The Beyonders (3 page)

In the cabin that was now his, he hoisted a portable electric refrigerator to a counter beside the sink. Into this he put the eggs, cheese, milk and bacon. Then he trudged back to the store.

The Longcohrs greeted him in chorus. He roamed here and there, finding a broom, a package of soap powder, other things. "Ever since I came into town, I've liked everything I've seen," he said.

Peggy tittered from where she spread handkerchiefs in a stack.

"Gander Eye Gentry was by," said Mrs. Longcohr. "I recollect he said you're a picture-painter."

"I've been trying to be one for years." Crispin took two pairs of white socks from the clothing counter.

"There's money in that, I hear tell," ventured Longcohr.

"Now and then," said Crispin. "Many a good painter has starved in his garret."

"I declare to never," contributed Peggy.

"I'm not really poor," and Crispin's white teeth shone in the neat beard. "Don't worry about me on that score."

He paid for his purchases and went out. Duffy waved in greeting. Crispin went back to his cabin and opened the door and went in.

Somebody sat in the one comfortable chair in his front room. It was a stocky man in a gray tweed jacket. His dark hair grew rankly down on his broad, low brow; his wide, shaven jaw showed slaty. In one hair-matted hand he held a morsel of cheese, in the other a cracker from the torn package on the table.

"I've been waiting for you," he croaked.

"How did you get in here, Struve?" demanded Crispin, clutching the broom.

"Your door was open. I just came in." Deep-set eyes, dark as old lead, quartered over Crispin. "This is good cheese."

"They didn't need to send you to spy on me," said Crispin sharply. "I know what I'm to do here."

"So do they, and so do I," said the man called Struve. "That's why I came down, checked in at an auto court at the county seat. To see that you do what you're sent to do, and report back on how you do it."

Crispin put down the broom and his other purchases. "Why didn't they send you directly on this assignment, and not me."

"I don't suppose I've got the show window you have. Can't make strangers trust me, like you." The croaked words were precise. "But they don't know if you take your duty seriously, if you comprehend the cosmic science and your duty to it."

"Maybe they sent somebody to make sure of you."

"Maybe. But let's stay with you and this place. The Gate's going to open, and you're going to see that it does."

"I know. "

The deep eyes sank in the swarthy face. "Why don't you fry eggs for our supper, and stir in some of this cheese?"

"I'm invited out to supper," said Crispin.

"You always get yourself a welcome," said Struve. "Anywhere."

"You can't stay here," said Crispin. "These people I've met come dropping in."

"If they come to your front door, I'll be out the back one. And I'll keep in touch with you, when nobody else is apt to drop in and wonder what we're talking about."

Crispin drew a deep breath. "Very well."

"But before I go, pay attention to me," said Struve. "For about the tenth or twentieth time, let's go over the matter of these Kimber people."'

III

Gander Eye did not visit the slope beyond Crispin's cabin until next morning. But he rose early to do it, before anyone else might stir out and see him. He took one of his rifles, an old Springfield of the sort the army gave up for the Garand, slid through his back yard, crossed the creek on a jumble of rocks, and plunged into laurel thickets beyond.

He stayed under cover until his hunter's sense told him he was opposite the place. Then he came back at a crouch to the brushy trees he remembered. Carefully he studied the ground for tracks.

He found nothing that he understood as tracks, not even when he felt sure he stood where that soft-shining thing had stood. Then it hadn't been a bear. Not a man, either, for a man's tracks would be easier to see. He peered in all directions before he knelt for a closer look.

Moss at the roots of a locust looked dingy brown. He dropped almost prone to study it. That moss might have been touched with a hot iron. He let his eyes travel to the locust trunk. The bark showed a dull, scorched area, as long as a man's hand. He explored the woods upslope. Laurel leaves seemed shrivelled, and a serviceberry twig was broken and parched brown, too. Then came a clearing, no track in its soft earth. Farther up were rocks, where snakes might haunt. Nothing showed on them except one crumbly scrape.

Gander Eye would be damned if he knew what to do. If he talked to anybody, it would sound like a joke. And whatever had been there yesterday might not be funny. He'd say nothing for the time, but he'd keep his eyes open.

Back at his house, he ate boiled eggs and drank coffee. Through his window he saw Crispin coming along from his cabin, across the bridge, carrying a folded easel, a canvas stool, a shoulder bag of other things. Crispin stopped beside Main Street well away from the church. Fixing a square of canvas to his easel, he sat on the stool and gazed fixedly at the church.

He still sat and gazed late in the morning when Gander Eye drove back from the county seat where he'd been to talk about his taxes. Doc Hannum, in a white linen suit, had paused to see what Crispin was doing. Peggy Longcohr walked over from the store, plump legs twinkling out of her yellow miniskirt. She asked something, and Crispin smiled.

He was on Main Street every day after that, painting a picture of the church. He would stare for an hour or so, then work furiously with his brush, now in his right hand, now in his left. Sky Notch people stopped and told him it was mighty pretty, even when they wondered if they knew what they were talking about. Crispin usually painted all day, stopping at noon to sit in the shade and eat his lunch out of a paper bag. Usually it was a slice of cheese, chunks of rye bread, a few olives, big pulls at a wine bottle. Doc and Gander Eye and Duffy and Slowly all called him Jim, but the Longcohrs still mistered him because he traded there and got mail there, a lot of mail.

Now and then he left his painting and strolled here and there. When he found the Longcohrs fiddling with their stalled old cash register, he took it to pieces and made it run again. Similarly, at Duffy Parr's station, he was able to transfer parts from a junked motor to that of a car of widely different make, fitting them in with bewildering success. And, seeing Bo Fletcher perplexed at restoring the cuckoo to his immemorial Swiss clock, Crispin did it for him. All grateful thanks for such things he smiled away. People were glad he was in Sky Notch.

About sundown of the last Monday in May, a number of people decided to have music and other fun at Longcohr's store. Longcohr and a couple of others pushed the counters back to the walls and hustled crates and bags into corners to clear as much floor as they could. Gander Eye came in as they finished, just too late to give help. He set down his banjo case. Right behind him appeared Slowly with her shiny brown guitar. They sat on old chairs to one side, tuning their instruments with knowing fingers.

Others entered, listening to the twang of the strings. They were all sorts, middle-aged men and women as well as young ones, and two or three oldsters. Mostly they wore overalls and house dresses. But Duffy Parr had a blindingly gaudy Hawaiian shirt and Peggy Longcohr walked in with a bright red blouse and pale blue shorts, her fair hair in a stormy tumble. Young men and older ones stared. One woman clicked her tongue. People sat on counters, on benches, on boxes and upturned buckets.

Doc Hannum and Crispin came in. Voices hailed them both. Doc unlatched his case and brought out his dark fiddle. People had heard him say that it had been his father's. He had refused two hundred and fifty dollars for it. Setting it under his strong chin, he also tuned expertly. He found a chair and sat beside Slowly.

"Let's start with 'Fire in the Mountains,' " said Gander Eye.

He had armed the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand with clawlike banjo picks. He struck experimental chords. Then he stamped his booted left foot, once, twice, again. All of them began playing together. The old song surged balefully. Burning trees crackled in it as it built to its hurried terror of climax,
Fire in the mountains, run, boys, run!
Listeners yelled approval. As the song started again, people got up and quickly formed two sets of dancers. Duffy Parr found Peggy Longcohr pulling him into one set. Grinning above his banjo, Gander Eye called the figures:

"Honor your partner, all hands round,

Do-si-do and up and down.

Ladies go gee and men go haw,

And a thousand miles to Arkansaw ..."

They danced skillfully, swiftly. Applause at the end. Gander Eye flashed his teeth, and Slowly bowed above her guitar.

"That was splendid," said Crispin, walking to the musicians. "You're artists. You deserve to be heard farther away."

"This is far enough," said Doc. "Do you pick any instrument, Jim? How would you like to sit in?"

Someone called for Gander Eye to sing. The others backed him in "I Wish I Was Some Little Sparrow." Duffy Parr trembled at the last verse:

"Bat had I known before I courted

That you would be so cruel to me,

I'd locked my heart in a silver locket

And closed it with a golden key."

"Where did you hear that one?" demanded Crispin.

"I reckon from my grandsire, he knew a right many tunes."

"But it's in
Percy's Reliques.
Bishop Percy published it more than two hundred years ago, and it was old then."

"I've that book at home," said Doc. "I'll look it out for you, Gander Eye."

More people were coming in, a dozen upstanding men and women in what looked like clothes homesewn of dull goods. Among them towered a tall figure with a blizzard of white beard.

"Captain Kimber," said Doc, getting up to shake hands. "Glad you came, your folks, too. Let me introduce you to James Crispin, he's been painting pictures here in Sky Notch."

"Hidy," said Captain Kimber. He took Crispin's slender hand in his own great fingers. "Doc, we more or less heared you all the way to our place. Thought we'd come and hark at you."

He greeted the Longcohrs gravely, nodded to Duffy, to Mayor Ballinger, as at a formal ceremony. He and his companions found places to sit, or lounged in corners and against walls. They were impressive, all of them, handsome men and comely women. "I wish you'd play something where Doc could use his fiddle," said Captain Kimber.

They played "Orange Blossom Special," the evocation of the hurrying train. Doc's fiddle carried the melodic rhythm; Gander Eye tweaked his strings for the sound of the tolling bell. Captain Kimber stalked across to praise it. "Long time since I've seen a train," he said.

"Long time between trains these days," said Gander Eye. "If you want to ride somewheres, you take the bus."

"I don't want to ride nowheres," the Captain assured him.

"I want to know you and your people," ventured Crispin.

"We keep a right much to ourselves."

"But you're friends with Doc and Gander Eye."

"Doc gives us medicine and all like that," said Captain Kimber. "And we rent Gander Eye's land from him on shares."

"Them tomatoes and corn and potatoes, you never seen the like," said Gander Eye. "I work with them folks now and then, to be neighborly."

"I'd do the same, for the same reason," offered Crispin.

Captain Kimber did not seem to hear. "Gander Eye," he said, "play a tune one time and just let our crowd dance it. Would these others mind?"

"Not them." Gander Eye rose. "Hark at me," he called loudly. "Captain Kimber's folks want to do their dance to help along, so let's just sit and watch. What'll we play you, Captain?"

"How about 'When the Stars Begin to Fall'?"

"That's a hymn tune."

"We dance it."

Gander Eye stamped his foot to give the time, and they struck into the old, minor-keyed mountain-spiritual. The Kimbers flowed into the open space, forming a circle, men and women alternating. They began to dance, gliding rather than gyrating with the song:

"Sinner, what will you do

When the stars begin to fall?"

Captain Kimber stood in the center of the circle. His feet stirring in time, he turned this way and that. His hands gestured, somewhat as though he conducted an orchestra. The circle moved around him, left to right, the dancers moving in and out, always keeping time and place.

"You'll hide from the light on the mountain When the stars begin to fall."

Guided by the Captain's moving hands, the circle tightened and closed toward him, made almost a cloak around him, all bowing close to him. Then they drew back to their first formation.

Slowly had put down her guitar and risen. She moved to join the circle. They made a space for her. Next moment, as though she had called him, Crispin was in the circle on the opposite side. They moved rhythmically with the others.

"You'll wish you had salvation When the stars begin to fall."

The circle made its wide turn, made it again, once more drew in close around the Captain. All bowed and backed away.

"My Lord, what a morning

When the stars begin to fall."

Spread to full extent, the circle moved counterclockwise, then drew in yet again, all bowing inward to Captain Kimber and backing away. The music came to a sudden end, and the circle broke up. Captain Kimber stood in the center of the floor. He looked at Crispin, and Crispin looked back at him. Everyone else looked at both of them, not knowing what to expect.

They had the only two beards in the room, the Captain's like a great white curtain, Crispin's short and brushed and brown.

"Where did you learn our dance?" the Captain asked, in a voice like water running deep in a cave.

"I didn't learn it," replied Crispin evenly. "I watched, and it didn't seem so much like a set of dance figures as a sort of multiple self-expression. I've seen Greeks do something like that, and Basque shepherds in Wyoming."

"The Greeks are sure enough old people," said Captain Kimber.

"So are the Basques," Crispin told him. "Some scientists think they go all the way back to Cro-Magnon man, the Stone Age."

Captain Kimber gazed at Crispin with level blue eyes under white-thatched brows. "Usually nobody butts in on our dancing," he said. "Might could be you meant all right, but you'd ought to inquire us if you could."

Crispin smiled disarmingly. "If I'd asked, maybe you'd have said no. But I've heard of you people, and I want to know you well." Again he smiled. "About the way you worship—your baptizing, for instance."

Absolute silence fell. Several Kimber men seemed to glare. Captain Kimber stroked his beard.

"You make yourself sound good," he pronounced, then fell silent himself, with his face going into deep lines of thought. He might have been extracting a square root in his mind. Finally:

"These here Sky Notch folks let on to like you." The great bearded head turned. "Is that a fact, Slowly?"

"Mr. Crispin's all right, Captain," said her gentle voice.

"Well, let's see. It's the full of the moon day after tomorrow night. Slowly, it's for you to say. If you want to come over, you can fetch him with you."

Everybody breathed deeply. It may have been relief, more likely it was amazement. No such permission had ever been given anyone from Sky Notch, not even Doc, not even Gander Eye. Captain Kimber walked over to the chairs where Doc and Gander Eye sat.

"Why not some more music?" he asked. "Somebody else might could want to stomp out a dance. "

"Why, sure," said Doc. "What'll we play, Gander Eye?"

"Let's try 'Arkansas Traveller.' "

They swung into the lively tune together. People got up and formed fours. Duffy made a step toward Slowly, reaching for her, but she had already taken Crispin's hand. The dancers moved into figures as Gander Eye called them:

"Right and left . . . swing your partner . . . bird in a cage . . . down the middle . . ."

The Kimbers stood off and watched courteously. When the dance was finished, the Kimbers applauded. Everybody applauded except for Duffy Parr. He had gone into the shadows at the back, drinking unhappily all by himself.

The music and dancing were over. It was past midnight. Gander Eye and Duffy sat in the lean-to behind Duffy's station where Duffy ate and slept and sometimes sold blockade. Its walls were of imitation wood panelling, dull gray and hung with clothes and cooking utensils and calendars for this year, the year before, and the year before that. Above the square table where they sat hung a naked electric lamp, blazing white as a midwinter star. Duffy drank some clear blockade from a fruit jar. A drop hung to his chin like a tear.

"I'm done for, Gander Eye," he said lifelessly. "Done for and out in the cold."

Gander Eye took the jar and sipped in turn. "Hark at me, Duffy, have you seen some sort of strange thing using 'round in the woods here? Maybe as big as a big calf, with a softly shine to it and leaves no tracks?"

"Don't go asking me no crazy riddles. I'm telling you a fact, my heart's broke. I ain't got nothing left to live for, no way." He shut one eye to gaze more directly at the table top. Even his gaudy shirt seemed subdued. "You don't know aught about this here kind of thing, Gander Eye. You want a girl, you always get her."