The Anything Box Part 11

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're staying. I was born on Earth."

The Grunder

Almost before Crae brought the car to a gravel-spraying stop in front of theMurmuring Pines Store and Station, Ellena had the door open and was out andaround the corner marked His and Hers. Crae stared angrily after her, his jawset and his lips moving half-audibly. Anger burned brightly in his brain andthe tight, swollen sickness inside him throbbed like a boil. It was all herfault- all because she had to smile at every man-she had to entice everymale-she always-! And then the fire was gone and Crae slumped down into theashes of despair. It was no use. No matter how hard he tried-no matter what hedid, it always ended this way.

This was to have been it. This trip into the White Mountains-a long happyfishing trip for the two of them to celebrate because he was learning to curbhis jealousy, his blind, unreasoning, unfounded jealousy that was wreckingeverything he and Ellena had planned for a life together. It had gone so well.The shadowy early morning beginning, the sweep up the hills from the baking,blistering valley, the sudden return to spring as they reached pine country,the incredible greenness of everything after the dust and dryness of thedesert.

And then they had stopped at Lakeside.

She said she had only asked how the fishing was. She said they had knownthe same old-timers. She said-! Crae slid lower in the car seat, writhinginside as he remembered his icy return to the car, his abrupt backing awayfrom the laughing group that cl.u.s.tered around Ellena's window, his measured,insane accusations and the light slowly dying out of Ellena's eyes, the quiet,miserable turning away of her white face and her silence as the car roaredon-through h.e.l.l as far as the two of them were concerned-through the rollingtimberland to Murmuring Pines.

Crae wrenched himself up out of his futile rememberings and slid out of thecar, slamming the door resoundingly. He climbed the three steps up to thesagging store porch and stopped, fumbling for a cigarette.

"Wife trouble?"

Crae started as the wheezy old voice from the creaking rocking chair brokethrough his misery. He stared over his half-raised cigarette into the fadedblue eyes that peered through dirty bifocals at him. Then he put the cigarettein his mouth and cupped his palms around his light.

"What's it to you?" he half snapped, but even his hair-triggered temperseemed to have deserted him.

"Nothing, son, nothing." The chair rocked violently, then slowed down."Only thing is, I kinda wondered, seeing her kite outa the car like that andyou standing there, sulling up. Sit down a spell. I'm Eli. Old Eli."

Inexplicably, Crae sat down on the top step and said, "You're right, Eli.Plenty of trouble, but it's me-not my wife."

"Oh, that-a-way." The frowsy old head nodded.

"Yeah," muttered Crae, wondering dismally why he should be spilling hisguts to a busted-down old coot like this one. "Jealous, crazy jealous."

"Can't trust her, huh?" The chair rocked madly a moment, then slowed again.

"I can too!" flared Crae.

"Then what's the kick?" The old man spat toward the porch railing. "Way Isee it, it takes a certain amount of co-operation from a woman before she cango far wrong. If you can trust your wife, whatcha got to worry about?"

"Nothing," muttered Crae. "I know I've got nothing to worry about. But,"his hand clenched on his knee, "if only I could be sure! I know there's nological reason for the way I feel. I know she wouldn't look at anyone else.But I can't feel it! All the knowing in the world doesn't do any good if youcan't feel it."

"That's a hunk of truth if I ever heard one," wheezed the old man, leaningacross his fat belly and poking a stubby finger at Crae. "Like getting turnedaround in directions. You can say 'That's East' all you want to, but if itdon't feel like East then the sun goes on coming up in the North."

There was a brief pause and Crae lifted his face to the cool pine-heavybreeze that hummed through the trees, wondering again why he was spreadinghis own private lacerations out for this gross, wheezing, not-too-clean oldstranger.

"Them there psy-chiatrists-some say they can help fellers like you."

Crae shook his head, "I've been going to a counselor for three months. Ithought I had it licked. I was sure-" Crae's voice trailed off as heremembered why he had finally consented to go to a counselor.

"Bring a child into an atmosphere like this?" Ellena's voice was anagonized whisper, "How can we Crae, how can we? Anger and fear and mistrust.Never-not until-"

And his bitter rejoinder. "It's you and your s.l.u.tting eyes that make 'thisatmosphere.' If I don't watch out you'll be bringing me someone else's child-"

And then his head was ringing from the lightning quick blow to his face,before she turned, blazing-eyed and bitter, away from him.

"No go, huh?" The old shoulders shrugged and the old man wiped one handacross his stubby chin.

"No go, d.a.m.n me, and our vacation is ruined before it begins.""

"Too bad. Where you going? Big Lake?"

"No. South Fork of East Branch. Heard they've opened the closed part of thestream. Should be good fishing."

"South Fork?" The chair agitated wildly, then slowed. "Funny coincidence,that."

"Coincidence?" Crae glanced up.

"Yeah. I mean you, feeling like you do, going fishing on South Fork."

"What's my feelings got to do with it?" asked Crae, doubly sorry now thathe had betrayed himself to the old feller. What good had it done? Nothingcould help-ever -but still he sat.

"Well, son, there's quite a story about South Fork. Dunno when it started.Might be nothing to it." The faded eyes peered sharply through the gla.s.ses at him. "Then again, there might."

"What's the deal?" Crae's voice was absent and his eyes were on the His andHers signs. "I've been coming up here for five years now and I never heard anyspecial story."

"Seems there's a fish," said the old man. "A kinda special kinda fish. Notmany see him and he ain't been seen nowhere around this part of the country'ceptin on South Fork. n.o.body's ever caught him, not to land anyway."

"Oh, one of those. Patriarch of the creek. Wily eluder of bait. Stuff likethat?"

"Oh, not exactly." The rocking chair accelerated and slowed. "This here oneis something special."

"I'll hear about it later, Pop." Crae stood up. Ellena was coming back downthe path, outwardly serene and cool again. But she went in the side door intothe store and Crae sat down slowly.

'They say it's a little longer than a man and maybe a man's reach around."The old man went on as though not interrupted.

"Pretty big-" Crae muttered absently, then snapped alert. "Hey! What areyou trying to pull? A fish that size couldn't get in South Fork, let alonelive there. Bet there aren't ten places from Baldy to Sheep's Crossing as deepas five feet even at flood stage. What kind of line you trying to hand me?"

"Told you it was kinda special." The old man creased his eyes with agap-toothed grin. "This here fish don't live in the creek. He don't even swimin it. Just happens to rub his top fin along it once in a while. And not justthis part of the country, neither. Heard about him all over the world, likely.This here fish is a Grunder-swims through dirt and rocks like they was water.Water feels to him like air. Air is a lot of nothing to him. Told a fellerabout him once. He told me might be this here Grunder's from a notherdy-mention." The old man worked his discolored lips silently for a moment "Hesaid it like it was supposed to explain something. Don't make sense to me."

Crae relaxed and laced his fingers around one knee. Oh, well, if it wasthat kind of story-might as well enjoy it.

"Anyway," went on the old man, "like I said, this here Grunder's a specialfish. Magic, us old-timers would call it. Dunno what you empty,don't-believe-nothing-without-touch-it-taste-it-hear-it-proof younguns wouldcall it. But here's where it hits you, young feller." The old finger wasjabbing at Crae again. "This here Grunder is a sure cure for jealousy. All yougotta do is catch him, rub him three times the wrong way and you'll neverdoubt your love again."

Crae laughed bitterly, stung by fear that he was being ridiculed. "Easy tosay and hard to prove, Pop. Who could catch a magic fish as big as that ontrout lines? Pretty smart, fixing it so no one can prove you're a ring-tailedliar."

"Laugh, son," grunted the old man, "while you can. But who said anythingabout a trout line? Special fish, special tackle. They say the Grunder won'teven rise nowhere without special bait." The old man leaned forward, hisbreath sounding as though it came through a fine meshed screen. "Betterlisten, son. Laugh if you wanta, but listen good. Could be one of these finedays you'll wanta cast a line for the Grunder. Can't ever sometimes tell."

The tight sickness inside Crae gave a throb and he licked dry lips.

"There's a pome," the old man went on, leaning back in his chair, pattingthe front of his duty checked shirt as he gasped for breath. "Old as theGrunder most likely. Tells you what kinda tackle."

"Make your line from her linen fair.

Take your hook from her silken hair.

A broken heart must be your share For the Grunder."

The lines sang in Crae's mind, burning their way into his skeptical brain."What bait?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light and facetious. "Must be kind of scarce for a fish like that."

The faded old eyes peered at him. "Scarce? Well, now that depends," the oldman said. "Listen."

"This is your bait, or your lure or flies, Take her sobs when your lady cries, Take the tears that fall from her eyes For the Grunder."

Crae felt the sting of the words. The only time he'd seen Ellena cry overhis tantrums was the first time he'd really blown his top. That was the timeshe'd tried to defend herself, tried to reason with him, tried to rea.s.sure himand finally had dissolved into tears of frustration, sorrow anddisillusionment. Since then, if there had been tears, he hadn't seen them-onlyfelt her heart breaking inch by inch as she averted her white, still face fromhis rages and accusations.

"My wife doesn't cry," he said petulantly.

"Pore woman," said the old man, reaming one ear with his little finger."Anyway, happen some day you'll want to go fishing for the Grunder, you won'tforget."

The sound of Ellena's laughter inside the store drew Crae to his feet.Maybe they could patch this vacation together after all. Maybe Ellena couldput up with him just once more. Crae's heart contracted as he realized thatevery "once more" was bringing them inevitably to the "never again" time forhim and Ellena.

He went to the screen door of the store and opened it. Behind him, he couldhear the creak of the old man's chair.

"Course you gotta believe in the Grunder. Nothing works, less'n you believeit. And be mighty certain, son, that you want him when you fish for him. Onceyou hook him, you gotta hold him 'til you stroke him. And every scale on hisbody is jagged edged on the down side. Rip h.e.l.l outa your hand firststroke-but three it's gotta be. Three times-"

"Okay, Pop. Three times it is. Quite a story you've got there." Crae letthe door slam behind him as he went into the shadowy store and took thegroceries from an Ellena who smiled into his eyes and said, "h.e.l.lo, honey."

A week later, the two of them lolled on the old army blanket on thespread-out tarp, half in the sun, half in the shade, watching the piling ofdazzling bright summer thunderheads over Baldy. Stuffed with mountain trout,and drowsy with sun, Crae felt that the whole world was as bright as the skyabove them. He was still aglow from catching his limit nearly every day sincethey arrived, and that, along with just plain vacation delight, filled himwith such a feeling of contentment and well-being that it overflowed in asudden rush of tenderness and he yanked Ellena over to him. She laughedagainst his chest and shifted her feet into the sun.

"They freeze in the shade and roast in the sun," she said, "Isn't itmarvelous up here?"

"Plumb sightly, ma'am," drawled Crae.

"Just smell the spruce," said Ellena, sitting up and filling her lungsecstatically.

"Yeah, and the fried fish," Crae sat up, too, and breathed in noisily. "Andthe swale, and," he sniffed again, "just a touch of skunk."

"Oh, Crae!" Ellena cried reproachfully, "Don't spoil it!" She pushed himflat on the blanket and collapsed, laughing, against him.

"Oof!" grunted Crae. "A few more weeks of six fish at a sitting and all therest of the grub you're stashing away and I'll have to haul you home in astock trailer!"

"Six fish!" Ellena pummeled him with both fists. "I'm darn lucky to salvagetwo out of the ten when you get started-and I saw you letting your belt outthree notches. Now who's fat stuff!"

They scuffled, laughing helplessly, until they both rolled off the blanketonto the squishy black ground that was still wet from spring and the nearnessof the creek. Ellena shrieked and Crae, scrambling to his feet yanked her upto him. For a long minute they stood locked in each other's arms, listening tothe muted roar of the little falls just above camp and a bird crying, "See me?See me?" from the top of a spruce somewhere.

Then Ellena stirred and half-whispered, "Oh, Crae, it's so wonderful uphere. Why can't it always-" Then she bit her lip and buried her face againsthim.

Crae's heart reluctantly took up it's burden again. "Please G.o.d, it willbe," he promised. "Like this always." And she lifted her face to his kiss.

Then he pushed her away.

"Now, Frau, break out the corn meal and the frying pan again. I'm off tothe races." He slipped the creel on and picked up his rod. "I'm going downwhere the old beaver dam used to be. That's where the big ones are, I'llbetcha."

" 'By, honey," Ellena kissed the end of his sunburned nose. "Personally, Ithink I'll have a cheese sandwich for supper. A little fish goes a long waywith me."

"Woman!" Crae was horrified. "What you said!"

He looked back from the top of the logging railroad embankment and sawEllena squatting down by the creek, dipping water into the blackened fivegallon can they used for a water heater. He yelled down at her and she wavedat him, then turned back to her work. Crae filled his lungs with the crispscented air and looked slowly around at the wooded hills, still cherishingdrifts of snow in their shadowy folds, the high reaching mountains that liftedthe spruce and scattered pines against an achingly blue sky, the creek,brawling its flooded way like an exuberant snake flinging its shining loopsfirst one way and then another, and his tight little, tidy little camp tuckedinto one of the wider loops of the creek.

"This is it," he thought happily. "From perfection like this, we can't helpgetting straightened out. All I needed was a breathing spell."

Then he set out with swinging steps down the far side of the embankment.

Crae huddled deeper in his light Levi jacket as he topped the rise on thereturn trip. The clouds were no longer white shining towers of pearl and blue,but heavy rolling gray, blanketing the sky. The temperature had dropped withthe loss of the sun, and he shivered in the sudden blare of wind that slappedhim in the face with a dozen hail-hard raindrops and then died.

But his creel hung heavy on his hip and he stepped along lightly, stillriding on his noontime delight. His eyes sought out the camp and he opened hismouth to yell for Ellena. His steps slowed and stopped and his face smoothedout blankly as he looked at the strange car pulled up behind theirs.

The sick throbbing inside him began again and the blinding flame began toflicker behind his eyes. With a desperate firmness he soothed himself andwalked slowly down to camp. As he neared the tent, the flap was pushed openand Ellena and several men crowded out into the chill wind.

"See," cried Ellena, "Here's Crae now." She ran to him, face aglow-and eyespleading. "How did you do, honey?"

"Pretty good." Somewhere he stood off and admired the naturalness of hisanswer. "Nearly got my limit, but of course the biggest one got away. Nofooling!"

Ellena and the strange faces laughed with him and then they were allcrowding around, admiring the catch and pressing the bottle into his coldhands.

"Come on in the tent," Ellena tugged at his arm. "We've got a fire going.It got too cold to sit outdoors."

Then she was introducing the men in the flare and hiss of the Colemanlantern while they warmed themselves at the little tin stove that was.m.u.ttering over the pine knots just pushed in.

"This is Jess and Doc and Stubby and Dave." She looked up at Crae. "Myhusband, Crae."

"Howdy," said Crae.

"Hi, Crae." Jess stuck out a huge hand. "Fine wife you got there. s.n.a.t.c.hedus from death's door. Hot coffee and that ever lovin' old bottle. We were colder'n a dead Eskimo's-wup-ladies present."

Ellena laughed. "Well, lady or not, I know the rest of that one. But nowthat we've got fish again, why don't you men stay for supper?" She glancedover at Crae.

"Sure," said Crae, carefully cordial. "Why not?"

"Thanks," said Jess. "But we've stayed too long now. Fascinating woman,your wife, Crae. Couldn't tear ourselves away, but now the old man's home-" Heroared with laughter. "Guess we better slope, huh, fellers? Gotta pitch campbefore dark."

"Yeah. Can't make any time with the husband around," said Stubby. Then heleaned over and stage-whispered to Ellena, "I ain't so crazy "bout fishing.How 'bout letting me know when he's gone again?"

After the laughter, Crae said, "Better have another jolt before you get outinto the weather." So the bottle made the rounds slowly and finally everyoneducked out of the tent into the bleakly windy out-of-doors. The men piled intothe car and Jess leaned out the window.

"Thought we'd camp up above you," he roared against the wind, "but it'sflooded out. Guess well go on downstream to the other campground." He lookedaround admiringly. "Tight little setup you got here."

"Thanks," yelled Crae. "We think so too."