

  “Laura has told me a lot about you,” Drusilla said, leaning toward me. “But she did not say half enough. I expected you to look like a high-school boy, but you really look and act like a college man.”

  Laura laughed and leaned against my shoulder.

  “Drue,” she said, “I made you promise not to try to take Bob away from me — if you must have somebody to talk to like that we’ll get Bob to bring one of his friends over to see you.”

  I sat up erectly then, looking first at Laura and then at Drusilla. I had wondered ever since I came why Laura had not invited one of the other boys over to see Drusilla.

  “Don’t bother,” Drusilla laughed, winking shyly at me, “I’m perfectly pleased with the company we have.”

  Both of them laughed, and began talking about something else. I sat silently between them trying to decide if I wanted another boy to come and talk to Drusilla. I was bending forward with my elbows on my knees while they talked to each other behind me, Laura leaning lightly against my shoulder and Drusilla facing her with her legs pressed tightly against me. I remembered that I had been looking forward to Sunday for a whole week, when Laura and I could go to the orchard together and be alone all day.

  As soon as dinner was over we started to the orchard. Laura ran ahead, trying her best to make both of us run with her, but I did not feel like running, and I hung behind as far as I could. Drusilla kept a few paces in front of me all the time.

  Just as we reached the top of the hill Laura suddenly stopped and turned around. All three of us stood still for a moment and listened. Laura’s mother was calling her. I did not hear what she said.

  “What does she want, Laura?” Drusilla asked her.

  “I’ve got to go back and take her into town,” Laura said, pouting just a little. “I forgot that she wants me to drive her some place this afternoon. But I’ve got to go. You and Bob can go to the orchard anyway, and wait for me there. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Maybe I can get back in an hour or two. I’ll hurry.”

  Without waiting any longer she turned around and ran back to the house. Drusilla and I stood watching her for several minutes.

  “Don’t eat all the peaches — save a few for me!” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”

  We turned around in the path and walked slowly down the hill toward the orchard gate. It was hot, just as the clear days in summer always were in Carolina.

  “Now, I suppose you will have a dull time this afternoon,” Drusilla said seriously without looking at me.

  “Why?” I asked, thinking of Laura.

  “Oh, because Laura isn’t with us — and because you think you must be nice to me for politeness.” She turned her eyes in my direction. What she did with her eyes when she looked at me was not exactly winking. I could not understand just what it was.

  “If you were anybody else I would probably feel like that,” I said earnestly, “but it’s different with you.”

  Drusilla had run ahead and she did not hear what I said. When I realized that she had not heard what I said, I wanted to catch up with her and tell her again. I wanted to be nice to her because she was Laura’s friend, and I certainly did not want her to feel that I did not want her to be there. I ran to catch up with her.

  She had reached the gate leading into the orchard and had gone inside before I got there.

  “Wait a minute, Drusilla,” I called. “I’ll show you where the best peaches are.”

  “All of them look delicious to me,” she smiled. “I think I’ll eat one of these first.”

  She reached overhead and pulled a sun-reddened peach from the nearest limb.

  “There are the best ones down there,” I pointed toward a tree a hundred yards farther in the orchard. “Let me get you one of those.”

  She came behind me, eating the peach she had pulled from the tree by the gate.

  “Try this one,” I offered, handing her the best one I could find on the tree. “I’ll bet you will like it. This is Laura’s favorite tree.”

  She took a bite from the one I gave her and came toward me under the tree.

  “Oh, the fuzz tickles, doesn’t it?” she laughed, rubbing her fingers over her cheeks. “Why does it have such fuzzy skin?”

  “All good peaches are fuzzy,” I told her. “The ones that haven’t any fuzz aren’t much good.”

  We stood under the tree close together for a while, eating peaches.

  “Oh, I see a beautiful one,” she said, pointing over my head. Before I could find the peach she had seen overhead she had pulled the limb down and reached for it. I was about to help her get it when suddenly she dropped the peach she was holding and cried out. I knew at once what had happened. A bee had stung her.

  “Hurry, Drusilla,” I said, “let’s run to the house and put something on it that will stop it from hurting.”

  I ran towards the gate, but when I turned around to see if she were coming, I saw her sit down under the tree. I ran back to her.

  “What’s the matter, Drusilla? Aren’t you coming to the house?”

  “I can’t,” she said, tears dropping down her cheeks. “It hurts too much.”

  “But what are we going to do?” I begged her. “It will swell up and hurt more and more if we stay here.”

  “Can’t you do something to it, Bob?” she asked, looking up into my eyes. “Can’t you make it stop hurting just a little bit?”

  I remembered once when I had been bitten by a snake that an old Negro man sucked the poison out and put tobacco juice on it. I did not have any tobacco, but I knew I could suck the poison out of a bee sting if it were possible.

  I got down on my knees beside her and asked her where the bee had stung.

  “Right here,” she said, pointing to her shoulder. “Can’t you see where it’s swelling now?”

  “You will have to roll up your sleeve,” I said. “I can’t get to it unless you do.”

  Instead of rolling up her sleeve she began to unfasten a pin that held her dress together over her chest.

  “Here’s the place — see?” she said, pushing back the dress from her shoulder.

  I squeezed the flesh between my fingers until I saw the stinger and then I pulled it out. Leaning over her I put my mouth over the swelling and sucked as hard as I could, and then I spat the pois
on on the ground. I kept that up for almost five minutes before I was certain I had sucked out as much of the poison as I could.

  “Does it feel any better now, Drusilla?” I asked her, breathless. “Does it hurt as much as it did before?”

  “Oh, it barely hurts at all now,” she said, looking up at me bending over her. “But you had better do that some more. Maybe it will keep from swelling now.”

  I bent over her again and sucked as hard as I could. She had fallen backward until she was lying on the ground and my arm was under her head. Then suddenly I forgot all about the bee-sting. I felt my lips tight over her skin and my hands gripping her shoulders. She was lying on her back, and her head had turned sideways against my head. I could not see her face, but I felt her hands holding tightly to me as if she were afraid she would fall if she took them away. I don’t know how long we lay there, but it seemed that the more I sucked the bee sting the less I could think about it. I had forgot to spit out the poison and I was kissing her shoulder far away from the place where the bee had stung her. I knew that she had forgotten all about the sting too, and that she did not feel the pain any more, because her cheeks were tight against my face and she was kissing me. The peach fuzz still clung to her and we both felt it tickle when our faces were close together. And then our lips were pressed together and our arms were around each other as tightly as we could clasp them. After a while it seemed as if we had been there in the orchard a long time together. The sun was setting behind the peach trees and we were already damp with the early dew. The peach fuzz was all over us but neither of us minded it any more.

  “We must go now, Bob,” she said. “It’s very late.”

  I waited, but she did not move.

  “Where do you live, Drusilla?” I asked quickly.

  She told me the address. I closed my eyes and repeated the street number over and over to myself until I was certain I would never forget it.

  The stars were coming out when we got up and walked across the field to the house. And because it was dark we walked side by side in the narrow path with our arms around each other. When we reached the top of the hill I lifted her in my arms and carried her down to the bottom where the last gate was. She put her arms tightly around my neck and held her face close to mine until we were within sight of the house.