“Do you doubt it for a moment, lady?” said Mrs. Goodwater.
“Election’s tomorrow again, and all I want to know is, you runnin’ for another term—and ain’t you ashamed?”
“Yes to the first question and no to the second. Lady, look here, I bought those books for my boy cousin, Raoul. He’s just ten and goes around looking in hats for rabbits. I told him there’s about as much chance finding rabbits in hats as brains in heads of certain people I could name, but look he does and so I got these gifts for him.
“Wouldn’t believe you on a stack of Bibles.”
“God’s truth, anyway. I love to fun about the witch thing. The ladies all yodeled when I explained about my dark powers. Wish you’d been there.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow to fight you with a cross of gold and all the powers of good I can organize behind me,” said Elmira. “Right now, tell me how much other magic junk you got in your house.”
Mrs. Goodwater pointed to a side table inside the door.
“I been buyin’ all kinds of magic herbs. Smell funny and make Raoul happy. That little sack of stuff, that’s called This is rue, and this is Sabisse root and that there’s Ebon herbs; here’s black sulphur, and this they claim is bone dust.”
“Bone dust” Elmira skipped back and kicked Tom’s ankle. Tom yelped.
“And here’s wormwood and fern leaves so you can freeze shotguns and fly like a bat in your dreams, it says in Chapter X of the little book here. I think it’s fine for growing boys’ heads to think about things like this. Now, from the look on your face you don’t believe Raoul exists. Well, I’ll give you his Springfield address.”
“Yes,” said Elmira, “and the day I write him you’ll take the Springfield bus and go to General Delivery and get my letter and write back to me in a boy’s hand. I know you!”
“Mrs. Brown, speak up—you want to be president of the Honeysuckle Ladies Lodge, right? You run every year now for ten years. You nominate yourself. And always wind up gettin’ one vote. Yours. Elmira, if the ladies wanted you they’d landslide you in. But from where I stand looking up the mountain, ain’t so much as one pebble come rattlin’ down save yours. Tell you what, I’ll nominate and vote for you myself come noon tomorrow, how’s that?”
“Damned for sure, then,” said Elmira. “Last year I got a deathly cold right at election time; couldn’t get out and campaign back-fence-to-back-fence. Year before that, broke my leg. Mighty strange.” She squinted darkly at the lady behind the screen. “That’s not all. Last month I cut my finger six times, bruised my knee ten times, fell off my back porch twice, you hear-twice! I broke a window, dropped four dishes, one vase worth a dollar forty-nine at Bixby’s, and I’m billin’ you for every dropped dish from now on in my house and environs!”
“I’ll be poor by Christmas,” said Mrs. Goodwater. She opened the screen door and came out suddenly and let the door slam. “Elmira Brown, how old are you?”
“You probably got it written in one of your black books. Thirty-five!”
“Well, when I think of thirty-five years of your life . . .” Mrs. Goodwater pursed her lips and blinked her eyes, counting. “That’s about twelve thousand seven hundred and seventy-five days, or counting three of them per day, twelve thousand-odd commotions, twelve thousand much-ados and twelve thousand calamaties. It’s a full rich life you lead, Elmira Brown. Shake hands!”
“Get away!” Elmira fended her off.
“Why, lady, you’re only the second most clumsy woman in Green Town, Illinois. You can’t sit down without playing the chair like an accordion. You can’t stand up but what you kick the cat. You can’t trot across an open meadow without falling into a well. Your life has been one long decline, Elmira Alice Brown, so why not admit it?”
“It wasn’t clumsiness that caused my calamities, but you being within a mile of me at those times when I dropped a pot of beans or juiced my finger in the electric socket at home.”
“Lady, in a town this size, everybody’s within a mile of someone at one time or other in the day.”
“You admit being around then?”
“I admit being born here, yes, but I’d give anything right now to have been born in Kenosha or Zion. Elmira, go to your dentist and see what he can do about that serpent’s tongue in there.”
“Oh!” said Elmira. “Oh, oh, oh!”
“You’ve pushed me too far. I wasn’t interested in witchcraft, but I think I’ll just look into this business. Listen here! You’re invisible right now. While you stood there I put a spell on you. You’re clean out of sight.”
“You didn’t!”
“Course,” admitted the witch, “I never could see you, lady.” Elmira pulled out her pocket mirror. “There I am!” She peered closer and gasped. She reached up like someone tuning a harp and plucked a single thread. She held it up, Exhibit A. “I never had a gray hair in my life till this second!”
The witch smiled charmingly. “Put it in a jar of still water, be an angleworm come morning. Oh, Elmira, look at yourself at last, won’t you? All these years, blaming others for your own mallet feet and floaty ways! You ever read Shakespeare? There’s little stage directions in there: ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS. That’s you, Elmira. Alarums and Excursions! Now get home before I feel the bumps on your head and predict gas at night for you! Shoo!
She waved her hands in the air as if Elmira were a cloud of things. “My, the flies are thick this summer!” she said.
She went inside and hooked the door.
“The line is drawn, Mrs. Goodwater,” Elmira said, folding her arms. “I’ll give you one last chance. Withdraw from the candidacy of the Honeysuckle Lodge or face me face-to-face tomorrow when I run for office and wrest it from you in a fair fight. I’ll bring Tom here with me. An innocent good boy. And innocence and good will win the day.”
“I wouldn’t count on me being innocent, Mrs. Brown,” said the boy. “My mother says—”
“Shut up, Tom, good’s good! You’ll be there on my right hand, boy.”
“Yes’m” said Tom.
“If, that is,” said Elmira, “I can live through the night with this lady making wax dummies of me—shoving rusty needles through the very heart and soul of them. If you find a great big fig in my bed all shriveled up come sunrise, Tom, you’ll know who picked the fruit in the vineyard. And look to see Mrs. Goodwater president till she’s a hundred and ninety-five years old.”
“Why, lady,” said Mrs. Goodwater, “I’m three hundred and five now. Used to call me SHE in the old days.” She poked her fingers at the street. “Abracadabra-zimmity-ZAM! How’s that?”
Elmira ran down off the porch.
“Tomorrow!” she cried.
“Till then, lady!” said Mrs. Goodwater.
Tom followed Elmira, shrugging and kicking ants off the sidewalk as he went.
Running across a driveway, Elmira screamed.
“Mrs. Brown!” cried Tom.
A car backing out of a garage ran right over Elmira’s right big toe.
Mrs. Elmira Brown’s foot hurt her in the middle of the night, so she got up and went down to the kitchen and ate some cold chicken and made a neat, painfully accurate list of things. First, illnesses in the past year. Three colds, four mild attacks of indigestion, one seizure of bloat, arthritis, lumbago, what she imagined to be gout, a severe bronchial cough, incipient asthma, and spots on her arms, plus an abscessed semicircular canal which made her reel like a drunken moth some days, backache, head pains, and nausea. Cost of medicine: ninety-eight dollars and seventy-eight cents.
Secondly, things broken in the house during the twelve months just past; two lamps, six vases, ten dishes, one soup tureen, two windows, one chair, one sofa cushion, six glasses, and one crystal chandelier prism. Total cost: twelve dollars and ten cents.
Thirdly, her pains this very night. Her toe hurt from being run over. Her stomach was upset. Her back was stiff, her legs were pulsing with agony. Her eyeballs felt like wads of blazing cotton. Her tongue tasted like a dust mop. Her ears were belling and ringing away. Cost? She debated, going back to bed.
Ten thousand dollars in personal suffering.
“Try to settle this out of court!” she said half aloud.
“Eh?” said her husband, awake.
She lay down in bed. “I simply refuse to die.”
“Beg pardon?” he said.
“I won’t die!” she said, staring at the ceiling.
“That’s what I always claimed,” said her husband, and turned over to snore.
In the morning Mrs. Elmira Brown was up early and down to the library and then to the drugstore and back to the house where she was busy mixing all kinds of chemicals when her husband, Sam came home with an empty mail pouch at noon.
“Lunch’s in the icebox.” Elmira stirred a green-looking porridge in a large glass.
“Good Lord, what’s that?” asked her husband. “Looks like a milk shake been left out in the sun for forty years. Got kind of a fungus on it.”
“Fight magic with magic.”
“You going to drink that?”
“Just before I go up into the Honeysuckle Ladies Lodge for the big doings.”
Samuel Brown sniffed the concoction. “Take my advice. Get up those steps first, then drink it. What’s in it?”
“Snow from angels’ wings, well, really menthol, to cool hell’s fires that burn you, it says in
