Something was definitely wrong. Mary kept feeling bad. She had to go to the doctor.
Dr. Ambrose gave her a cursory examination and said, "There's nothing wrong with you. You'll be back to normal in about ... eight and a half months."
Mary was stunned. "Eight and a half months. But I can't be...I mean, I haven't...I mean since..."
Dr. Ambrose just smiled. "You'll be fine. Call me in a couple of weeks."
Dazed, Mary staggered out of the doctor's office. She felt dizzy. She grabbed a column to hold herself.
"What's wrong, dear?" Surprised, Mary looked up into the wrinkled, gray face of a stout, but withered old lady. The old lady was holding a leash, with a scruffy, dirty-white scottish terrier attached.
Mary struggled, but couldn't say a word.
"Oh. I see. Been there, done that. Betcha don't believe me, to look at me now. Used to be quite a looker. Yes, he knocked me up and took the next freight out of town. Need a place to stay?" Mary shook her head. "Need some food? Well, anything I can do to help, dearie?"
"No. Thank you," Mary said at last.
"Listen, child. It doesn't get any easier, from here on out. Morning sickness, bloating, feeling waterlogged, weighed down. Then, if you go through with it--" the old lady eyed Mary closely. Mary didn't respond. "...if you go through with it, there's feeding at all hours of the night and day, diapers, food, clothes, more expense than you can imagine, dear -- all by yourself. Believe me, I know. Let an old woman help. It would give me pleasure. I'm all alone -- except for Charlie, of course. We could use a guest, couldn't we, Charlie? Take away some of the boredom. What do you say, child? Come with me."
The old lady reached out and touched Mary's elbow. Mary shrank, feeling cold and hot. She pulled away, frightened. "Don't be afraid, honey. Come if you want. Stay if you want."
"No! Thank you," Mary said, with emphasis this time. She turned and hurried off down the street. When she turned the corner, Snakefoot growled, snatched up the scruffy dog and swallowed it in one bite of his cavernous mouth.
------
"She's making a fool of you!" Screwtape screamed after Snakefoot's second failure.
"You're underestimating her," Snakefoot shot back. "We all are. She's got an unexpected amount of the Enemy's power. I should have noticed it the first time. She's being protected. It's like there's an invisible screen around her."
"Miserable excuse. You're an incompetent boob. You better come up with something. You know the Boss deals rather harshly with failure."
"I told you before. I don't fail."
------
News travels fast in the Underworld -- especially bad news. Glubwart licked his lips. He had been enraged when Screwtape called in Snakefoot to poach on his territory. He would show the charlatan who was the real demon.
Impersonating one of the enemy's troops carries its own risks. It makes one a target from both sides. But Glubwart was willing to chance it. "Brother" Glubwart was decked out in all his Sunday finery; white suit, white broad-brimmed hat and shiny black boots with absurd silver buckles. He wore a skinny, western-style tie with a turquoise clasp. Under his arm was a black, well-worn book that could be mistaken for a Bible.
-----
Mary staggered home. She still couldn't believe what was happening to her. It was impossible. The doctor must have made a mistake. What was she going to do? Need to get another test; had to be a mistake. What would she do if it's true? She had enough trouble taking care of herself. Suddenly it hit her -- Joe -- what would she say to Joe? How would he take it? After the big scene she had made. What would he think? She wandered home on automatic pilot; her feet taking her; her mind racing like a gerbil in a cage; round and round, round and round; one thought after another, then the whole sequence starting again; starting again; starting again; make it stop; can't make it stop.
Somehow she made it to the front door. In. Go to bed. Can't sleep. Mind racing; won't stop. She couldn't catch sleep. Finally, sleep caught her.
[Mary floated on a cloud. No more demons. She was flying, free; carefree. No danger. Suddenly, by her side on the cloud, was the withered old black man. But this time was different. This time she was not afraid. He smiled at her. "Take the child and go," he said. "There are those who seek his life."]
Mary woke. All her fears, all her hesitancy gone. She knew what she had to do. She quickly packed her few things. Polly just gaped at her when she said, "Thanks for everything. I'm leaving."
Friday, January 23, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Chapter 42: Every boy's dream
Joe couldn't believe his good fortune. Here was a luscious, soft, willing girl all his own -- every young man's dream. And yet, something did not feel quite right. Forget about it. You're imagining things. Why shouldn't she love you? Nothing wrong with you. Relax. Enjoy it. And enjoy it he did, night after night, sometimes in the afternoon, down by the railroad trestle, on the riverbank, in the back seat of his car, in the soft grass under the big oak tree.
But afterwards, he always felt empty. With Mary, he had wanted to empty himself, all of himself, into her. With Demondra, he just felt empty.
Joe's mother knew something was wrong. She was dying to question Joe about it, but uncharacteristically held back.
Joe had to think. He went to the place he always went when he needed to clear away the dust; make his soul clean. He went to his grandfather's little fish pond.
He drove far out into the country and turned off at the dirt road just past the old grocery store, now converted into a modern gas station/convenience store. After a big field of cotton came a large stand of corn. Joe turned into the narrow dirt track with two ruts and grass growing in between. He drove through the rickety gate and around the field into the clump of trees where the fields end and the atmosphere is cooler and darker. Trees, bushes all around; then up a slight rise to the opening with the turnaround and room to park. The land slopes gently down from the parking area to the pond. Joe went and sat on the log that was their fishing bench.
When you throw your cork into the water, circles start small and get bigger, bigger. The summer haze, the bright reflection of the sun off the water makes your eyelids heavy. "Gonna work them finny tribe, old Good Boy," grandpa would tell him. Joe would daydream and watch islets of pond moss float by. Grandpa knew everything about fishing and everything else that was important. Grandpa would know what to do now. Joe tried to clear his mind and float back to the days with Grandpa. But now the haze was in his mind.
Joe finally gave up and went back home. He went to his room. It was no good there, either. He knew what he had to do. He had to see her.
Joe found himself knocking on the door to Polly's house. She opened.
"I came to see Mary," Joe said.
"Mary, lover boy is here," Polly called.
"Do you mind if I see her alone?" Joe asked.
"Sure. Gotta go to work anyway. SOMEbody has to earn the bread." Polly left.
A bedraggled-looking Mary came to the door. "What do you want?" she asked.
"I need to see you. Need to talk to you."
"What is there to say?"
"I don't know. I just had to see you."
"Well, come on in."
Joe came in and sat down on the couch. Mary sat down on the chair opposite. After a long silence, Mary said, "Well, what is it?"
"I don't know where to start. I...she... she just appeared."
"I don't want to talk about her," Mary said.
"I don't know what came over me. I just feel empty."
"You've got everything you want, seems to me."
"But I don't. I...I want you."
"You had me. We had each other. Remember? You're the one who left."
"I know. I know."
"You didn't just want me. You want sex. You wonder why you can't have me. You think about all the other men who have had me -- all my Mom's 'friends.' You wonder why you can't have me like they did. Is that what you want? Have me like they had me?"
Mary suddenly jumped out of her chair and threw off her nightgown. She stood there naked, staring at him through streaming eyes. "There. Is this what you want?"
Joe dropped his head.
"Can't bear to look? I'm not as pretty as her, right? Don't have her knockers, her long blonde hair, her blue eyes. Well, this is me."
"I...I'm sorry," Joe mumbled. He slowly turned, went to the door, down the steps and back to his car. Mary ran into her room, sobbing.
But afterwards, he always felt empty. With Mary, he had wanted to empty himself, all of himself, into her. With Demondra, he just felt empty.
Joe's mother knew something was wrong. She was dying to question Joe about it, but uncharacteristically held back.
Joe had to think. He went to the place he always went when he needed to clear away the dust; make his soul clean. He went to his grandfather's little fish pond.
He drove far out into the country and turned off at the dirt road just past the old grocery store, now converted into a modern gas station/convenience store. After a big field of cotton came a large stand of corn. Joe turned into the narrow dirt track with two ruts and grass growing in between. He drove through the rickety gate and around the field into the clump of trees where the fields end and the atmosphere is cooler and darker. Trees, bushes all around; then up a slight rise to the opening with the turnaround and room to park. The land slopes gently down from the parking area to the pond. Joe went and sat on the log that was their fishing bench.
When you throw your cork into the water, circles start small and get bigger, bigger. The summer haze, the bright reflection of the sun off the water makes your eyelids heavy. "Gonna work them finny tribe, old Good Boy," grandpa would tell him. Joe would daydream and watch islets of pond moss float by. Grandpa knew everything about fishing and everything else that was important. Grandpa would know what to do now. Joe tried to clear his mind and float back to the days with Grandpa. But now the haze was in his mind.
Joe finally gave up and went back home. He went to his room. It was no good there, either. He knew what he had to do. He had to see her.
Joe found himself knocking on the door to Polly's house. She opened.
"I came to see Mary," Joe said.
"Mary, lover boy is here," Polly called.
"Do you mind if I see her alone?" Joe asked.
"Sure. Gotta go to work anyway. SOMEbody has to earn the bread." Polly left.
A bedraggled-looking Mary came to the door. "What do you want?" she asked.
"I need to see you. Need to talk to you."
"What is there to say?"
"I don't know. I just had to see you."
"Well, come on in."
Joe came in and sat down on the couch. Mary sat down on the chair opposite. After a long silence, Mary said, "Well, what is it?"
"I don't know where to start. I...she... she just appeared."
"I don't want to talk about her," Mary said.
"I don't know what came over me. I just feel empty."
"You've got everything you want, seems to me."
"But I don't. I...I want you."
"You had me. We had each other. Remember? You're the one who left."
"I know. I know."
"You didn't just want me. You want sex. You wonder why you can't have me. You think about all the other men who have had me -- all my Mom's 'friends.' You wonder why you can't have me like they did. Is that what you want? Have me like they had me?"
Mary suddenly jumped out of her chair and threw off her nightgown. She stood there naked, staring at him through streaming eyes. "There. Is this what you want?"
Joe dropped his head.
"Can't bear to look? I'm not as pretty as her, right? Don't have her knockers, her long blonde hair, her blue eyes. Well, this is me."
"I...I'm sorry," Joe mumbled. He slowly turned, went to the door, down the steps and back to his car. Mary ran into her room, sobbing.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Chapter 41: Failure
Screwtape's eyes were bulging. The hot liquid in his veins was pumping furiously, making them stand out. He was screaming. "INCOMPETENT! AMATEUR! You call yourself a Demon Most Low! Most Cunning! Most Deceptive! You are most PATHETIC! Couldn't even get inside a simple country girl! The Terror of Devils shamed by a moronic teenager!"
Snakefoot was not accustomed to being dressed up, not even by mid-level low managers. He bit all three of his forked tongues and remained silent; head erect, red eyes glaring unrepentantly at Screwtape. "It's not over," he said when Screwtape finally paused to take a breath. "I never lose."
Snakefoot was not accustomed to being dressed up, not even by mid-level low managers. He bit all three of his forked tongues and remained silent; head erect, red eyes glaring unrepentantly at Screwtape. "It's not over," he said when Screwtape finally paused to take a breath. "I never lose."
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