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The Rope

Jim Meirose

    The rotting pickup truck pulled up in front of the abandoned farmhouse. Walter and Lucas got out and stepped toward the well in the bare dirt front yard.
    Okay, here we are, said Lucas. And there’s the well. Do you think that thing is really down there?
    That’s what Father Peter says.
    How do we get it?
    We need to know how deep the water is at the bottom. If the water’s not deep, you need to go down in the well to find it.
    What do you mean I need to go down there? What about you?
    You’re skinnier than me—
    So what because I’m skinny I should go down a filthy well?
    Well—look at how narrow it is, Lucas. I’m too big. But wait—listen. Let’s not argue about who should go down the well. Before anybody goes down we need to know how deep the water is.
    Oh—how do we tell that?
    We’ll tie a rock to a rope and let it down in the well.
    How will that tell us anything?
    We’ll let the rock down in the well to the bottom of the water. Then we’ll pull it up and see how much of the rope is wet.
    That sounds good Walter.
    So go get the rope.
    Okay. But where—
    When I was up here yesterday scouting around, I brought some rope. It’s down the cellar. Go on, get it.
    Okay Walter.
    Lucas stepped up on the porch and entered the unlocked house. He walked down the entry hall across the rotted floorboards and went to the door to the cellar. It hung loose on its hinges and nearly fell in on Lucas when he pulled it open. This farmhouse had sat empty for almost fifty years. And according to Father Peter, the thing in the well had been there even longer; thrown down there in anger by Griswold, before the killing started. Father Peter had taken Griswold’s confession just before they strapped him into the electric chair. And Griswold had told Father Peter about the well. Killing, thought Lucas as he went down the creaking roughhewn cellar steps. Killing; slowly he descended into the darkness, thinking of what Griswold had done over fifty years ago, upstairs. He’d used his knives quickly and surely—and the three in their beds had had no chance. In the damp dirt-floored cellar, he found the coil of rope and brought it quickly back up and out to where Walter stood, leaning against the well.
    That’ll do it, said Walter. Now find a rock and tie it to the end of the rope—there, look—there’s loose bricks in the foundation. Use one of those bricks there. There—
    Lucas went past Walter and down the steps and pulled a brick from the crumbling foundation. Lucas always did what Walter said. As he tied the rope to the brick, he wondered what made Walter so much smarter than him. They had come from the same womb but yet, they were so very different. Walter was all confidence and brains. It was for Lucas to work.
    Having tied the brick to the end of the rope Lucas went up to Walter and asked what to do next.
    Go to the well, said Walter. Let the brick down in the well until there’s slack in the line. Then pull it out and see how much of the line is wet. That’ll tell you how deep the water is down there. Go on—go on and do it. Do it now.
    Lucas did as he was told and went and let the rope down and pulled it up just as Walter had said, and he saw that about ten feet of the rope was wet and that the brick had gone down about forty feet in all. Lucas went and showed Walter and told him what he thought.
    I’m not going down in that well, Walter—it’s too far down and then I’d have to dive ten feet to the bottom of the water. It’ll be black, it’ll be dark—I can’t do it Walter—
    Oh yes you can, said Walter, raising a hand. Plus it has to be you. That well’s only about two and a half feet wide, maybe three—you’re skinny. Look at me. I’m heavy. It has to be you that goes down, Lucas—you’re the only one who will fit.
    But I don’t know if I can do it Walter. I—
    Go on in and get out of your clothes and then come back out here and I’ll lower you down into the well, with that rope. Let’s see—
    Walter came down off the porch and tested the line.
    It’s strong enough, he said. It’s nylon—that’s why it’s lasted in our barn all these years. I’ll lower you down with this—we’re lucky to have this rope Lucas this is damned good rope—it’s long, too. Damned long.
    Lucas stood blankly watching Walter. The rope looked pretty thin to him.
    That’s rope’s thin, Walter—it won’t hold me—
    Yes it will now get inside and get out of your clothes. Now.
    Lucas put his head down and went up into the house. He went to the living room and sat on an ancient moldy overstuffed couch, raising a cloud of dust about him. Slowly he began to get out of his shoes and socks and clothes and as he did so, the cool air wrapped him all around the same way the walls of that well would wrap him. And his feet were cold, now that they were bare—but even though it was the middle of Summer, the water in the well would be much colder. And then he would have to dive ten feet to the bottom, holding his breath—he held his breath sitting there in his boxer shorts as he thought this—and he’d have to feel around the bottom in the dark—he closed his eyes—as he held his breath—his lungs were near bursting—and God knew what would be on the bottom, the thing they were after had been thrown down the well fifty years ago, God only knew what other things had gone into the well since then—his stomach turned as he flexed his hands and imagined the slimy feel of the bottom—and then his lungs would be bursting and he’d have to surface and he’d have to go down many times before he could say he’d really checked out the bottom—and what if he found nothing, then what would Walter tell him to do—No, he said to himself; No I’m not going to do it, he muttered under his breath—and he got dressed and went out to Walter and he stood on the porch thrust his chest out and he spoke.
    I can’t do it Walter—it’ll be awful—
    What? What do you mean? We’ve got to get down there—
    You go down there Walter. I’m afraid.
    Afraid? What do you mean, afraid?
    What I said Walter. It’ll be awful down there. I can’t.
    Lucas’s eyes dropped and he felt ashamed to have to tell Walter he couldn’t do something he had been told to do. He didn’t know what else to say—he bit his tongue and closed his eyes and Walter watched him and he recognized the fear in Lucas he’d seen so often before, and so he said in a blustery tone All right! All right! Then I’ll have to go down there—I hope to hell I don’t get stuck but somebody has to do it Lucas I guess it’s a job for a man, like me. Let me past!
    Walter pushed past Lucas on the porch and went in the house and sat on the same rotting sofa Lucas had sat in, and he leaned back against the sofa and thought. What a pain in the ass Lucas is—it’s because of him I have to play this game—and even though he was fully clothed with no intention of going in the well, the stinking rotting cool of the room wrapped around Walter’s body as tight as the walls of the well would be, and then when he got to the bottom, in the water, somehow he would have to turn around in the tiny space and position himself to dive to the bottom—and he would have to hold his breath, enclosed in the water and the tight walls of the well and he’d have to struggle to the bottom and he’d be so exhausted—and his lungs would be bursting and he wouldn’t even be able to feel around the bottom for the thing before he’d have to go back to the surface—and he’d have to try and try again—and god damn it he was too big to go down that well and he opened his eyes on the couch and even though he had known all along he wasn’t going down that well, he was covered with a thin film of cold sweat, and he realized why Lucas was so fearful. He rose and decided what he would say as he went back out of the house to Lucas and stood next to where Lucas stood on the porch gripping the railing.
    Lucas—you have to do it. I’ve been thinking. There’s no way I’ll fit.
    But I’m afraid to do it Walter—
    But you’re the only one who’ll fit.
    But I—
    You have to, Lucas!
    Ten minutes later Lucas stood by the well barefoot in his boxer shorts with Walter tying the rope around his brother’s chest and talking fast.
    Now Lucas when you get down there you know what to feel for right? You know what we’re looking for, right—
    Yes I do, said Lucas shakily.
    Just wait, said Walter. Wait until we have it. It’ll all have been worth it. You’ll forget how awful it might have been to be in the well—when we’ve got it, we’ll be set for life.
    I know that Walter—
    So go on. Into the well you go. I’ll lower you down. Go on.
    Goodbye Walter, said Lucas.
    Walter’s jaw dropped and he looked his brother in the eye.
    What do you mean goodbye? There’s no goodbye—
    I just felt like saying that Walter, said Lucas, turning his eyes away. All right. Here I go—
    Lucas climbed over the edge of the well and started down with Walter holding the line tight and letting it out as Lucas went lower. At last Lucas was lost in the dark below and Walter called out to him as he paid out the line. The line rubbed hard against the rough stone lip of the well on its way down.
    You all right Lucas? You okay—
    Yes Walter. It’s not bad—it’s not bad—
    The line paid out ten, twenty, thirty feet—and kept going, all along rubbing hard against that sharp stone lip.
    You all right Lucas?
    I—I’m not afraid Walter.
    I’m not afraid—
    A splash of water sounded from far below and the rope went slack. Walter knew that Lucas was in the water now—and would be diving down. He kept slack in the line and paid out about ten feet more—Lucas must have been on the bottom now, feeling around—how could he hold his breath this long how could he?
    At last there came a splash of water from far below.
    Lucas, called Walter down the well.
    Lucas!
    Nothing yet, said a thin voice from far below.
    Again, the splash.
    Lucas was diving again. Walter held his breath and kept the line slack and held his breath the whole time, until his lungs were about to burst, and at last there was another splash of water far below, and a wild yell from Lucas.
    I got it!
    I got it!
    Walter!
    I got it!
    You do? You sure?
    Yes. Pull me up Walter.
    Please pull me up now.
    It’s cold here Walter.
    It’s cold and I can’t breathe!
    But I got it!
    Walter began to heave on the rope and pulled Lucas ten, twenty, thirty feet up, with the harsh stone once more ripping at the length of the rope, and then—the rope broke and from deep in the well came a great splash and a yell; and the rope suddenly letting go threw Walter off balance and he fell backward and cracked his head on a rock on the ground, and lay there, knocked out cold, the broken rope wound in the dirt around him.

###

    A blanket of stars hung far above startled the opening eyes. The hand came up from somewhere and rubbed the throbbing head. The bed spread cold under him. Why was the bed so hard and cold? The mild breeze flowing over ran chills throughout his body. Lord God, he muttered as he slowly rolled onto his side. Lord God, my head. The bed became hardpacked earth—and the house appeared, looming over in the silent nighttime dark.
    Then, it came back to him.
    All at once, it came back to him.
    The well! The God-damned broken rope!
    Lucas!
    Walter leapt to his feet but his legs went rubbery and he fell to his knees, and struggled to his feet a second time, and turned.
    The well stood there in the starlight.
    How long have I lain there—Lucas!
    Lucas!
    He scrambled to the edge of the well, and called out down it.
    Lucas! Lucas!
    The well sat quiet, a hole of silence. He gripped the edge. How long had he lain there? The night came around him, telling him; too long.
    Get help.
    Must get help.
    Walter ran to the rust red pickup truck ignoring his throbbing head and he woozily climbed into the truck, jammed the key into the starter, and savagely turned it. The truck started with a series of wheezing coughs from under the hood. Walter threw on headlights and jammed down his foot, wheels spun, dirt flew, and he was off. He flew down the driveway.
    Get help.
    Must get help.
    For Lucas.
    God damn that rotten rope. God damn it—
    Biting his lip bloody, he turned onto the washboard dirt road and started toward the village, ten miles off. The trees flashed by on either side—madly he drove into the glow of the headlights, but he could not outrun them. Trying hard to do so though, he pushed the pedal harder, the ancient rotted truck shuddering, roaring, bouncing; faster; faster.
    Must go faster.
    For Lucas.
    But Lucas had had it.
    He had really had it.
    He had really had it, in his hands.
    Father Peter had been right; it was there; it was there.
    But, close or not, it didn’t matter right now.
    Tears blinded Walter; he saw Lucas before him, but receding into the distance. An unseen fist punched Walter in the gut repeatedly, knocking the wind from him, pushing the pedal harder; he had to get to Lucas; he could not let Lucas disappear; he struggled to breathe; the truck went faster, brother pursuing brother, one trying desperately to keep the other alive; a damned broken rope couldn’t be the end, it’s too small a thing to be the end; but God, they’d been so very close; they’d been so very close.



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