Travis. I know when he goes to her. I know….”
“If you know,” Travis whispered, “then why—?”
“Why stay with him? Why stay here in this house?” She laughed suddenly, a shrill bray; Travis worried that it might wake up Creath and bring him down here. “Stand on my entitlements, like that Bevis woman? It got her nowhere, you know. It got her alone and with children to raise in a world that does not welcome hungry mouths. Love, says the vow, and honor, and obey. Maybe love goes. Maybe honor goes, even. But there is that last. I can have that much of a marriage. I can obey.”
She’ll be gone now, Travis thought. Gone wherever she is going.
“She can see into him,” Liza was saying. “She thinks to conceal it from me, but I know. I know. There is something in Creath that is drawn to her. Something left over from his childhood. Something stupid and foolish in him.” She added, a whisper, “I know that part of him. There was a time when he would look at me that way. The way he looks at her. But that was a long time ago. Years gone, Travis. Years gone. She has no right.”
“Who is she, Aunt Liza?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed again, remembering, as if she were not fully awake. Her voice took on a distant quality. “It was Creath’s doing. An odd thing. He doesn’t ever stop for hitchhikers or tramps. We were driving back from your mother’s place … that last time we visited, when it became obvious we could not visit ever again. It was late, it was after midnight, and we were on the road coming into Haute Montagne—there was no traffic—and Creath was tired of driving. And suddenly there was this woman. She stood on the sandy margin of the road. Just stood there. Not thumbing. Not doing anything. Standing. And—Travis, she had no clothes on. Can you credit that? A naked woman on the verge of the highway, white as a statue in the moonlight?” She clucked. “I thought there must have been an accident. I would have urged Creath to stop … but he had already slowed down, he was pulling over before the words were out of my mouth. ‘Get a blanket,’ he says. ‘There’s one in the trunk.’ I did so. I covered her up. Creath was just staring at her like a man struck blind … and she was staring at him. I covered her up with that old woolen blanket and I led her into the car. We—took her home.”
She let her breath in and out, a papery sound. Travis had forgotten—almost—about following Anna. He stared at Liza now, her face round and pale in the faint light that filtered through the lace curtains from the street.
“I don’t know what it is!” she whispered. “I truly don’t! The way she looks, maybe. Something in her eyes. Something in the raw smell of her. She does something to men … makes them helpless. They go to her. And she—she—”
“Aunt Liza,” Travis said placatingly.
“No!” Her voice was shrill again. “Don’t comfort me, Travis Fisher! Don’t place yourself above me —or Creath!” She groped her glasses into place. Her eyes were suddenly magnified. “Don’t pretend you weren’t down here following her, following her wherever she goes these moonlight nights! Some nasty place. You and the Wilcox girl getting along just fine, yes? But here you are. Sniffing after that dirty creature.”
The accusation was unfair, Travis thought. But he felt an involuntary rush of guilt nevertheless. His cheeks burned.
“Travis,” his aunt said, “listen to me. I grew up with your mother. To me she was always Mary-Jane—my little sister. I lived with her and I watched her go bad. Not as bad as she ended up. But bad inside her. Bad to the bone, Mama used to say. Bad like a rotten tooth. She would not do what she was told. Took a pleasure in contrariness. In her own wicked shamelessness. We warned her about that man who became your father, oh, yes. He is rootless and insincere, Mama told her. Mary-Jane, we said, you must not squander your life on him. But she did.
“If you know,” Travis whispered, “then why—?”
“Why stay with him? Why stay here in this house?” She laughed suddenly, a shrill bray; Travis worried that it might wake up Creath and bring him down here. “Stand on my entitlements, like that Bevis woman? It got her nowhere, you know. It got her alone and with children to raise in a world that does not welcome hungry mouths. Love, says the vow, and honor, and obey. Maybe love goes. Maybe honor goes, even. But there is that last. I can have that much of a marriage. I can obey.”
She’ll be gone now, Travis thought. Gone wherever she is going.
“She can see into him,” Liza was saying. “She thinks to conceal it from me, but I know. I know. There is something in Creath that is drawn to her. Something left over from his childhood. Something stupid and foolish in him.” She added, a whisper, “I know that part of him. There was a time when he would look at me that way. The way he looks at her. But that was a long time ago. Years gone, Travis. Years gone. She has no right.”
“Who is she, Aunt Liza?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed again, remembering, as if she were not fully awake. Her voice took on a distant quality. “It was Creath’s doing. An odd thing. He doesn’t ever stop for hitchhikers or tramps. We were driving back from your mother’s place … that last time we visited, when it became obvious we could not visit ever again. It was late, it was after midnight, and we were on the road coming into Haute Montagne—there was no traffic—and Creath was tired of driving. And suddenly there was this woman. She stood on the sandy margin of the road. Just stood there. Not thumbing. Not doing anything. Standing. And—Travis, she had no clothes on. Can you credit that? A naked woman on the verge of the highway, white as a statue in the moonlight?” She clucked. “I thought there must have been an accident. I would have urged Creath to stop … but he had already slowed down, he was pulling over before the words were out of my mouth. ‘Get a blanket,’ he says. ‘There’s one in the trunk.’ I did so. I covered her up. Creath was just staring at her like a man struck blind … and she was staring at him. I covered her up with that old woolen blanket and I led her into the car. We—took her home.”
She let her breath in and out, a papery sound. Travis had forgotten—almost—about following Anna. He stared at Liza now, her face round and pale in the faint light that filtered through the lace curtains from the street.
“I don’t know what it is!” she whispered. “I truly don’t! The way she looks, maybe. Something in her eyes. Something in the raw smell of her. She does something to men … makes them helpless. They go to her. And she—she—”
“Aunt Liza,” Travis said placatingly.
“No!” Her voice was shrill again. “Don’t comfort me, Travis Fisher! Don’t place yourself above me —or Creath!” She groped her glasses into place. Her eyes were suddenly magnified. “Don’t pretend you weren’t down here following her, following her wherever she goes these moonlight nights! Some nasty place. You and the Wilcox girl getting along just fine, yes? But here you are. Sniffing after that dirty creature.”
The accusation was unfair, Travis thought. But he felt an involuntary rush of guilt nevertheless. His cheeks burned.
“Travis,” his aunt said, “listen to me. I grew up with your mother. To me she was always Mary-Jane—my little sister. I lived with her and I watched her go bad. Not as bad as she ended up. But bad inside her. Bad to the bone, Mama used to say. Bad like a rotten tooth. She would not do what she was told. Took a pleasure in contrariness. In her own wicked shamelessness. We warned her about that man who became your father, oh, yes. He is rootless and insincere, Mama told her. Mary-Jane, we said, you must not squander your life on him. But she did.
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