the mother woman. 'That's my baby, my Foley! My baby you got there! Three year old he was! My baby lost and white in the swamp!'
The sobbing broke out of her.
'Now, now, there now, Mrs. Tridden. There now. Set yourself down and stop shakin'. Ain't no more your child'n mine. There, there.'
One of the womenfolk held her and faded out the sobbing into jerked breathing and a fluttering of her lips in butterfly quickness as the breath stroked over them, afraid.
When all was quiet again, Granny Carnation, with a withered pink flower in her shoulder-length grey hair, sucked the pipe in her trap mouth and talked around it, shaking her head to make the hair dance in the light:
'All this talking and shoving words. Like as not we'll never find out, never know what it is. Like as not if we could find out we wouldn't want to know. It's like them magic tricks them magicians do at the show. Once you find the fake, it ain't no more fun ‘n the innards of a jackbob. We come collecting around here every ten nights or so, talking, social-like, with something, always something, to talk about. Stands to reason if we found out what the damn thing is there'd be nothing to talk about, so there!'
'Well, damn it to hell!' rumbled a bull voice. 'I don't think it's nothin'!'
Tom Carmody.
Tom Carmody standing, as always, in shadow. Out on the porch, just his eyes staring in, his lips laughing at you dimly, mocking. His laughter got inside Charlie like a hornet sting. Thedy had put him up to it, Thedy was trying to undermine Charlie's social life, she was!
'Nothin',' repeated Carmody, harshly, 'in that jar but a bunch of old jelly-fish from Sea Cove, a rottin' and stinkin' fit to whelp!'
'You mightn't be jealous, Cousin Carmody?' asked Charlie, slow.
'Haw!' snorted Carmody. 'I just come aroun' ta watch you dumb cyppers jaw about nuthin'. I gits a kick outa it. You notice I never set foot inside or took part. I'm goin' home right now. Anybody wanna come along with me?'
He got no offer of company. He laughed again, as if this were a bigger joke, how so many people could be so dumb, and Thedy was raking her palms with angry nails back of the room. Charlie felt a twinge of unexpected fear at this.
Carmody, still laughing, rapped off the porch with his high-heeled boots and the sound of crickets took him away.
Granny Carnation gummed her pipe. 'Like I was saying before the storm: that thing on the shelf, why couldn't it be sort of — all things? Lots of things. What they call a — gimmle — '
'Symbol?'
'That's it. Symbol. Symbol of all the nights and days in the dead canebrake. Why's it have to be one thing? Maybe it's lots .'
And the talking went on for another hour, and Thedy slipped away into the night on the track of Tom Carmody, and Charlie began to sweat. They were up to something, those two. They were planning something. Charlie sweated warm all the rest of the evening. . .
The meeting broke up late, and Charlie bedded down with mixed emotions. The meeting had gone off well, but what about Thedy and Tom Carmody?
Very late, with certain star coveys shuttled down the sky marking the time as after midnight, Charlie heard the shushing of the tall grass parted by her penduluming hips. Her heels tacked soft across the porch, into the house, into the bedroom.
She lay soundlessly in bed, cat eyes staring at him. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them staring.
'Charlie?'
He waited.
Then he said, 'I'm awake.'
Then she waited.
'Charlie?'
'What?'
'Bet you don't know where I been, bet you don't know where I been.' It was a faint, derisive sing-song in the night.
He waited.
She waited again. She couldn't bear waiting long, though, and continued:
'I been to the carnival over in Cape City. Tom Carmody drove me. We — we talked to the carny-boss,
The sobbing broke out of her.
'Now, now, there now, Mrs. Tridden. There now. Set yourself down and stop shakin'. Ain't no more your child'n mine. There, there.'
One of the womenfolk held her and faded out the sobbing into jerked breathing and a fluttering of her lips in butterfly quickness as the breath stroked over them, afraid.
When all was quiet again, Granny Carnation, with a withered pink flower in her shoulder-length grey hair, sucked the pipe in her trap mouth and talked around it, shaking her head to make the hair dance in the light:
'All this talking and shoving words. Like as not we'll never find out, never know what it is. Like as not if we could find out we wouldn't want to know. It's like them magic tricks them magicians do at the show. Once you find the fake, it ain't no more fun ‘n the innards of a jackbob. We come collecting around here every ten nights or so, talking, social-like, with something, always something, to talk about. Stands to reason if we found out what the damn thing is there'd be nothing to talk about, so there!'
'Well, damn it to hell!' rumbled a bull voice. 'I don't think it's nothin'!'
Tom Carmody.
Tom Carmody standing, as always, in shadow. Out on the porch, just his eyes staring in, his lips laughing at you dimly, mocking. His laughter got inside Charlie like a hornet sting. Thedy had put him up to it, Thedy was trying to undermine Charlie's social life, she was!
'Nothin',' repeated Carmody, harshly, 'in that jar but a bunch of old jelly-fish from Sea Cove, a rottin' and stinkin' fit to whelp!'
'You mightn't be jealous, Cousin Carmody?' asked Charlie, slow.
'Haw!' snorted Carmody. 'I just come aroun' ta watch you dumb cyppers jaw about nuthin'. I gits a kick outa it. You notice I never set foot inside or took part. I'm goin' home right now. Anybody wanna come along with me?'
He got no offer of company. He laughed again, as if this were a bigger joke, how so many people could be so dumb, and Thedy was raking her palms with angry nails back of the room. Charlie felt a twinge of unexpected fear at this.
Carmody, still laughing, rapped off the porch with his high-heeled boots and the sound of crickets took him away.
Granny Carnation gummed her pipe. 'Like I was saying before the storm: that thing on the shelf, why couldn't it be sort of — all things? Lots of things. What they call a — gimmle — '
'Symbol?'
'That's it. Symbol. Symbol of all the nights and days in the dead canebrake. Why's it have to be one thing? Maybe it's lots .'
And the talking went on for another hour, and Thedy slipped away into the night on the track of Tom Carmody, and Charlie began to sweat. They were up to something, those two. They were planning something. Charlie sweated warm all the rest of the evening. . .
The meeting broke up late, and Charlie bedded down with mixed emotions. The meeting had gone off well, but what about Thedy and Tom Carmody?
Very late, with certain star coveys shuttled down the sky marking the time as after midnight, Charlie heard the shushing of the tall grass parted by her penduluming hips. Her heels tacked soft across the porch, into the house, into the bedroom.
She lay soundlessly in bed, cat eyes staring at him. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them staring.
'Charlie?'
He waited.
Then he said, 'I'm awake.'
Then she waited.
'Charlie?'
'What?'
'Bet you don't know where I been, bet you don't know where I been.' It was a faint, derisive sing-song in the night.
He waited.
She waited again. She couldn't bear waiting long, though, and continued:
'I been to the carnival over in Cape City. Tom Carmody drove me. We — we talked to the carny-boss,
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