You can go on use my newspaper there to stop your flow, a woman said. I used to do it myself on occasion. Usually read it first, though.
Evavangeline spun. It was a bent little woman in black. White hair glowing under a black veil which obscured her features.
I’m sorry, the girl said. It come on me quick.
Do you get cramps?
Nome. Jest get a good ole hearty flood, then it’s done.
My mother used to say, Aunt Flo’s come to visit.
Evavangeline wished she’d had a momma to say wise things. Or a daddy one.
Well, it’s a nickel, the woman said.
What is?
That newspaper.
Shit I ain’t got no nickel. Can I take it out in trade? Maybe get a meal, too? I ain’t eat in a number of days. Who’s that?
That was my husband, the lady said of the dead man. He was killed yesterday early in the three o’clock hour by a murdering devil and his gang of swine.
The woman indicated that Evavangeline follow her and they passed from the foyer into a parlor bathed in amber light through the drapes and sat together on the cushy fainting sofa.
What the hell’s going on here? asked the girl.
Through the window, she saw women gathered in the street. A dozen maybe.
The lady crossed her legs and made a steeple of her fingers on her knees and cleared her throat.
My name is Mrs. Tate. I’ll answer all your questions, if you’ll answer mine. Now. One. What’s your name?
Evavangeline.
Is that your given name?
Well. Somebody give it to me.
Who did?
How long does this last?
Not much longer. What’s your Christian name?
My what?
Your last name.
I ain’t got nare.
The woman frowned. How old are you?
Perty old.
Where are your mother and father?
Dead I reckon. I never knew em.
The women outside had congregated on the porch. One separated and came inside.
Miss Evavangeline, Mrs. Tate said, this is Mrs. Hobbs. Mrs. Hobbs, I’m just interviewing Miss Evavangeline here. For our position. You ladies can go on back to your dead.
Mrs. Hobbs nodded and left the room and reported to the others who disbanded and disappeared.
Well, said Mrs. Tate. We’ve been needing someone like you in our town.
Somebody like me what?
To draw men in. If we can clean you up, get you some decent clothes.
Evavangeline looked down at herself. Her hands on her thighs. She had blood under her fingernails, no idea whose.
Why can’t ye draw men in ye self?
We’re most of us too old. We have six women of childbearing years. Three were killed yesterday, along with all our men. We need husbands now. We need men to guard us. To do man’s work, grow the sugarcane. Someone as young as you…
Well, I can sure as hell whore, the girl said. I need to git some money together, you see, cause I got a bunch of younguns—
Children? The woman had seized Evavangeline’s forearm. I’m sorry. She unclenched and leaned back and poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one swallow under her veil. Her voice when it came was managed. Did you say you were guardian of children?
I was, Evavangeline said, if ye’d let me finish my damn story. Like I was saying. I got them children, rescued em from a dyke and her raper of a husband—nearest I can tell, her and that raper was stealing em to sell. So there I was trying to get em home when they jest up and lit out on me. I ought to of looked for em but I been in a hurry.
They were in the orphanage west of town? Where are the children now?
That’s enough questions. Now it’s my turn. Who the hell is E. O. Smonk?
The lady looked out the window behind her, as if he might be eavesdropping. He’s…a curious creature.
Do what?
Some citizens claim he’s of the devil but I say there’s no of about it, he is the devil. He bought a big sugarcane farm out east of here a year ago. We were all glad at first, so few men about, but then he started in on us. One by one we ran afoul of his peculiar temper and we’ve all suffered injustice upon injustice at his hands. By his hands. She stood. But I don’t want to talk about him any more. Did you say you were hungry?
Yeah. For some biscuits and gravy. Some meat if ye got it. I can eat a lot, too. As much as ye can make. Also, I like to take my food out and eat it away from ever body. If ye don’t mind.
Well, why don’t ye go on up the stairs to that second door while I go get it ready. You can get all cleaned up. Change your clothes. Just make sure you don’t go in the first door.
Only the advent of her monthlies in conjunction with her hunger sent her upstairs. Mrs. Tate had gone toward the kitchen and Evavangeline paused at the first door. She checked behind her for the old woman and then turned the knob. It was dark when she entered, smell of piss. Someone wheezing. She nearly slipped on the floor crossing to open the heavy drapes. When she flung them back, light flooded the room.
A shriveled white man-thing roped to a filthy mattress convulsed when the sun hit it. Unnnnng, it said.
She slid the window up and stuck out her head and took in a breath of air and saw below her a pile of dead dogs at the edge of the cane. A woman in black pouring kerosene on the pile looked at her. Evavangeline stepped back and adjusted the drapes to regulate the light. She went to the thing on the bed and frowned at it. Its face chalky and cracked. It didn’t have teeth and kept pulling back its lips to show rotten yellow gumwork. The eyes opaque in a way she’d seen before. She bent and looked closely into them. When she reached to touch its cheek it tried to bite her.
Shit, she said, and hurried out.
The room next door was the frilliest she’d ever seen. She could have walked into Hell’s furnace and been less surprised. Frilly curtains with frilly lace and frilly pillows on the bed and a frilly quilt. A fringed rug underfoot that you damn near sank in, it was so soft. There was a dark slab of furniture against one wall with a pair of fancy doors she creaked opened.
Hell Mary. She’d never seen so many frilly dresses and of such colors that smelled so perty. It was like breathing a cloud. Violet and pink and bright yellow and roses sewn from lovely cloth. Blouses and skirts with stitching so fine you’d be able to see the skin underneath. Her plan, which she was still forming, would involve getting food and medicine and sneaking off to the children. Not bringing them back here, hell no. Maybe it was a town full of witches. She’d heard of those from Alice Hanover. She’d keep her guard up. Look at this perty dress here. Shorter, show a little calf-leg. She unhung it from its peg and slipped the dead crow hunter’s boots off and stuck the knife in the wall and shucked the pants she’d stolen from Shreveport and that floppy gray shirt with the knife slits and stood naked before the mirror stand.
A knock came from the hall and she went and opened the door, uncaring of her nakedness.
Oh, Mrs. Tate said, holding a glass. I came to see if you were thirsty, and if you wanted a bath while I got dinner ready.
The gal took the glass and drank it.
The bath’s this way, said the lady. Still naked, Evavangeline followed her down the candlelit hall past a line of closed doors into a room with pulled drapes and a tin washtub centered on a rug. There was a partition for changing and a toilet table with colored puff-bottles and powders and brushes and combs in neat rows. Evavangeline chewed her nails and watched the woman move boiling pots of water from the fireplace and pour them in and soon found herself steaming in sweet bubbles with Mrs. Tate behind her scrubbing her shoulders with a long brush and trickling hot oils on her neck and rubbing soap into her scalp.
You need to let your hair grow out more, she said.
Ummm, said the gal. She felt like going to sleep but the scar from Ned was starting to itch like hell. She tried to rise but Mrs. Tate’s hands held her down. Shhh, the old woman said.