HELLBENDER

If I couldve carried her by myself, I would have. But the weight of the pine and spruce box alone was more than I can carry. The linens that held her sleep and her clothes, the last shell ever wear, made her heavier. The coins that covered her eyes added a few ounces more. I couldve carried her, by herself, forever. January wasnt a kind time for a burial, but we dont get to choose. Old Christmas covered the sun with a mask of gray stratus. January took a person's spirit and crushed it beneath its bony heel. Id take June, when long days kept wayward negativity at bay for just a few hours more. When blackberry blossoms spill over old stone fences while young rabbits get fat and lazy. Ill take Solstice over Old Christmas any day. But we dont get to choose.

The procession left my front yard. Six pairs of feet tested the driveway's stiff gravel like it was new ice on a pond. The spindly trees lining the road could care less about my grandfather, who led us all with slumped shoulders and red eyes. He carried his cane and forced a shuffle, alone, except for Champ, his old collie Ben, my cousin, was next to me, even though I couldnt see him for the casket. The box trembled as he cried. My dad had fallen toward the back of the line. He was coming off of a real good drunk, and I couldn't blame him. We paused after stepping onto the worn-out lane that led to my grandfathers house before crossing the Blackwater and ending up in Davis. I shifted in the gravel, my bare feet relished the sensation of pain after the dull cold of the front yard. My grandfather turned briefly, looked at me, then surveyed the remainder of the procession. At his signal, the twine of two lonely violins split the afternoon, playing notes I vowed Id never learn. My cousin, Katy, swung her fiddle bow meekly, like flowers blooming too early in the season.

We all walked to an easy rhythm, pallbearers' footfalls counting out the beats the fiddlers played to. My bare feet felt every note, accenting the downbeat of their mournful drone. Numb to everything else, my toes blistered and bled on the road, the longest Id ever known. Past fields too tired to be plowed. Past a colorless stream too sad to see itself out of the valley. Past homes that have known turmoil and better days to a hole in the ground where for one of us, days would end. Three days was how long it took to dig a grave in West Virginia in January. The calluses on my palms confirmed it. One evening to build a bonfire. One night to let the coals thaw the frozen earth. One day to dig. Then again the next night. Then once more. My poor hands could attest to the stubbornness of the rocky earth better than words could. My cousins offered to dig, but it had to be me and Ben. My mind needed the routine of labor to steady itself against the storm spinning within it. My soul, by far the weariest part of me, folded when I heard the news that my sister had died. Air without scent, hills without color, a life without her kind words... I prepared Janes eulogy as we walked. By the time we arrived at the family plot a light snow began to fall. My aunts had placed wreaths of spruce and ivy at intervals along the old wrought-iron fence. Theyd placed fresh blankets of white pine on the graves of my grandmother, and my grandfather's oldest daughter, Katherine. Women in this family sure don't last very long, I thought. At the far end of the plot, beneath an old cherry tree, slept the grave that Ben and I dug. The ground was more cobbles than soil and we did our best to separate the stones from the soggy earth. I stopped at the foot of Janes grave, and stared into the hole as we waited for the others to catch up. My Aunt Gillian and her daughter raced to relight the white candles that the wind had blown out. Some of the mourners arrived carrying candles of their own, holding the flame close to their faces for extra warmth.

It was a small processional. Nobody really knew my sister. I cant even say that I did. I wanted to, and even tried on a few occasions. But she left the mountains as if she knew something we didn't. Content to live in a small apartment off-campus in Morgantown, she severed almost all of her ties with our family and these old forests. The few sniffles I heard were more for the tragedy of a life lost than the sorrow of losing somebody familiar. Sad for the body, not the person. Sad for ourselves for not making a greater attempt to reel her back into our lives. Maybe with the void her death created we realized we should've called and had coffee even when the inconvenience was too great. I was most sad for finally realizing I'd failed as a brother. Ben and I climbed into the wide hole to direct the casket. This mornings mud had already refrozen. My other cousins stood at the edge of the grave and guided the box down to us. Tom and Dave held onto the back of the casket to make sure its descent was fluid and slow. Ben and I gently placed my sister on the ground between us. My uncle, Tom, reached down to help Ben out. When he offered his hand to me, I couldnt take it. I touched the coffin, made from a straight-grained plank of spruce that Jamie had been saving to build a fiddle. There were no knots on it, no blemishes, and Jamie wouldve burned it to see his niece alive. Never again would Jane and I share anything, let alone the same view. Cmon, son. My grandfather said. I stared up at them from that grave, a hole so deep I wondered how Id ever fill it. Tiny candles threw upward shadows onto the mourners, leaving me unable to see their eyes. My grandfather spoke as I accepted my cousins hand. When somebody begins life on an ill-fated path, theres little that the rest of us can do, except watch. This woman never had a chance. Shes part of a bloodline that knows hard times. Like my little sister and my little girl, Jane left us not knowing that life can be fair, that people can be just. She left the world as scared as the day she came into it, and for that, we should remember her. My dad leaned against the fence and stared at the cold, dry ground. Rachael, his little sister, had her arm around him.

My grandfather nodded to Jamie, who began directing the men back to the house. The procession took its good old time as uncles and cousins paid their respects to my old man. I wasnt ready to say goodbye. It wasnt fair that only the women could stay. Cmon. Ben tugged on my elbow. Aunts and great-aunts and cousins stepped aside as Ben and I passed. Nobody cried except for Jane's roommate, Alex. The faint smell of lilac and lavender scented perfumes cut through the chill. The women chanted old words I barely knew. On the icy breeze I caught a whiff of spring even stronger than their perfumes had been. I turned, and saw the women pulling sprigs of ferns and thistle from their jackets. Boughs of red spruce and bright green oak leaves. Apple blossoms. Dont look, Henry. Just let it go. Painted trillium. Closed gentians. Indian paintbrush, blood red against the white of Old Christmas. Cherry blossoms burst open in a holler of muted pink from the tree above Jane's grave. Flowers. I said. I know. But you know what tonight is. Just leave it. The amber glow of the wake called to me from the old farm house. Inside my grandfather and uncles and cousins poured whiskey, plated food and exchanged heartrending looks. Dont make me go in there, man. My uncles cattle watched from the field below, braying and breathing huffs of steam. Let the ladies do their thing. Cmon, man. Be strong, okay? I miss her too. She was the only cousin I had until you came along. Ben threw his arm over my shoulder, gripping me in an embrace that solidified his anger and sadness. Easy, Ben. I pushed him off of me. Im fucking tired of it, Ben sniffed. Its not fair what theyre doing to us. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with this. Its not a curse, Ben. Its chance. Its just how things are. He shook as I talked, never actually crying.

I said, All right? We have to understand that. I'm tired of this feud shit and all the hexes and spells. We have to... Rachael turned her back as the women blew out their candles. Their chanting grew louder and their circle tightened a little. Mid-winter dusk let a muddy light trickle into the bare forest and fields that ran down to the Blackwater. It was an unpleasant light. Katy handed her tiny fiddle to her little sister as the circle tightened. There was enough light to see Rachael scrawl Janes name onto the temporary tombstone with a piece of chalk, cross it out with a hunk of coal ash, then moisten her finger and write Katys name in the ash. From the house came the wail of Jamies violin, as loud as Id ever heard it. Ben pushed me toward the back porch. Get off me, I said, almost ready to fight. No. We can't be out here. There was enough light to see Katy strip off her heavy coat and slip a thin white robe over her shoulders before climbing down into my sisters grave. You boys get in here now. Ben, get him in here. My grandfather called from the back porch. Champ barked and stepped into the yard. Get back here, boy! Lets go Henry. I hain't telling you again. Ben pulled me through the yard. The drone of violin made it too loud to hear anything else. The smell of food pushed through the evening. The promise of warmth made me feel guilty for leaving my sister in the cold ground. My pap slammed the door behind me. But he wasnt quick enough. Id heard it. Despite the barking dog and despite the noise Jamie played as a distraction I heard it. Katy screamed. Her cry was more horrific than the wail of a cougar brooding over the loss of a cub. Her cry was louder than the roar of the Blackwater after a spring thaw. The assembly of men inside the house clapped and sang to drown out Katys shrill screams, loud enough to speak to the dead. Loud enough to speak for the dead. Id heard her words and knew what they meant. Katy was crying the tears Jane cried on the night she died. Katy was meant to cry for all of us.

No matter how tightly I pulled my coat the cold air found its way to my skin. Ben and I were bundled up pretty good, but the night made no apologies. Hand me down the biggest rocks first. Everythings going to settle this spring after the ground freezes and thaws a few times. I dont think it matters. Just let me take the ones from the top. We shouldve been done already. Ben said. I could still detect whisky on his breath. It aint so much about the rocks. All right? I dont care about the rocks. I just dont want you dropping one on me. Got it? Id been arranging the stone like pieces of a puzzle, trying my best to interlock them. The night had calmed considerably. The flurries had ceased. There was no wind. But the clunk of the rocks and Bens chatter were like a band saw buzz to my haggard nerves. I didnt have the luxury of getting drunk. We have to finish up before midnight. Jesus, Ben. How fucking old are you? Just stop it with that nonsense. What do you think youre going to hear? Huh? Animals talking? Im tired of this mountain superstition bullshit. Shit like this is why I'm leaving and never coming back. I dont believe you, Henry. Not for a second. He said my name like hed have said a swear word. Youre telling me-- "Maybe it's my turn for once." I began pulling rocks from the pile myself. "I'm telling you, don't be surprised if you wake up one morning and I'm gone." You don't mean it." Ben handed me another rock. "Where would you go?" I dont know. Maybe it's time to find myself some new mountains." Ben took another swig from my grandpaps old flask. Put that away. Have some respect. Respect? I have respect, Henry. Then why are you saying my name that way? Because respect, in this instance, means doing right by your sister. Respect means that you get proactive and find out what the hell really happened. Ben teetered at the lip

of the hole. It was too cold to see his breath. "If I ever catch Lewis by himself I'm going to strangle him for that curse--" This isnt the work of any curse. It was an accident. And don't go putting ideas in my dad's head. Because he's going to end up in jail. I swear, if you don't stop it with that Lewis-feud shit he's going to fly off the handle and hurt somebody. So give it a fucking rest all ready, will you?" Cmon, Henry. She drowned? Just like grandpaps little sister drowned in the river? What if thats why Jane never came back here? She knew they'd get her. Maybe Morgantown wasn't far enough away? Stop it. Just listen. What if the curse had something to do with your mom leaving? Why did your mom run all the way down to Florida like she was afraid somehow shed be next. Ben. Please. Im just saying... Not now. All right? Yeah, Ill do something about it. But not right now. I think I deserve some peace." Im not saying you dont deserve a break. But Jane--finding out what happened is the only way to protect Katy and Chloe and the rest. We need to consider every option. I will. Just go home. I can finish this by myself. Im sorry. Im just... Im just worn out. Me too, Ben. Me too. But somebody has to finish this. I know. Switch me positions. Ben pulled out his phone and looked at the time. His phones LCD screen ate at my night vision. We can finish before midnight if... Aw, shit. The sound of plastic hitting the stones on Janes casket made me jump. Seriously! You just need to go home. Youre drunk. I miss her, Henry. I always thought shed come back home. I didnt think Id ever have to do this. I got on my knees and started feeling around for Bens phone. Shit. What happened? I pinched my thumb. The bitter cold made everything hurt worse. Here, I handed Ben my phone, Call it.

Bens first attempt was with his gloves on. After a few unsuccessful tries he bit the thumb of his right glove, pulling his hand free. I hear it. It had bounced beyond the stones Id just placed. The glow fell upon the flowers the women had placed on the bare spruce. I crawled toward the ring tone, annoyed by Bens condition. Holy shit. What is it? In the glow of the tiny screen I could see that one of the nails holding the lid on had been pulled free. I searched for the next hole and saw that nail, too, had been removed. Somebody had the lid off. I stood up to hand Ben his phone. Did you hear me? Shhh. He was standing. In the light from the back porch I could see his head cocked, as if straining to hear. Old Christmas is starting. I left him to his delusions and pulled rocks from the pile myself. Cold sweat formed on my brow and against my back. And youre drunk. You dont hear that? You didnt hear what I said? I continued working. More snow had begun to fall. Tell me you cant hear that. I dont want to hear it. Its been a long day. Im burying my sister. I know. But just listen. Please. I cant believe the way youre... I climbed out of the hole. Smell that? He said, Elderberry. I dont smell anything but whiskey. Cmon, man. Listen. The only way to get him to shut up was to bite my lip, so I obliged. I stood and held my breath. Dogs barked down in Davis and the occasional lamb brayed over in Tom and Gillians barn. I hear it. Really? Ben smiled at being validated. No. Im going to finish now. I sat on the edge of the grave. A stirring amongst my paps cattle stopped me from getting back into the hole. I brushed cherry blossom petals, not snow, off of my shoulders.

Its coming. Ben said. Listen. He walked past the other graves and toward the gate. Let's go. The hinges squealed as he slipped past the fence. I lined the remainder of the stones on the lip of the grave so Id be able to reach them from below. In the tree above, songbirds chirped an occasional exclamation. The air warmed with the scent of blackberry blossoms and hay-scented ferns. When the wind blew I heard the susurrus of summer leaves in the trees above instead of the thin whistling of naked winter branches. I could smell it. I could hear it. I stood there all of a sudden alone. From the edge of the forest I heard a whisper. Ben! I jogged to catch up with him. Here. Ben waited for me. He handed me the flask, but I didnt drink. Ben whispered, Hay loft. The last time I was ever in the barn Ben and I had been jumping into a big old pile of hay from the ladder that went up to the loft. As the afternoon wore on we got braver, flipping and swan diving into the mountain of straw. A splash of organic dust accompanied each landing. The dry dust coated our throats and sinuses. I sneezed for the rest of the night. The wheeze of cut hay and manure rolled out of the warm barn when Ben opened the door. We crept along the dry walls toward the ladder. Animals stirred in their stalls, creating an uneasy background of little noises. A bare bulb hung from a long wire, forcing naked shadows onto the old walls. Dark stains clung to the splintered wood like long-eared bats. Ben grabbed the ladder and gestured for me to climb first. The top rung had been bolted to a cross post with galvanized brackets. The ladder twisted a fraction of an inch with each rung I climbed. Each tiny twist came with a squeak. I crawled along the edge of the loft, then watched Ben climb to the top. His flask was still in my pocket. I opened it, sniffed it, then set it on the ledge next to me. Ben crawled toward me, shuffling one hand at a time. He stopped a few feet from me, took his flask, then dropped his legs over the edge. He drank, then said, "So, what's up with that Alex?"

"Really?" "Sorry. Want some? Not tonight. From the darkness behind us a tiny voice said, Give me a shot. Damn it, Katy! I shouted a whisper. Whatre you thinking? Katy slid across the floor then plopped down between us. She didnt say anything else, just sniffled before taking a swig of the barefoot whiskey. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were red and weary. She rested her head on my shoulder. An old coat covered the white robe shed been wearing earlier. With his cell phone in his lap, Ben counted down the remaining minutes. He and Katy killed the last of the booze in three more swigs. After that, except for Bens countdown, there was only silence. Five til. He looked at his phone. The blue glow shined up onto his face. For the first time tonight I took pity. I wasnt sure until now that Id have any to share. He put his phone back into his coat pocket. Henry...Im sorry about... Hush up, Ben. Katys voice was raspy and raw from earlier. She coughed a dry cough. Sorry. The look he gave said more than his words wouldve anyway. He was in sad shape. We all were. We all needed some time to get ourselves together. Thered be no sound from this side of the Blackwater for a few days, only long mornings in bed and sad, quiet dinners. I couldnt even say if thered be any more tears shed or not. If there were I wouldn't be here to see them. Right then and there I made up my mind the time had come for me to pack up and go first thing in the morning. Tonight would be my goodbye to Ben and Katy. Breaking my train of thought, Katy cleared her throat, then sang, "Down to the sea, down to the sea, sinners wait on the shore to be set free. Ben took out his phone and checked the time. One by one, by one, by one, into the water for the sins youve done. Katys rasp thickened with each syllable. A chorus of echoes carried her words further and further into the night. The animals in the stalls below huffed and shuffled. I didnt know what to expect, but it sure wasnt this. Maybe part of me came up here to ease my mind, to prove to myself that none of this was real. But proof was never easy to

come by, especially in these mountains. This was how it always happened. Late at night. Middle of nowhere. Not a credible witness in the bunch... Sink or float, sink or float, my Lord and Savior guides my boat. A choir of voices hummed just below Katies lead. The bull and rams sang low bass notes. The ewes muttered muddy refrains. Katie began to cry. I looked at Ben for a sign that I wasnt losing my mind. He was crying too. The ocean will flood and the swamps will creep, to find the sinners where they sleep. To find the sinners where they sleep, Katie sang once more, by herself. How do you know the words? I said. Jane told me. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of the old coat. Thats what they were singing just before they killed her. Man, I thought, I have to get out of here.