[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"What about givin it to the law? Wim asked. That seems to be a good way to get rid of it."
"If you'd seen as many lawmen down here doing bad things as I have, you wouldn't ask that. They can't
be trusted any better than the runners and dealers."
After thinking a minute, Wim had to admit he was probably right. More than one deputy had brought
young women to the boat landing, late at night, and once a body had washed up downstream that looked
like a girl he'd seen there with Stew Long.
They shook down pushers, too, right there at the camping place. He had watched from the woods as a
lot of wrong things went on.
He nodded. Be glad to help you, he said. Where you want to put it?"
Choa turned and led the boy (Wim felt a bit queasy, but he followed anyway) through the huddle of
gators and down to the log boat. In its middle was a muddy lump that seemed to be an aluminum ice
chest. Choa gestured for him to climb over it to the other end of the narrow craft; when Wim was in
place, Choa stepped into his end and pushed off from the mudbank.
"I'm gonna put it in the big sinky-hole, he said.
Wim felt himself turn pale. He swallowed hard before he said, No wonder you need help. My God,
Choa, you could disappear into that muck and never come up again."
"That's why I want you on the end of a rope cinched around a good-sized tree. If I slip and go in, I want
something to hold onto to pull myself out again and somebody to go for help if the rope breaks."
That made mighty good sense to Wim. He sat still, watching those alligators watch the boat, as it slid out
into the current and moved around the bend between fern-lined banks that seemed to close overhead. At
times the creek was so shallow he got out and helped Choa squish through the mud to carry it to the next
navigable length.
When they were unable to go any farther, Choa pulled the boat into a mass of cat-tails and they lifted
out the chest, carrying it between them along the maze of passable paths that old Possum Choa seemed
able to see without looking, no matter how overgrown and water-covered they might be.
They came to the big hole just after noon, when the sun was high above the giant water oaks and
cypresses that marched out into the morass. It was steamy hot, and the breath of the sinky-hole was sour
and stagnant and a bit yeasty.
Wim found his heart pounding as he helped Choa load the chest onto an impromptu raft cobbled
together out of dead branches fallen from the trees above. Choa left him to guard their burden and went
off to rummage around among the big scaly-bark hickories growing along a low ridge east of the hole.
When he returned, he carried a long section of bark some three feet wide, slipped from a dead tree.
Wim began to guess how he hoped to get out into the muck without sinking before he got far enough to
do much good.
With considerable shifting and grunting, they positioned the chest on its raft beside Choa's bark slide.
Then the old fellow lay flat while Wim tied the raft to a solid section of the bark, freeing Choa's hands to
paddle through the water slicking the surface of the sinky hole.
Around Choa's waist was a thin rope, which was wrapped twice around the biggest water oak. Once
the strange outfit moved onto the muck, Wim stepped back and grabbed the end of the rope, while the
coils of slack unwound slowly behind Possum Choa.
Fragments of bark shredded off to float around him, and the raft holding the ice chest began to tilt, bit by
bit, as the contraption got out into the middle of the hole. That was some fifty feet across, although its
edges were hard to determine, being concealed by the rampant bushes and vines and water-weeds of the
low country.
The last of the slack stretched straight, and Choa fumbled to free the raft. That tilted more and more,
until the ice chest settled sideways into the murky mix of water and quicksand. Wim watched, fascinated,
as the muddy silver box disappeared with a glubbing sound and a bubble rose, to pop when it reached
the surface.
Now he pulled on the rope, as Choa cautiously turned his slab of bark and headed for the firm ground
beneath the tree roots. Beneath him, the bark slide began coming apart, and before he was within reach
of safety it sank beneath him.
Choa grabbed the rope, and Wim pulled desperately, cursing the friction of the oak tree bark, which
slowed his intake on the line.
"Just hold on, Choa grunted, grabbing the line farther up and beginning to pull himself in, hand over
hand. You doing fine, young Wim. Just don't let this sucker loose! Dooley shut his eyes and held hard,
though his hands, calloused as they were, began to feel skinned. Then he felt a touch at his knee, and
Choa was there, covered with slimy mud but grinning his wide white grin.
"Whoosh! the boy sighed and sank to sit beside him on the damp leaves beneath the tree.
"I do saywhoosh myself, said Choa. I surely do."
They grinned at each other as they caught their breath and rested. You going on home now? the old
man asked. I got to get on my way, too, because I've got things to do besides mess with this garbage.
"That man Parmelee's in my swamp, they tell me, and I need to see to him. Nobody's going to get their
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]