LADY CLAUDIA: Thou Man of Blood (XIII)

"I was there," Floyd says. "And you're going to explain to me what happened. I think that maybe your success as a door to door salesman has gone to your head, Will. You should try an easier sell with me. Like a vacuum cleaner that doubles as a coffee percolator."

Wilbur grins.

"Oh, I'd say that I've already done all right in this field. I've already made the sale with the buyers who really count. Back to Hidden Pond Hill Road. He dragged me across on my back. Gravel. Ouch. He told me to roll over on my stomach. He stuck the shotgun against the back of my neck and told me to lick up the smashed vegetables and swallow them. I could see Old Man Svenloe looking out the parlor window. After about three gulps I started crying and puking and begging. He put down his shotgun, kicked me in the head, just to get me dizzy I guess so I couldn't roll over and lunge at him, and tied my hands behind my back with the loose end of the rope. Hog-tied, it's called, Claudia. He drove off. Old Man Svenloe came out on his porch with his shotgun. He sat in rocking chair and watched me for about five minutes. Then he went inside. He came back out holding a big carving knife. He walked over to me, stooped down, and cut through the rope around my feet. He went back inside. I lay there for about fifteen minutes. I remember being stared at by a passing woodchuck.

"I stood up. The pain in my right foot was God awful. But I started limping away from Old Man Svenloe and his knife and his gun and his squashed cucumbers. I figured that it would take me two hours just to get to the Turnpike. Then Old Man Svenloe rode by me in his horse-drawn wagon. About twenty minutes later Calvin Henlick came riding up the road in his horse-drawn wagon."

"Calvin Henlick..."

"He got out and cut the rope around my hands. He told me to get in, so I did. First he took me to his house. Myra clucked her tongue and kept saying things like, 'Land sakes!' and 'Mercy me!' She helped me get washed up. Cal took a look at my ankle and said it wasn't too bad. He wrapped a cloth around it. Then he told me to get back in the wagon. So I did. He took me back to Camel Creek. He told me that I had better forget all about what Les had done to me. If I had a notion to go to the Law and tell on my brother I had best get that notion right out of my head. He didn't approve of the lengths to which Les had gone. But I had had a lesson coming to me. The important thing was that I should learn the lesson. I just shrugged my shoulders. I thanked him for the first aid and the ride and went inside. I told the folks that Les and I had been fooling around. That he had dared me to jump out of his car. Then he had driven off. Les was in a bit of hot water with the old man. I think that he made him paint the hen house or something. But I never spoke to Les about what had happened. I never spoke to him again if I could at all help it."

"I remember," Floyd says. "It was about then that our little fraternity started to break up. This is all very distressing, Will. But I'm waiting for the big revelation."

"You don't get it? Well, I guess you wouldn't from just that. One thing that Farmer Henlick said always stuck in my mind. He said, 'Now, Will. You don't really think that that gun was loaded...' And I had to admit that I wasn't sure. Les was always playing those kinds of games with guns. You don't know that, Floyd, because he was always on his best behavior with you. That's the problem with all ye watchers and ye holy ones. You don't really know people. You don't know the score. But ask Bobby Bisbee. Ask Lex MaxEveny. Rather, ask Sheriff MacEveny. Poor old Les would be showing us his pistol collection. Then he'd put the barrel of one against his temple and say, 'Give me one good reason not to.' And naturally I'd say something like, 'Can't think of a one. And there are so many why you should. I'll get your car and your fishing rods.' Once he put a pistol in his mouth... You see, for most men who own guns the purpose is to... Well, it doesn't matter if you're Wyatt Earp or Jesse James. When you pick up a gun you're saying something plain enough to other people about your intentions. But Les had his very own gun philosophy. Les used guns to tease and frighten and confuse and mentally torture other people. Before you spoke about my asking a simple question, Claudia. Well, I do have a simple question for you, Floyd. Did you see Les load that pistol on Wednesday night?"

"No. I left him in the garage. I went out into the breezeway and then out into the driveway. How could I have seen him load that pistol?"

"We can't exclude the possibility that it was already loaded."

"And that Les plum forgot? That's weak, Will. Very weak. And he chose that night to go off his best behavior with me? Just for the heck of it?"

"You have to accept facts, Floyd. It was a practical joke turned tragic accident. It was the culmination of a long life of deplorable recklessness where guns were concerned. And that's all it was. You have to accept the facts as determined by the experts. Including your own cousin Elmina."

Floyd stares at him for a few moments.

"All right," he says. "I get it. I'm just wondering why. It's not to protect your brother's memory. It's not out of a sense of family honor. For Mom, maybe?"

"Cora's okay. But between her piety and her poetry she's turned out to be quite an old bore. Cora can fend for herself."

"The kid."

Will just looks at him for a while. Then he stands up.

"I've really got to get back. Thanks for your hospitality, Claudia."

She stands.

"You're welcome, Will."

She glances at Floyd. He does not seem to be about to move from his seat.

"Be logical, Brightwell," Wilbur says. "Don't brood about it. No one knows that you said anything different to the coppers. Heck, even I don't know! Lex is very professional about these things. So there's no question of people thinking that Crazy Floyd's testimony was discounted because he's, well, crazy. This is no kind of public humiliation for you."

"My husband is not crazy, Will," Lady Claudia says coldly. "And no one thinks he is."

Floyd jumps up.

"I'm not? They don't? Now you tell me!"

He takes Wilbur by the arm and leads him out into the hallway.

"Don't worry about me, Will. I'm not going to sit here brooding about Les. Why, I'm starting to feel better about things already. You've been a big help."

"I'm glad."

Floyd opens the door.

"I'm looking forward to Tommy's visit with your folks," he says. "Lots of young guys in similar situations come over here to learn a bit about farming. Lottie Lorsch's grandson Howie for one. From New Paltz."

"Yes," Wilbur says. "I've heard that you're quite the Pied Piper. You teach them all about farming and fishing and hunting, all the while working in a word to the wise on the manly virtues. Matter of fact, I was banking on my Tommy's getting hooked into your little academy when I finally broke down yesterday and agreed to his spending some time in Camel Creek this summer. I figure that the good you'd do him outweighs any harm being around my father for three weeks might do."

Floyd looks surprised.

"That's right, Floyd," Wilbur says. "Sincere admiration. Balancing out my unspeakable effrontery just now. See, I'm not like Les. I hate God and moral rectitude and all that sort of thing the way I hate asparagus. It just doesn't agree with me. But it never bothered me that other people like it. Les was such a clown. Making like Voltaire so people would think that deep down he must be some sort of Augustine... Well, that's enough about poor Les."

"Yes," Floyd says. "Enough about poor Les. He's dead and he's buried. In a grave that now has been paid for. Though the check has yet to be deposited..."