Free The Big Seven by Jim Harrison Page B

especially when he had been fishing but built a small fire in the fireplace because his legs were cold from wading the stream. He admitted his curiosity about the chapter. He was not optimistic about a new, inexplicable fiction writer and the chapter title, “The Deflowering of Lily,” was unpromising. Deflowering was an antique word and he guessed that Lemuel read some old-fashioned novels in prison, possibly George Eliot whom Sunderson disliked in college and Thomas Hardy whom he loved.
    The Deflowering of Lily
    It was a warmer spring afternoon and there were, I think, seven of us kids out in the edge of the woods playing hide-go-seek. Lily had matured early and at eleven or ten had a fine set of legs in her bright yellow short shorts. I mention this because she asked me to rub mosquito dope on her legs. I did so and it gave me a warm buzz in my tummy that I didn’t recognize. Tom was also out in the woods stringing barbed wire between trees to contain the cattle so they wouldn’t get lost in the deep woods that went on for miles. When I remember this wretched incident I recall that Tom spent a lot of time staring at Lily in her brief yellow shorts. Tom put down his fencing tools, walked over and grabbed Lily and ripped off her shorts leaving her nude from the waist down. He pushed her down onto a small pile of dogwood and pine branches and she finally started screaming. Before that she was in shock and didn’t know what was happening to her. He raised her ankles up to her shoulders and took out his big penis. At first it wouldn’t go in her but he kept ramming and it finally did at which she screamed louder. All the kids had come running but they just stood there, the boys were anxious but no one tried to do anything. Finally I picked up a big heavy stick, swung it hitting Tom on the side of the head. He collapsed off of Lily, knocked out cold. He had stared at me as the stick approached his head. The girls helped up the sobbing Lily and they all ran for the house with the boys behind them. I should have run for it too because Tom revived, got up and came at me. I didn’t have time for another blow. He grabbed the stick and knocked me down swinging it against my legs. He pounded me in the face with his fists until I had two black eyes and a couple of broken teeth. He finally quit beating me when he hurt his knuckles on my teeth. I walked home slowly with a bloody face and a broken nose which is still crooked.
    All the three kids told the three sets of parents what happened but there was virtually no reaction. Lily’s father Bert was in a stupor but then he was the severest alcoholic in the big family of drunks. They bought vodka in bulk gallons which did not last long. Even the women drank far too much, probably in defense from their husbands. No one took Lily to the doctor even though she bled a lot. The real reason for ignoring Tom’s wicked violence is that he was the hardest worker in the families, taking care of the beef business himself except for branding and the October roundup when cattle trucks arrived to take mature cattle to the slaughterhouse. In short, no one wanted to offend Tom.
    My weak defense of Lily caused a permanent bond between us. She put hot compresses on my wounded face though she could barely walk. After the experience she went without boyfriends in high school. We finally made love in my car the night we graduated from high school, very slow and gently. We didn’t do it regularly but at odd times her emotions dictated. This all explains why I have to kill Tom.
    Sunderson noted that Lemuel had written as if he were Lily’s age. Was he delusional enough to believe this? The last sentence was more or less a confession of motive. True, it was a work of fiction but the sentence would turn on a reasonably good detective. The chapter had been short but hair-raising, fatiguing Sunderson. The death of Lily now loomed larger in Sunderson’s mental collection of injustices. He wouldn’t mind