“From the mill?”
“One and the same. John McBride. I don’t know him.”
“What’s it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said the mayor disappeared. To where?”
“No one knows. Some think he ran off with a woman. It’s anybody’s guess.” Sunset frowned. “Now my head is starting to hurt.”
Sunset studied the maps, studied the dates on the papers that declared ownership.
“They charged Zendo more an acre than was paid for this other land, which is right next to him. See?”
“So?”
“They charged him more because he’s colored.”
“That happens,” Hillbilly said.
“It shouldn’t.”
“World is full of shouldn’ts, dear. Most of the time what goes on is what folks can get away with. That’s my rule of thumb.”
“Something else. Zendo’s land shows two hundred and seventy-five acres. That’s how it’s drawn out on the map from the grave. But on this other map, it shows a piece of Zendo’s land being part of the land owned by Henry, the mayor and this McBride fella.”
“Maybe Zendo sold it to them.”
“Maybe. But the dates on all the papers are the same. Looks to me, Pete had the originals in the grave, and these are the replacements, and they’ve slightly altered Zendo’s land.”
“Wouldn’t he notice?”
“Buy a chunk that big, someone else wants it, white men, they could have had it surveyed the way they want. That way, Zendo wouldn’t know they shaved off what looks like twenty-five acres. It’s all trees along the border there, or mostly, so he could get fooled. He’s pretty much got to take their word for things anyway. They robbed him with some little red flags and a marker on a piece of paper, and he probably doesn’t even know it.”
“So this whole map thing is about stealing some nigger’s land.”
“Looks that way-Hillbilly, don’t call Zendo that. ‘Colored’ is polite.”
“Whatever you like. But I still don’t see why your husband was hiding this in a dead baby’s grave.”
“Me either.”
Sunset folded up the maps from the cardboard boxes and put them in the tin box.
“You lied,” Hillbilly said.
“Law business. I’m not going to bother to explain to Miss Pendulum. I don’t want any more folks knowing about this than need to know. Whatever it means.”
“You are a sneaky one.”
“And pretty too. Plug says so.”
“Plug is right.”
Sunset laced the cardboard containers up, put them back in place, and left, Hillbilly carrying the metal box from the grave.
23
When Clyde got out to Zendo’s place, most of his anger had gone away. He could see why Sunset would prefer Hillbilly to him in the looks department, but she wasn’t considering his worth. Course, he had a burned-down house and an about-to-fall-apart pickup and was living under a tarp, but inside he was as good as anybody and better than most. He had plenty of goddamn worth. He was certain of that. Or pretty certain. Certain enough.
He drove with the windows down so that the wind blew away some of his stink. The night before he had slept under the tarp on a pallet on the ground, and during the night he had rolled off of it and gotten filthy, and when morning came, he wasn’t up to washing off in cold well water and didn’t have time to heat it, and if he had, all the bathtub he had was a number ten tub. Sometimes, he got in that tub, he had a hard time getting out, big as he was. It was like that damn tub stuck to his ass. The larger tub, the long one he kept on the back porch, he’d forgotten to save in the fire. It had melted.
That aside, one thing was certain, he wasn’t going to win any points with Sunset if he didn’t bathe.
When he got to Zendo’s field, Zendo was in a row, plowing. It was a narrow row between corn high as an elephant’s eye and green as fresh grass. Zendo was using only one mule. He was plowing in the opposite direction, so Clyde leaned against the tree where Zendo ate his lunch and waited until he came to the end of the row and started back around another.
As he came, Clyde saw Zendo raise a hand in greeting, and keep plowing. Clyde waited for the long run to end, and when Zendo pulled the mule out of the field and tied the lines to the plow, Clyde came forward and shook his hand.
“How you doing, Clyde?”
“Hanging low and to the left.”
“Least you hanging. Get out there, plow a few rows of this business, them doodads will suck up.”
“No plowing for me,” Clyde said. “I had that job once and the mules run off. I was working for Old Man Fitzsimmons, and he wasn’t none too happy. I spent the day chasing mules and didn’t get no real plowing done. He fired me.”
Zendo chuckled. “Well, now, you come all the way out here to tell me about chasing mules?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“Constable sent me. Who owns the land next to you, Zendo?”
“I don’t rightly know. Ain’t never seen anyone over there, but I heard trucks along the road back there. Well, I did see Mr. Pete there a couple times, riding along.”
“How’d you see him?”
“Now, don’t tell on me, Clyde, but there’s a little pond over there, and I thought I’d try some fishing. It’s fed from a creek, so I thought it might be ripe with fishes. Wasn’t. But I was down there fishing when I heard a car and seen it was Mr. Pete.”
“There’s a road there?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Is that where you took the baby’s body?”
“I’m ashamed to say it was.”
“Hey, I was in your shoes, knowing how white people can be, I might have done the same.”
“You’re white.”
“Partly. Part of me is Indian. And lot of me is contrary. Can you show me where you put the baby? It might be important. I’m not sure why, but it might be, and Sunset-the constable-wants me to look around.”
Zendo took Clyde for a walk through the woods. It was a long walk and it was so warm, breathing was like sucking in cotton balls. It was some time before they came to the pond Zendo told him about. It wasn’t very large, and you could see where the creek fell into it. The pond water was dark and scummed over and no vegetation grew in it and growth was thin around it.
“Can’t believe you thought anything was in that hole. A snake maybe.”
“I was just hoping.”
They went around the pond, through some brush, came out through a split in the trees. A narrow road twisted between the pines, curved into them again, ran out of sight.
“I put the pot with the baby in it right here,” Zendo said. “Figured maybe Mr. Pete would see it. Or someone. Didn’t think about it being tracked back to me. Clyde, you think maybe we could go back? I ain’t never been no farther than this, and shouldn’t have been that far. Could be a white man’s property.”
“You’re with me.”
“I am, but you’re different. Some other white man see me over here, might think I’m getting too big for my britches. Besides, I got lots of plowing to do, and that ole mule only stand so long before it wants to try and get loose of that tree I tied it to.”
“I understand. I’m going to look around.”
Zendo walked away, and Clyde strolled down the road. He hadn’t gone far when the trees disappeared and there was just a stretch of land where sickly saw grass and a lot of pathetic yellow weeds grew.
Clyde saw sunlight gleaming off something on the ground, walked over there, found the saw grass was mushy beneath his feet. He thought at first it was water running under his shoes, but it was too dark for water, even stagnant water.
He bent over, stuck his fingers in the stuff, rubbed them smoothly together. He smelled his fingers, knew then what was under him.
Moving forward a bit, the ground became softer and the grass disappeared. Seeping up through the ground was something dark and slimy-looking and the sunlight striking it made it look blue. Dead dragonflies and frogs and even a bird were in the seep and they were slicked over with it.