Jazz Moon by Joe Okonkwo

whore!”
    Willful pulled out clumsily and yanked Ben away from Trina who now sat up, screaming, as egg yolk and shells slimed her hair, face, and bare chest.
    â€œKnow-nothin’! Calm down!” Willful said.
    He locked Ben’s arms behind him. But Ben’s rage detonated. He wrenched free and bashed Willful in the stomach. Willful toppled and floundered in the hay, naked and sweaty, as Ben kicked him and kicked him and kicked him until Willful crunched in on himself like a fetus.
    â€œStop! Stop it!” Trina screamed.
    Willful tried to hoist himself up from the hay, one hand pushing against the ground, the other cradling his stomach.
    â€œWhore!” Ben screamed, so shrill he felt the scratch in his throat.
    He started toward her. She shrieked and scrambled to her feet.
    â€œBen. No,” Willful said, still grappling on the ground, the flesh where Ben had kicked him already starting to bruise.
    â€œGet away from me!” Trina yelled. “Willful! Do somethin’!” She shot desperate glances around the barn, whether for her clothes or for some weapon to fend him off, Ben didn’t know.
    He was about to leap at her when the barn door busted open. There stood Mrs. Hutchison, her daughters peeking around her. She stepped inside, looked from her naked son to the preacher’s naked daughter to Ben, the only clothed member of the trio.
    She moved immediately to Trina. “Let’s get you into your clothes. Where’s your dress, chile?”
    She located Trina’s dress, helped her into it, and called to her eldest daughter. “Nella! Take Trina to the pump, get her cleaned up. Then take her in the house.”
    Nella and her sisters faltered in the doorway, too scared to inject themselves into the sordid scene.
    â€œCome on, gal!” Mrs. Hutchison snapped. “Don’t be standin’ there gawkin’. Believe me, we ain’t got all day!”
    Nella still hesitated. Mrs. Hutchison’s hands were small, but she slammed them together in a single deafening clap and roared, “Move!”
    Nella tripped into the barn. She glanced at her brother, then lowered her head and took the sobbing Trina by the hand. The other girls followed as she led her out. Willful had wriggled into a squat, still flailing from the impact of Ben’s shoes in his gut. His ma ignored him and approached Ben, keeping at arm’s length. She spoke with caution. As if trying to appease a vicious animal.
    â€œWe gone get Trina cleaned up. Then we gone get her home safe. She gone be all right. Ben. You always been a good boy. Your family been generous to us. I know it ain’t right to ask another favor. But I’ma ask anyhow: Don’t say nothin’ about this. Please. I’m beggin’ you. For my family’s sake, please don’t say nothin’ about what happened here.”
    Willful had made it to a standing position. He masked his privates with his hands. His head hung down. The handsomest boy in Dogwood had been man enough to fuck the preacher’s daughter in the barn, but couldn’t look Ben in the eye. Ben ran out, rampaged up the dirt road, so addled he didn’t know if he ran toward his house or away from it. He just kept running until he heard “Know-nothin’!” He stopped, turned. Willful hobbled up the path, half dressed. Shoes untied. Shirt mostly unbuttoned. Pants trailing down because his suspenders weren’t done up. He was gasping.
    â€œWhat you saw—it ain’t mean nothin’,” he said.
    â€œThe way y’all was moanin’ and groanin’, looked like it did mean somethin’.”
    â€œPlease tell me nothin’s changed with us. Tell me everything’s all right.”
    Ben kept seeing Trina Ledger’s open legs, Willful between them as he rode her.
    â€œWhy?” Ben asked. “Why? Why’d you do this?”
    Willful’s face blanked. Its features dissolved and then