I moved till the light was just so that I could see the flashing of the little fishes’ scales. I went into my tote sack and picked out two good stones, one for my right hand and one for my left.
Next I reached into the “live” fly pouch and plucked out two that had a good bit of fight left in ’em. I tossed these flies at the fishing spot and one of ’em still had enough life in him to fly ’bout a little, but that didn’t last long and he soon plopped into the water. Both of these flies waren’t accustom to being wet and started whirring and splashing and skimming ’cross the top of the lake.
There’s something ’bout the way those half-wit horse-flies move on the water that scares the small fish away and drives the big fish berserk! If I’d done everything right the big ones wouldn’t have no choice but to come barreling out of the cattails and snatch at the flies.
I saw the little fish part ’round one of the flies and all the sudden there was a goldy-silverish flash shooting out of the lily pads. It’s hard to explain, but I felt it more than I saw it.
I throwed left.
The rock and the fish and the fly all met up at the same spot at the same time.
It ain’t boasting when I say it was a perfect throw. I can say that ’cause for a throw to be perfect, two things’ve got to happen. One, you got to chunk the fish so’s he’s knocked senseless right off and stays at the top of the water, and, two, the rock has got to bounce off him and land far enough away that it don’t make no kind of splash that’ll scare the other big fish.
After this rock got done chunking the fish in the head, it skipped four times ’cross the water and slipped down in the lake quiet as a duck going after minnows.
I throwed my net-basket out and hauled the fish in.
It was a good-size bass. I strunged it up and put it back in the water.
I don’t know why it is, but something ’bout that basket don’t worry the fish too much and I can toss it in over and over and not scare ’em atall. Maybe it’s ’cause fish ain’t real smart.
I knowed if I was a fish I’d’ve looked at it different. If I saw one of my fish friends go after a fly and all the sudden he was floating on the water not moving and had a big knot on his head, I think my appetite would leave me. And even if it didn’t, I sure wouldn’t have no enthusiasm for the next horsefly that showed up in the water. I’d’ve been smart enough to put one and one together and would have choosed something off the bottom of the lake for supper.
But I suppose if you’re partial to swallowing horseflies whole, it’s a pretty good sign that smartness ain’t one of the things you been ’specially blessed with.
I chunked four more big fish and missed on two when Old Flapjack quit eating berries and gave a strange snort. I stopped moving and looked in his direction. From knowing this old mule, I knowed he’d seen something. Some folks have watch dogs, I got a watch mule.
He started right back up with his blackberry-eating sounds, but I knowed something waren’t right. I could tell he’d seen someone and that it was someone he knowed.
I looked real careful all along the blackberry bushes and the trees but didn’t see nothing.
I waited and waited, then went back at the rock fishing. I missed three out of the next five, and I knowed it’s ’cause my mind was still wondering why Old Flap made that sound. It seemed like if you waren’t paying all your attention to rock fishing you waren’t gonna be too good at it.
I tried to quit fretting but still missed on two of the next five stones I chunked.
Then the fish quit biting. I had me seven good bass and three big perch. I summed ’em up in my head as four for me and Ma and Pa, two for Mr. Leroy, two for Mr. Segee, and two that I was hoping to swap with Mrs. Brown since I knowed she was baking today. That totaled up to ten.
I emptied what was left of the dead flies in the water and emptied the live flies on a rock. If those flies ever did come ’round and got their senses back, it only was fair that their lives waren’t all-the-way wasted and they’d have a chance to fly away.
Then I thought ’bout how pesty they are and what they eat. I changed my mind and brushed ’em all in the water.
I gathered all my throwing stones in my pouch and started putting my brogans on when a man’s voice boomed out from behind me, “Now that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”
I whirled ’round and at the same time picked up a stone ready to chunk whoever it was that had snucked up on me.
My left arm went back and the man raised his hands and said, “No! It’s me!”
’Twas the Preacher.
My breathing came back to me and I said, “I’m terrible sorry, sir. I waren’t expecting no one to be out here.”
The Preacher came out of the bushes and said, “How many of those fish did you stone like that, Elijah?”
I pulled my string of fish out of the water and showed ’em to him.
He said, “Sweet baby Jesus! The boy’s out here fishing without line nor hook! Knocking fish in the head with rocks! Well, that really does confirm it, Elijah. You’ve been given a rare gift from the Lord!
“I’m reminded of Mark, chapter six, verses thirty-three through forty-four, where Jesus fed five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish. But instead of turning two fish into food for thousands, Elijah, you’ve turned stones into fish! Maybe turning water to wine is more impressive and practical, but what you’ve done is no mean feat either.”
The Preacher put his hand on my forehead and said, “I’ve been thinking about how we can best use this gift, Elijah, and I think that we can do something with it to help the whole Settlement. You do want to help the Settlement, don’t you?”
This was strange talk for the Preacher. He didn’t live di-rect in the Settlement, him and a few other escaped people lived just outside our land ’cause they didn’t want to follow all the Settlement’s rules.
I said, “Yes, sir, I want to help the Settlement, but how …”
The Preacher said, “Now don’t you waste a moment thinking about it. All I needed to know was if you were willing to help and now that I see that you’re the fine Christian boy I thought you were, we’ll work this out together.”
I said, “Yes, sir, but I was wondering …”
The Preacher raised his hand and said, “You know what, Elijah? The Lord has revealed to me that since he has given you this gift I should treat you with a little more respect. I should quit treating you like a child and start treating you like the man you truly are.”
Pa says when someone sweet-talks you like this, you got to be real careful with the next words that come out of their mouth. He says the sweet-talking is like a rattling-snake’s rattles, it’s like you’re getting a warning that you’re ’bout to get bit.
The Preacher said, “So I was wondering since you’re near full grown, maybe you’d like to come with me yon and see if your eye is as good for shooting this pistol as it is for throwing stones? I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you a while back.”
The Preacher pulled his jacket back and showed me his fancy pistol.
Every thought I had ’bout rattling-snake words and sweet-talking and bites flewed away!
Then I remembered what happened last time, and how when it came to my turn to shoot off the pistol the Preacher’d said he’d run out of bullets.
I said, “You ain’t funning me, sir? I’m-a really get to shoot it this time?”
He looked like I’d hurt his feelings.
He said, “Elijah, I’m talking to you man to man and you have doubts?”
I said, “No, sir, I just didn’t think …”
The Preacher said, “Good! Let’s go on over to that clearing and do some target practicing.”
I said, “Yes, sir!”
But soon’s I said it, I started thinking ’bout things, things like what if Old Flapjack didn’t want to go no farther, and what would Ma and Pa say if they knowed I was shooting off the Preacher’s mystery pistol, and how was I gonna explain
to Ma why I was getting back so late? And folks were depending on me to bring ’em some fish.
I told the Preacher, “Sir, I don’t think I can do it now, I gotta get back. Ma’s expecting me to bring some fish home for supper and it’s starting to get late.”
The Preacher said, “You’re right, Elijah. You’re right, and that goes to prove my point about you being more man than child. What you’ve just done is show responsibility. We can shoot this gun on another day. Now you just go right ahead and take those fish back to your ma.”
The Preacher waited a second then said, “That seems like an awful lot of fish for three people. I was wondering, is your family going to eat all ten of those fish?”
“No, sir. Usually I give some to Mr. Segee and some to Mr. Leroy.”
He said, “A fine Christian thing to do! Now I was also wondering, Elijah, if you know anything about a word called tithing?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Travis taught us ’bout that in Sabbath classes. It’s giving a tenth of your belongings and your works to the Lord.”
He said, “Yes, to the Lord through his servant here on earth. What do you suppose a tenth of those fish is? Three? Four?”
The Preacher might’ve thought he was the most educatedest man ’round Buxton, but it seemed like he was powerful bad at doing fractions.
I told him, “No, sir, a tenth of these fish is one.”
The Preacher said, “True, if you figure a tenth by numbers, but I was thinking of figuring a tenth by age. Let me hold on to both of those stringers for a minute.”
I handed him all the fish.
He said, “You’re good at doing sums, aren’t you?”
I said, “I’m tolerable good long’s it don’t get stretched into geometry.”
The Preacher commenced pointing at each fish and calling out numbers and telling me to keep track of the total.
“This one’s about fourteen years old, this one’s twelve, this one just turned eighteen, this one’s …”
It was the most amazing thing! Some of ’em he had to look into their mouths to get the age, and some of ’em he could tell just by holding up. But the Preacher knowed the age of each and every one of the fishes! By the time he was done I’d totaled up a hundred and twenty-two years!
“So what’s ten percent of a hundred and twenty-two, Elijah?”
I moved the decimal point without using pencil nor paper and said, “One tenth of a hundred and twenty-two years comes to twelve full years and two-tenths of a year, sir.”
The Preacher pulled the biggest two bass and the biggest perch off the stringers and said, “This perch is ten years old, and these bass are one year old each. How many years is that?”
“Ten plus one plus one equals twelve years, sir.”
“So what’s left?”
“Two-tenths of a year, sir.”
“And how much time does that equal?”
I guessed. “That’s ’bout two months and a little, sir.”
He pulled the next biggest bass off the string and said, “I was thinking we should throw this one back since he’s only a month and a half old, but that’s close enough to two months that he balances things out nicely. I’ll just keep him.”
I didn’t mean to show no disrespect but I couldn’t help frowning. I’d started with ten fish and now I was down to six, and even though I ain’t particular worthy at my schooling, it still seemed it’d take a whole lot of doggone humbug algebra and some trickaration geometry to make ten percent of ten come out to four.
The Preacher put the four fish on one of the strings and said, “I think I’ll call on Sister Carolina and see if she’s had fish lately. Maybe she can fry ’em up.”
Then he was gone.
And so were four of my fish, and, hard as I try, I caint see that as one tenth of ten!
I loaded all my fishing tools up, threw the stringer of fish over Old Flap’s rump, and started riding back to the stable.
’Twaren’t long afore the steady rocking of the mule had me wondering if I should sleep or think. Thinking won out ’cause I was still mighty sore ’bout having only six fish. I couldn’t figure out exactly how the Preacher’d done it, but something with this tithing business stanked real bad. And that got me thinking that lots of what the Preacher did waren’t right.
I’d heard Pa call the Preacher a jackleg man of the Lord once when he didn’t know I was listening. I couldn’t ask Pa what that meant without him knowing I’d been eavesdropping on growned folks’ conversations, but I was catching on that it waren’t a good thing to be.
And then lots of other things the Preacher did came rushing into my mind. Like him promising again to let me shoot that mystery pistol. We’d gone out two times afore and I still hadn’t even touched that gun. The first time he’d ran out of bullets when it came time for me to shoot it, and the second time ’stead of shooting that silver-plate pistol, he gave me a old rusty one to fire. It got so hot after I shot it twice that it burnt my hand and I throwed it down.
All that did was make me want to shoot that mystery pistol off even more.
Folks did lots of speculating on where that gun came from, but that was ’bout the only thing the Preacher didn’t do a whole lot of talking ’bout. I got real disappointed when he finally did tell Mr. Polite, ’cause ’stead of telling one of his usual interesting truth stretchers, he came up with the same story near ’bout any dull child would have. He said he found it in the woods. That disappointed me ’cause if the Preacher’d put his mind to it, I knowed he’d have come up with something a lot more exciting than that.
The gun first showed up in his hands ’bout three years ago when I was ’round eight. I got a real clear memory of it ’cause it was tied up with the last time we had slave catchers come to Buxton from America.
We’d been in the middle of Latin lessons when Mr. Brown came and knocked on the door of the schoolhouse and called Mrs. Guest outside. When she came back in I started fretting ’cause whilst she tried to keep her voice calm so’s not to rile no one, I watched her eyes and saw the way she wrunged her hands whilst she talked and I knowed something was terrible wrong.
She said, “Children, we are going to postpone the rest of classes today. I want all of you to make certain your homework assignment is written down and your books are gathered. Then I want Rodney Wills, Emma, Buster, and Zachary to line up quietly at the door. Kicknosway, James, Alice, Alistair, and Bonita, you are to leave immediately and go directly home.”
Near everybody but me was giggling and clowning and thinking this was something good, but I knowed growned folks waren’t going to call off school ’less something powerful bad was ’bout to happen or had happened already. And why was Mrs. Guest sending all the white children and the Indian children home right off like that?
I quick looked out the window to the west and saw the sky was blue and sunshiny. That meant waren’t no bad weather coming. That meant it was something worst, something dealing with people.
Another knock came on the door and Mr. Brown stuck his head in and said, “Ready?”
Mrs. Guest told him, “Yes,” and said to us, “You will be taken home in groups of four. Those who live farthest from the school will go first. Your parents have been called in from the fields and will be waiting for you at home. They will explain what is happening. I will entertain no questions and I will tolerate no noise. Sit along the walls in the boys’ cloakroom and keep away from the windows. Wait until I tell you to move. You have nothing to worry about.”
Now even the children that waren’t particular sharp-minded got nervous. Ain’t too much that’ll get you worrying more than a teacher telling you that you shouldn’t, and we all knowed just about nothing could make growned folks cut out their work in the fields early.
Mrs. Guest opened the door and Little Rodney, Emma, Buster, and Zachary went out behind her and Mr. Brown. Mrs. Guest stuck her head back in the cloakroom and said, “I will be right outside. I want no talking and no moving about.”
Soon’s the door shut after her, Sidney Prince whispered, “I wonder what’s wrong. This here’s real peculiar.”
Cooter whispered back, “Whatever it is, you’s lucky Emma Collins left, ’cause she sure would’ve told Mrs. Guest you’s in here talking.”
Sidney said, “Well, you’re talking too, Cooter.”
Cooter said, “It don’t count, I’m just trying to …”
Philip Wise said, “Y’all both need to hesh. I know what it is.”
Everyone but me asked him, “What?”
Philip pointed at me and said, “It’s him.”
I felt myself getting warm. Me and Philip Wise didn’t agree on near nothing.
He said, “Frederick Douglass is up in Chatham and told the growned folks he ain’t coming down to visit in Buxton ’less they locks Elijah and all the other babies up. The man say he caint stand the thought of getting throwed up on again.”
Most of ’em laughed but Cooter said, “Philip Wise, you ain’t nothing but a fool. Everyone know you’s just jealous ’cause Eli was the first child borned free in Buxton and you waren’t nothing but third. Even Emma Collins beat you!”
Philip started to answer but the door came back open.
Mrs. Guest rounded up Philip, Cooter, Sidney, and Big Rodney, and they left. I was in the last group to go. Soon’s we were outside I knowed I’d got afeared for a good reason. Mr. Brown and Mr. Leroy were standing on both ends of the schoolhouse holding on to double-barrel shotguns and looking ’round like they were ready for trouble!
If seeing the guns waren’t scary enough, the sounds I was hearing were worst. The Settlement was quiet like it was for only a few minutes every day afore dark. You couldn’t hear no trees being chopped nor no mules nor horses being pushed on to pull harder, nor no sounds from the road. You couldn’t hear that big fifteen-horsepower engine that runs the gristmill and the sawmill thumping away. You couldn’t even hear Mr. Leroy’s axe!
The only sound was birds, and you wouldn’t never think that birds singing would be something to make you skittish, but hearing ’em singing all by theirselves like that, they might as well’ve been haints or ghosts singing.
Elijah of Buxton Page 4
