by Doug Kelly
Kevin knelt down and looked underneath the goats. “Sir, these are male goats.”
The man rose to his feet and stumbled away in a daze. He was mumbling, “Oh, dear God, what have I done? What have I done?” to himself as he sulked away.
Dylan picked up the gold coins, and Kevin escorted the goats to the truck.
“You should have shot them,” said John. “Maybe the old man, too. Just put him out of his misery.”
“I’ve done enough killing. And anyway, I wouldn’t do that in front of my son.” He ruffled the young boy’s hair. “Let’s get out of here before trouble comes back. Is this fixed?”
“Yeah, it was a loose spark plug wire.” John slammed the hood shut. “It’s ready now. I’ll get you back home.”
Chapter Fourteen
Autumn arrived and Tom’s field corn was ready. The neat rows of stalks were a golden brown. The once plump kernels of corn, hiding under their husks, were dry, dimpled, and ready to be twisted free of the cob.
After trampling paths through the dew-covered grass on their way to the field’s edge, the harvesters coalesced into a group between the cornfield and Tom’s house. As more people arrived, the clatter increased. Buckets clanged together, and the noise from the gathering brought Tom to a rear window overlooking his acreage. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grabbed a jacket, and went to his back porch to see hungry people ready to shell their portion of the corn into the buckets and onto the blankets and tarps placed at the edge of the field.
The morning sun just pierced the horizon. The first rays of sunlight pushed the long shadow of the cornfield toward the ragged barn and covered the blankets and tarps spread on the ground. Some of the people huddled close to one another and rubbed their hands together, hoping the friction would provide some warmth. Young children pressed their bodies close to their parent’s legs.
Tom put on his jacket, zipping it to his chin and flipping the collar upwards. He looked at the crowd and tried to find a familiar face. The dim morning light cast eerie shadows across the strangers’ faces, distorting their features. Then Tom recognized Dylan walking toward him, rifle slung across his shoulder. Behind him was Kevin, and next to Kevin was a woman and two young children that Tom did not recognize. He guessed they were Kevin’s wife and Dylan’s children. All of them carried buckets and blankets. He waved Dylan over to him, and the others followed.
“Morning,” greeted Tom.
“Morning,” replied Dylan.
Tom brought his hands to his mouth and blew hot breath on them.
“Cold?” asked Dylan.
“I’ve always preferred the heat of summer.”
“Seen John yet?” Dylan asked.
“Not yet.” As Tom spoke, his eyes wandered to where he had usually staked his goat. The people were close to that clearing of grass now. He eyes moved to the old barbecue grill on the side of his barn. It was a large one; large enough for competition, and it had a tall pile of wood next to it. John had begun to accumulate that wood for Tom as part of their agreement for the corn.
“Dylan, I’ll meet you by the field,” said Tom. “I’m going to get my goat out of that barn and then start a little fire. Maybe I can cut the chill a little bit. Some of these kids look cold.”
Dylan, Kevin, Mary, and the two children went toward the gathering of people and found a place to drop their supplies.
Tom slid the barn door open to an anxious goat, bleating and ready for release. He took it by the rope leash and exited the barn. Just as he stepped out with the goat, John passed by the open barn door.
“Hey, John, where’s your stuff?” asked Tom.
“What stuff?”
“Something to hold your share of the corn.”
John turned his head and looked at the crowd by the cornfield. He looked back at Tom and said, “They think of me as their leader. It wouldn’t look right for me to sling a bucket around with the rest of them.”
Tom scoffed at the comment and shook his head. He started to laugh, but the goat pulled hard at the rope leash and distracted him from the humor of John’s delusion. “Hey, do me a favor,” asked Tom. “Go in the kitchen and get a jar of my finest and a match. I’m going to get a little fire going around the corner. Or is that beneath you, too?”
“No, I’ll be right back,” answered John.
Tom tied the long leash to the frame of the barbeque grill. He lifted its lid, breaking apart many generations of spider webs, and began to stack wood into it.
In the kitchen, John found a full jar and a box of strike-anywhere matches. Jar and matches in hand, he looked out the window. The people huddled tightly while Tom stacked firewood into the grill. John thought of the huddled mass as being subservient to him and his leadership, but he did harbor doubts about his own competence. He looked down at the bottle, and it began to call to him. He put the matches down and heard the jar beckon for him to twist the lid and release it. John had promised himself he would stop drinking because it had nearly killed him. It was a lifelong battle. After recently quitting, John thought he had won his battle with alcohol. He felt his resolve weaken, and then he had a quick thought, Just one drink. Just one sip won’t hurt me. He twisted the lid off and took a small sip. His body shuddered as the alcohol burned on the way down. He looked through the window once more. Liquid courage. The bottle tipped back a little farther this time. With an empty stomach, it only took minutes to begin feeling the effects of the alcohol. Full of liquid courage, he pushed the screen door open. It slammed shut behind him as he went to the grill, now stacked with wood ready to burn.
“Find the matches?” asked Tom.
John tossed the box of matches to Tom as he walked toward the grill.
Tom snatched the box out of the air with a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt. John poured some of the alcohol on the wood. Tom touched one lit match to the pile, and a blue flame burst forth. He walked over to the crowd, leaving John with the alcohol. John took the jar of his liquid courage and hid it in the barn.
Tom picked up a metal fencepost and held it high as he approached the crowd. “This is my marker. I’m going to put this by a row of corn and nobody goes past it.” He paused and looked into the hungry eyes of the crowd. “The rest of the corn is yours. I don’t care what you do with it. Just don’t cross this post.” He paused once more and lowered his arm; the tip of the metal fencepost pierced the soft dirt. “Any questions?”
A hand reached up from the crowd. “My name is Joel Hales, and I wanted to thank you for doing this for us. I appreciate your generosity.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Dylan. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have made a deal and maybe we wouldn’t be meeting on such good terms.”
John heard the comment and began to fume with jealousy and rage at Dylan once more. He walked away, and began to brood.
“Could you show us how to shell the corn?” asked Joel.
Tom grabbed the closest ear of corn and snapped it off the stalk. He ripped the husk from the ear and held it horizontally over a bucket for catching the kernels. He twisted his hands in opposite directions, back and forth, until the cob was naked. He held up the bare cob. “That’s all there is to it.” Tom noticed a large feather on the ground, maybe from a pheasant, and pressed its stiff quill into the end of the cob. He threw cob beyond the barn. The feather acted like a rudder, and the cob traveled like a missile to the area of short grass eaten away by the goat. All the young children ran after the missile and began to play in a clearing behind the barn, next to the tall grass of the meadow.
The adults and older children began to work and as Tom began to walk away with his marker, Dylan called for him.
“Yeah?” Tom replied.
“Can I leave the goats I got at the barter lot here? They’re male. If your goat gets pregnant, we could use her for milk.”
“Sure, put them in the barn and let nature take its course.” Tom walked away.
“I’ll go get the goats,” Mary told Dylan. She waved at the ch
ildren, playing happily together, as she briskly went away.
Dylan saw Joel and his wife standing by their stack of buckets. He walked over to Joel and greeted him.
“Good to see you, Dylan.”
Dylan noticed that Joel had brought his bow along. He pointed to the bow. “Had any luck?”
“I haven’t seen any deer walk past my deck, and I haven’t had any luck with rabbits, either.”
“Get your bow. Let’s go into that field so you can show me what you’re doing.”
“Excuse me,” Kim retorted. “You want me to do this alone?”
Dylan knew she was right. She should not have to work alone. He whistled in Kevin’s direction. When Kevin looked, Dylan gestured for him to come over and bring the supplies. As he explained to Joel’s wife that she should team up with Kevin, he saw David Taylor with his pregnant wife, Amy. At Amy’s side was Linda Foster with her young child. Dylan made eye contact with David and summoned him over, too. Dylan explained to the group that they should all work together while he took Joel across the meadow to see how he used the bow. If they brought any game home, they would divide what they got. The group agreed and Joel left with Dylan, rifle slung across his shoulder. Dylan had given him two razor-tipped arrows. Joel clutched the arrows tightly in his hand as they entered the tall grass. In the distance, Dylan pointed to a tree surrounded by shrubbery. They went toward it, hoping for squirrels. As they walked toward the tree, the grass ahead of them began to rustle. Something was moving in the grass.
Dylan held his arm out to stop Joel. “See that?”
Joel nodded.
“I’ll walk wide around, get behind it, and spook it to you,” whispered Dylan. “Don’t move. Let it come to you.”
“What is it?”
“We’ll find out.”
Dylan took careful steps in the dry grass, trying to be as silent as possible, constantly staring at where he had seen the last bit of motion. When he had gone completely around, he began to walk back toward Joel. The grass began to rustle in the same spot, and Dylan stomped his feet. The grass divided in a line heading directly toward Joel, and Joel’s eyes grew wide as he pulled back the arrow. Something was running toward him. Gasping, Joel let the arrow fly, and the grass stopped moving. Dylan ran forward and saw that the arrow had penetrated the thick, dark fur of a groundhog. Both men knelt by the furry creature, and the expression on Joel’s face changed from trepidation to delight.
Joel exhaled a sigh of relief. “I did it.”
Dylan turned the groundhog over and noticed the tip had gone completely through the ribcage. Dylan inspected the razor tip for damage, and it was still intact. He grasped the arrow’s shaft and pulled it through the animal. Just as the fletching passed free of the body, they heard movement in the grass again. This was different from the groundhog, sounding more like a heavy creature with thumping hooves. Both men rose from their kneeling positions to see a large deer trotting past. The startled deer flipped up its white tail, lunged forward, and exposed its flank. Just as quickly, Dylan shouldered his rifle and swung it about, forcing Joel to duck and dodge the barrel of the rifle. At this close range, Dylan did not take time to aim. As soon as he felt the rifle tucked firmly to his shoulder, he pulled the trigger. The deer continued to run toward Tom’s yard, then collapsed near the cornfield. The bullet had pierced both lungs.
Dylan slapped Joel on the shoulder, “Come on and follow me.” He sprinted toward the fallen deer.
Joel picked up the two arrows and grasped them with the hand holding his bow. With the other, he grabbed a hind leg of the groundhog and followed Dylan to the deer.
The deer had collapsed on its side. It was a doe, no rack of antlers. The short, brown hair almost perfectly matched the dried grass of the field. There was a single small hole behind the shoulder blade. Small trickles of blood oozed from this circle of torn flesh and from its shiny black nostrils. Dylan put his hand on the deer. It felt warm as he moved his hand across its short, bristly fur. The doe looked fat, well fed.
Dylan flicked the retention strap on his knife’s sheath, removed the knife, and handed it to Joel.
“We need to gut it,” stated Dylan.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re no stranger to a knife. You’re a surgeon.”
“This is different.”
“Think of it like a scalpel. We need to remove the contents of the abdominal cavity.”
“But I was an orthopedic surgeon.”
Dylan nudged him “Don’t worry about it. You can’t be sued for malpractice anymore.”
Joel smiled at the humor, then inserted the tip of the blade into the deer and cut it from just below the sternum to the anus. The pressure from inside the deer’s swollen abdominal cavity pushed the contents out onto the ground. He had accidentally pierced the doe’s swollen uterus when he made the incision. A fetus, weakly kicking and gasping for air, fell out. Joel turned away quickly, vomiting in the tall grass. The blood drained from his face and made his already pale skin almost translucent.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that,” said Dylan.
Joel wiped the vomit from his chin with the long sleeve of his shirt.
“Go find Tom and tell him to get the barbeque grill ready for some meat. I’ll take care of all this.”
Joel nodded and headed toward the yard.
Dylan finished separating the intestines from the deer, gutted the groundhog, and severed the deer’s head. He put the groundhog on the deer, pulled them both to the yard, and exited the tall grass in the clearing where the children were playing. The children all stopped what they were doing and watched him drag the bloody carcasses through the short grass. He stopped by the grill and continued to process his kill.
Joel wandered near the edge of the cornfield, peering into the neat rows of brown corn stalks. First, he wanted to tell his wife about the deer, but he did not know where to start looking for her, so he was getting ready to enter a random row when John emerged.
“Seen Tom anywhere?” asked Joel.
“Sure, he’s in his own section.” John pointed to a metal fence post driven into the ground more than halfway down the rows. “He doesn’t want anybody to go down there.”
“Dylan shot a deer,” said Joel. “I got a groundhog. Dylan wants me to tell Tom to get the grill ready.”
John’s glassy eyes looked into Joel’s. “You don’t look so good. Are you sick?”
“I just need some water.”
“I’ll tell Tom. Go sit down.”
Joel walked away.
John yelled at him before he turned the corner of the cornfield. “There’s already a fire started. Tell Dylan to hurry up with that meat.”
Joel did not turn around. He just raised a hand and kept walking.
John went to the metal fencepost and stopped. He thought about what Tom had said that morning and the way he had said it. John hesitated and wondered if he should cross the barrier. He looked around, did not see anybody, and lifted the metal post from its shallow hole. Then he walked ten yards farther down. He plunged its pointy tip into the soil and began to walk quietly and slowly into the field, stopping every few steps to listen for Tom. After a few more steps, he stopped, closed his eyes, and listened again. There was a rustling of dry cornstalks ahead. He slowly moved forward on the soft dirt. He saw a clearing ahead, much sooner than he expected. He went to where the corn stopped, and he saw a clearing in the middle of the cornfield. The clearing was full of tall marijuana plants. John saw Tom, with his back turned to him, standing at the far end of the clearing. He was harvesting a large marijuana plant. John quickly retreated into the rows and continued to spy on Tom. He watched him for a few more moments and then slowly went back the way he had entered. He hastily grabbed the fencepost and put it back where he had found it. His mind was racing. Now he understood why Tom did not want anyone to go near the far end of the field. John whistled loudly, and Tom emerged from the rows of corn.
“Hey,” said
John.
“Hey, what?” asked Tom.
“Dylan got a deer.”
“So?”
“Just thought I ought to tell you.”
“Okay, so you told me.”
John stood there, shifting his glassy eyes around.
“Have you been snooping around my section of corn?” asked Tom.
“Nope.” John moved his head slowly from side to side and began to walk backwards.
“I’ll come out after a while.” Tom licked his lips. “A chunk of that venison sure sounds good.”
“I’ll let him know.” He turned and walked away.
Tom stood there and watched him disappear around the corner of the field.
Dylan found an engine hoist in the junk pile near Tom’s barn and used it to lift the deer carcass off the ground. While the deer hung high, he pulled the skin from the groundhog, quartered its warm body, and pressed its flesh onto the grill’s hot metal grid. The flesh hissed as the flames jumped from the wood and licked the meat. The aroma of cooking meat began to permeate the air.
Joel was sitting on the well’s concrete platform. He splashed water on his face and thought of a better time in his life. He heard the bleating of goats and looked up to see them pulling Mary, her wrist bound to the goats’ rope leashes. She disappeared into the barn. Joel decided it was time to join Dylan at the smoky grill. He smelled the meat cooking.
“Mary is back,” Joel told Dylan. “Your goats are in the barn now.”
“That’s good,” he replied. “She’s going to want this one.” He pointed to the female goat tied to the frame of the barbeque grill. “Help me pull the skin off this deer, and I’ll take her this goat.” He began to wonder what warm goat milk would taste like and then decided cheese might be better.
