Alligator (30 page)

Bregman opened his trousers efficiently, as if he were about to urinate. When Lee looked at his face, he was surprised to see no lust either, only mild interest, the look of the scientist.

Bregman knelt down and roughly pulled her legs apart, pinning her back to the ground. His back blocked Lee's view, but he could hear Bregman entering her, the shock of his hard body as it rammed against her soft one. He could hear the air catch in her throat. That was the only sound she made, but Bregman whimpered and whined and moaned, and Lee could hear the dull thud of Bregman's body as he thrust against her, and the liquid, slightly sticky sound of sex.

It took only a minute before Bregman cried out; it was a cry of exultation. Lee could see a tiny, convulsive twitching in his buttocks, and then he was still.

After a while, he pulled away from her. She lay where he left her, the ripped dress still hanging from her body, her flesh, wet with his sweat, gleaming under the torchlight. She looked up at the men, exposed and defenseless. Lee felt a violent nausea, and at the same time an urging.

After Bregman did himself up, he walked over to Lee and he put his hand on his shoulder. Lee couldn't look at him, but the touch of Bregman's hand, firm and manly, arrested him, and when he finally did look at him, he saw nothing terrible about his face. It was simple and open and clear. They both looked at the woman, who still lay in the dust. Then Bregman asked Lee if he wanted to go next. With a terrible loathing, he realized that he did.

Dark evening shadows were creeping under the door of the shack and spreading across the floor when Trancas called Lee to dinner. In the middle of the table was a huge kettle of stew, still bubbling and steaming from the fire. The stew was dark brown and the consistency of molasses, with large chunks of gelatinous matter floating in it. Lee recognized an occasional potato or carrot, but the main ingredient remained a mystery into which he felt it was in his best interest not to inquire too closely.

Lee hadn't seen Trancas since the night before, though he imagined he had spent the day on his collection route. Lee had stayed in the cabin working over Rye, who despite all odds continued to hang on.

Trancas watched Lee closely for several minutes, then said, "I been doin' some thinkin', and I decided you ain't one of the sheriff's men."

"Is that right?" answered Lee, trying to swallow a large chunk of meat he'd been chewing for almost a minute.

"Now I can't say I completely trust you," continued Trancas, "'cause that wouldn't be the facts as they is. But so far as I can see, you've been straight with me, and to show my gratitude, I'm gonna let you stay on. A strong boy like you could be of some help when the sheriff's men come."

"Thanks," said Lee, "but I'm afraid I can't accept."

"'Course you can. I just told ya ya can."

"It's not that I don't appreciate your offer," Lee said. "Still, I have to get back."

"To what?"

Lee laughed. Sometimes Trancas made more sense than he knew. "I got obligations," he said finally.

"What about me?" asked Trancas angrily. "I took you in, didn't I? Don't you owe me something?"

"I'm sorry," said Lee. Trancas fell silent, and there was such a downcast look on his face that Lee cast around desperately for some way to console him. Finally he said, "You got the sheriff to worry about—that ought to keep you busy."

Trancas hesitated, struggling with himself. At last he mumbled, "The sheriff ain't comin'."

"How can you be sure?"

"What's the matter with you?" screamed Trancas. "Got cotton in your ears or somethin'? I said the sheriff ain't comin'! There ain't no one comin' after me. There ain't no one at all! It was my partner who shot the man. Not me. I ain't never shot no one."

Trancas got up from the table abruptly, walked over to the home brew, and quickly drank down two ladlefuls. He didn't know why he'd told Lee. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he would have given anything to be able to stuff them back.

"It don't matter, one way or the other," said Lee, though he knew that it did.

"'Course it does!" Trancas shouted. "It don't look as if you know your ass from a hedgehog. Only reason I told ya was cause I thought you'd understand."

"I do," answered Lee.

Looking at Lee's face flickering in the candlelight, Trancas sensed that he did understand, but it only made him feel more alone. At first Lee's presence and the opportunity it gave him to talk had helped Trancas to forget his loneliness. Now that he knew Lee was leaving, and the terrible silence would return, it made his loneliness even worse and reaching out to another human was as strong an urge as breathing.

Without knowing what he was doing, Trancas walked to Lee and, with undifferentiated need, kissed him on the mouth.

Lee recoiled in horror. He pushed Trancas away from him with a violent shove. The force of the blow sent Trancas across the room. He fell backward against the table, then collapsed to the floor. He lay there for close to a minute. He didn't dare look up. He could feel Lee's eyes piercing his skin, and he couldn't confront them. With as much dignity as he could muster, he pulled himself up and brushed off his tattered suit. Keeping his eyes averted from Lee, he walked over to the bucket and took a long draught.

Lee continued to watch Trancas, but it was no longer with anger. The sight of him, with the white dust from the floor still clinging to his suit and a huge welt across his face where he'd hit the floor, was so pathetic that Lee felt only pity. But there was another feeling that Lee had, looking at Trancas, a darker feeling. It was fear, though he couldn't understand why he felt it.

Finally Trancas got up enough courage to speak. "Sorry," he said, "I ain't had a woman long as I can remember. Can't bring myself to do it with animals." Trancas still couldn't look Lee in the eye. "If you want, I'll sleep outside."

"Forget it," said Lee.

"I don't want you feelin' sorry for me," Trancas tried to sound gruff, hoping that if he could recapture some of his former belligerence, his dignity might return, too.

"I don't feel sorry for you any more than I feel sorry for myself," answered Lee sadly, sensing the parallels between them just as Trancas had earlier and realizing that it was this which had caused the fear.

Morning light filtered through the plastic window and into the shack. Rye woke up to a burning, piercing pain spreading across his face. Slowly he opened his eyes, to discover light.

He looked around the room, bewildered, until his eyes fell on a shriveled little man sitting next to his mat, regarding him questioningly.

"Hablo espanol?"
asked Trancas, as he peered at Rye over a tattered copy of
Spanish Made Easy.
"No?" continued Trancas. "Too bad. Ya never know when you're gonna need it." Trancas returned to his book and read out loud.
"Que es el burro. El burro es une animal. El burro es une animal importante.'
Well, that ain't exactly what I mean. It's not likely you'll be needin' to discuss burros, whatever they is, but still, ya never know. And if it should happen that you ever had the need to talk on them, you'd be prepared. That's all a man can hope to be, is prepared for what might happen. Keep your eyes open to possibilities. Now, take this book. I found it in the swamp not ten miles from here. Just about everythin' a man needs can be found in the swamps, if ya know where to look for it. Hell, I found you out here, didn't I?" Trancas cackled madly for a while, then put on a pair of lensless spectacles and returned to his book.

By this time, Rye wasn't sure whether he had just passed through his long illness to recovery or to the other eventuality. He was afraid to test it, but finally, like a man about to enter the winter ocean, he tentatively stuck in his toe. "How'd I get here?"

"You can thank the kid. I ain't never seen no one spend so much time tryin' to save another person's life. If it'd been up to me, I would've given up on you a long time ago. There you was, sweatin' bullets one moment, the next shakin' like you was sittin' on top of an iceberg. Wasn't certain if you was gonna freeze to death or boil away. But he kept workin' over you. He must like you a good bit to have gone to that kinda trouble. Let the old bird die, I kept tellin' him. He don't hardly look like he's worth the trouble. But he just kept workin' on ya. What was it like?" Trancas peered at Rye inquisitively over his book.

"What was what like?" asked Rye. The further he got with this man, the more confused he became.

"Almost dyin', of course," said Trancas. "Was there angels?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Angels is the ones with wings."

"I know what angels are," barked Rye. "Jesus. It was like nothin'."

Trancas leaned closer to Rye. He knew he was lying, though he didn't know why. "It must have been like somethin'," he said. "Devils? Did ya see devils, maybe?"

"Of course I didn't!" Rye shouted angrily. Suddenly he stopped, shaken by the truth. "Did I really almost die?"

"Closest I ever seen," said Lee. He had entered the shack quietly, and stood in the shadows by the door. For a moment Rye thought he saw a smile of relief on Lee's face, but it was gone so quickly that he wondered if he had really seen it after all.

"Why did you do it?" Rye asked gruffly, trying to hide the feelings of gratitude which he had almost made the mistake of showing.

Lee shrugged evasively and walked over to the kettle of home brew. Rye watched his strong back, annoyed by the feelings its owner was evoking in him. "You took a big chance in savin' me," he said. "If it'd been the other way around, I don't know that I'd of done the same."

Lee looked back at Rye in a way that clearly said he'd put money on Rye's leaving him there for the crows. Rye caught the look and became infuriated. "What's the angle?" he said. Lee laughed in response, which made him even angrier. "Wait a minute," Rye said, "of course! I'll bet you're figurin' if I am your pa, you could stand to inherit a good sum. I got close to one hundred and thirty million and still countin'. Well, let me tell ya somethin', Boone, you're wastin' your time. I ain't givin' no crazy hick my empire."

"I don't want your money, Mr. Whitman."

Rye knew it was the truth. It wasn't his money Lee was after, but he had saved him for some reason. People always did things for a reason, whether they knew it or not. "Why, Boone?" he demanded.

"I got my own reasons," said Lee.

"Don't tell me you done it because of your horseshit principles, because I won't buy it."

"Buy it or not. That's part of the reason."

Rye grunted to show he was unconvinced, though he did, in fact, believe Lee. "And the other part?" he asked pointedly.

"Well, maybe it's just some of them things you said about me were true."

Lee was as surprised by this admission as Rye was. The two men looked at each other, and, for just a brief moment, they both could see through the layers of deception they'd built around themselves and down to the truth. It startled and embarrassed them, and they quickly looked away from each other and instantly, began to reconstruct the intricate edifices that protected them.

Trancas watched Lee and Rye with a great deal of curiosity and very little understanding. "You two having an argument or something?" he asked.

Lee snickered. He put his arm on Trancas's shoulder and guided him toward the door. "We better let him get some more sleep," he said.

Rye watched Trancas and Lee leave. As weak as he felt, anger burned in the pit of his stomach, and he searched around the room for an object on which to vent it. He fastened on the battered remains of a night table, and banged his big hairy fist down on it in frustration. "Goddamn you, Lee Ferris," he growled. "Goddamn you. You're forcin' me to respect you. And I hate you for it."

Rye smashed down on the table again and again, until a sliver the size of a toothpick lodged in his hand. He pulled it out, wincing with pain, then laughed at himself. "Why, you old fart," he muttered, "you stupid old fart."

At first light, Lee began loading up the skiff. All around him the dark swamps were taking on shape, form, and eventually dimension in the growing daylight. Lee wasn't at all sure why he had agreed to continue the hunt, and he didn't want to analyze his motive. He was sick and tired of thinking; he'd done altogether too much of it since meeting Rye a week ago. The only thing he hadn't thought about was Cindy. The minute his mind called up her image, he blocked it out. Before he left he'd decided that the best of them was in the past and it would be better to break it immediately than to watch it die. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do that before he left, and he felt the inability even more now. He knew it was weakness to hold on to someone he was sure to disappoint.

The sun was gathering strength, and he could feel it warm on his body. The damp, alive smell of the swamp air was pleasing. He wondered if there was anything more for him than just this.

Rye came out of the cabin, pausing at the door to steady himself. He was still slightly wobbly on his feet, and anxious not to show it.

Lee didn't notice. He tossed the map to Rye and said, "We'll head toward Cashman's Swamp."

"Why there?" asked Rye.

"Any better ideas?"

"None at present, but I'll be sure and let you know when I do." Rye walked toward the skiff unsteadily. His muscles were as unresponsive and weak as cornmeal mush. Every movement he made produced ten to twelve aftershocks.

Lee could see the amount of control Rye was exerting. "You certain you're well enough to get started?"

"Worry about yourself," said Rye.

"You almost died, you know."

"Bullshit. It's gonna take a whole lot more than that to kill me off."

Lee wondered if Rye believed that, then decided that he didn't. Rye had almost died, and he knew it. Lee had been scared of many things, but never of dying; on the whole, he found living a more frightening proposition. Yet he could see why it would frighten Rye—not because of the pain, not because of the fear of the unknown, but because of the loss of control.