Just then Ma Chester put her head round the door. “You can eat now,” she said.
The two men wandered into the other room. The table was covered with a soiled newspaper. Old man Chester was already eating. Dillon looked at him with disgust. The old man glanced up and grunted. Ma Chester said, “Don’t you take any notice of him… he’s deaf.”
Dillon jerked a chair out and sat down. The food was poor and coarse.
Roxy said, “You gotta radio here?”
Ma Chester stood over the stove, watching the coffee. She shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “We ain’t got a radio.”
Dillon cut the salty ham angrily. “I thought every farm had a radio,” he said.
“Well, we ain’t,” Ma Chester snapped. “We’re poor, see?”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Dillon snarled.
The shack door opened and a girl came in. Both Roxy and Dillon stopped eating and stared at her. She was big. Her straw-coloured hair hung down to her shoulders. Her dirty cotton dress barely concealed her over-ripe figure. She was as tall as Dillon, with big hands and feet. Her features were regular and good, but the expression on her face and in her eyes was that of a child of seven.
She stood there shifting her feet, looking with scared eyes at the two at the table.
Ma Chester said, “Sit down, Chrissie; these two gentlemen ain’t goin’ to worry you.”
There was a long awkward silence as she shuffled over to the table and sat down. Then with a burst of confidence she said, “Did you come in that big car?”
Dillon glanced over at Roxy. Roxy said, “Yeah, that’s right.”
Chrissie smiled timidly. “We ain’t got a car,” she said, reaching out a large hand for some bread. “Can I go for a ride?”
Ma Chester snapped, “Don’t you worry these gentlemen. You get on an’ eat.”
Chrissie began to bolt her food. She had an enamel mug of milk by her plate, and when she drank Dillon could see the milk running down her chin on to the front of her dress. He was suddenly aware of a sour smell coming from her, the same sort of smell small children have if they’re not looked after. He felt a little sick and pushed his plate away. Then, muttering something, he got up.
Ma Chester said, “Here’s the coffee.” She banged a pot on the table. Dillon reached out and poured himself a cup and took it to the window. When Ma Chester went back to the stove, Chrissie leant forward and scooped the ham Dillon had left on to her plate.
Roxy laid down his knife. “You’re hungry?” he said, for something to say.
She looked at him and gave a pleased little smile. “Yes, I am,” she said. “Will you give me a ride, Mister?”
Roxy nodded. “Sure I will.”
“You be quiet,” Ma Chester said from the stove.
A sudden blank look came over Chrissie’s face and she began to mumble. A little saliva ran down her chin. Ma Chester walked over to her and rapped on the top of her head with her knuckles, just like she was rapping on a door. Chrissie pressed her head against the old woman’s breast, a look of contentment coming over her bovine face.
Ma Chester said to Roxy, “She’s simple, but she’s a good girl. There’s something wrong with her head. She gets like this sometimes. I rap her nut like this, an’ it helps her.” The old woman’s face had softened while she was speaking, and she looked down at the girl with a rough tenderness that quite altered her face.
Roxy sat there staring with a morbid fascination. “She’s quite a big girl, ain’t she?” he said at last.
“She’s eighteen,” Ma Chester told him. “But I guess she’s never grown up.”
Dillon couldn’t stand any more of it. He went outside. The hot sun was fast drying the heavy dew. The ground was steaming a little, and a faint white mist, extending as far as the eye could see, hovered just above the ground. The air smelt good and he was glad to get away from the staleness of the shack.
He walked over to the car and glanced inside. The back seat was stained dark with Myra’s blood. He wrinkled his nose a little. This was a hell of a morning.
Over the way he noticed a well, and he went over and drew a bucket of water. Then, finding some rags under the front seat, he began sponging the mess away. He had just got through and had got rid of the water when Roxy came out.
Dillon looked at him. “I’m goin’ to go nuts in this dump,” he said. “Just wait until that chiseler comes out here…. I’ll kill him.”
Roxy sat on the running-board of the car and lit a cigarette. “Hell,” he said. “It’s somethin’ to be safe, ain’t it?”
“That loony gives me the creeps,” Dillon muttered, shoving the back seat into place.
“Aw, she’s okay…. She’s just a kid really…. You look on her as a kid. She ain’t goin’ to worry you.”
Chrissie came out just then. She edged over to them. “You’ve made the seat all wet,” she said, looking into the back of the car. “Why have you done that?”
Dillon turned away. He spat on the ground. As he moved off, Chrissie said, “I don’t like him,” to Roxy.
Roxy grinned at her. “He’s all right,” he said. “I guess he’s got somethin’ on his mind.”
Chrissie looked puzzled. “What?” she said. “How do you mean, somethin’ on his mind?”
Roxy scratched his head. “You know,” he said; “he’s worried about something.”
“Is that all?” She lost interest. “When are you taking me for a drive, Mister?”
Roxy said, “I can’t take you now. Maybe tomorrow. But not just now. What do you do with yourself all day?”
She stood looking longingly at the car. “Aw, not much,” she said. “I play… I like playing best.”
Roxy eyed her over. He thought it was tough for a fine-looking broad to be so simple. “Well, let’s play at somethin’, shall we?” He felt a little embarrassed, but he was sorry for her.
She looked at him as if making up her mind whether he’d be worth playing with. Then she nodded.
Dillon had made a circuit of the shack and was standing watching them. A curious gleam came into his eye.
“Take her down to the river,” he said. “Get her to swim.” He said out of the corner of his mouth, “Get her goin’. She might be worth lookin’ at.”
Roxy’s face went a deep crimson. “You lay off that,” he said angrily. “This kid’s simple, see? I ain’t standin’ for any of that stuff.”
Dillon stood looking at him, his face sullen. “Aw, go an’ play dolls,” he sneered. “You give me a pain.”
He stood looking after them as they wandered away into the woods.
After two days on the farm Dillon was nearly crazy. He was nervous of walking too far from the thick woods. He was sick of sitting inside watching old man Chester, or listening to Ma Chester singing her son’s praise.
Roxy, for something better to do, had turned his attention to the farm. Dillon was too lazy to do that. Chrissie followed Roxy about like a dog. She had got over her first shyness and Roxy quite liked her. She was amused at most things he said, which flattered him, and she helped him with the work on the farm.
He was quite startled at her strength. She would think nothing of shifting heavy sacks or logs of wood, that made Roxy sweat to move. Under his directions, put in the simplest way, she carried out quite a programme. Sometimes she got bored and began to fool, then Roxy took her off for a walk.
Dillon watched them contemptuously. He made no attempt to join them. Roxy never discussed her when they were alone. Chrissie went to bed around eight o’clock, arid Roxy and Dillon played cards monotonously into the night.
It was Sunday, and Dillon was jittery. Joe Chester was coming out, and he’d have news. Cut away from the radio and the newspapers, neither of the men knew what was going on. Even Roxy couldn’t get up any enthusiasm to play with Chrissie. He hung around the shack doing odd jobs, his eye on the dirt road.