SWAMP LIGHTS A Short Story By June Van De Graaff YES, I know about swamp lights. I know all about swamp lights. I've known about swamp lights for all my life. I was born on the edge of a swamp, and my earliest memory was of Magombi, the swamp god. I don't know how old I was, but I can remember waking one night with a horrible scream ringing in my ears. It rushed past my window, and then faded away into the night. For a moment all was still, unnaturally still. The frogs and crickets had stopped their after dinner music, and it seemed like the wind was even afraid to blow. Then outside the thin walls of our home, I heard hushed voices, and soon, bewilderingly close, yet almost up like a wisp from the swamp, came the eerie chant of the negro, a half lament, half song of praise to Magombi, great and mighty swamp god who went about at night lighting his swamp fires the swamp fires that lured the simple people of my community into the huge, damp, sticky, ooze from which no human ever escaped. I began to cry. The scream and the chant had frightened me. At last my mother appeared at my bed. She lifted the veil of mosquito netting and wiped the tears from my eyes. Then she wrapped me in a blanket and carried me into the circle of bare earth that served as a town square and gathering place for important meetings as well as the daily small talk and gossip. Beyond the clearing the great swamp breathed in mist and chuckled in security, secure in its superiority under the strong leadership of Magombi. In the clearing every person in the area had met. Black brushed shoulders with white in common terror. In the center men were piling up a huge stack of logs and sticks. The bodies of the negroes swayed to their chant, and the white people stared with frightened blank eyes into the swamp. The pile of wood grew to immense proportions. Out of the night men came with flaming torches. The wood crackled and blazed and the chant grew till it must have reached into the very heart of the swamp, and made Magombi glad. As I think back on it now, it was a rather pitiful and hopeless handful of people. They built a huge flaming lantern to guide a man out of the swamp, but they sang in minor key because they knew the man would never see the light. I shivered. Mother drew the blanket more tightly about me, carried me back into the house, and put me into bed. But I couldn't sleep. All night long the people kept their vigil, and they sang. And it seemed like every time I closed my eyes the scream would run past my window and fade away. I could still hear the awful silence. Somehow the night seemed never to end. I prayed for morning, and a light that made everything familiar; and steady shadows, not the kind that move and hurry along the walls and then hide. It was not until the first red streaks of morning that I fell into a troubled sleep. The noise had been constant all night, and when day came the embers of the fire still glowed hot. I didn't realize fully what had happened until I missed old Jonah. Jonah had been a kindly old man with soft eyes and a gentle voice. He often held me on his knee and told me stories. He was slow, and his unworried, unhurried existence was amazingly free from the petty little things that make the world a bitter place for lots of people. I loved old Jonah, almost as I might have loved a grandfather. But old Jonah was missing. His was the scream that had awakened me and held me shud- 22 dering in the night. His was the life claimed by Magombi. Old Jonah was the man who had plunged into the swamp, Jonah was the first victim I can remember. After him came others. There was the half witted boy, and his mother cried and said he was better off dead, she supposed. Right after that, Magombi claimed a strong young farmer, and left a young wife with two little children. An old negro woman went next, and then her daughter, and more. None of them ever came back, and none of them was ever found. Magombi was strong. He demanded sacrifice, and we gave up our loved ones. Yes, I know about swamp lights. I've spent four years at a university learning about swamp lights. Magombi exists only in the legend and superstition of the people. He isn't a god except to those who believe he's a god. He doesn't call endlessly and maddeningly in the night until at last his victim can resist him no longer and plunges insanely into the swamp. Swamp lights are due to bubbles of marsh gas that break at the surface and ignite. Or there are some small insects and animals in the swamp that glow phosphorescent in the dark. That's a logical explanation, isn't it? It's scientific, too. I know it's true. I have it here, written in my notes. I've just now finished reading it. I came home from the university with a logical explanation for everything and my head in the clouds. I came home to marry Jeff Morrison. The following summer was a succession of magic moments. We planned for a new home; we even bought the ground on which it was to be built. Jeff had studied architecture, and he was going to design every bit of it himself. I began my trousseau with a vim, and soon had several pieces of fine linen and some dishes and my silver set begun. Swamp lights and all the world had been forgotten for awhile. Jeff was gay and as excited over everything as a two-year-old on his birthday. We were to be married in October.' My mother and dad had been married then, and they were very flattered to think that their only daughter planned to wed on their anniversary. Loving Jeff was nothing new to me. I'd loved him ever since we were kids. It was just a puppy love grown up. I guess that's way I was the first one to notice that Jeff was changing. It was in August, and the summer had been especially hot. That's what I thought it was at first, the heat and overwork. Jeff became moody. He didn't say much, and sometimes he didn't bother to kiss me goodnight, which was certainly not a very fitting preamble to a future married life. I wanted to know what was wrong, but he wouldn't ever tell me. He'd just laugh a little and change the subject. Oh, yes, I found out later, but it was too late. One night he seemed especially low. He said it had been a hard day and he left early. About midnight someone tapped at my window. It was Jeff. He wanted to see me. I slipped into my robe and went out to meet him. Jeff was frightened. Even in the dark I could tell. His face was white and drawn and his eyes were too large. He took tightly hold of my hands. He held them so tight that they hurt. "You wanted to know what was wrong, didn't you? Well, I'll tell you. I've heard Magombi. Go on, laugh. That's why I didn't tell you before. I knew you'd laugh. But I can't stand it any longer. It's endless and maddening. I have to talk to someone who can stop it and drive him out of my brain. Continued on page 41 23