Micah Layman

Spoon River

by Mic ah Layman

The shovel split the damp earth, hardly making a sound. The airwas cold that night, and the moon full. Mrs. Sibley stopped to take a breath and, glancing to her left, saw the hilltop that guarded her from the prying eyes of Spoon River. Nobody will find me here, she thought, these trees are thick and there is no moonlight by which to see. The scent wafting up into her nostrils could be described as nothing short of repulsive, but she craved the feeling it gave her. Slowly oozingout of the potato sack at her feet, cleansing every pore, his odor was more holy than all of his books and prayers. She bent down and opened the potato sack. Those beautiful black beads, devoid now ofall that he held dear and all that she despised, looked towards the heavens. How ironic, she thought. And she laughed. A high, mirthless laugh piercing the empty silence of the forest, surrounding her, and frightening a flock of crows from a nearby perch. "No longer shall you outdo me, Amos. No longer shall your knowledge and wisdom make a mockery of me. God has chosen me, Amos, to be the reaper. I shall pluck from you every feather by which you attempted to flyaway from me. Nowyou will respect me," she proclaimed as she stuck a cross inside the potato sack. Checking that no strand of hair was sticking out from the top, she tightened the strings and heaved the sack into the hole. "Satan is waiting," she whispered, and began filling the grave.

"So you see, Adam, I am at a loss forwhat to do! I cannot divorce her, for I love God and all that He and the church stand for, but the anger welling up inside of myvery soul is unbearable! What advice do you have for me, old friend?" Amos Sibley took a sip of his tea, staring with

helpless eyes as Adam thought about what he had just said. "You say she is unfaithful, Amos, and you know this for sure?" asked Adam. "Yes, I have witnessed the treachery with mine own eyes. It was October last, and I was working late at the church. She knew this, and told me she would keep my dinner warm on the stove until I was finished. When I finally arrived at my home, around eleven o'clock in the evening, I heard a loud, rhythmic thumping coming from upstairs. I was on guard as I slowly crept up the steps and opened my bedroom door, and there she was! With a man I'd never seen before! I regret to say I was not strong enough to interrupt them then and there. I crept back downstairs and out into the cold night to have a walk," said Amos.

Adam thought for a moment. "Well, my dear friend, I am so very sorry to hear of this. Of course I would not recommend divorce, for God would look upon this with such disdain." He thought for a moment more. "I apologize, Amos, I just cannot think of a solution to thisl Pray for her. She needs guidance. That is all that comes to mind."

Amos looked across the table at Adam with a solemn expression. "This conversation cannot leave this roomi' he said. "You do know this?" "Of course. Not even mywife shall hear of it.

You have myword." And with thatAmos stood up and opened the door. He slammed it on his way out, frightening a crow from its perch. From that day forward Amos resolved that he would focus his anger into learning. He would lecture, run for office, and canvass for books, all the while putting his adulterous wife out of his mind. In a few months time, Amos was elected mayor of Spoon River, and in two years was voted the most influential man west of the Mississippi. He hated his new life, but knew it was the only way. Through all his successes, his wife continued her clandestine infi delity. It happened on a drafty evening in early September. The leaves had vacated the trees, and lay trampled or in heaps on the side of the road, giving the woods offto the east an ominous, jagged silhouette. Amos was hurrying home, hoping for a hot dinner on the table but dreading another night of scripted conversation. As he walked in the door, his eyes fell upon his wife. Something was strange. She wasn't sitting in her usual spot knitting by the fireplace; she was at the kitchen table, staring towards

the door with red eyes, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief, "Sit down, Amos," she said. Amos thought he detected a hint of malicious humor in her raspy whisper, but he didn't dwell. He sat.

nant."

"Amos," she said staring at him, "l'm preg-

Mrs. Sibleywas a small woman, but made up for her size with an uncanny ability to command respect. All her life she had been the perfect specimen: straight As, graduated top of her class, beautiful, flowing brown hair, a soft face, and eyes the color of ripe blueberries. Boys pined over her and girls were jealous. All that changed when she married Amos. She began losing her hair and gained weight by the day, it seemed. She also began seeing wrinkles tarnish her stunning good looks. Even her eyes seemed to lose their luster. Although she still retained her intelligence, it was overshadowed by Amos's remarkable virtuosity. Mrs. Sibley had known her looks would fade with time, but she had hoped she would always have herwits for people to look up to. Oh, how wrong I was, she thought as she stared into Amos's beautiful amber eyes. She despised him for his cleverness, and although she would never let on, was infinitely jealous of every aspect of his being. She longed to be the successful one. That was the way it should be. She should be mayor! She should be influential! She should be loved! That was why she cheated. Mrs. Sibley couldn't get enough of hersel(, but it seemed as though Amos didnt see her for the perfection she truly was. At least, not in the way she wanted. One night stands were a way for her to regain her tarnished self-image, which had been shattered like a crystal chandelier through years of helpless marriage. A crow on the ledge outside the open window let loose a caw that froze her soul. She walked over to close the window, giving the coward a few more moments for the sting of her words to sink in. Now he knows the truth, she thought. We haven't slept together in years. I can't wait to see his face. But when she sat back down and looked at her husband, she was dumbfounded. Why isn't he angry? Why does he stare at me with those eyes, those amber daggers which pierce every fiber of my being, and convey nothing but remorse! "l know. I've always known," he said, almost apathetically. Years of bottling up his rage had made him something of an expert. "How?" she screamed, no longer caring about

anything except revenge. Amos didn't answer. He simply sat, hands grasped together as ifin prayer, and stared at her. After a few moments of heavy silence, she turned on her heel and sped out ofthe house, up over the hill to the east, far into the dead woods until she felt alone. There she wept. She wept for her broken life, for her husband's treacherous perfection. She wept for herself. She wept until all that remained inside of herwas a small ember of hope, one last far-flung possibility for happiness. Resolved, she stood up, dusted herself off, and began a purposeful walk home. Mrs. Sibley spent the next week procuring the tools she would need for her task. She went to the store to buy the largest sack ofpotatoes they had. A small bag won't do, she thought, he's quite tall. She traveled across the river to see Mrs. |ohnson about a shovel. It was said she had a particularly fine set of gardening tools. Nothing but the best, she thought. MyAmos deserves nothing but the best. Mrs. Sibley was quite pleased with herself. She needed only one more tool. However, she was finding it difficult to locate one that was just right for the job. One foggy evening, after a long day of searching which yielded nothing but irritation, Mrs. Sibley noticed something strange. Across the street from

where she stood, at the Spoon River Elementary School, there was a large flock of crows circling the swing set. It's much too late for children to be playing, she thought, I wonder what it is. As she set up across the street, a loud clap of thunder shook the sky, and a light drizzle began to fall. The fog was becoming thicker, and Mrs. Sibley began to feel the soft tickle of the hairs on her neck standing on end. Something is wrong, she thought. As she approached the swing set, the flock of crows scattered to show what they had been feasting on. The corpse of a small girl, no more than eight, was lying in a puddle of blood and filth, a pitchfork protruding from her neck. Her eyes, open wide, were a beautiful dark blue, the color of ripe blueberries. Her lifeless hands were clutched in what seemed to be little fists. Upon closer look, Mrs. Sibley noticed she was holding something. She cautiously pried open the girl's cold fingers and retrieved the slip of paper she had been clinging to so tightly. It was stained with blood and dirt, but Mrs. Sibley could decipher the three words hastily scrawled upon it: "GOD SAVE MEI'She dropped to her knees in terror. She felt the fog closing in around her like smoke from a chimney, and heard another deafening clap of thunder from above. The school's clock tower chimed

eleven, and the rabid crows which had been circling the little girl's body shrieked with panic. Amos, she thought. She ripped the pitchfork from the child's

neck, and in a blind rage raced towards her house, praying to God that her husband was asleep. Arriving at her front gate, she slowed her pace to a walk. I must be cautious, she thought, if I wake him everything will be ruined. Carefully she eased the door to the house open and tiptoed upstairs, taking care not to make too much noise. The door to their bedroom creaked open, but the splattering of rain on the window disguised the sound. Her eyes fell upon him, sleeping peacefully in bed, and all at once she was overcome with an unfathomable anguish, one which tore at her heart and threatened to rip her chest open. She lunged at him, pitchfork in hand, and landed with a thud on his chiseled chest. His eyes shot open with a start, and upon seeing his wife, they filled with an immeasurable dread. He began to thrash against her, but she restrained him. His physical strength was no match for the deep surge of hatred she was channeling through every muscle. With a cry she lifted the pitchfork above her, and in one fluid motion brought it down into his head, the prongs cutting through his eyes and spurting a fountain of blood. In seconds his motions were reduced to slight twitches, which finally subsided. Mrs. Sibley threw the pitchfork onto the floor and dragged her husband's lifeless body down the steps and out the back door into the yard. There she opened the shed and seized the shovel and empty potato sack she'd been saving. Hoisting the objects over her shoulder, she grabbed Amos by the hair and began trudging eastward towards the forest, the rain pouring down and washing away any trace of evidence. One hour later she arrived at her destination. The rain had subsided, and it was very late. She gazed up through the trees at the full moon and sighed. It's all oveq she thought, happiness is mine. She could hardly contain herself. With shovel in hand, she split the damp earth, and it hardly made a sound.