Ladies From Hell (10 page)

The Rural showed no inclination to return to the bunk. Instead she squatted close to the American as she worked on the stores remaining to be sorted. Toward the back of the pile the objects tended to be bulkier. A small rusting refrigerator came to light, “Which,” said the American girl, “we decidedly do not need, not having paid our quarterlies for some time.” The floor of the shack was so cluttered now it was becoming difficult
to move; the American hauled the thing to the door, impeded more than assisted by her new helpmate, tumbled it through. “What we gotta do,” she said, “is find a name for you, honey. Because I do not choose to use the one you’ve got …” She stood back. “You know how many Rurals they got in this country now?” she said. “Folk like you? I tell you, you would be surprised. Only of course they ain’t all like you. Some of ’em … well, you wouldn’t believe it. Met a Professor of Archaeology once, great old guy. He was a Rural. Gettin’ on real fine too. And there’s a few Lords and Ladies too, waitin’ for sardine cans to bounce down embankments. I even heard tell there was some real estate men out in the shanties. And artists, lawyers, a few doctors. Anybody whose face don’t fit …” She wiped her forehead with her arm. “Still,” she said, “they ain’t all bad. All this stuff you got, you don’t think it
falls
off the Jugs, do you? They know it goes on. Even the top brass. They just write it off …” She spat. “I guess in a way though, that makes sense as well. It’s cheaper than benefits; and you folk don’t live too long as a rule.”

The Rural stared, eyes wide; and the other laughed and touched her shoulder. “It’s OK,” she said. “Forgot the number one rule, didn’t I? I ain’t mad at you …”

The clearing proceeded. The last major object to emerge from the shambles was a dressing table. “And with a
mirror
!” said the American girl. “It’s slid down, I guess I can reach … Why’d you shove it back there, you screwball? Gimme a hand now, get it across by the window. Man, don’t that look classy?”

She hauled a bulky carton into the light, then another. “These ain’t tinned stuff,” she said. She pulled up the flaps, and whistled. “Well,” she said, “that just ain’t true. What’d I call you now? A screwball? Well, you’re a screwball two times over. Jeans you got here, dresses … Best get ’em up on a line someplace, get the air through ’em. Hey, that’s a cool little number. Wouldn’t mind it myself …” She whistled again, and started to laugh. “You got an admirer up there, honey,” she said. “Only you’re too dumb to know it …” She held out a fistful of flimsy brightness; the Rural reached for it, but she flicked it away.
“Not yet awhile, hon,” she said. “First off, I’m introducin’ you to a bathtub. You got one out back, I saw it yesterday when I was scoutin’ round. Quite how we’re gonna get you
in
it I ain’t sure; but I’m beginnin’ to get the glimmerings of an idea …”

Finally she tackled the problem of the mattress. The Rural demurred at first; though later she seemed willing enough to help haul it through the door. “Better get it round the back,” said the American girl grimly. “We got flies enough already, no point attractin’ more. No, not that way, you dope. Over here …”

The Rural dropped the mattress abruptly, ran ahead. The American followed curiously. One of the Convolvulus King’s great black arms swooped low over the shack; beneath it, the other was kneeling by a pile of water-worn stones. “What’s the matter, honey?” asked the American girl. “What you found?”

The Rural turned. Her face was quite altered; and a big pebble was clutched in her fist.

“OK,” said the American. “Now OK, it’s all right. No need gettin’ up tight, I ain’t comin’ no closer. Why you getting so upset?”

The other hissed between her teeth; and the American backed off. “Have it your way,” she said. “I ain’t forcin’ the issue. What is that thing there? Looks like a grave to me. You had a pet die or something? You buried it there?”

The Rural made no answer; and the American girl shrugged. She said, “You got more hangups than I’ve had hot breakfasts in this lousy country. Come on, will you? No point startin’ pitchin’ rocks …”

The other relaxed. She dropped the missile and followed meekly enough; but in front of the shack she ran to clasp the Convolvulus King’s rough trunk. She stared up, pressing her face to the fresh green leaves; and the American stood hands on hips, shaking her head. “Honey,” she said softly, “this just plain ain’t right. That thing ain’t nothin’. Just an old dead tree, sort of morning glory climbin’ round it. Broken-down barn next to it …” She looked up in turn, and shivered faintly. “Beats me how you can stand livin’ under it anyway,” she said. “It plain gives me the creeps …”

The Rural turned a troubled face to
her; and she reached to take her hand. “Honey,” she said again, “this just ain’t right. That thing’s bin dead a million years. Don’t go back
there
, you don’t belong. Not any more. That’s where they
want
you to be.” She pulled, gently. She said, “Come on …”

Inside the shack she set a fresh kettle on the little stove. “What we
could
use,” she said, “is some good fresh vegetables. That old Prof I was tellin’ you about, now he grew great vegetables. Got a proper little yard laid out, all fenced round real neat. Used to trade his surplus off for baccy and liquor, reckoned he’d never had it so good. Some of ’em even started runnin’ goats and cows. That’s what we could use now. A goat and a cow. I bet you’d learn to look after them real fast. Don’t you reckon?”

The Rural made a throaty, croaking little sound; and the other looked up sharply. She said, “You know about them too? Goats and cows?”

To her amazement, the other nodded vigorously. The American girl narrowed her eyes. “Well then, tell you what we’ll do,” she said. “When Johnny comes, we’ll get you out of this. I ain’t told you about Johnny yet, have I? And we’ll find us a place, farm maybe, and we’ll have all the goats and cows we want. Like Lenny and the rabbits. OK? You on?”

The Rural pushed at her hair, and slowly smiled.

“You know,” said the American girl, “you could be sorta cute. But God, you stink …”

After the makeshift meal she set to work restowing the bulk of the stores she had sorted. Evening was deepening again by the time she finished. She lit two candles, dragged the tin bath round from the side of the shack and set a pair of vast saucepans simmering on the stove. She took down a gaily-coloured plastic bottle and examined it critically. “Pour one capful under running hot tap,” she said. “Well, that’s the first thing we ain’t got. I guess we’ll just have to get by without.” She poured water into the tub, began stirring briskly. “Though why they bin sendin’ down bubble baths,” she said, “passes my understandin’. Unless it’s that undeclared admirer of yours
payin’ court again …”

The Rural drew nearer, intrigued. A towering bank of golden-white foam was making itself round the point where the American still splashed her fingers vigorously. She put a hand half out, drew back; then, greatly daring, scooped some of the iridescent stuff on to her palm. She smeared it with her fingers, watching the bubbles spread and pop.

“That’s my girl,” said the American softly. “You’re nosier’n a monkey, ain’t you? Tell you what, give me a gourd an’ a sugar lump and I’d catch you every time …” She added more hot water, undressed quickly and stepped into the bath. “Now you just watch real good,” she said. “Take it all in, honey. Everythin’ I do …”

The Rural stared, fascinated. The other’s hair gleamed in the soft light; foam clung to her; her red chest-berries bounced as she soaped herself vigorously. “This is also,” she said, “the first time in weeks I bin anythin’ approaching clean. Though I ain’t taking you on in no competitions …”

She finished, dried herself and dressed, still watching the other narrowly. The Rural frowned, from her to the bathtub and back. She knelt to dabble at the still-warm water; then began to tug, uncertainly, at the filthy dress.

“Glory be,” said the American girl. “Don’t tell me it worked. Anythin’ I can do, you can do better. That’s it, ain’t it? Well, you just hold up there whiles I get some more water on …” She heaved a sigh of relief. “This,” she said, “is goin’ to be one of the great moments of my life …”

The Rural sat playing happily with the foam, batting big bright chunks of it about and slapping the water to make more. The warmth had made her feel comfortable and safe; she chuckled, the first really human sound she had made, and the American made a passing grab for the soap. She missed, and a tussling ensued. The Rural laughed aloud; more water slopped over to join the already-considerable pool on the floor.

“For the thirteen dozenth time,” said the American, “you ain’t in there to
play
. Jeeze, it’s lucky we ain’t got no rubber ducks. Else I wouldn’t get no co-operation at all … Don’t you wanna look smart when Johnny comes?”

She doused the Rural’s hair. “Medicated, that stuff said it was,” she said, “Hope to hell it was a strong medicine
…” She began to soap, vigorously. “He’ll be along any day now,” she said. “Along the road. Or maybe he’ll come by water. That’s why I’m hangin’ on here. It’s a rendezvous, see? ‘Wait by the Great Cross,’ he said. Last thing, before we split up. ‘Go to the Great Cross’. It won’t be long …”

She paused in her work, eyes vague. “You see, we even got our own names for places,” she said. “Secret places, all up and down the country. Everybody in Johnny’s Party. All the Truckers. Maybe they’re on the road already. And this time it’s gonna work. Because we’re all in it together. You heard of the police? They’re comin’ in. The real police, not their Goddam Commissars. And the army. You know you even got the scraps left of an army?”

She poured more water from one of the saucepans. “It wasn’t the old guys’ fault,” she said. “The guys who set this whole mess up right at the start. You see, they didn’t allow for hate. What it could do. You know about hate, honey? You got any hate there, in that funny little mind?”

The Rural watched her, solemn-eyed. She set the saucepan back on the stove, began scrubbing. “There is a colour appearin’ here,” she said, “that a friendly observer might even describe as pink …” She sighed. “It was hate made the Rurals,” she said. “People like you. And me. Hate split this Goddam little country, zap. Straight down the middle. They thought they could do without us, see? They thought they were smart. Because they could make tin cans. Maybe you think that’s smart too. Makin’ a tin can. But it ain’t. Not really …”

She sluiced water, used a towel briskly and moved her position. “Gimme a foot,” she said. “Yeah, any one will do. You sittin’ on that soap again?”

She bent over her task. “But the hatin’ didn’t stop there,” she said. “They got rid of all they could. Pulled it down, just broke it up. Then they turned on each other. It was all up for grabs. First it was one mob runnin’ crazy, then the next. Then the Docks and Waterways got theirselves a hold. That was worst of
all, that was when the shantys really got started. They reckon fifty thousand died that first winter. So we had the Peoples’ War. That didn’t solve nothing either.” She returned the limb on which she had been working to its proper element. “C’mon now, don’t get coy. Gimme the
other one …

“I wish you could hear Johnny,” she said. “Hear him talk. I get through a lot o’ words, but I can’t talk like him. About what we’ve lost, the music and all. All the things they reckoned they could do without. But that’s what hate does, see? You get all churned up. Everybody gets to be the Enemy.” She slapped the other’s leg. “Come on, back up there. I want you kneelin’ …”

She added the rest of the hot water. “Johnny was born on wheels,” she said. “Just like all the others. His old man used to truck coal an’ cement up the M68. That’s why he understands them, he talks their language as well. There’s a lot born on wheels, now. Die on wheels too. You didn’t know that, did you? I guess you ain’t ever seen a Trucker cemetery though. They build ’em on the centre reservations …”

She wielded the soap. “That’s where they made their big mistake,” she said. “With their own people. Forcin’ ’em on to the road. They weren’t brothers under the skin no more then. Not after that. That’s what Johnny could see. Why he was smart. You seen the big Jugs, ain’t you? The ones with the living cabs? Just prime movers, back the whole fambo on to the load … I seen families with three-four, sometimes five-six kids, all livin’ in a space about eight foot square …

“That’s where Johnny got his big idea from. Gettin ’em all together, all the Truckers all over the country, all the people that were just plain sick an’ tired. And when that started, man did it spread. Like a prairie fire. That’s when we got interested. In the U.S. The ones that cared. That’s why I came over. Wasn’t a thing we could do, before …”

She laughed. “You should see those trucks,” she said. “They think it’s all a gas. Sort of a Mickey Mouse new
religion. Well, I guess it is a religion. In a way. But Mickey Mouse ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” She shook her head. “They put one artist on that damn Commissariat of theirs, they’d understand. But they’re still makin’ tins of pilchards …”

She flicked lather from her hands, and pushed the Rural’s shoulders. “OK,” she said, “sit back down now. And gimme the left paw. No, you don’t wanna go slappin’ that stuff round no more. You done enough …” She began brushing delicately, working the bristles under the small flat nails. “ ‘
Der Herr ist gross und sehr löblich
,’” she said. “That’s Johnny’s waggon. Know what it means? ‘
The Lord is great, and highly to be praised
…’ Sounds good, don’t it? It’s right, too. Because one day, he’s goin’ to be King. King Johnny the First. Or maybe the Second. Then there’s ‘
On Calvery that is so hye
,’ she’s a great big truck. I seen folk stand an’ laugh when she goes by; with her name boards an’ all. Only they don’t know the rest of the words.”

She paused in her work. “ ‘
On Calvery that is so hye
,’” she said, “ ‘
ther shall I be. Man to restore, naylid full sore, upon a tre
… ‘Man to restore’ … That’s what she’s for, honey. What she’s all about. There’s gonna be some nailin’s too, before she’s through …”