The Devil's Beating His Wife (7 page)

Nixon Steel, the good-looking one of the bunch with his wavy brown hair and green eyes, had a shotgun resting near his leg. Growing up, Nixon had been troubled with weak lungs and unexpected brain seizures. He had been rejected after his medical evaluation.

Then there was Charles Vincent. He sat in my brother's passenger seat and stared at me with cold dead eyes. Unlike the others, he had actually served in the Marines for a spell. He had too many behavioral issues and had been let out with a less than honorable discharge. Rumor had it he spent a few weeks locked in the brig, but no one was sure what had he done to get there.

My little brother, with his flat feet and uneven legs, sighed deeply, turning his eyes away from me. He continued driving slowly, matching my uneven gait. After a few moments spent gathering his thoughts, Carver finally turned back to me and said, "Imagine my surprise when I heard that my big brother, the war hero, had been threatened by a nigger."

Spicey might be a lot of things, but she wasn't no nigger. "What you doin' here, Carver?"

"Come to check on my big brother, that's what. What you doin' over on the nigger side, Baxter?"

"That's none of your concern."

There was a hissing sound from the passenger seat. Charlie Vincent was buck-toothed with shaggy red hair. On the surface, I reckon most people thought he was a simpleton, particularly with his freckles, slight stutter, and lack of manners. However, he was the meanest man of the meanest lot.

Nixon leaned over the side of the truck and said, "I got wind that you went into that nigger store. Carver here didn't believe me. He said his big brother wouldn't be dumb enough to go wandering over there. He told us to get into the truck 'cuz he was gonna prove us wrong. I imagine it must have been a damn shock when we done turned the corner and seen you standing there petrified of some damn porch monkeys. I bet he damn near—"

"Nick, why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Charlie said. "Nobody's interested in hearing your bullshit." The look in Charlie's eyes froze me in place. He looked coldly at me, as if he was weighing the value of my life. I imagined in his mind, he considered whether it would be more trouble to kill me or ignore me. It was a look that I had never expected to see outside of the war.

I nodded in his direction. He turned away and glanced out of the window, but not before I saw the suppressed violence in his eyes. My gaze was drawn to my brother's movements. He turned around in his seat and glanced back towards Ms. Della's store. Then his eyes swiveled in my direction. His jaw locked as he stared at me.

"What's this about, Carver?" I said. "I don't need no one to be looking in on me. You or otherwise." I pinned my gaze on Charlie. "Y'all can just go on back home." All we'd need was Mitchell Worthington and it'd be the same group of rowdy boys from that cursed night. Mitchell, the quiet one of the pack, had died last summer while storming the beaches of Normandy.

They were obviously restless, wanting to burn away the boredom with violence. In spite of my offended feelings at being turned away and laughed at, I knew I couldn't give these boys any cause to escalate things. With so many of our kin fighting and dying abroad, the last thing we needed was to bring the violence to our backyard.

"How about we just head on down to Madge's place and have ourselves a drink? It's a damn hot day, and I'd like to buy all y'all a beer."

Moving towards the back of the truck, I unhooked the tailgate. With my good leg, I stepped onto the bed and raised my hand towards Richard for help. He stared down at my hand and then glanced back at my face. For a moment, we remained in our places.

Nixon nudged Richard's leg. He then reached out and took my hand, pulling me into the truck. I closed the tailgate and glanced into the truck's cab, making eye contact with Carver. I slammed my palm against the truck's side. "I'm in."

Carver's head fell to his chest as he shifted his truck into gear. We finally pulled onto the road, driving away from the county border. I sat in the back of the truck, watching as Ms. Della's place grew smaller.

"Things have changed since you've been gone, Baxter," said Nixon. "The niggers stay to themselves, and the white folk stick with our own. Things are peaceful as long as everyone knows their place. You crossing into their county could have caused an all-out war. Didn't anyone warn you about that?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Richard clench his jaw. Turning away, I glanced out at the scenery as the truck rumbled down the road. Another truck appeared, coming from the other direction. I leaned over the side to see if it was anyone I knew. As it drove by, I could see the driver and the passenger, a colored man and his boy, looking back at us.

There was absolutely no reason for what happened next. These people hadn't made a face or spoke an unkind word towards us, but that meant nothing to this group. Suddenly, my body fell into the center of the bed when Carver whipped the truck around and began pursuing the other truck.

Our truck accelerated as we raced down the road, trying to catch up with the other truck. With the wind whipping against my body, I struggled to stand and shuffle towards the cab window. Pushing the glass open, I stuck my head inside and looked at my brother. Charlie was pounding his fist against the dashboard, encouraging Carver to drive faster. Sweat streamed from my brother's hairline to his chin. He wore a feral grin as he pushed the truck faster.

"Now Carver, what have you got in that damn fool head of yours?" I said. "I thought we were going down to Madge's place?"

Carver shook his head. "That was your idea, Baxter. The boys and me have other plans."

Reaching into the cabin, I placed my hand on my brother's shoulder. He shrugged it off and clenched the steering wheel. Lowering the pitch of my voice, I spoke softly and slowly. "And what are your plans, brother?"

His hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. Charlie glanced back at me, then placed his hand on the glass, and forced the window shut. I fell back before he chopped my goddamned head off.

Glancing through the glass, I could see that the truck ahead had picked up speed. Their tires kicked up small pebbles that struck our windshield. Suddenly, without slowing, the truck turned sharply onto one of the back roads that led through the woods. Carver didn't wait for the turn. He drove his truck across the ditch, causing us to bounce from the impact.

The others cheered Carver on. He roared the engine, accelerating until we were able to see the shapes of their heads. The young boy turned, looking through the cab of the truck. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. Terror was etched onto his features.

"Carver. Slow down." I pounded the window. The road forked ahead. Their truck swung left and immediately slowed as they bounced over potholes and fallen tree limbs. Carver went right, knowing only a few feet of trees separated the two cars.

Our path was smoother, allowing us to catch up with them. The trees were thicker in some places than others. Through one of the thinner spots, I could see their brown truck trudging along the road. Richard hollered out, but the sounds of the engines muffled out his words. Up ahead, the roads would merge again, and we'd come out just ahead of them with enough time to block their getaway.

Carver sped up, knowing the game was over. We had won. The prize? I didn't want to know.

We burst ahead where the roads merged. Carver turned the wheel, thinking he would be blocking their truck. Instead, we all looked back to see nothing but trees swaying and leaves rustling.

"Where'd the fuck did they go?" asked Richard, as he stared down the road. Charlie leapt from the truck and came around to the back. He stomped down the dirt road a few feet, looking for a dust trail.

"What do you see?" asked Carver.

Charlie stood there with his hands on his hips. He tilted his head back, letting the sun shine down on his freckled face. Walking backwards a few steps, he stared down at the ground. Then he swung around and marched back to the truck. As he reached the truck bed, his gaze swung in my direction, and he stunned me with a look of pure malice and hatred.

Lame leg and all, I swung down from the truck bed. Grabbing Charlie by the lapels of his denim jacket, I slammed him against the side of the truck. "This is all your damn fault," I seethed into his ear.

Nixon grabbed my shoulder and hurled me backwards. I stumbled but landed against the firm trunk of a tree. Charlie made a move towards me, but Richard stepped between us.

"It ain't nobody's fault that them coons got away," mumbled Richard. He glanced down the dirt road and then shook his head. "They must have turned off."

"You don't say?" mocked Charlie.

Richard's hand shot out and struck Charlie's shoulder. "Don't be an ass."

Pushing away from the tree, I walked to the truck and settled onto the bed. We were all familiar with these woods, and that's why they were all dumb-founded. But they all seemed to have forgotten the old lumber road, just a half a mile back. I sat quietly, hoping they'd get frustrated with themselves and decide to leave.

My eyes locked on Charlie's tense shoulders. He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and hopped back into his seat. He slammed his fist so hard against the dashboard that Carver flinched.

Me and my brother had known all of these fellas since we were small boys. Two of them were even our distant kin. Yet, here in this darkly wooded road, I felt like a stranger in a foreign land. I placed a lot of the blame on Charlie's shoulders. A cruel and intolerant person by nature, his quick temper seemed to trigger something in Carver. I blamed Charlie for this stupid folly. I blamed him for that night.

Nixon jumped into the truck and settled beside me. Swinging his arm over my shoulder, he pulled me towards his chest. "I say we head on over to Madge's place and get that beer Baxter promised us."

Richard sent one more glance down the road. He didn't seem like he wanted to give up on the chase. Using the back of his hand, he wiped a trail of sweat from his brow. "Maybe we should backtrack down the road."

Charlie rolled down the window and leaned out. "Forget about it, Richard. There'll be plenty of opportunities, and you know it. Get in the truck. We're going back to town."

"On to Madge's?" asked Nixon, reaching down to help Richard onto the truck. Richard took his place across from Nixon and stretched out his long legs. Nixon leaned towards me, a huge grin on his face. "We'll get a few beers, maybe order up some grub, and have ourselves a might fine time. You still buyin', Baxter?"

"Forget about Madge's place. I'm taking you boys back to my place," Carver yelled over the roar of his truck.

I glanced at each of the fellas. The mood was off and had been off since the moment they spotted me on the road. I didn't want to waste even a moment more with them, but I was too afraid of what they might get into if I wasn't around.

Carver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. More than glass and iron separated us. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't like my brother. Shifting gears, he made a quick turnaround and set back down the road that we had driven. That surprised me, considering how disappointed they'd been in their stupid little chase. I would have thought Carver would take one more opportunity to search those boys out.

The truck rocked back and forth when Carver pulled onto the paved road. We were silent as we made our way back into town. Only Richard spared a glance towards the woods as if expecting the coloreds to spring out.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I sunk down into the truck bed. My good leg was beginning to burn from the burden I'd placed on it. A few beers would be a good thing. It'd dull the pain in my leg and the pounding in my head. Maybe if I was lucky, it would dull the disappointment in my heart.

"What was it like?" Nixon asked, nudging my leg.

I turned my head and gawked at him. "I guess you mean the war?"

Nixon nodded. He crawled closer to me and lowered his voice. "Did you get to kill many of them?" His eyes flowed over my face. His perusal was almost sexual in its intensity. "I envy you, Baxter. I would have done anything to be over there, killing the Krauts. I damn near shot myself when they told me I wasn't fit enough for service. I felt like such a failure. I wanted to fight for my country." He grabbed his pistol and waved it in the air. "But look at me now. I would have made a good soldier, don't you think?"

His words were said with such despair that I almost felt sorry for him. "Only cowards choose suicide. You've proven yourself not to be a coward, Nixon."

He smiled at me and nodded. Richard and Charlie shared distressed glances. Were Nixon's crazed words affecting them also? Or maybe they shared his sentiments and found shame in their rejection?

The occupants of the truck remained quiet as Carver drove us to his home. When he finally turned on to the dirt road that led to his farmhouse, Richard laughed and rubbed his hands together. "You smell that, boys? Smells like supper's ready!"

Rejection. It was the theme of the day. My stomach rebelled at the scent of greasy beef.

When the truck stopped, we all leapt from our seats. Carver, Richard, and Nixon entered the house. I stood back, apart from them. I didn't want to go inside. I didn't want to sit around a table, pretending everything was alright.

I dragged my feet in the dirt and then made my way slowly towards the barn. I stepped inside and walked over to a bale of hay, where I sat down and began to rub my thigh. I tried to ease the pain in my leg and the turmoil in my heart. I needed to have a clear head as I figured out my next steps.

Spicey had held a gun to my head. There had been no fear in her eyes as she forced me out of the store. If only the poor girl knew. It wasn't going to be that easy to force me from her life.

I knew deep in my heart that we were destined to be together. I couldn't envision a life without her. She had been made for me, and I intended on keeping what was mine.

As I massaged the tense muscles in my thigh, I recommitted to my course. "She will forgive me. She will love me. We will be happy together." I recited this over and over, letting the words flow over me. Reassuring me.