pure and peaceful, lit up with a powerful kind of devotion.
“What are they doing?” I said, nearly leaning out the window to see better.
Shiny hardly even glanced over. “Oh, they’re just getting dunked. A lot of the folks outside town do it at the start of summer so the devil won’t get at them.”
I leaned my elbows on the window, watching the preacher tip them back and dunk them under. Their white robes billowed in the water and stuck to them like wrinkly skins as they came up again. One by one, they waded back up onto the bank, looking eerie and beautiful, like creatures in a fairy tale.
I pulled my head in and turned to Shiny. “Are you dunked?”
She laughed like I’d said something clever and shook her head. “Are you kidding? That is not for people like us, okay?”
“Do a lot of people do it?”
Shiny tossed her head and gave a little shrug. “Naw. I mean, Rae’s family’s Baptist, but the in-town kind, not dunkers. And some of the folks in town aren’t anything at all. Or else, they traded out one thing for another. Like the Fishers are originally supposed to be from Moravia, I think. In the beginning, they might have been some other kind of religion altogether—Jewish, maybe—but now I’m pretty sure they’re Pentecostal.”
“What are we, then?”
Shiny just shrugged and stared straight ahead. “Wicked.”
The way she said it was like she was sounding angry so she didn’t have to sound sad, and after that we rode in quiet, rattling along through the open fields and into the far bottom of the Willows.
The longer we went without talking, the less sure I was of my own true whereabouts, and I started to think about the cellar again. The cab of the truck was feeling smaller and smaller, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was going fishing. I was out in the world and we were going to get ourselves something to eat, and that was almost enough to make me feel free.
“Hey,” I said finally, looking around the empty road. “Do you think you can you teach me to drive?”
Shiny raised her eyebrows. “I guess. But just out here. I don’t want anyone giving us a hard time because you haven’t got a license.”
She pulled up to the shoulder and switched places with me, leaning across the seat to point out the positions on the shifter. “Okay, now the Ranger’s a three-speed, and it is really awful for upshifting, so you have to just hope, pray, and stomp down the clutch like you mean it. Do
not
try to baby it, or it will know you’re scared.”
The steering wheel felt warm and cracked in my hands. When I was little, I’d always figured the pedals and the gears had their own special kind of magic, but now, with the engine rumbling through the floorboards, I could almost see the parts that made up the clutch, feel the tug of the drive-shaft moving to turn the axel. When I stalled out the first time, I could almost see what had gone wrong.
The second time, I knew it was coming before it happened, but I still didn’t get the clutch down quick enough to beat it. The truck coughed and died, rattling to a stop.
Third time was a charm, though, and I took us rocking and shuddering along the shoulder of the road and then pulled out into the lane.
The truck was finicky and hard to turn, but driving made me feel better. Like things were governable. Like I could fix on a solid thing in the world and have it do what I wanted.
When we reached the county line, Shiny had me park in the little dirt turnoff at the top of the bridge and got out. The creek was low and lazy in its banks, and Shiny’s truck was the only thing around.
She opened her tackle basket and took out the margarine container. Up close, the smell coming off it was so bad that I covered my face with both hands. “
Oh
, what
is
that?”
She laughed and reached into the bed of the truck, tossing a fishing pole at me. “Spoiled chicken livers. Catfish are so nasty it’s like their idea of a treat.”
She offered me a
“What are they doing?” I said, nearly leaning out the window to see better.
Shiny hardly even glanced over. “Oh, they’re just getting dunked. A lot of the folks outside town do it at the start of summer so the devil won’t get at them.”
I leaned my elbows on the window, watching the preacher tip them back and dunk them under. Their white robes billowed in the water and stuck to them like wrinkly skins as they came up again. One by one, they waded back up onto the bank, looking eerie and beautiful, like creatures in a fairy tale.
I pulled my head in and turned to Shiny. “Are you dunked?”
She laughed like I’d said something clever and shook her head. “Are you kidding? That is not for people like us, okay?”
“Do a lot of people do it?”
Shiny tossed her head and gave a little shrug. “Naw. I mean, Rae’s family’s Baptist, but the in-town kind, not dunkers. And some of the folks in town aren’t anything at all. Or else, they traded out one thing for another. Like the Fishers are originally supposed to be from Moravia, I think. In the beginning, they might have been some other kind of religion altogether—Jewish, maybe—but now I’m pretty sure they’re Pentecostal.”
“What are we, then?”
Shiny just shrugged and stared straight ahead. “Wicked.”
The way she said it was like she was sounding angry so she didn’t have to sound sad, and after that we rode in quiet, rattling along through the open fields and into the far bottom of the Willows.
The longer we went without talking, the less sure I was of my own true whereabouts, and I started to think about the cellar again. The cab of the truck was feeling smaller and smaller, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was going fishing. I was out in the world and we were going to get ourselves something to eat, and that was almost enough to make me feel free.
“Hey,” I said finally, looking around the empty road. “Do you think you can you teach me to drive?”
Shiny raised her eyebrows. “I guess. But just out here. I don’t want anyone giving us a hard time because you haven’t got a license.”
She pulled up to the shoulder and switched places with me, leaning across the seat to point out the positions on the shifter. “Okay, now the Ranger’s a three-speed, and it is really awful for upshifting, so you have to just hope, pray, and stomp down the clutch like you mean it. Do
not
try to baby it, or it will know you’re scared.”
The steering wheel felt warm and cracked in my hands. When I was little, I’d always figured the pedals and the gears had their own special kind of magic, but now, with the engine rumbling through the floorboards, I could almost see the parts that made up the clutch, feel the tug of the drive-shaft moving to turn the axel. When I stalled out the first time, I could almost see what had gone wrong.
The second time, I knew it was coming before it happened, but I still didn’t get the clutch down quick enough to beat it. The truck coughed and died, rattling to a stop.
Third time was a charm, though, and I took us rocking and shuddering along the shoulder of the road and then pulled out into the lane.
The truck was finicky and hard to turn, but driving made me feel better. Like things were governable. Like I could fix on a solid thing in the world and have it do what I wanted.
When we reached the county line, Shiny had me park in the little dirt turnoff at the top of the bridge and got out. The creek was low and lazy in its banks, and Shiny’s truck was the only thing around.
She opened her tackle basket and took out the margarine container. Up close, the smell coming off it was so bad that I covered my face with both hands. “
Oh
, what
is
that?”
She laughed and reached into the bed of the truck, tossing a fishing pole at me. “Spoiled chicken livers. Catfish are so nasty it’s like their idea of a treat.”
She offered me a
Similar Books
