Swear to Howdy (6 page)

After a while Dad came out and said, “Son, I don't think I've ever seen you work this hard without bein' asked. Something bothering you?”

“Nah,” I said, yanking up another weed.

He sat on the stoop of the porch. “Thought I heard plinkin' next door. Not in the mood?”

“He ain't plinkin' cans, Dad. He's killin' ground squirrels.”

“Ah,” he said, wrapping one knee with his hands. “Seem like cruelty to you?”

I yanked up a weed and flung it to the ground. “They're so cute!”

He nodded. “Cute and mighty destructive.”

“I killed one, Dad! It
screeched
.”

He was still a minute, then shrugged. “Lot less cruel than poison.”

“But, Dad—”

“Don't be hard on yourself, Russell. Just don't go back over if it bothers you.”

I nodded, then got back to pulling weeds. And when I had the flower beds all picked clean, I hauled the weeds around back to the trash and wandered next door. It'd been a long time since I'd heard the gun go off.

Joey was still at it, though, hunkered down under the eaves further back along the house with a stack of ground squirrels by his side.

“Man,” I said when I saw his pile. “How many you got?”

“Six,” he whispered.

For some reason six didn't seem as bad as one. I don't know why. “How long you gonna be doin' this?”

“Long as it takes.”

“Don'tcha want to go do something fun?”

“This
is
fun, Rusty-boy The funnest six bucks I've ever made.
And
,” he added, “I discovered the secret.”

“What's that?”

“You whisper.

Say Aaaah!'”

“Say Aaaah?”

“Yep.”

“What's that do?”

“Hit 'em in the shoulder or the butt or even the chest, they run off and die in the thicket. Hit 'em in the mouth and it's over quick.”

I was getting ready to head home again when he said, “Shhh. You see that?”

“What?”

“In the bushes, right back there!”

I did see it. A little patch of gray, inching through the thicket. But I didn't want to see him kill another one, so I said, “I don't see nothin'.”

“Right back there!” He raised his gun. “Probably one of those suckers I hit before that slinked away.”

“I think you're seein' stuff, Joey.”

“Rusty-boy, get your eyes checked. It's right back there!” He made his squirrel-call whistle, then muttered, “Come out, sucker, come on out and say Aaaah!”

I closed my eyes, wishing I'd never come back over. And when the gun popped, I thought, That's it. I'm not looking. I'm outta here.

But the sound that followed the pop wasn't a screech.

It was a high, airy, stretched-out
me-ow
.

Joey and me looked at each other with bug eyes for a solid minute. Finally, he looked over both shoulders and whispered, “Can't be.”

“We gotta check, Joey.”

“I'm dead, Russ. I'm dead and gone.” He was sweating and panting like I'd never seen.

“You ain't dead, Joey. Come on, maybe he'll be okay. Maybe it wasn't even him!”

We inched over to the blackberry thicket and found
him right away. Smoky the Mouser was the one that was dead and gone.

Joey looked around, then stuffed him up his shirt quick and told me, “Meet me down by the river. And bring a shovel!”

I didn't even think to argue. Killing the family cat was way worse than killing the family fish. Way worse than killing a whole
school
of family fish. And knowing Joey's dad, this was something we had to hide. Quick.

So I raced home and snuck a shovel down to the water. And after we'd buried Smoky good and covered the spot with rocks, Joey and me punched knuckles and shared blood.

Another secret, sealed for life.

Then I went home and hid in my room, jumpy as spit on a skillet.

Once in a great while Mama'd say, “You're broody and bored and draggin' through chores.… I don't need you moodin' up the place. Go! Just go outside and be a boy.”

I never knew what that meant, exactly, but I did know it set me free from her chores. I'd tear out of the house and hit the swimming hole or catch frogs, or just sit on a nice tall rock and watch the river float by.

Sometimes I went off to be a boy by myself, but most times I dragged Joey along. Not that there was any real dragging involved. If he could get away, he was more than happy to.

So one weekend, I was bored to my toes from doing stuff around the house for Mama. Every time I thought I was done, she'd stack another one on. She had me do the
dustin
', if you can imagine that. You can't expect a boy to dust and be happy, and I told her so, but she just gave me a soothing look and said, “Won't kill ya, Russell. Besides, I love you extra for doin' it.”

“Does that mean you're hatin' Sissy right now? 'Cause she ain't doing nothin'.”

“She's studyin' for that big Civil War exam, and you know it. She can't advance if she flunks it, so as long as she's preparin' for that, I'm not going to call her home to dust.”

I wiped the cloth across a side table. “I bet she ain't even studyin'.”

“Sure she is. And if you want to go study something, you can get out of dustin', too.”

“There ain't nothin' to study!”

“There isn't anything to study, and I'm sure there is.” She looked up from her laundry folding. “You want to get out of dusting? Go write that fifty times.”

“Go write what fifty times?”

“Isn't anything.”

“Huh?”

“Go write ‘isn't anything’ fifty times.”

“What
for
?”

“To drill it into your head, Russell Cooper.” She snapped out a dish towel and folded it in half. “‘Ain't nothin’ ain't gonna get you nowhere. ‘Isn't anything’ will.”

I kept right on dusting.

She watched me a minute, then said, “What. You'd rather dust than improve your grammar?”

“I know how to speak proper, Mama. It just sounds off. Like it's somebody else talkin'.” I wiped down the bookshelf and all the stupid baby pictures in between, and finally I grumbled, “There ain't no sense in dustin'. It all just comes right back again.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, folding a pair of my undershorts. “Same as laundry. But aren't you glad I don't make you run around in dirty undies?”

“Mama!”

She laughed, then said, “Go on. That's enough already. Go outside and be a boy.”

I whooped and charged the door, then ran straight over to the Bankses'. Their car was in the drive, but not the truck. So I went right for the front door instead of knocking on Joey's window.

Joey's mama answered the door with a tired smile. “Why, hello, Rusty. Haven't seen you in two whole days. Where you been?”

“Been busy dustin',” I said, and tried to act cool. I'd been making myself scarce since we'd buried Smoky.

She laughed, and it made her eyes twinkle a little. “Dustin'? Boy, you can come visit here anytime if you give a hand in dustin'.”

“Thanks, ma'am, but I'm tryin' to get
away
from all of that.”

She opened the door wide and let me in. “I'll bet you are.”

Rhonda saw me and cried, “Russy! Russy! Horsey! Horsey!” So I had to get down and play like a crazy wild mustang for a while before finding Joey in his room.

When I walked in, he flopped on his bed, looking guilty as sin. But then when he saw it was only me, he jumped right back up and told me to close the door.

I shut it tight and whispered, “Whatcha doin'?”

He stood on his bed with his ear to the wall. “They're up to something.”

“Amanda Jane?”

He nodded. “And Jenna Mae.”

I put my ear to the wall, too, but it seemed boring as fog to me. “They're just studyin', Joey.”

“Shhh! I already missed part 'cause of all that racket you was makin' with Rhonda.”

I listened some more, then sat down. “They're just studyin', Joey.”

“Shoot,” he said, and flopped on the bed. “They threw me out and blocked the door.”

“And you think that's suspicious?”

“Don't be a smart-boy, Rusty.”

“Well anyhow, I came over to see if you want to go down to the river.”

“You kiddin'?” He jumped off the bed. “Let's go!”

The first thing we did was check out Smoky's grave. “Still packed in tight,” Joey said.

“What were you expectin'?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “That maybe the Lost Ghost dug him up and had him for supper.”

I wasn't going to let him get me spooked about the Lost Ghost. It's not like I actually
believed
those stories anyway. They were more for scaring little kids. So I said, “More'n likely he's floatin' around
with
the Lost Ghost, lookin' for mice.”

Joey laughed. “You ain't scared 'cause it ain't dark yet. Just you wait.”

We walked upstream, just talking stupid stuff. We skimmed rocks across the water and tossed frogs out for crappies. And it was fun. Fun just goofing around being boys.

And I did ask Joey about his dad and Smoky and if there was any news on that. All week at school he'd been nervous 'cause his dad suspected he'd had a hand in Smoky's disappearance, but now at the river he was joking around and acting like it was going to blow over.

The only one who knew for sure was me, and I wasn't gonna tattle.

Joey and me had a pact.

“Maybe you could get him another mouser. Make him forget about Smoky.”

He hurled a rock across the river. “He can get his own dang mouser.”

I shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”

“He ain't even paid me for them squirrels yet. And you watch—I bet he don't. They were hoppin' with fleas once they cooled off, and now he's blamin'
me
'cause there's fleas in the house. Stupid ol' Smoky had fleas galore, and since he ain't around for them to hop back on, they hop on Dad instead. But of course me and the squirrels get the blame.”

“Did you bring the squirrels in the house?”

“No, stupid!”

“So they ain't your fleas… !”

“No kidding.”

“Well that ain't fair!”

“Fair don't matter, Russ. When you gonna learn that?”

It wasn't long before I brought it up again. “Well if you get him a mouser, all the fleas'll hop on
him
, right?”

“Quit with that, Rusty-boy I'm just glad I ain't slipped about Smoky. I can live with the fleas.”

“What about the money he owes you?”

He shrugged. “I can live with that, too.”

When we got up to the Lee Street Bridge, Joey pointed underneath and said, “That's where he lived.”

“Who?”

“Jeremiah Vale—the Lost Ghost.”

I scowled at him. “It ain't dark, Joey, and I ain't scared.”

He looked at me all wide-eyed. “I ain't foolin' with you, Russ. I'm as serious as Smoky is dead. Jeremiah Vale lived right here. Folks say he was poorer'n pig tracks, and came to live down here after killin' his wife for food. And after he ate her all up, he turned to eatin' frogs and crappies… and little kids.”

“Shut up, stupid.”

“I swear to howdy it's true.”

“Just quit with that, okay?”

He laughed. “Girls is so gullible with that.”

“You brung
girls
down here?” Something about that seemed wrong. Like
that
was breaking a sacred pact.

“No!” He laughed again. “All's you gotta do is tell 'em about it and explain how you spent the night waitin' and watchin' for the Lost Ghost.” His voice was all low and scary now, his eyes moving slow from side to side.

“Well have ya?”

“No! I don't believe in the Lost Ghost any more'n you! But if you tell the story all eerie-like, most girls get sucked in.”

“You done that with girls at school?”

“Sure! And Amanda Jane, too.”

“No! Amanda Jane? She don't
believe
you though, right?”

“She says she don't, but there's always an edge of fear in her eyes.” He moved up the riverbank, laughing, “Oh, it's a joyful thing.”

“To scare her?”

“Uh-huh. She's so uppity, y'know?”

“Uh-huh. Same as Jenna Mae.”

We sat on the bank beside the bridge awhile, then just as we were fixin' to move on, the fattest, slimiest-looking frog you'd ever want to catch crept out of the water.

“Man, look at that!” Joey cried, running down to scoop him up.

But that frog took one look at Joey charging down the bank and
boiiiiing
, he jumped four feet up in the air. Maybe five!

“Dang!” Joey cried. “You see that?”

I laughed.

“Come help me, Russ!”

So we charged all up and down the bank, trying to nail that monster frog, and finally Joey dove for him and pinned him down with his chest.

“You didn't squish him, did you?” I asked, all out of breath.

“No! He's movin' good! I'll push up and you grab him, all right?”

“Me? I don't know… he's awful big.”

“Don't be a wuss!”

“All right, all right!” I got down on my hands and knees while he pushed up, nice and slow. And the minute I could get my hands under, I grabbed that oversized pol-liwog around its big ol' belly and said, “Got him!”

“Man!” Joey said, getting up. “That thing's a tank!
Dang
, look at him!”

Its eyes were like little black marbles tucked inside rubbery green lids. It had bumps all over its back, and it felt cold and gooshy “Here, Joey,” I said. “You take him.”

“Dang!” he said again, wrapping his hands around him. “Ain't
never
seen anything like him.” Then all at once, something big and green and
squishy
came shooting out the frog's butt and ran down Joey's shirt.

The shock of it almost made Joey drop him, but he recovered in time. He laughed. “He's squishin' out green tomatoes!”

I laughed, too. “I think you scared the squishy green tomatoes
out
of him, Joey.”

We admired the frog all around, and finally I asked, “So whatcha gonna do with him?”

“Keep him,” he said.

“
Keep
him? How you gonna keep him?”

He gave me a loopy grin. “I'll figure something,” he said, and headed up the riverbank.

Joey decided he had the perfect place for Tank—Amanda Jane's underwear drawer.