A Far Piece to Canaan (23 page)

The rifle felt icy cold and slick from a little layer of dust. I wiped it clean, then set down on the bed again until I got up enough nerve to reach behind the dresser for shells. My hands was shaking so bad I was afraid of dropping the shells so I put the whole box in my pocket, then left the house through the door to the screened-in porch.

It was cold and the little snow that was left crunched under my feet. There was a full moon which made it light enough that I didn't have to use the Eveready. I climbed the hog lot gate, then loaded and cocked the .22. I was scared to death.

There wudn't anything in the first trap or the second, but in the third we had a rabbit. The rest of the traps wudn't sprung and looked okay and the only tracks were mine and Fred's. Old Radar was smarter than I thought. He didn't leave any clues.

I hadn't gone but a little ways toward home when I stopped. If Radar was smart enough not to leave any tracks near the traps, he was smart enough to circle around by the Dry Branch Road to get there so nobody could see any signs leading up from our direction. That's what he must've done and the wind covered his tracks near the traps because they were made earlier than ours. I went back past the deadfalls to the main fence that separated our pasture from the road, then turned on the Eveready. On the road side of the fence there was a steep bank that faced north and was covered heavy with blackberry briars and two, three inches of snow. I hadn't gone more than a hundred foot when I noticed where briars had been pushed aside. I pressed up against the fence and shined the light on the ground. My heart stopped. There wudn't just footprints, there were gunnysack footprints!

Fred robbed our traps! Couldn't of been anybody else. My best friend! He took them and lied about it. He could've had them all by asking but he stole them. Didn't care about me, he just wanted the rabbits. Fred wudn't nothing but a thief and a liar!

By this time, I was running and the light from my Eveready was a bouncing blur as the cold and tears blinded me. Fred and me wudn't friends no more. I wudn't ever going to have anything to do with him again. He was just trash. All the Mulligans were.

Suddenly, my foot snagged on something, the flashlight flung up in the air, I turned head over heels and the rifle went off next to my face.

I lay there for a while shaking, then I got the flashlight and looked around. The rifle was leaning against a little bank and there was a hole blowed in the ground inches from where my head hit. I had forgotten to put the safety on. My pants were torn at the knee and all bloody and I could hardly bend my leg. I got up and started for home. As I walked, I thought about Fred. He could see signs of me if he run the line and he'd know that I knew. I hoped he did.

The next morning, I woke up stiff and achy. My knees and palms were skinned and there was blood all over the sheets. I hadn't fixed anything when I got in and had to clean up in a hurry. I really moved, boy. Pretty soon everything looked okay except for my torn Levi's and the blood on the sheets. I was just going to have to tell Mom I fell. I hated to lie again, but I'd lied so much already I figured one more didn't matter. I got out clean Levi's and went to breakfast. I didn't feel hungry and Mom kept asking why I wudn't eating, then she felt my forehead.

“Morris, he's getting sick,” she said. “He was running around outside in the snow yesterday with Freddie and came in soaking wet. Look at him.”

“You feelin' bad?” asked Dad, and I told him no.

“Just not hungry, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How about helpin' me feed th' cattle?”

“Morris, he's sick,” Mom said again. “He could be getting pneumonia. I don't want him running around outside.”

Dad thought for a while, then said, “Maybe Mom's right. It snowed last night and th' way th' wind's whippin' it, you probably wouldn't have any fun anyway.”

After Dad left, I went into the living room. Through the window, I could see snow everywhere. It was winter, boy, and the Warm Morning stove sure felt good as I curled up in a chair and read some of my
Heroes of Israel
. Pretty soon, Dad come back from feeding and sat down in his chair and picked up his newspaper.

“I saw Fred,” he said. “I told him you were sick and he ran th' deadfalls himself. You all got two last night. I put yours on the fence post by th' backyard gate.”

“I don't want it,” I said.

“He brought it to you. It's yours.”

We sat there for a while and I listened to the dishes clink in the kitchen as Mom and Naomi washed them, and to the fire crackling in the Warm Morning. Outside, the sun was shining and everything was white. It should have been a nice time.

“What happened?” Dad asked softly. “You and Fred have a fight?” And he struck a match on the stove to light his pipe.

Instead of answering, I shrugged and kept looking out the window.

He took two or three big puffs and smoke come rolling out as he said, “How come you don't want th' rabbit?”

“Because it's a lie.”

“How so?” and he unfolded the paper and started looking at the headlines.

“'Cause he's been robbin' our deadfalls.”

Dad stopped reading and turned toward me. “How do you know that?”

I told the whole thing. Except for the gun part.

“I wondered how come you were limping this morning. I won't say anything to Mom about your goin' out last night but I don't want you doin' it again, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, and a little time went by.

“What you gonna do about Fred?”

“Nothin'! And I ain't havin' nothin' t' do with cheap white trash again!”

Dad looked away from me a little, then said, “You think Fred's cheap white trash?”

“Yeah.”

“Some folks think Jews are trash,” and he began reading the paper and puffing his pipe.

That bothered me. We were different. “Well, he is!” I said.

An answer came quick. “Cheap white trash? No.”

“Well, what is he then?”

“What do you think he is?”

“A thief and a liar.”

Dad lowered the paper and looked at me. “I don't agree, Samuel. Fred's proud, and his family don't have enough to eat. You didn't need th' rabbits. You gave them to Mr. Mac and Babe. They eat rabbit because they like it, but they have a smokehouse full of meat. Fred and his folks are hungry. The only thing they have left are a few salt butts and some water-made cornbread because Alfred won't kill a hog. If I know Alfred Mulligan, that family will starve before he spends any money because he's savin' for mules and equipment.”

I was boiling by this time, and I was going to say how I felt no matter what. “How come you're takin' Fred's side? You're th' one always talkin' about doin' right. How come you're so happy with Fred when I'm right? He was my best friend, and he stole my rabbits, and you're my dad and you side with him.”

Dad didn't get mad. He just nodded toward my
Heroes of Israel
lying on the arm of my chair. “David forgave Saul, didn't he?”

I wondered what that meant. “Yeah.”

“Saul did more than just steal rabbits. He was gonna kill David.”

“Yeah,” I said, not knowing if it was a question or not.

It was quiet for a while and we both stared out the window. The sun was fierce bright and everything sparkled. There was a good smell from the kitchen, and the teakettle whistled.

“Well, he's your best friend,” Dad said, finally. “You do as y' like,” and he picked up the paper and started reading and puffing on his pipe.

I knew what Dad said was true . . . about the Mulligans being hungry and needing my rabbits, but I still couldn't be Fred's best friend. I figured I'd be friendly but that was as far as I could take it, and that's the way it was all the rest of the winter.

A
fter the stolen rabbit thing, I just stayed down in the dumps. Christmas and Hanukkah and my school vacation were coming up, but Bob and Debby couldn't make it home and I didn't feel like celebrating. In December, we went into Lexington and I found a present for Ben, a pair of light steel traps. They were $9.50, and this time I had to pay full price. After getting my folks' stuff, the traps took all the chore money I had left. They were beautiful though. A mink's picture was etched right on the jaws.

I gave out everybody but Ben's present early and had Fred take Lonnie's to church for him. I bought Fred a pair of Tougher'n Nails work gloves, and he gave me a box he made that I could lash to the carrier rack of my bike. It was nice and I thanked him but I didn't feel nothing for it. I didn't give LD anything.

The day before Christmas, I headed across Cummings Hill to Ben's. It was cold, and by the time I dropped onto the bottoms, the smoke from his chimney looked good. Nothing was changed. Ten steps out of the oaks old Cain and Abel come barking and snarling. I was pretty sure they knew me now though, because they whined a little and Abel showed less teeth, but when I tried to come closer than usual, they both went crazy. That brought Ben to the door.

It was great to see him. When I handed him his present he put it under his little tree like the year before, then handed me my gift. It was prettier than any Christmas present I ever saw. The wrapping was only brown paper sack, but it was decorated all over with gingerbread Santa Clauses. There were two Santa Clauses on top and one each on the sides and ends. They had red sugar hats and coats and pants with white trim. Between them were little pine sprigs and cones and they'd been dusted white like snow. The present was shaped like a long box of candy, but the second I picked it up I knew it was wood. I loved gingerbread and was wanting to open the package anyway, so I asked if we could have some of the Santa Clauses with coffee?

“Sure,” he answered. “Why don't we eat th' ones on th' ends. That way hit'll still be pretty when you open it tomorra.”

It wudn't what I had in mind but it was enough. The Santas were really good, and after we wolfed down the end ones, we finished off the sides.

“You havin' a nice Christmas?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess. We call it Hanukkah.”

“Get lots of presents?”

“Quite a few. You really like Christmas a lot, don't you?”

Ben smiled. “Reckon I do.”

“Did you use t' have big Christmases when you were my age?”

He didn't answer, and it hit me I was prying. Before I could say I was sorry he said, “Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. When I was a boy we'd go huntin' after church, then have a big dinner. All my kinfolk would gather. It was like that for most families in th' Smokies. Ever'body was nice t' ever'body else.”

I felt warm and good and leaned against the table with my chin in my hand. Ben was by the fire and kind of draped over his easy chair. I watched his red flannel shirt move in and out when he breathed and noticed where the shirt gapped a little that his chest hair was part gray. Dad's was that way too. I wondered if they were the same age, then decided Ben was younger, maybe forty-five. It was always hard for me to tell about a grown-up. Pretty soon, I was in the mood to talk about my problems.

“Dad and some neighbors tried to find th' crazy man and didn't,” I said, then went on and told him the whole story. It come out easy, and it was nice not blubbering for a change.

“Fred and me tried everything we could t' go along, but Dad wouldn't let us. Him and Mr. Shackelford got mad at each other after they didn't find anything. Mr. Shackelford said it was a wild-goose chase.”

Ben gave a short laugh that made his head and chest bounce.

“Y' know,” I said, “nobody's had any stock killed for quite a while.”

Ben sighed, then got up and walked to the window and stared out at the bare oak tree. “He's prob'ly scared now, but he'll be back,” he said soft, then turned to look at me. “You got t' deal with him, Samuel. He ain't ever goin' away on his own.”

“I can't tell,” I whispered. “I just can't.”

He nodded, then went back to his easy chair and fired up his pipe. I knew he was disappointed in me. He thought I could do anything and I kept letting him down.

“You done a good job,” he said, finally. “That was a damn good try. If your daddy knowed, he'd be proud of you.”

I felt better right off.

Ben filled the coffee cups again and we talked more about when he was a boy growing up in Tennessee. His daddy was a cropper too, only they raised cotton instead of tobacco. We did all the same kinds of stuff, except he played the guitar. When I asked if he still played, he reached under the bed and pulled out this beauty. Boy, he could play.

When he quit playing, I decided to talk about the stolen rabbits. It would be nice having somebody on my side for a change. I brought it up and he listened quiet like always.

“You seen him since then?” he asked, after I finished.

“Oh yeah. We even got each other Christmas presents.”

“Hmm. Whatcha gonna do?”

“Nothin'! He's a thief 'n' a liar.”

Ben sipped some coffee and picked at the crumbs on his shirt. “You like some hick'ry nuts? Short crop this year, but they got a fine taste.”

I said I would and he got up and pulled a flat rock and hammer out of a drawer and brought over about fifty little nuts. We pounded away, and the more I ate the more I wanted.

“Don't you think he's a thief and a liar?” I said, working on a nut.

“I think he stole and lied, yeah.”

That wudn't what I had asked. “Yeah, and he's a thief and a liar.”

“Think so, huh?”

“Yeah! What else could he be?”

“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “He could just be somebody who stole and lied. Everybody who steals and lies ain't necessary a thief and a liar.”