Johnny knew before
he ever lifted the barrel up past You-There’s chest that he would shoot Miss
Cora deader than a possum rotting between the yellows.
He knew it before
he snuck into Pa’s room, quiet like a coon so he wouldn’t wake him from his
afternoon sleep. That’s where Pa kept the shotgun: under the bed so it was
close should he ever need it.
“A
man takes care of business right quick and decisive, he does,” Pa always said. “That’s
the difference between men and women. They want to talk it through. Not us. We
take measures.”
“Well,
he was wrong about Miss Cora,” Johnny thought. “She took her measures all
right. Right quick too.”
And just as cruel
as anything Pa ever did. Johnny saw her do
it as he watched from behind Miss Cora’s woodshed. No one knew he was there,
waiting for Mama to pass by with the basket of clothes down from hanging in the
sun. Even if she believed she wasn’t part of his and Pa’s family anymore, and
even if she was part of Miss Cora’s instead, he could still go and watch her.
He did that many times when the air smelled like grass, and the sun poured out
its dregs, and he missed her. He tried hard not to, tried to be like Pa who
just spat and said, “Pah!”
Her absence was
easier at first, when she talked to him and smiled at him when he came to her. Then
he saw Miss Cora yell at her one day after Mama finished folding the clothes.
After that, Mama hardly looked at him, and that made it harder. The hardest
thing of all, though, was the little sweet breads he sometimes found left on
the top of the wood pile. He would give half to You-There, and then run home
and give half to Pa. But most of the time Pa didn’t want it, so he ate it
himself.
“Boy, you’ve got
to get over that woman,” Pa said one time when he offered him the roll.
Johnny didn’t know
which one, Mama or Miss Cora, but that didn’t stop him from eating the bread.
He didn’t stop watching Mama either, not entirely. Every so often he snuck up to Miss Cora’s
woodshed, first hiding inside of it, and later hiding behind it when it was
full.
Just like Pa
hiding and waiting for a deer or hare. Or like when he waited for the Yanks,
hiding in the corn fields, holding so still.
Sometimes he sat
for hours, waiting and thinking about when they would be a family again. Ma
would cook the trout he and Pa had caught. Pa would tell him stories about
hunting and wrestle around on the ground with him. You-There would lie
contentedly across the threshold licking his chops occasionally as the fish
sizzled. He just had to keep looking and longing, and, of course, Pa would have
to do something about Miss Cora. Just like he says a man is supposed to.
And then Mama
would interrupt his dreams as she walked by, dragging the laundry up the hill
on her hip. Johnny cried and cried and wondered to her why she didn’t come home
and he didn’t know what she meant by paying off Papa’s debt because he couldn’t.
“Soon,” she would
say. But weeks became months. That much Johnny knew. And Johnny began to think
Pa was right. Maybe he had to get over that woman.
So this last time
that he went to watch her, he’d tried his hardest to stay away, tried to be
strong like Pa. By the time he couldn’t hold it any more, Mama was already back
up at Miss Cora’s house. Instead he saw
Miss Cora on the porch talking with Francis. He could hear her because the wind
was blowing in his direction and Pa had taught him how to listen.
“Arthur won’t
trouble you, Francis. He hasn’t been out of that shack for days. Now you go
find that dog.”
“But Miss Cora, ma’am, I don’t see the need. The dog
ain’t done nothin.”
Miss Cora rounded on him with a blow across the face
from her fan. Johnny didn’t think it looked very forceful; he’d had worse. But
Francis looked stunned. “Do you need a whipping after all these years, Francis?
You forget your place. Arthur thinks he can move on from Camille, and from me
and Harry. I won’t let it happen. He’s going to pay. Now take this lye down to
the garden. Arthur will think the dog got in there again, and I warned him the
last time.”
Understanding
pounded like a cloudburst in Johnny’s head and he took off running down the
hill so quickly that he hardly heard Francis mumble, “Yes ma’am”. As soon as he
was far enough from Miss Cora’s house that she wouldn’t notice, he began
calling. “You-There. Hey, You-There. Here, boy!” He knew as he ran that Miss
Cora was lying. You-There hadn’t been in the garden even once that summer. The
two of them had a talk about in the spring as they spied on Francis putting in
beans and tomatoes, while waiting for Mama to pass by. No sir, You-There simply
offended Miss Cora, which was silly. You-There wasn’t taking Mama’s place at
all. If anything he showed Johnny that he and Pa needed Mama back. That’s not
how Miss Cora saw it, though. She thought they were trying to move on with
man’s best friend.
‘But a best friend is not a Mama,’ he thought as he
searched for You-There. He ran first to the creek where he had shown You-There
the trout. On hot days he still liked to go down and bark at them before
drinking the cattails right along with the water, making Johnny fall over
laughing. Next, Johnny called under the porch of his house where the two of
them had dug a secret hideout. He even ran out back to where You-There was born
and where Johnny saw the bitch rip open his sack with her teeth and lick him
clean.
“All a man needs
is a dog and a son,” Pa said then. “There’s nothing better than a good dog and
a good son.” Johnny believed him, except that for him it was a good dog and a
good pa.
You-There was not
anywhere and Johnny desperation crowded in. Then he remembered what Miss Cora
said: the garden. He knew You-There wouldn’t go in unless someone, Francis,
called him in. Johnny sprinted back up
the hill towards Miss Cora’s house, gasping for breath. He stopped when he saw
the cucumber leaves trying to squeeze through the white picket fence and tried
to quiet his gasping. After all, Miss Cora didn’t want him to know that Francis
had given You-There a good long drink before digging up several plants with a
shovel. You-There lay by himself among the tomatoes, breathing slowly. Johnny
heard Francis at the pump around the corner of the house washing Miss Cora’s
bowl over and over again to get all of the lye off. Yes sir, Miss Cora took
measures. Right quick too.
That knowledge
steeled Johnny’s resolve as he sighted down the barrel of the shotgun. It had
also given him courage as he snuck into Pa’s room, taking his life in his hands
while looking for revenge for You-There. He couldn’t wake Pa up, but measures
needed taking.
Pa used to tell
him, “Measures are always gonna cost you. It’s never easy or the women would do
it.”
So he knew it was
time to take his own measures and face the costs. With shotgun in hand, he backed
slowly away from Pa’s bed, quiet like a coon so he wouldn’t wake Pa. He crept
out of the room, then eased the door closed behind him, minding not to let the
barrel clang into it. Through the knotty panels, he heard Pa’s reassuring
snores rather than anger for being woken up. Yesterday’s outburst still rang in
his ears, even more memorably than the blows and he had learned his lesson.
“Don’t you be
waking me up, middle of my sleep you good for nothing! If I want to spend all
day with my feet up, I will. A man earns it after all these years taking orders
from that …”
But
Johnny ignored that last word. She wasn’t even near as good as a dog, that Miss
Cora. So he wouldn’t honor her by making the comparison. He’d only been trying
to get You-There some water and didn’t mean to raise the dead by dropping the
bowl. A dog can be powerful thirsty on a hot summer day when he’s chasing coons
and running with a boy.
He
won’t run with a boy anymore. The thought trembled the barrel in his hands.
Miss Cora had been
talking, and he caught the end of it. “No, Johnny, he won’t. But this is the
right thing to do. Can’t you see the dog’s in pain? It was probably a rattler.
That’s why I told you to get your pa’s shotgun. It’s best to put the dog down,
and better you do it than Arthur, the state he’s in. He’s liable to shoot
someone again.”
Johnny knew it was Miss Cora, though. It wasn’t a
rattler. And it wasn’t Francis, even if he actually did it. He paused on
the trigger as he looked down the barrel at You-There. His paws could not find
their places beneath the rest of his body, but his brown eyes looked back at
Johnny expectantly, ready to jump up and run off into the woods with him.
Johnny was sure that Miss Cora didn’t notice the tear that dripped onto the
stalk. He wiped it before it fell into the dirt and cursed his fear and weakness.
Pa wouldn’t be weak. “Pah!” He spat on
the ground. “Maybe I could give him a drink first. I’m sure he’s thirsty. I
don’t think he’s had anything to drink for a while.”
“No.”
“But
Miss Cora, it’s only decent.”
“I
said no. Now you do what you have to do so that I can get back inside. There’s
more to life than that silly dog. Go on and put it out of its misery.”
Misery
you caused. But Johnny held his tongue. He knew how to keep a secret, and
this one would surprise Miss Cora just like she surprised You-There. Trembling,
he held in his fear. I won’t let her see it coming. It’ll be my secret, just
like I didn’t tell when Pa hit Mama and made her cry. That was misery too, but
I didn’t tell on Pa. It wasn’t my fault that Miss Cora found out.
It
wasn’t his fault either when she actually came out to their house two months
earlier, announcing her presence with the clip-clop of the horses and Francis’ calm
“Whoa there.” Who drove a measly quarter mile, anyway? When the knock sounded
Johnny put down his cup of cool water that he had just poured from the bucket
and walked over to the door to unhook the latch. Pa entered from his room just
as Miss Cora dropped her bonnet and gloves into Johnny’s arms.
“Gloves in August,” he heard Pa snicker and he laughed along even though he
didn’t get the joke. It was funny just to hear Pa laugh.
Miss
Cora didn’t thank Johnny, nor did she immediately speak to Pa. “Camille, honey,
come out here.”
Mama
edged her way from the back room, around Pa, and approached Miss Cora. Johnny noticed
that she turned the bruised cheek away from where the late summer sun
illuminated Miss Cora in the doorway. “What can we do for you, Miss Cora?”
“Nothing,
that’s what.” Pa tried to step around Mama. “Now get out of my house.”
“Now
Arthur, need I remind you that this is not your house? I seem to remember
something about ten cents on the dollar for your plot. Hopefully you’ll do a
better job staying current with me than with the bank. Which reminds me, will
you be paying me the full amount this month?”
Pa
snatched the bonnet and gloves from Johnny’s hands and flung them out the door
at the carriage. “You follow them out and don’t you come back harassing me and
my wife. Soon as you pay me what’s due me, you’ll get your money.”
“Why
Arthur, there’s no need to get upset yet.” She paused, making no move to leave.
“You are wrong again, however. About
your wife: she’s like your house - not yours anymore. She’s my second cousin
and I have the right to protect her from harm. She’ll be coming with me now.”
“You’re
dumber than a skunk if you believe that. She’s barely related to you by whoring
on the part of your familiars! Not like you cared about her before now.” Pa leered
forward with clenched fists. “And if you’re asking me to pay my debt right now
then I’ll show you how I settle my scores!”
“Francis,
I believe I will need your help after all.”
Miss Cora’s driver
stepped in from the sunlight, a revolver pointed straight at Pa. Pa stopped,
dead still in front of Mama but did not unclench his fists.”
“Now Camille,
honey, you come with me. You don’t have to stay here with Arthur. We can work
out an arrangement.”
Mama looked at Pa
and at Miss Cora, but did not move.
“Doesn’t he beat
you, Camille? Doesn’t he make you bleed?” Miss Cora extended a hand to Mama.
“Sometimes.”
“How sometimes?
Sometimes enough to stay here?
“Pretty often
sometimes.”
“And you want to
stay with him?”
“It’s not his
fault. Things are so hard right now. Well, I mean, you know our situation what
with no money and he says…”
“Do you think this
is about money? Honey, this is about you and your boy’s safety.”
“No way you’re
takin’ Johnny too!” Only the click of the hammer in the revolver answered Pa.
“Camille, you come
home with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Mama looked at Pa,
then at Johnny, and finally put her head down and walked around Pa to the door.
“It’s the only way, Arthur. Come here, Johnny. We’re leaving.”
That night Johnny
snuck out of Mama’s new room at Miss Cora’s house and ran all the way back home
in the dark. Pa was blabbering drunk and lit up the last hundred yards with his
thoughts about Miss Cora and his faithless wife. Johnny didn’t know how to
handle his father. He tried talking. He tried to give him some left-over
biscuits. He even tried yelling back. Finally he climbed up on his chest and
cried. Pa’s response shocked him, the sharp slap dragging him back to his
senses.
“Don’t you ever do
that, you girl!” Pa pushed him across the floor. “You be a man. You stay here
and I’ll teach you to be a man cuz it’s better than being a woman.”
Johnny stopped
crying and looked up at his father. All he saw was brutal strength and tough,
cruel resolve that hid everything unmanly. Fear and wonder lit up Johnny’s eyes
and Pa must have seen it because that was when he showed Johnny where the shotgun
was.
The outline of
that shotgun now rested over You-There. Miss Cora was still talking.
“The decent thing
to do is to put him out of his misery as quickly as you can. The shotgun is the
quickest way. That’s why I called you right away when I found the dog here so
sick. It’s what a man does.”
That’s what Pa had
said too, pulling the trigger with Johnny, showing him how to reload the
shells.
“I was your age
when I learned how to use this.” Pa’s eyes lit up at the memory. “Good thing
too when those damn yanks stormed down on us. You learn how to use this and
you’ll be just fine. You make sure that you shoot what you want to, and not
anything else.”
But the morning
after the shooting lesson, Pa’s love ran out and he beat Johnny again. “It was
you that told that woman about me hitting your ma. You ratted on your old man,
you Balaam’s cursing ass! Don’t you ever betray me again. Next time, you be a
man about it and take action.”
Pa didn’t take
action when it was his turn, though. Two months later Miss Cora demanded all of
the back payments on the house at one time. Pa yelled about how he would if she
wouldn’t hold back half his pay in late fees and interest and threatened to
quit with harvest just around the corner. Miss Cora fired him on the spot. Pa
still didn’t take any action, though. Instead he went home and fell asleep,
except for the brief interruption by You-There’s bowl of water. The next day he
stayed home and drank and slept his way through the morning and into the
afternoon. Johnny knew then that Pa, as strong and terrifying as he was, had surrendered.
Maybe he had done so years ago.
I will take action, though. Quick and
decisive, just like Pa said. So he did not shoot You-There. Instead he lifted
the barrel up and around to where Miss Cora stood.
“Johnny, what on
earth are you doing? You point that gun away from me this instant. It’s not
funny and you’re liable to hurt someone, just like your father did. I should
have known that you wouldn’t know how to handle that gun, being trained by your
father. I’m not quite sure that it was ever an accident, but my Harry, God rest
him, insisted that it was, even as he died. Now you put that gun down.”
Johnny paused,
briefly paralyzed by Miss Cora’s words. Then he took a deep breath and centered
the barrel across Miss Cora’s chest. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too
dry. Instead he thought to himself, ‘It’s her turn to moan and breathe hard.
It’s her turn to worry and to feel the anger. It’s her turn to look death in
the face just like You-There’s doing, only he’s going out a lot more brave than
she will.”
Miss Cora backed
away. “John Wohl, you put that down right now or so help me God.”
It wasn’t God that
helped her though, but rather the unsteady jerk of the trigger. Johnny lay
stunned for a minute, then got up from where the gun had thrown him. Miss Cora
wasn’t moving, but he didn’t know if she might start too all of a sudden.
Sometimes the chickens did. He looked at the shotgun like he would look at a
snake coming to bite a dog’s nose, but after it didn’t bite back, he clutched
it to his chest like a trophy. Then he turned around and ran. He flew by the
woodshed where he hid and leapt clean over the creek. He didn’t pause at the
house, but took the two porch steps in a single bound. The door flew open and
he burst into the front room, pride and fear burning on his cheeks.
Pa was in the
chair by then, and he balanced his bottle upside down, looking for a few more
drops. Johnny waited for him to say something and after a few seconds Pa’s hazy
eyes focused on him, then on the bottle before he clunked it down on the floor.
“What’s all that
ruckus going on? You been practicing shooting? Well, that’s alright, I suppose.
A man needs to if he’s going to be a man. Got to take action.” Pa grabbed the
empty bottle again and tossed it casually towards the door where it landed with
a crash. “Here’s another bottle for you to shoot at if you run out.”
“Pa, I shot Miss
Cora. I shot her for You-There.”
Pa
didn’t answer. A snore rolled out from his nose.
“What
do I do now? Pa, what do I do?”
Johnny
sat down amidst the bottles at Pa’s feet and shook his feet. He still said
nothing and Johnny didn’t know what to do. He rolled a bottle around absently,
but the uneven clinking and scratching didn’t bother Pa. Back and forth he rolled
the bottle until it sounded like crickets in August. Johnny waited, absently
listening for the voice of the wind, but it was gone. Maybe it was blowing
You-There to heaven. As he strained to hear a parting bark, he heard the faint
clip-clop of Miss Cora’s horse coming down the path.
“Pa,
wake up.” Johnny slapped his father on the cheek.
“What?”
“I
shot Miss Cora and now they’re coming for me.”
“You
did, huh? Well, good for you. She deserved it.” Pa mumbled and nodded off again.
The
carriage was just down the lane. “Pa, please. I need you!” Johnny had been so
sure that Pa would know what to do that he had not even thought about the
aftermath of his plan. ‘Shoot Miss Cora, make Pa proud.’ But he could see he
was wrong. And with that knowledge, a kettle boiled over inside of him. He
leapt on Pa, his small fists flailing, trying to force awareness into the
sleeping form. “I hate you!.” He struck him again and again.
Then Johnny heard
a squeak on the porch and turned with dread painted on his face. It was not
Francis, though. Mama stood in the doorway, her face hazy and obscured by
twilight and tears. “Johnny.”
“He
moved towards her desperately, longing for her embrace and approbation. But she
pulled away.
“What
have you done, Johnny? How could you do this?
Her
distance was worse than Pa’s blows, but he squared his shoulders and told her
what had happened. He watched her as he did, aching for understanding rather
than revulsion. He told her about the lye, about Miss Cora’s fear, about
pulling the trigger “I did it Mama. I did it to be a man like Pa.”
Mama
cried. It was not the desperate wailing of the loss of a loved one, Johnny saw.
Instead, tears streamed steadily and silently down her cheeks. They splashed
over her chin and landed like raindrops on the dusty floor “Well this doesn’t
make you a man, Johnny. It never made your Pa a man either. But you’re not a
boy anymore. That’s the truth.”
She drew him to
herself for a long moment, crushing his head to her chest frantically. He heard
her heart thump twice behind her breast, then it was over. She released him and
walked to Pa.
“Arthur,
get up.”
When he didn’t
answer she muttered to herself, “Drunk.” But Johnny heard her. He’s a drunk
“Mama, what do we
do now?”
“Johnny, you have
to leave. You can’t come back. If you do, they’ll hang you for sure.”
“Leave? I can’t go
by myself. Maybe if you and Pa come with me…”
“I can’t. I have
to do something so that you can get away. Johnny, was Francis there when Miss
Cora had you shoot You-There?”
“No, he was around
the back of the house, washing the lye out of the bowl. He didn’t see me go to
her.”
“Good. Johnny,
what I do, I’m doing for you. I can’t come with you because I’m gonna tell them
that your Pa and I planned this all out and that he shot her. The gun’s back
here and your pa being drunk will make it more believable. They won’t know any
different. But you need to run far away. Maybe to the coast where you can find
somewhere to work. Don’t stop at a plantation; go all the way to the city and
lose yourself there.”
Johnny’s head
buzzed. “No, Mama, this can’t be right. Pa’ll hang for it. We should all go
together.”
“Johnny, do as
you’re told! We don’t have any time. I took the horse, so I got here first, but
they’re right behind me. If we all run, they’ll come looking for us. If me and
Pa stay, then at least you’ll get away. I told you that I’m doing this for you,
so get some food and go!”
“But what if Pa
tells them he didn’t do it? What if he tells them it was me?”
“He won’t do that,
Johnny. You’ll see.”
Still, Johnny
hesitated. Mama spun and grabbed a burlap sack, threw several things into it,
and tossed it to Johnny. She didn’t say anything, just stared at him hard. Then
she turned and stooped over Pa.
Johnny ran, then.
He ran away from Francis and his revolver. He ran away from Miss Cora and
You-There lying dead together under the tomatoes. He ran away from Mama. As he
ran, the wind returned, propelling him forward with the leaves and the
dandelions. The fireflies came out to point the way and Johnny flew across the
road that marked the end of Miss Cora’s reach. He ran through neighboring cotton
fields, his feet exploding the white pods into angry clouds of smoke. He didn’t
know if anyone was following, but he didn’t stop. He wasn’t really running from
them anyway. He was running from Pa. And he was running from You-There’s body.
The
first stars came out and played peek-a-boo with him, doing their best to
distract him. Johnny didn’t pay attention, though. He didn’t let himself think
or feel anything. Maybe he couldn’t think or feel, he didn’t know. Numbness
like a cocoon enveloped him, protecting him from reality. All he had to do was
keep running, desperate to flee from demons that crouched around corners of
awareness and mindlessly, he fled. So it was that as the moon graced the night,
and the sweat on Johnny’s back and neck began to feel uncomfortably cool, that
Johnny sped up to the banks of a river and finally had to stop. He had never
been to this river, in fact, he didn’t even know where he was. And as the realization
of his bewilderment dawned on him be dropped to his knees sobbing. He tried to
stop it, tried to be a man. But he couldn’t, and then he discovered that he
didn’t want to. As soon as he gave in to the tears, however, they stopped. A
hungry gnawing in his stomach replaced their anguish and drove him to his
knees. He still had half a roll that Mama had left for him that afternoon and
he tore into it like a weasel into a mouse. It didn’t help, though. The gnawing
became a hole, hungry for more than bread, and without warning, Johnny vomited.
Again, and again, his stomach forced him to the ground and still he wretched
until his throat was raw and his eyes ran with the pain in his abdomen.
When he was finally
done, Johnny retreated to emptiness once again. Desperately, he fought off the
voice in his head. The reminder of You-There’s death threatened to break
through. His longing for Mama tantalized him. But he fought them off from
within his cocoon. By focusing on the struggle of avoiding his memories, rather
than on the memories, he was able to maintain his sanity. It was exhausting
work, though, and at some point he fell asleep. That was his undoing, for he
had no control over his dreams. The retort of the shotgun plagued him as he
slept. Miss Cora’s terrified face invaded his subconscious nebulously. And Pa’s
beatings shook him again and again, making him thrash about on the ground. Finally,
though, the images coalesced and You-There trotted through the cloud of images
and sat in front of him, waiting expectantly. A sort of tenuous peace like the
moment after a storm settled on Johnny as he reached out to stroke You-There’s
ears, and he felt real fur under his fingers. Somehow, Johnny was not
surprised. You-There’s sudden return seemed as appropriate as if Johnny had
just whistled for him. Johnny found his voice after a moment. “Hey, boy.”
You-There did not
answer.
“How are you? I
mean, well… Is this a dream, or are we in heaven?”
The dog gazed back
expectantly, seemingly waiting for some cue from Johnny.
“I’m sorry you’re
dead, You-There. I’m sorry I let Miss Cora give you the lye.”
But still
You-There did not answer. He just stared quietly back until Johnny grew
uncomfortable. This was nothing like the staring contests he had lost to cats.
The cats never opened their hearts to him. You-There’s brown eyes, however,
seemed to penetrate his soul. Slowly but steadily they drove in, dredging up
understanding and secrets, and Johnny became afraid. He tried to resist, tried
to fight off the invasion, but he couldn’t. You-There pressed in on him
unrelentingly. His pupils, however, were liquid compassion and Johnny realized
that this was not a discovery for You-There, but for Johnny. You-There already
knew Johnny better than Johnny did. This searching was for Johnny’s benefit,
then. When he realized this, Johnny relaxed and was even able to speak.
“Are you an angel,
You-There?”
Johnny almost
expected a response.
“I guess not. If
you were an angel, you’d tell me something, not just sit there. Besides, an
angel definitely wouldn’t visit me. Not after today.”
You-There did not
even blink.
Johnny needed to
speak, though, so he went on. “I don’t know what to do, You-There. I took
action and I thought it would fix things. Pa wouldn’t do it so I did. Only, I
didn’t actually mean to do all that. And I didn’t mean to make Pa angry. I didn’t
mean for Mama to leave.” Johnny paused for a shaky breathe, then went on. “I
didn’t mean for you to die, and now I don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to
run away and find the city, but I can’t cross this river. How will I make it
across and even if I do, what then? I can’t do this. I’m not a man.
“I can’t go back,
though. I’m not a boy anymore. And they’re going to hang Pa.” Johnny lowered
his eyes. His fingers worked absently through the dirt and he could feel his
pulse steadily beating through his fingers. He felt it quicken with anxiety and
took a deep breath to calm it down.
Then You-There spoke.
From the depths of his understanding of Johnny’s soul he asked, “Do you want
them to hang him?”
You-There’s
question penetrated so deeply that Johnny did not even realize that the dog had
answered. “I don’t want to die, You-There.”
“That’s not what I
asked.”
“I don’t want Pa
to die.”
“You said you
hated him.”
“I do. I didn’t
know it, but I do. He beats me and he drove Mama away from us. And he didn’t
take any action so I had to.”
“So do want them
to hang him?”
“He didn’t shoot
Miss Cora. I did. I don’t want him to hang for that. He didn’t do it. But if he
were gone, I wouldn’t mind.”
“You shot her.
Would you go back and undo that if you could?”
“No. She deserved
what she got.”
“Is that your
decision to make?”
“No one else was
making it.”
“You don’t think
the fact that there was breathe in her lungs when she woke every morning didn’t
mean that someone was deciding every day?”
“Well I don’t know
what He wants. That’s not fair.”
“What you did
wasn’t fair.”
“Was it fair to
take Mama, and to poison you?” It wasn’t fair what she did. But was what I
did the same thing? Dead is dead and that can’t be undone. It’s not fair that I
took that from her. The thought shocked Johnny. It stripped him bare of his
hastily erected defenses. His eyes widened in surprise and his breath lodged
like a beaver’s dam in his throat.
“You-There, I
killed Miss Cora.” Realization broke through to him, and he was unprepared for
the ferocity of that knowledge. He lunged for You-There and buried his head in his
soft hair, crying again. This time the tears did not dry up; they flowed from
an untapped source with pent up violence. Sobbing rocked Johnny’s body, but he
clung to You-There, repeating between gasps, “You-There, I killed Miss Cora.”
The sobs resided
slowly and finally exhausted themselves. Johnny let go of You-There, then said.
“Is that why you’re here, to show me that?”
It was not all,
and instead of answering the question, You-There continued on. “Your pa didn’t
pull the trigger, but he certainly caused misery, same as Miss Cora, and same
as you. Do you want them to hang him?”
“You-There, stop
asking me that. I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Cuz I want him to
die. I need to be free of him. There, are you happy that I said it?”
“Are you sure you
want him to die?”
“I just said so,
didn’t I?”
“Johnny, if you
accept your mother’s sacrifice, your pa will die and she will take a mighty
beating and then be forced to serve someone all her life. But if you keep
running you will find the city, I promise. You’ll make it there and you’ll find
a job on the docks. You’ll like it and the hard work will help you sort
everything out. With time, the ropes and the crates and the seagulls will
become a consolation to you. You will grow to love the smell of the salt and
the fish coming in every morning. The busyness will protect you from your pain
and you will make it through this. You’ll join a fishing crew and find new
exhilarations to replace these pains you feel now. The swell of the ocean and
the beating of the wind will be your life. You will marry and have kids. Your
wife will be a delight to you, and your children will be the apple of your eye.
They will grow under your protection and provision and you will be a good
father. They will love you and bless you with grandchildren. You will live much
longer than your father did. But there will be a knot that you will never
massage out of your soul. It will wake you at night. When it doesn’t do that,
it will haunt your dreams. The secret that you will have to hide will be an
anchor of its own. It will be your private anguish which you will have to
protect and carry by yourself. That hidden knot will be your most constant
companion and when you reach your deathbed, with your wife and children around
you, regret will fill your last days. After so many good years, bitterness and
gall will be your final tastes of life.
“If you return to
the plantation I can’t tell you what will happen. You might be punished. They
might still punish Pa in your place. But you won’t bear the burden of today by
yourself. It will be cut out with the knife of public view and eventually the
wound will heal.
“Johnny, you need
to make a real man’s decision. That’s why I’m here. So my question for you is,
‘Do you want them to hang Pa?’”
Johnny lowered his
eyes from You-There, then. He did not want to face that question, but his
inability to do so embarrassed him so he looked away. At last, when he thought
he could face the dreadful compassion of You-There’s eyes, he looked up, only
to discover that You-There was gone and he himself was awake again.
Immediately, he knew that it had not been a dream but rather a vision. He was
terrified, for visions were reserved only for the prophets that the preacher
railed about on Sundays. They were for the significant, the holy and eccentric.
When he was
younger, Johnny used to listen to the sermons about them with awe. Secretly, he
longed to walk in their shoes, to encounter an almighty force, and to conquer
nations. The preacher only had to mention the prophets and fire burned inside Johnny’s
breast and the morning breezes became divine stirrings. On one particularly
powerful Sunday, he could not contain himself and with a tangible zeal, spilled
his soul to Pa.
“I’m going to be a
prophet,” he said as he rushed into the house where his father still sat in the
chair where he and Mama left him that morning.
His father didn’t
answer at first. He spit a slimy wad of tobacco on the ground and gave a
tremendous sniff. “Well, now, my son’s going to be a mighty prophet.” Then he
laughed and laughed.
Papa didn’t let
him and Mama go back to church after that, and from then on he started telling
Johnny what a man was supposed to be.
So Johnny knew
that visions were not for him, but he couldn’t deny his dreams or what
You-There had said. It was too real to be an ordinary dream, so obviously
Johnny was supposed to take something from it. You-There hadn’t given him an
answer, though. He hadn’t told him what to do. Every ounce of Johnny wanted to
run, to be free from Pa. Didn’t the vision itself prove that? If he went back,
that would be the end of it all. And he had killed Miss Cora because Pa
wouldn’t. He couldn’t go back. Yet he knew that they would hang Pa if he didn’t
go back.
“You-There, what
do I do?”
A real man’s
decision, that’s what You-There said. Not a decision that Pa would make. And
then Johnny knew. He didn’t know what would happen, or who he would have to
talk to, or how to look at Pa again, but he knew he had to go back. He picked
up his pack and started to head back to the plantation.
It took him all
day to find the way he lost the night before, and he finally saw the fence
marking Miss Cora’s domain late in the afternoon. He realized that he didn’t
have a plan. Maybe he would look for Mama, or maybe he could find out if they
were keeping Pa somewhere. He stood on top of the fence, balancing with his
arms out, and looked across one of the fields towards Miss Cora’s house. Its
long shadow reached out to him, hungrily trying to pull him closer. There was a
crowd standing around a tree in front of the house and although he couldn’t see
any of the faces from so far away, Johnny caught angry tones on the heels of
the wind. Something was wrong.
Johnny decided
that a public appearance was as good as anything else, so he began making his
way towards the group. He busied himself trying to form words in his mind and
so he didn’t notice what the crowd was doing until they hoisted someone up onto
Miss Cora’s horse. It was positioned carefully under the tree and Johnny saw
the reason for this. A rope extended from one of the branches to the neck of
the man. It was Pa.
Pa was there in
his place. After everything he sat where Johnny should have. “Wait!” he cried
and lurched forward. Nothing else mattered. Though he had run all night and
walked back all day, a new energy surged through him and he ran toward the
crowd. But they couldn’t hear him yet. “Wait!” he screamed again.
A man walked to
the front of the horse and took the bridle. He walked away from the tree and
the horse followed him.
“Papa!” Johnny
could not run any faster. He saw Pa gripping the horse’s rump between his legs,
but they could not hold on. The horse passed from underneath Pa and he fell.
Johnny’s legs moved with a fury, but everything else stopped. The rope
tightened slowly, then recoiled like a rattler coiling to strike. Pa bounced
back towards the tree and fell again. The impact burned rope marks into his
neck and bunched the skin under his chin grotesquely.
“Wait! I did it. I
shot Miss Cora.”
They heard him
then, and turned to look. But they did not understood what he was saying yet.
“I did it!” Johnny
reached them and stopped, gasping under Pa. Desperately he tried to lift him from
the end of the rope, but his little arms could not. Pa gasped above him as he
tried to speak. Then he stopped struggling and his head slumped to the side.
“I killed Miss
Cora, not him. Cut him down, please! He didn’t do it!”
Comprehension
dawned on the crowd and one of the men jolted into action. He jumped under Pa
and lifted him from the cruel pressure of the noose. “Grab that horse!” he
yelled. “I told you it wasn’t him.”
Another man
dragged the horse back to Pa and jumped on its back. Roughly he hacked at the
rope until it snapped and Pa crashed to the ground on top of Johnny.
Johnny climbed out
from under him and attacked the noose, tearing at it, loosening it slowly.
Finally he managed to pull it over Pa’s head and for a brief instant, nothing
happened. Then Pa took a labored gasp and began to cough violently.
“You fool. Johnny,
you fool,” he rasped. “This was for you.”
“I had to come
back, Pa. I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t let them hang you.”
No one in the
crowd seemed to know what to do. Someone finally brought a cup of water for Pa.
Later they thought to release Mama from where they held her and she joined
Johnny and Pa in the dirt under the oak tree.
“Johnny,” she
cried. “Johnny, you came back.”
They held each
other, all of them at the same time and allowed the anxiety and astonishment to
pass from their bodies until they sat, exhausted and silent. Johnny felt tears
drip onto his head and when he looked up he was shocked to find that they were
not only Mama’s, but Pa’s as well.
The crowd
dispersed and only three of the men remained to decide what to do. Johnny
recognized the preacher and two owners from neighboring plantations. They
deliberated for some time, then approached the group.
“Arthur,” one of
the men said. “We’re not sure what to do here. Did Johnny really do it?”
Pa bowed his head
then mumbled. “Yes.”
“I see. Would have
been nice of you to tell us. But I can’t say I blame you for not doing so.”
The second man
spoke. “We don’t feel right stringing a boy up, Arthur. How old’s Johnny? Ten,
eleven? Well, that would be pretty hard to do, and I don’t know if any of us
has it in him. But something’s got to happen. Cora’s dead and we can’t ignore
that.
“You’re not going
to hang him?” Desperate relief made Pa tremble against Johnny’s body.
“For now we’re
going to have to think about it. You’ll go back home so long as you give us
your word you’ll stay. We’re going to have someone stand outside your house to
make sure of that, but Preacher here is vouching for you. If you run off, it’s
on his head.”
Johnny felt Pa’s
surprise as he jerked his head to look at the preacher. But the preacher wasn’t
looking at Pa. He looked straight at Johnny and a mystical fire danced in his
eyes. Johnny wasn’t surprised, though, and when he returned the preacher’s gaze
he found two compassionate brown eyes waiting for him. They seemed to penetrate
into Johnny’s soul, dredging up all the guilt and pain, dragging it into the
light. At first Johnny wanted to turn away but he resisted the impulse. Trembling,
he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and looked steadily back at the
preacher. As the eyes searched him, Johnny felt the warmth of familiarity and
he realized again, that this searching was not for the preacher. It was for
Johnny’s sake and with that he opened himself up, welcoming the knowing gaze of
another until the preacher was done and moved away.
The three of them
sat under the oak tree until the sun’s last kiss said goodbye. The two farmers
left, but the preacher stayed, quietly watching from the perimeter. Sometimes
Johnny smiled at him, but mostly he closed his mind to the questions and
enjoyed the warmth of the last few rays. Mama sniffled every so often, but Pa
cried silently the whole time.
“Did you burry
You-There, yet?” Johnny asked finally.
“Nope,” replied Pa.
“Let’s go do it,
then. He was a good dog.”
With that they all got up and went to find a shovel.
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