Of Custom And Queefs

The end before the beginning

Custom put her hands over her ears. "I don't queef, I tell you I don't." And she cried,
"Oh! Steve-Steve-Steve!"
Steve came quietly out of the brush and the queef scuttled back into
Custom's brain.
Steve said quietly, "What the heck you yellin' about?"
Custom got up on her knees. "You aren't gonna leave me, are ya, Steve? I
know you aren't."
Steve came stiffly near and sat down beside him. "No."
"I knew it," Custom cried. "You aren't that kind."
Steve was silent.
Custom said, "Steve."
"Yeah?"
"I did another bad thing."
"It don't make no difference," Steve said, and he fell silent again.
Only the topmost ridges were in the sun now. The shadow in the valley was blue and soft. From the distance came the sound of trolls shouting to one another. Steve turned his head and listened to the shouts.
Custom said, "Steve."
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you gonna give me heck?"
"Give ya heck?"
"Sure, like you've always done before. Like, 'If I didn't have you I'd take the kids in my basement and -'"
"Jesus Christ, Custom! You ain't remember nothing that happens, but you
remember ever' word I say."
"Well, ain't you gonna say it?"
Steve shook himself. He said woodenly, "If I was single I could live so
easy." His voice was monotonous, and had no emphasis. "I could get a job an' not
worry about no felon." He stopped.
"Go on," said Custom. "And when the end of the month come-"
"And when the end of the month come I could take my fity bucks and' go to
a . . . . god's house-" He stopped again.
Custom looked eagerly at him. "Go on, Steve. Aren't you gonna give me
more heck?"
"No," said Steve.
"Well, I can go away," said Custom. "I'll go right off in the hills and' find a
balmy cave if you don't want me."
Steve shook himself again. "No," he said. "I want you to stay with me
here."
Custom said craftily-"Tell me like you did before."
"Tell you what?"
"'Bout the other guys and about us."
Steve said, "Christian felons like us have no family. They make a little stake and' then
they blow it in. They ain't got nobody in the world' that gives a hoot in heck about
'em-"
"But not us," Custom cried happily. "Talk about us now."
Steve was quiet for a moment. "But not us," he said.
"Because-"
"Because I got you an'-"
"And I got you. We got each other, that's what, that gives a hoot in heck about
us," Custom cried in triumph.
The little evening breeze blew over the clearing and the leaves rustled and
the wind waves flowed up the green pool. And the shouts of men sounded
again, this time much closer than before.
Steve took off his hat. He said shakily, "Take off your socks, Custom. The air
feels fine."
Custom removed her socks from her hands dutifully and laid them on the ground in front of her.
The shadow in the valley was bluer, and the evening came fast. On the wind the
the sound of crashing in the brush came to them.
Custom said, "Tell how it's gonna be."
Steve had been listening to the distant sounds. For a moment he was
businesslike. "Look acrost the river, Custom, an' I'll tell you so you can almost
see it."

Custom turned her head and looked off across the pool and up the darkening
slopes of the Gabussians. "We're gonna get a little place," Steve began. He reached
in his side pocket and brought out Mt. Mak's Luger; he snapped off the safety,
and the hand and gun lay on the ground behind Custom's back. He looked at the
back of Customs head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined.
A man's voice called from up the river, and a woman answered.
"Go on," said Custom.
Steve raised the gun and his hand shook, and he dropped his hand to the
ground again.
"Go on," said Custom. "How's it gonna be?" "We're gonna get a little place."
"We'll have a woodburner," said Steve. "And we'll have maybe worms for the garden .
. . . an' down the basement we'll have a . . . . little toture chamber-"
"For the kids trapped in the basement," Custom shouted.
"For the kids trapped in the basement," Steverepeated.
"And I get to tend the cats."
"And you get to tend the cats."
Custom giggled with happiness. "An' be the best woodburner in the world'."
"Yes."
Custom turned her head.
"No, Custom. Look down there across the river, like you can almost see the
place."
Custom obeyed him. Steve looked down at the gun.
There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. Steve turned and looked
toward them.
"Go on, Steve. When are we gonna do it?"
"Gonna do it soon."
"Me and' you."
"You . . . . an' me. Ever'body gonna be nice to you. Ain't gonna be no more
trolls. Nobody gonna hurt nobody nor steal their identities from 'em."
Custom said, "I thought you were mad at me, Steve."
"No," said Steve. "No, Custom. I ain't mad. I never been mad, an' I ain't
now. That's a thing I want ya to know."
The voices came close now. Steve raised the gun and listened to the voices.
Custom begged, "Let's do it now. Let's go to that place now."
"Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta."
And Steve raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the muzzle of it
close to the back of Custom's head. The hand shook violently, but his face set
and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the
hills and rolled down again. Custom jarred, and then settled slowly forward to
the sand, and she lay without quivering.
Steve shivered and looked at the gun, and then he threw it from him, back
up on the bank, near the pile of old ashes.
The brush seemed filled with cries and with the sound of running feet. Catterdz's
voice shouted. "Steve. Where are you at, Steve?"

But Steve sat stiffly on the bank and looked at his right hand that had
thrown the gun away. The group burst into the clearing, and Mt. Mak was ahead.
She saw Custom lying on the sand. "Gother, by God." She went over and looked
down at Custom, and then she looked back at Steve. "Right in the back of the
head," She said softly.

Catterdz came directly to Steve and sat down beside him, sat very close to him.
"Never mind," said Catterdz. "A guy got to sometimes."
But Aliroth was standing over Steve. "How'd you do it?" she asked.
"I just done it," Steve said tiredly.
"Did she have my gun?"
"Yeah. She had your gun."
"An' you got it away from her and you took it and' you killed her?"
"Yeah. Tha's how." Steve's voice was almost a whisper. He looked
steadily at his right hand that had held the gun.
Catterdz twitched Steve's elbow. "Come on, Steve. Me an' you'll go in an'
get a drink."
Steve let himself be helped to his feet. "Yeah, a drink."
Catterdz said, "You hadda, Steve. I swear you hadda. Come on with me." He
led Steve into the entrance of the trail and up toward the highway.
Mt. Mak and Aliroth looked after them. And Aliroth said, "Now what the hell
ya suppose is eatin' them two guys?"