Truth in Blue Moonlight

Excerpt from Americn Rainbow

Tallahatchie DeBow has been drawn, sculpted, painted, written, and sung about since the beginning of time. There are crude but beautiful finger paintings of her in the ancient caves that spat early man out into the fray. She was the muse for the first civilization and the tenet of the first religion. Amboy sat next to her in the second grade and he’s loved her every day since.

“What was it like in the Knut House?” Some of Amboy’s smile faded and it’s authenticity strained to stay upturned in the corners. She could tell it was a touchy subject. Pleasant, Tallahatcie’s materialistic and pretentious mother, in her lifelong effort to perfect Tallahatchie’s social refinement, had taught her how to smile under any circumstance. Tallahatchie had a Ph.D. in facial expressions. Amboy struggled to remain genuine but eyes and smiles never lie. He was somewhere between Tipsy Stewardess and Tired Waitress. Her manners told her to change the subject but her curiosity wasn’t having it. “Were you scared? I wondered about you every day.”

Amboy thought he’d live his whole life and never have to tell Tallahacthie about the nuthouse.

Though he had no reason to be embarrassed about his stay there, his shame didn’t care. That said, Wild Turkey and Pabst Blue Ribbon had stripped Amboy of most of his apprehension. And, Tallahatchie’s own smile — a smile that would walk him across hot coals if she asked — had disarmed the tripwires and obstacles in his discretionary boundaries and laid bare his soul. If that wasn’t true, it sure felt like it was.

“Uh…I…” He stumbled over his words and wished she’d save this question for someone else. Someone more noetic and intellectually agile than himself. Most folks already suspected he was batshit crazy. If Tallahatchie wasn’t one of them, his answer might push her in that direction.

“I won’t tell nobody,” Tallahatchie promised.

“It’s not that. I just don’t know where to start.” Amboy pulled the tab on two more beers and handed one to Tallahatchie. “I was too young to be put in that place, I know that. I was the only kid in there. Guess they didn’t know what else to do with me. They didn’t spend a lotta time trying to figure something out, either. They couldn’t have done less for me if they’d tried.”

“Mama says it’s filled with psycho-killers and sex fiends?”

Amboy felt no malice or judgment in the way she asked the questions. She seemed genuinely interested in the way people who have had too much to drink get genuinely interested in things.

“I don’t know. I think most of the people in there are just lost. I think they got confused somewhere along the line and never snapped out of it. Truth is, the only people in there who are intentionally cruel are the people put there to help. Most of the people in there ’cause they hurt somebody, didn’t know they were doing anything wrong. Who knows what color the sky is when all your wires are crossed?”

“Did they hurt you?” Her own smile faded. Tallahatchie was beginning to wish she’d listened to her manners. She remembered how lost and innocent Amboy looked on the day they took him away.

Amboy paused and looked thoughtfully at his beer. He’d never, thus far, found the storied answer at the bottom of a beer, but it didn’t discourage him from looking every once in a while.

“One time, a long time ago, before the Knut House, I found some mice hiding under an old tire. Just the mama and her babies. Scared the shit outta me really. I wasn’t expecting it. She stared at me and I stared back.” Amboy shook his head and gave the Tired Waitress another shot. “We just stared at each other. Finally, I put the tire back over ’em. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she wasn’t scared. She didn’t look scared. I think my presence confused her. A giant had come along and peeled back the roof of her world and was peering down on her and her babies. She probably wasn’t expecting that.

The next day, I took her a handful of sunflower seeds. The look on her face had stuck with me all day long. I felt sorry for her. When I lifted the tire, there she was, her and her little pink babies. Just like the day before, except, their little heads were missing. She’d chewed the heads off her babies and ate ’em. She had killed her own babies. She was still chewin’ on the last one. Again, she wasn’t scared; she just kept nibblin’ away.

The evil of it overwhelmed me. I stomped on her. I paid her back for her crime, ya know? I brought justice to her. Later, Winkler told me that mice and hamsters and the like will protect their young by eating them. Put ’em back in their belly. At least the ones in Scotland do. He couldn’t say for certain if American mice felt the same way, but he suspected they did. He said they get confused and don’t know any better. He said that nature isn’t equally generous with sensibility; we can’t all be rocket surgeons. She did what she thought was right. She did what she thought was right, and I punished her for it.”

Amboy took a long drink of Pabst and double-checked the bottom of the can for the answer to life.

“There was a lady in the nuthouse who killed her three kids. Agnes was her name. Shot ’em right in the heart. Somehow, she’d gotten it in her head that the end of the world was at hand and Lyndon Baines Johnson was Satan in the flesh. She figured if she killed them before LBJ had a chance to corrupt their souls, they would go straight to heaven. One at a time, she shot her kids. Snuck up on ’em while they were sleeping. She thought she was doin’ them a favor. She did what she thought was right. Sometimes I wonder if she wasn’t.

Well, they beat her to death. Nurse Beecher, and Lil’ Joe, and Hoss, they beat her to death. Not all at once, but a little at a time. They killed her because she wasn’t right in the head. Her answers were different from their answers and it scared them. Just like that mouse scared me.” Amboy looked into Tallahatchie’s eyes. “You need to watch out for that little-at-a-time stuff, it will catch up with you.” D.B. was killing Tallahatchie a little at a time. Amboy suspected it. Tallahatchie was certain of it.

“I think Agnes was glad to go when she finally went,” Amboy added. He realized he hadn’t really answered her question, but he didn’t think she really wanted to know what truly went on at the Knut House. Besides, most of the speculation people had about the place was accurate enough in one way or another. It would serve no one to nitpick details. “Most of the folks in the nuthouse are confused.” Amboy shook his head. “Think of it. The strength it must take to throw that first shovel of dirt into your child’s grave, or to put the first bullet in their heart, or eat their head off…staggering, ain’t it?”

Tallahatchie decided she would trust her manners more in the future. She changed the subject and worked hard to get Amboy’s smile back. They spoke of lighter, happier things. Both of them felt they were in no position to claim authority on light and happy topics, but they did their best. Tallahatchie ignored Amboy’s sad eyes and Amboy overlooked her black eye.

It was dark outside the next time either of them bothered to look. They had talked — and drank — the day away. Tallahatchie scooted closer to Amboy and placed her head on his shoulder. “I wish they wouldn’t have sent you away. Things would sure be different.” Both of them knew what she meant and both of them knew it wasn’t true. Even if Amboy hadn’t been sent off to the booby hatch, Tallahatchie still would have married D.B. DeBow. That outcome had been carved in stone without either of them having a say in the matter.

“Yep, things would have surely been different,” he lied.

“Are you sweet on me, Amboy?” It was a question Tallahatchie would ask of him from time to time.

“I think I am.” It was the answer Amboy would give her from time to time.

“I love you, Amboy, always have. I didn’t know it, but I did. I was waiting on a foolish dream, and then D.B…” Tallahatchie let her words trail off. D.B. was the last person on earth she wanted to think about at that moment. Amboy was cute when he was drunk. His smile was back.

She twirled a finger in her hair. A gesticulation, that on the surface looked innocent and absentminded, but was, in fact, as strategic as a Russian chess master sacrificing a bishop. It was a gesture that had been perfected by women over centuries, possibly as far back as Eve. It spoke volumes, and it hypnotized men.

Amboy was unaware of this.

“I don’t think waiting on a dream is foolish,” he said.

“Do you want me, Amboy?” This was the first time she’d ever asked this question. Somehow, and perhaps only momentarily, Tallahatchie felt like the Tallahatchie she was before D.B. DeBow. She felt precocious and cute, assertive and free. She wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as she could.

Amboy hadn’t been prepared for such an offer, so it hung in the air next to his naivety.

“If you want me you can have me.”

Amboy leaned away from her as if her words were too big and suddenly filled up all the space between them. Tallahatchie kissed him before he could get away. It was the third time in his life that he’d been kissed, and all three times belonged to Tallahatchie.

Each one had felt like a match against his skin. He knew — that he thought — that he had something to say — but the heat of the kiss threw the proverbial monkey wrench into his thinking.

“Will you take me to bed?” Though it was a whisper, the words rang in his ears like a gong. Tallahatchie stood up and pulled the dazed Amboy to his feet. Gripping his index finger like the handle on a leash, she led him to the back of the trailer. Back where his bed was. The bed where he’d made love to Tallahatchie a thousand times. This time, however, it would be different. This time, she would be physically present.

Words like adultery, and fornication, and infidelity, and cheating, and hanky-panky rattled around in his head, but strangely, they only applied to him. The goddess in front of him, pulling him along, was as pure as the driven snow. Amboy’s feet ignored the words and plodded behind her clumsily — and eagerly — and obediently.

Had she been a Praying Mantis, or a Black Widow, and he knew for a fact that he would not be getting out the situation alive, he would have fought ten men for the privilege of dying at Tallahatchie’s hand.

At the foot of the bed, Tallahatchie unbuttoned the work shirt Amboy had loaned her, and let it slide away from her body. Her movements were slow and deliberate and designed to seduce. In that moment, she wanted all of Amboy’s attention.

Amboy tried to think of everything else in the world besides Tallahatchie. He feared it would all be over before it started. Naked, she was more beautiful than he ever imagined. A Gregorian chant filled his ears while Keith Moon played a drum solo in his chest.

Tallahatchie had disrobed with the grace of a gazelle. Amboy fell over twice trying to get his boots off.

It was passionate and frantic, but nothing like the rutting animal actions Tallahatchie was used to with D.B. Her husband reeked of Noxzema. Amboy smelled of mahogany; like copper and field cotton, not girly soaps and scotch. Amboy filled her and stirred a desire in her she’d never before known. She wanted to give more of herself to him. She grabbed his hips and pulled him hard against her. She couldn’t get enough of him, and, for the first time, Tallahatchie made love.

For the first time…ever, Amboy made love. He wished he’d done more research on the subject. He grit his teeth and threw himself against a failing dam. Pressure was building. Tallahatchie seemed to have a curious tongue, it explored every surface of his mouth. He chased her tongue with his. Her touch was electric, and her skin was softer than anything he’d ever felt. Pressure was building and cracks were forming along the base of the dam. He thought of baseball statistics; how to replace the brake shoes on a ’57 Chevy; mowing Grandma March’s lawn; he thought of Cody Buck chasing the Comanchero around the trailer house, anything to prolong the moment.

The dam burst and the valley below it was destroyed! Tallahatchie seemed not to notice. She continued on through the floodwaters searching for survivors.

They made love for hours, eventually, Amboy was able to concentrate on Tallahatchie and forget about baseball scores and Grandma March’s lawn. He explored every square inch of her body until he knew her by heart. She tasted salty-sweet like Mexican candy. Finally, they fell asleep, legs and arms tangled up. Every effort spent and happy.

It was still dark when Tallahatchie woke. The moonlight washed their naked bodies in blue. They looked perfect together. Now that she had allowed herself to truly look at him, Amboy was the most beautiful man she’d ever known. Before, sometimes, when she’d see him at work or around town, it hurt to look at him and she didn’t know why. She thought it was something else. Perhaps, pity. Now, in the blue moonlight, she knew exactly what it was. She truly loved him.

In the blue moonlight, everything was clear. Every detail. She also noticed something was missing. Something big. The shame she felt after copulating with D.B. was noticeably absent.

It had been a long time since that which was awakening in her was last awake. Even with a rivulet of Amboy’s seed traveling across her thigh, she felt no shame — or guilt for that matter. She’d been shackled to guilt her entire life.

For nearly an hour, she watched the rise and fall of Amboy’s chest. His steady breathing made her feel safe, but she knew it was an illusion. It was the uneasy peace that comes with waking up to an early morning thunderstorm. The patter of soft rain right before the tornado sirens. She would never be safe with Amboy. Neither would he. Just by being with him, she was ensuring his death. As surely as holding a gun to his head. D.B. was going to kill her, there was no doubt in her mind about that. She’d resigned herself, long ago, that she’d die at the hands of D.B. DeBow. If not for this night, then something trivial and domestic, but there was no reason Amboy had to die, too. She thought about Agnes killing the ones she loved to keep them safe.

She gathered her pajamas from the bathroom floor and crept through the trailer, looking for a phone. She would catch hell from Pleasant, but she felt she could put off her own homicide for a few more days if she stayed with her mama.

Pleasant picked up on the first ring, her voice was panicked and relieved at the same time. Curt and to the point, Tallahatchie made it clear that she was not going to explain anything over the phone and if Pleasant wanted answers to her questions, she would have to come and get her. When she hung up the phone, she felt empowered, but she knew that would not be the case on the ride home. Pleasant would be lighting her ass up the entire way. As per usual, Pleasant would maintain a distance from reality and remain utterly oblivious to the true danger of Tallahatchie’s predicament. She would overlook the black eye D.B. had given her and the blood on her pajamas, and fret over the likelihood of her daughter’s divorce from the richest man in town.

“In that moment of clarity, right after the orgasm, the Devil’s laughter is heard. Do ya know who said that, son?” Cody Buck rubbed the palms of his hands together excitedly. It looked as though someone was about to give him a slice of his favorite pie. “Arthur Schopenhauer said that. You’re havin’ a moment of clarity, Boy. Don’t sweat it, D.B. ain’t gonna know ya fucked her. No one misses a slice off a cut loaf.” Cody Buck was absolutely beaming with pride. “Goddamn, I knew you had it in ya!” Cody Buck knew what had taken place the moment he saw Amboy’s face.

Amboy smiled sheepishly yet proudly. He couldn’t help it. Tallahatchie was gone, but he had spent damn near twenty-four hours alone with her. He could now die a happy man.

“Now that you have the fish on the line, ya need to reel her in. Git yer ass outta bed and let’s go fetch her before the sumbitch finds her.”

“Nah, we’re not going to do that. She had second thoughts and she made her choice. She probably feels guilty as hell about what happened. For Christ’s sake, I turned her into an adulteress.”

“Adulteress? What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout, Boy? What are you, a fifteenth-century Quaker all of a sudden? This is 1974, son, and you just became a man. Now, let’s go fetch your woman!”

“No. She made up her mind, I’m not going to try and change it.”

“Goddamn, I stayed out hunting that fucking Indian all night for nuthin’. You truly are a disappointment.”

“The Comanchero’s a myth.” Amboy scratched his sleepy hair. “Still, it was nice you gave us some time alone.”

“A Myth? So is the part about you becoming a man, I guess.”