Torrance 3421
Guest ministers were a regular fixture at our services. Some came from as far away as California, Boliva or China while others came from across town. As Rev. Jones went on and on about the pending nomination of several new elders my mind drifted. First, I thought about Henry Braun. I heard his voice for the first time since childhood while sitting in this very chair. To think about twenty years as both a long period of time as well as a short period of time makes all the sense in the world.
I thought back further. I was into my third year as a teamster in the oil fields. Nathan Boles sat on his blanket opposite of me. Boles was in the 123rd with me and he was at least a decade older. Some of his actions and comments easily placed him as the most prolific shirker of the entire regiment. He constantly complained about everything, including Colonel Clark, which I didn’t appreciate. He’d go out on wood detail and somehow always managed to do the least amount of work imaginable, yet when it was time for some action or a something even remotely dangerous, he’d somehow manage to be out gathering wood in the exact opposite direction. Boles was known as the sort of character to hang in the shadows just for a thrill, but the second any real trouble arose he was out of site. He used to impress the whores with his seductive stretches. He was a lanky fella. He’d bend to the ground and keep his legs straight and his back straight and he could lay the palms of his hand on the ground. And just when it looked like he could hold it no longer he’d smoothly let up and stand erect. The ladies and the other kind noticed. It’s probably why he can get some of these women to do anything for him.
He got the hankering for wandering and looting while he was off during Sherman’s March through the south. Boles had a cousin from St. Louis who was there hanging around the flanks. Supposedly he cleaned up. Boles skedaddled to Savannah with thoughts of grabbing more in two months than he could earn in a year. He made his way south as fast as possible. He was there for South Carolina and that special torture.
They walked from the darkness into the light of our small campfire one after the other. The oldest of the three was first and then two others followed.
“My, you boys sure have an invitin’ fire. Mind if we join you for a spell?”
“Ho! Well now, you ladies out for a stroll? You lost?!,” said Boles as he was unable to control his enthusiasm. He was jumping up and down from a seated position and his arms and legs were flailing and he sported the most awful, bad toothed smile.
I went to our wagon and grabbed some extra blankets to place them around the fire for our guests while Boles turned on the charm in an effort to impress the ladies. The first time I ever really talked about or even saw a prostitute that I can remember was during the war. To go to the end of the line meant to visit a brothel. I’m sure they were around when I was just a boy, but I had no recollection. On our march we encountered them quite often. I knew these fallen women served a purpose but being the youngest of generally any group I was in, the opportunity never presented itself. One of the negro men in our camp explained it quite plainly and clearly to us that in the south their mothers, sisters, girlfriends and wives were used by the white slave masters for sexual relations. At least the pretty ones were. The way they explained it he said was that the white men needed an outlet for their natural, sexual desires and if the slave girls weren’t available then the womanhood of the white women would be polluted. This one particular negro fella got so mad as he described the situation back on the plantation where he’d escaped that he would just start shaking and stuttering. He’d been forced to leave his sister behind and as she was easily the prettiest of all, their master would share her with his friends to impress. He said it always started out the same way. These white devils would lord over her at first, but then after just a few visits she had this power over them. They’d tell her things and do things with her that they would never say or do with their own wives. And here were these refined, country gentlemen seemingly under the spell of this poor, slave girl. It would have been inaccurate or even unfair to label her a succubus, but she most certainly was the one in control.
“One of our horses came up lame. Our driver is just down the road a bit. We couldn’t go no further. We saw your fire in the distance and figured we’d see if we could join the party. I was hoping this wasn’t some crowd of desperados. Never thought we’d stumble on a pair a cuties such as yourselves.”
Donna was the oldest and did most of the talking. She said they were all heading to Petroleum Center. She was easily in her 50s and probably a bit past her prime, while the other two were much younger. Constance said she was 20 while Ruth said she was just 15. We told them we had been out all day sabotaging pipelines with axes and dynamite. I wasn’t sure if they believed us or if they thought we were just talking large. It was during that time when every teamster with any sand did his part to stop the pipelines. Blowing up an oil pipeline was serious business. The dynamite could certainly kill you, but there was a greater chance of running afoul of a man hired to protect the pipeline.
“Well, I seen lots a things in these parts, but beautiful ladies appearin’ outa nowhere is one fer the books,” said Boles.
Donna pulled a bottle of whiskey out of her bag and everyone but me took a drink. Ruth smiled at me and was clearly interested in my attention. She was pretty enough and I was glad her gaze was set on me. She was a slight girl and had a most pleasing laugh. The conversation flowed easily. The reflection of the tinkling flames off her golden hair was enchanting. Her smile was real. I was immediately attracted to her impurity. They were prostitutes. They were prostitutes heading toward Petroleum Center.
“Maybe, this is more your speed. I noticed you haven’t touched our whiskey,” said Donna as she handed me a small pipe and a box of matches.
Sitting around a campfire and trading exaggerations…it seemed obvious to partake. I saw countless numbers of men turn to morphine and opium during and after the war. Their reasoning generally involved a horrific physical injury or a soul scarring trauma. The kind that makes a man ignore God and accept his lot with the devil. I always watched this descent into numbness from a distance. I passed no judgement and felt nothing but pity. To be so broken that your only escape was through the needle or the pipe was something I figured I had escaped. Yet sitting around this campfire and trading exaggerations it seemed obvious to partake.
I found myself describing a painting I envisioned. I held no known artistic ability beyond anything of a rudimentary ability, yet this masterwork was something I needed to explain to any and all who would listen. I saw it as a brilliant masterpiece for the ages. The first feature I took the most time describing was its enormity. I envisioned a canvas larger than a house. It was something akin to the largest sail on the largest boat ever put to sea…that sail was my canvas. All of these years later the actual image itself escapes me but the colors were bold and striking and the emotion was unbridled. The second important feature was that it was absolutely imperative that the only true way of actually experiencing it to its fullest extent was by standing a mere six inches away from the canvas.
It seemed obvious to partake.
Both Donna and Ruth thought my idea of this gigantic painting was both tremendous and absurd of equal measure. They encouraged me to expound on the particular features in even greater detail, but my mind wandered, and I became unable to speak in words that made sense after they rolled out of my mouth. I knew what I was attempting to say but those words weren’t what I spoke. As this thought drifted across my brain, I saw their chins and earlobes stretched and distorted. Then they returned to normal and were again beautiful. It was all disjointed, yet I felt very much satisfied in my oblivion. Their mouths moved and I found myself reading their lips to fully understand what they were saying, as the sounds were nonsensical, yet I suddenly remembered I didn’t know how to read lips. Boles had his arm around Constance at this point, but it was obvious she didn’t appreciate his advances. Through the haze I saw her reject him more than once. But these were prostitutes.
Donna had a story. It went like this.
“So I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories of that famous trickster – the Coyote. Well, I have one to tell if you care to listen. I can’t take credit for crafting this particular legend because it’s an old tale and I first heard it back in ’34 from an old Chippewa woman who lived next to the farm where I grew up. See, the Coyote was out on one of his adventures, causing mischief, when he suddenly got very tired. He started looking for a place to sleep for the night, but he found nothing. Then, just when he was ready to collapse into a pile of leaves in the total darkness, he saw a warm glow from a distant light. Suddenly rejuvenated, he ran towards the light. He came upon a small, nicely kept cabin in the middle of the forest. He could tell a warm fire blazed inside and it was definitely something he wanted to enjoy. He knocked on the door and after a moment an old woman answered it.”
“”Ma’am, I’m a weary traveler and would love nothing more than to come inside your cabin and warm myself by your fire,” said Coyote.”
“”You are most welcome to anything I have. My daughters will bring you something good to eat.””
“When the daughters came into the room Coyote immediately saw how beautiful they were. They served him one delicious dish after the other. The brought out all sorts of meat and tongues and buffalo hump. And the wine they brought was of a superior quality. Coyote suddenly remembered a story he heard about an evil sorceress who lived in the forest with her two daughters. Legend had it that many great warriors visited this cabin in the woods to sleep with these beautiful daughters, but none were ever seen again. But these daughters were so beautiful and kind and the old woman was so nice to him that something about the legend didn’t make any sense.”
“The old woman told Coyote that he was a good looking young man, and so very smart and brave and he was just the sort of person that she would like to have for a son-in-law. Coyote kept thinking that these are good people and that maybe the legend he heard about was for a different cabin in the woods with a different old lady with beautiful daughters.”
“Soon enough Coyote was getting drowsy. The great food and drink made him tired and the old woman said to him, “You must be tired from your adventures. And its kind of chilly outside so you should lie down between my two daughters and they will keep you warm.””
“Coyote thought this was really something. He snuggled between the two girls. He felt amorous, but he also felt just a bit hesitant. Suddenly, the younger of the two daughters whispered in his ear. She said, “Pretty soon my sister will ask you to sleep with her. I’m supposed to try and sleep with you as well, but you mustn’t do it.””
“”But why not?” asked Coyote.”
“”The old woman is a witch. She isn’t my mother either. I’m her prisoner. The other girl who is supposed to be my sister, she is the witch’s daughter. This witch has put teeth in our vaginas and when a suitor comes and gets lured into our bed and tries to insert himself these teeth take hold of his penis and chews it into bits. Once he puts it in, he can’t pull it out no matter how hard he tries. These poor men scream and cry like nothing you’ve ever heard before in your whole life and then when they are dead the witch takes all of their things. The witch loves robbing these poor men, but I think she likes hearing them suffer when they are dying more than anything.”
“”Why do you tell me this?” asked Coyote.”
“”I like you and I don’t like doing her dirty work.””
“”I don’t believe you.””
“”Listen. Don’t you hear the noise?””
“”Yes, I do hear it. It’s a strange noise.””
“”It’s the grinding of the sharp teeth inside our vaginas.””
“Coyote heard the noise and he thought to himself that this was really something. He believed the young girl. He needed to figure out a plan regarding how to get out of this crazy situation. Coyote and the girl pretended to sleep. After a while the witch’s daughter whispered in Coyote’s ear.”
“”You must be hot for us. Let me make you happy. Climb on top and get inside me,” she said.”
“Coyote could hear the teeth gnashing furiously inside her vagina.”
“”I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I saw you. Let me take my clothes off,” said Coyote.”
“”Hurry up. Put it in. Don’t dawdle,” said the evil daughter.
“Coyote took off his clothes and then walked to the fire. He grabbed a big, glowing red log and shoved it into her vagina.”
“”Oh, a real man at last,” screamed the witches daughter. “How great it feels. This is the best ever!””
“The teeth inside her vagina were chewing and grinding and making splinters and wood chips and showering the entire room with glowing orange slivers of wood. Coyote had never seen such a thing and was just amazed at how the evil girl enjoyed it so. He quickly grabbed an arrow from his quiver and thrust it deep into the girl, all of the way up to the feathers on the shaft and it went into her black heart and killed her instantly. Then, Coyote went to the next room and slit the throat of the old woman.”
“He told the younger girl that she saved his life and he wanted to marry her.”
“”Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I couldn’t because I have teeth in the wrong place.””
“”I’ll take care of that,” said Coyote.”
“They started off toward Coyote’s house and ended up walking all day. When evening came, they were still a bit away from his house. Coyote built a brush shelter for the two of them. He put sage into it for a bed. “Now, I’m going to make love to you,” he said.”
““No, you can’t! It would kill you,” said the girl.”
“”Well, of course, I first have to knock your teeth out. And not the ones in your head,” said Coyote.”
“So, he knocked out the teeth in the girl’s vagina except for one blunt tooth that was very thrilling when making love. They were happy, Coyote and this girl. The end.” FOOTNOTE
We sat in silence, knowing the story had come to an end. The flickering flames danced across our glowing orange faces. Our minds drifted back to particular parts of the story as if somehow trying to confirm that we heard what we heard. I thought of ancient tribes listening to this very story and thinking the same thoughts I was thinking.
Ruth stood up. She reached down and grabbed my hand. She pulled me to my feet. I stumbled a bit as I walked. She led me to the tent. I remember Donna chattering in the background and Boles speaking loudly and rudely about me finally becoming a man. I felt aroused yet relaxed. I felt satisfied, yet unfulfilled. The flap closing us in to the dark tent was my last memory.
Morning came when it was still dark. I tasted the smoke in my mouth and coughed. As I moved closer to Ruth to try and get warm, I thought of the Coyote. I placed my cheek on hers and felt death. I kept it there for several moments and then several moments longer. Instead of recoiling at the sensation of her icy skin I kept my face pressed against hers as if looking for some sort of confirmation. Where was she? She was dead, that was for certain.
I slipped my suspenders up over my shoulders and ran barefooted to where our fire had been. Boles was on the ground, wrapped in blankets. He was alone. There was no sign of Donna or Constance. A slight hiss came off the remaining embers, but little heat could be felt. I kicked him in the shoulder, and he sat up right quick. He told me that Constance was on the rag and didn’t want him touching her and that she and Donna went back to their wagon shortly after I went into the tent with Ruth.
He followed me to the tent to see for himself what I’d already told him.
“Man alive, I don’t know how any a this happened. I mean we were both fine just a bit ago. Then I wake up next to her and she’s dead.”
“We gotta get rid of her,” said Boles as he carried the lifeless body over to our wagon.
“What the fuck you talkin’ about? We gotta take her in to town.”
“Don’t get all huffed. I’m tellin ya what has to happen.”
I did everything he told me. We carried her body to an old well that ran dry and threw her down into it. We’d come across the well earlier that day. As we released her feet and she went head first down into the oily pit we heard her body bounce off of the jagged walls. I remembered that she told me she had a pet canary at home. She said his name was Petey and I thought that was a great name for a canary. We covered the well back up and went back to camp. Boles got the fire going again. The orange glow of the morning sky took over the darkness.
When Donna returned later that morning to gather Ruth we told her that Ruth went and took off. It was the darndest thing, said Boles. He saw her leave the tent and walk back down the road toward their wagon. I said nothing as Boles explained that I slept through everything.
“But where is she?” exclaimed Donna. She was enraged as she stormed around the camp, making quite the fuss. She looked in the most nonsensical manner. She went to a wicker basket we had on the seat of our wagon and lifted the cover to see the contents of the basket as if by some miracle Ruth would be inside it. All of these years later I never quite understood if she was more upset that a young woman in her care went and disappeared without a trace or whether it was the fact that she had promised to deliver two prostitutes to Petroleum Center and managed to lose one when they were so close. After Donna left, we quickly loaded up our wagon and broke camp. We went back to Ruth’s oily tomb and detonated our explosives, sealing her in.
Birds chirping outside the windows brought me back to the present. I thought about Petey the canary and whatever happened to him.