Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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Forster ate slowly, the rebellion draining out of him leaving self-condemna- tion in its place. Al really wasn't such a bad guy, he thought, I shouldn't have gone oft' like that after he was good enough to sell me the letter in the first place. He resolved to tell Al all about it to-morrow and went to bed a little sorry, but, nonetheless, feeling a thrill of pride in the way he had stood up against Al. Next morning, however, Al was gone before he woke and so Jim didn't have a chance to explain. He noticed that Al hadn't washed his dinner or breakfast dishes and it angered him. He supposed Al had done it to get even ' '. He considered that pretty small and petty. The more he thought, the more it angered him. The girl 's favour, mentioned in the letter, offered an excellent chance for reprisal. The sun was slamming its white hot rays against the burning sand, the glare was intolerable, the heat intense. Even the fiies were silent. birds had long since retired to the depths of the grove, not even a squirrel chattered. Forster pushed on his hat and started down the burning road. It was pure torture to continue but his intense dislike of the man he wished to hurt kept. him plodding through the shifting sand. After a mile or so the ground became a little more solid and then turned soft and swampy with tufted humm-ocks of rough grass which cut cruelly at his bare ankles. He finally stumbled onto the swamp road which led him into the steaming, fetid growth. He sat on a stump, wiping sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. God it was hot! His numbed brain could hardly register. He was heartily sorry that he had left now. He hoped it wasn 't much further. He continued d-own the rough trail for nearly a mile until he saw the marker which meant that he had to cut right into the swamp from there on. He was nearly exhausted from weariness and the effects of the heat. The mosquitos attacked his soft body mercilessly. He slapped at them futilely with short desperate motions. Hod, he was almost there! VVithout st-opping he turned off the trail. Immediately his feet sank into the soft ground, frightening him. He jumped back onto the trail in terror VVas it quicksand? He didn 't. know. He was abysmally ignorant of swamp 1-ore. Forster realized that it must be safe if someone had been there before. He slogged off through the swamp with the muck pulling at his feet, the foot- prints slowly filling with water. Dimly through the trees and vines he saw what appeared to be an island of higher ground with a large tree on it. That was it! He was frantic. He had fallen over hidden roots twice and his hands and knees were black, vines slapped at his face and resisted every movement. The insects hovered around him in clouds, biting him cruelly. He staggered on, sobbing. The importance ot' his goal and the prize awaiting him had assumed tremendous proportions in his mind. He stumbled and fell heavily on a turfy bank. He was there! The sun beat down on him as he lay panting in the tiny clearing. Silence enveloped him like a shroud. Twenty-three

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Forster squatted under scrub pine and opened his letter. It had better be good after paying five bucks for it. As he thought about it now it was a pretty foolish move, but he had been carried away by the moment. A sudden pang of loneliness had gripped him and he had felt that he simply must have a letter or something, so that he could feel a. sense of communion and friendship with someone. It felt horrible to Forster to think that nobody particularly cared about him, not even a cheap slut. He cursed, the letter was not even from a woman, he cursed steadily until a few lines at the bottom caught his eye 'Maria wishes you to have this favour so I will leave it in the hollow tree just off the swamp road - -- - following were exact instructi-ons on how to find the tree. The letter was signed simply Juan ' '. Forester knew who Juan was, he was the son of the Mexican woman with whom Al had stayed before moving into the shack. Maria was his sister, a beautiful girl whom Forster had gazed hungrily at whenever she was near, flushing miserably, when she caught him at it. Forster wondered what the favour was, a trinket perhaps? a handkerchief? a lock of hair? He thought it would be nice to get the object and flaunt it in front of Al. It would infuriatehim he knew. But would it be fair?-well, why not, dammit? The letter was his, he bought it, he could do anything he wanted with it, and by God he would do just that! He rose and walked quickly to the cabin, ignoring the heat, humming to himself. V Al glanced up as he entered but said nothing. Forster still humming to himself because he knew it would anger Al went about preparing the evening meal. At last Al spoke, NVell what was in it ? as Why ? asked Forster. Well because I have a right to know, the letter was written to me. So what Listen you fat slob, . . llissen yourself pal, I bought that letter and it 's none of your damn business what in it, see? s t Damn you, I'll . . lie made a move toward Forster who reached behind him and picked up a stick of firewood. His pudgy white hands were shaking and his large eyes were unusually bright. lt was the first time that he had physically opposed anyone. Al glared at him for a moment, cursed, then laughed and stalked out ofthe shack. Twcnly-l wo

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It pressed on his eardrums and he could hear his heart pounding loudly. The prize! He scrambled to his knees and then to his feet. He noted indifferently that one shoe was missing: Forster ran to the tree and without hesitating plunged his hand into the dark hole near the bottom. He never heard the dry whirr and barely felt the sharp pain in his wrist. His hand jerked back and involuntarily rose to the level of his eyes. When he saw the two tiny drops of blood his parched lips parted to emit a scream which he never heard. He stared transfixed at the softly oozing blood. He could smell the dry, musty odour of death all around. He started to his feet with another shrill scream and stag- gered, half running, into the swamp. Scream after scream shattered the silence. His soft brown eyes were now distended and horribly staring, seeing nothing. He pitched forward over a root and with a convulsive spasm lay quite still, face down in the muck. A lone ily, full of eggs, buzzed heavily in circles and finally settled on a small scratch still softly running with red blood. Al sat in the cabin stoop and smoked thoughtfully. VVhere was that silly bastard? Had he run off? and m-ost of all What was in that letter? He felt a little sorry for that fat little slob. He took things t-oo seriously. A cloud of dust. down the road caught his attention. Perhaps this was Forster. It was the boy with the mail. He climbed down from his battered jalopy, white teeth showing up his back face. Hello Mistah Al he said, handing him the pack of letters. Hello Pete. You haven 't seen Forster hey? Nossir, o11ly one I seen to-day was dat Mexican boy Juan comin' off de swamp road. Sho has a nice sister that boy. Al leered in the manner of men who don 't want to be mistaken. It was a knowing leer that left nothing to the imagination. Pete didn 't seem to notice, but rambled on too bad she had to get in that fix. She tried to kill herself ya know. She got in trouble and her brother found out. Touehy people them greasersf' he said ambling back to his battered wreck of a ear. Twenty-four