Free South of Heaven by Jim Thompson Page B

son-of-a-bitch!”
    Then a dozen other guys were yelling, threatening to make him eat the juice-harp if he played it one more time. So he knocked it off, getting under the covers fast, and everyone else sacked up, too. The crumb boss dimmed the lantern hung from the ridge pole. Ten minutes later he blew it out. I waited a while longer, measuring the time by counting to a hundred by fives. Then, when everyone seemed asleep and darkness had settled in, I dressed and went out the back flap of the tent.
    Clouds hung over the moon, and there was hardly any light at all. It was hard walking that way, dangerous walking in view of all the snakes and poisonous pests in the area. But I got to where she was with nothing worse than a few snags from the sage. I got to where her homemade housecar was parked, down in a little dip in the prairie.
    She was sitting on a packing box outside the car. Her back was to me, and inside a protective rim of rocks she had a low fire going. For light rather than heat, I guess, since the night was only pleasantly cool.
    I whistled softly, so as not to startle her. She didn’t seem to hear me, and I was about to whistle again when I heard the soft sound of her weeping. It sounded so lonely, so lost and frightened that tears came into my own eyes, and I had to gulp down a lump in my throat. Then I ran down the slope calling to her, holding out my arms. And I must have scared her out of her wits for a moment, but then she recognized my voice and came running to me like a child.
    “My gosh, honey!”—I held her in my arms, petting and comforting her. “What were you crying about? Who hurt you, baby? You just tell me and.…”
    “Nothing, no one.” She clung to me, heaving a great shuddery sigh. “Just hold me tight, Tommy. Just hold me tight.”
    “Well, sure I will,” I said, stroking her hair, kissing it over and over. “But, look, Carol.…”
    “No, don’t talk, Tommy. Just hold me.”
    I held her. We held each other close. Minutes passed, and then she lifted her face and looked up at me.
    “All right, Tommy. I’m all right now, darling.”
    “What were you crying about?” I said.
    “N-nothing. No, really I wasn’t. I was just lonesome and I thought that, well, I’d never see you again. That you wouldn’t want to see me again after…you know…last night. So.…”
    I said, “Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I want to see you, for Pete’s sake? I.…”
    I broke off, peering into her face. She tried to draw back, but I had already seen it. A big black-and-blue bruise, puffily clotted with blood and extending from her left cheek to her eye.
    “Who did that?” I said. “Who hit you, Carol?”
    “No one. No, really, I mean it, Tommy,” she said firmly. “I…well, I was fixing dinner and I turned around and banged into the car door. It was standing open, you know, and I hit myself on the edge of it.”
    “Well…” I studied her carefully. “If you’re sure.…”
    “Does it look very awful, Tommy? Huh?”
    “Well, it looks pretty bad,” I said. “I figure you’re going to get a shiner out of it.”
    “Then, I’ll bet you don’t want to kiss me, do you? Just because I bumped into a door and got a bruise on my face an’…an’ everything, you don’t love me anymore!”
    She flounced around, play-pouting, turning her back to me. I laughed and started to pull her back around again. But the mite of suspicion in my mind moved me to do something else.
    Raising my hand, I gave her a sharp slap on the back.
    She let out a scream. Then she whirled and slapped me in the face.
    “I’m sunburned, damn you! I was going without a shirt today and I got a bad sunburn!”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just thought that.…”
    “I know what you thought and I told you about sixteen times you were wrong! Now, if you’re going to keep on acting stupid, you can just go on back to your stupid camp and stay there!”
    Well.…
    I apologized. I promised not to be suspicious