Crapalachia: A Biography of Place

by Scott McClanahan

  Yeah, but I probably better get back. I have school in the morning.

  Then it started, “Oh lordie. I don’t feel no good at all.” Then she started crying and said, “I think I’m dying all right.”

  My Aunt Mary came in and said, “Oh, Mother, you’re fine. You’re just upset that Scott has to leave.”

  Grandma said, “Hateful old thing walking around here like a bandy rooster. I don’t feel good.”

  My Aunt Mary checked her pulse—“I don’t know? Your pulse is really weird. Let me take your temperature.”

  She took her temperature and it was a little bit high.

  So I agreed to take her to the hospital to be sure. I told her I had Bill’s car. It was no big deal.

  Mary told her, “You’re just like the boy who cried wolf, Ruby—one of these days you’re going to be really sick and we’re not going to believe you.”

  My grandma told her she wanted them to know something. She wanted her to know that they might be taking care of her now, but she was still the boss around here. Little Nathan might be gone, and Little Scott might be living elsewhere, and she might be living at their house now, but she was still boss around here.

  So I drove her to the hospital 40 miles away. I drove her through Danese and down the mountain. I drove her past our old house Elgie built out of wood from another house he bought for eight dollars. In the winter, the snow used to blow beneath the door. She told me about how Elgie used to hide his moonshine in the creek, but he was usually drunk when he did it. So when he returned he never could remember where he put it. She said there were still jars of his shine hiding in the mountains, waiting for us to find them.

  We crossed the bridge and Ruby looked out across the river. It had been raining really hard that summer so the river was up and rolling all full of mud and roots.

  So she looked out over the river and said: “Oh look out there. That river is nothing but a river of blood.”

  She repeated: “It looks like nothing but a river of blood and hearts.”

  So I took her to the doctor and she was telling me about how Nathan had missed her, and how he was crying at night and wanted her home, and how she knew he was waiting right now for her return.

  Then I told her Nathan was gone.

  She told me she knew.

  I couldn’t tell if she was losing her mind or just pretending to lose her mind.

  I knew old people used the “losing my mind” excuse all of the time, especially if they were caught stealing at a grocery store.

  And so we passed the place where the mountain caved in a couple of years before and killed her cousin who was riding along. I told her about how just a couple of weeks ago, I went through these old dusty volumes of Fayette County census records in the library—and I found her father and her mother, and that the first McClanahan in Fayette County was in 1872. She cussed to herself and said “shit” and she wanted me to know that she was from on top of Backus Mountain. She was a farmer’s daughter and she didn’t want to be associated with any coal-mining McClanahans who lived at the bottom of the mountain. She told me after Elgie’s death his brother Jason called her and proposed marriage. Jason McClanahan was 80 years old. She said she had one McClanahan in her life and that was sure as shit enough for one lifetime.

  When we got to the hospital the nurse took Ruby’s vitals and said, “I think you’re okay, Miss Ruby. It must have been something you ate.”

  Ruby raised her hands in the air and shouted, “Praise God.”

  Then Dr. Mustafa Mahboob came down and gave her an ass-chewing and told her that her family was going to put her in a nursing home if she didn’t stop. He asked her if she knew how many times she had been to the hospital in the past two months. She shook her head no. He told her 10 times. He told her he knew she just lost her son, but she was out of control.

  Then he told her Medicare was going to flag her. He told her she was going to get in trouble. I shook my head and nodded at her. So I put her back in the car and I took her home.

  I drove up the mountain towards Prince and past all the old places. We drove past where Elgie sold moonshine and where Ruby used to wash her clothes in the river. And we drove past the old mine, which had a church in front of it now. She told me about how she used to sit on the front porch and blow a whistle when the cops were coming. She blew the whistle and screamed, “The revenuers are coming. The revenuers are coming.” Then Elgie would hear her on the mountain and blow up the still.

  She pointed to the hillsides and said, “There used to be houses all over.”

  Then she pointed to the side of the hill and said there used to be houses there too.

  Then she pointed beside the creek and said there used to be houses over there too. There used to be houses anywhere you could put a house. She told me how Elgie brought home a box of dynamite from the river and tried to blow her up one day, but the dynamite got wet and wouldn’t go off. She told me a revenuer disappeared one time. People said the McClanahan boys did it. She told me they tied him to a tree and put a shotgun in his guts. Then they fed him to a hog because hogs eat everything. This was called a coal camp. This was the true way of justice and truth and law.

  And as we drove through the holler I could see the whole place. There was a moment when it felt like it was 1930 and I was traveling through time. I could see the mine. I could see people walking. There were houses everywhere.

  It was all gone now. There were only mountains and a twisty-turny road with chug holes so deep you could bury your baby inside of them. For a while now you had to be careful because there was an abandoned mine shaft beneath the road. The state transportation officials were worried about the road caving in and cars falling down into this forever mine shaft. But now there was tall grass growing over everything and vines wrapping around old shacks and rusty railroad tracks and rickety bridges. There weren’t any of the old places. There wasn’t a coal mine. And there wasn’t a house here.

  And there wasn’t…

  And there wasn’t…

  There was only a train station nobody stopped at and the New River rushing all red and full of river mud.

  When we got back home I helped Aunt Mary to get Ruby ready for bed. I told Mary that Ruby was fine. It was just indigestion probably. I helped put Ruby into bed. I touched her hand and told her I was going now.

  “Oh lordie, I’m feeling horrible,” she said. Then she clutched her chest. “I’m having chest pains.” I kissed her cheek and I said, “I’ll see you next week.” She told me my grandfather Elgie used to have nightmares begging for the whistle to stop.

  She wasn’t dying.

  She was lonely.

  So I left and I heard Ruby shouting again, “Oh lordie, I’m dying.” I didn’t turn back. I wasn’t sure we were even born yet. We were all inside of a giant mother right then and we were waiting to be born. Just like tomorrow, at dawn, we will be held in the arms of the giant mother. We will find warmth and maybe even war there.

  I want us all to be ready.

  SO NOW A REMINDER ABOUT THE THEME OF THIS BOOK AND ALL BOOKS

  Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

  I went back to Bill’s mom’s apartment, and it was all the same. It was just an apartment full of the…

  CRAZY FUCKERS I KNEW

  There was Reinaldo who always used to sneak into the bedroom and try on a pair of Bill’s mom’s crotchless panties. She moved out years before, but she still kept a pair of crotchless panties around. Bill used to get pissed and tell him to take off his mom’s crotchless panties.

  There was the foreign exchange student Tiertha Timsina who arrived in Crapalachia knowing only two words of English. Tiertha had to get married before he turned 18 or he would be sentenced by the wise men in his village to marry a tree. Lee told him, “I know if I had to marry a tree—I’d sure as hell put a lot of knot holes in it if you know what I mean. I’d fuck the hell out of that tree.”

  Tiertha and Bill bonded because they were both mountain boys. They t
alked about Sewell Mountain and the Himalayas and the elevations of the mountains of their birth.

  We talked about the town of Lewisburg in the eastern end of the county and how we hated all the hippies who lived there who talked constantly about black bears and healing massage.

  There was Six Toed Russell who snuck into bars and bet drunk lumberjacks. “Hey, I bet I have six toes on both feet.”

  The rednecks didn’t believe and just said, “Whatever. The fuck you do.” So Russell popped off his shoes and there they were. There were two feet. And there were, count them—1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11, 12 motherfucking toes wiggling around in all their glory. Russell was always good at math.

  And then there was Naked Joe. Naked Joe used to run into people’s yards and rip bushes out of the ground. “Fucking bush, I hate you.”

  One time an old lady said she was going to call the law. He better quit tearing up her shrubs.

  “The law,” Joe said. “Well you better tell your bush to quit talking so much shit.”

  But then that evening we sat in Bill’s room playing Madden. Joe came into the room real quiet and then disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came into the room and stood behind us.

  “Who’s winning?” he said. He put his hands on his hips and said, “Man this game is getting good.”

  I felt something brushing against my back. I felt something sitting on my shoulder. I turned around and shrieked because right there was Naked Joe’s dick sticking in my face.

  I always wondered why people called him Naked Joe and now I knew.

  Then there was Bill in the middle of it all. He stood around during our backyard wrestling bouts. He pointed to the mountains around us. He pointed to Beelick Knob and said, “That’s Beelick Knob. Guess what its elevation is?”

  Then he told us the story about the Greenbrier Ghost.

  Then he pointed to another—“That’s Shafers Crossing. Guess what its elevation is?”

  But no one listened.

  Then he pointed to another mountain and we didn’t care again. Only Tiertha listened. He dreamed of his home in the Himalayas. But we didn’t, even though Bill was telling us about where we were from.

  He was telling us about our mountains.

  Then Lee Brown stopped by.

  LEE BROWN

  Lee was 6’5” 275 pounds. He was 18. He came from a whole family of big people though. His older brother was 6’6” and his father was 6’7” and his little baby brother Dave was 6’5” and his mom was the itty bitty runt in the family. She was only 6’3”.

  Lee once drove all the way to Lewisburg just so he could sit in a trust-fund hippie restaurant and order a 15 dollar hamburger (raised without steroids or preservatives). He ordered, “Yes, I would like your 15 dollar hamburger but can I get it with the steroids and preservatives put back.”

  They refused and he shouted, “What the hell kind of restaurant are you running here?”

  I thought these were the perfect examples of American youth.

  So we hung out that evening looking through the phone book so we could make prank phone calls. Lee and I were looking through the phone book for names. Then Bill pointed out over the mountains and he told us about the elevation of the mountains. He told us about the Greenbrier Ghost. We weren’t listening anymore because we were looking for names to call. I looked up Ruby’s old phone number. I wanted to call it and see if she would answer. Then Bill told us about Beelick Knob. He told us about Shafers Crossing. He told us about Sewell Mountain where his family was from. He told us about Stephen Sewell living in a tree, and running from the Shawnee through the rhododendron bushes before they finally caught and killed him in the woods. He was telling us about all of these places. He was telling us something important though.

  He was telling about where we were from.

  He was telling us about home.

  OF COURSE

  We were just looking for numbers to call. We called 438-6794, but no one answered. We called 438-5812 but then it was busy. We called 438-6494 but then Bill started whining again.

  He said, “Guys, I don’t think we should be doing this.”

  “Oh be quiet, crotchless panties,” Lee said giving him hell yet again about the pair of crotchless panties.

  “My mom does not wear crotchless panties.”

  It was true though. One night Reinaldo and Lee came out of the bedroom after they went through her drawers and Reinaldo was wearing the crotchless panties over his boxer shorts. It was true. Lee reminded him of this, but Bill just kept arguing.

  “How do I know you didn’t sneak crotchless panties in her drawer just to put them on that night—so you could make fun of me?”

  Lee said: “Why in the hell would we want to take the trouble to sneak crotchless panties in here. I know you’re sensitive about it, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

  It was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Like I said it’s not that big of a deal—crotchless panties.”

  Then Lee started giving him hell about his troll love. If it wasn’t the crotchless panties—it was the fact he collected troll dolls.

  Bill was famous for his troll love. One night a few weeks back Bill and Lee got into it. Lee said something to Bill about his mom’s crotchless panties and Bill just flipped. He punched Lee harder than shit in the shoulder and so Lee started chasing him. They ran outside the apartment building. Bill was barefoot and bare-chested and only wearing Dallas Cowboy boxer shorts. It had been raining. He ran out into the rain and the muddy yard.

  Lee was chasing him—and then all of a sudden… Bill… slipped… his feet went out from under him… the troll flew high into the air.

  And then everybody moved in slow motion too.

  RAAAAAAAAAA.

  Bill fell into a mud puddle and the troll flew

  Up

  Up

  Up

  And then

  Down

  Down

  Down a few feet beside him. And then in his slowed down motion picture voice—Bill shouted the words that made him famous. He reached and said from his mud puddle, “Save the Troll. Forget me.”

  I whispered to myself now, trying to give Bill hell. “Save the Troll. Forget me.”

  Then I stopped because Lee had already found another number to call—Junior and Shirley M. at 438-6494. He told Bill to do one. Bill didn’t want to prank phone call them, but he did it anyway. Bill dialed the number. I picked up the other phone to listen. The phone rang on the other end and then somebody picked up. It was an old woman’s voice.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello Aunt Shirley,” Bill said.

  “Yes,” she said confused, and then I thought up something to say.

  “Aunt Shirley, do you know who this is?”

  On the other end it was quiet and then we heard Aunt Shirley shouting, “Praise Jesus. He’s alive. Honey, it’s little William. Billy, you’ve come back to us after all of these years. Billy, are you in trouble?”

  Holy shit.

  Billy?

  What a fucking coincidence, I thought.

  But then Bill just played along even though his name really was William. His name really was Billy. His name really was Bill. She was confusing this Bill with another Bill she knew.

  “No I’m fine, Aunt Shirley. I’m just down here at the Pit Row.” Pit Row was a gas station next to 7-Eleven.

  He thought up a story to tell her. He came up with one quick and said, “I’ve decided to finally quit drinking firewater and come back home, Shirley.”

  On the other end we listened to Aunt Shirley crying out loud with joy. “Oh Bill, you’ve reached out to us, you’ve finally reached out to us.”

  So Bill started to pretend cry too.

  But then he just kept going on: “Well Aunt Shirley, I’m down at P P P P P P Pits Row gas station.” Then he started doing this stuttering thing.

  “I’m down at P P P P P Pits Row gas station and I need somebody to come pick me up.”

&n
bsp; Bill took the phone away from his mouth and said: “Guys, we shouldn’t be doing this. It sounds like she really misses this person she thinks I am.”

  I shushed him and so Bill started talking again. “Please, Aunt Shirley. Please come and get me. P P P P Please.”

  So Aunt Shirley whispered in the phone. “I’ll get Junior and we’ll come and get you. You remember Uncle Junior don’t you? Of course, you were so little last time you saw him.”

  Then she didn’t say anything for a long time, but then: “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  So Bill started hanging up the phone and pretending to cry. “Okay, Aunt Shirley. Okay. I’ll be waiting. I’ll be waiting, Aunt Shirley.”

  And since Pit Row was just below Bill’s mom’s apartment—it was perfect. We looked out the window at the Pit Row gas station and waited on Uncle Junior and Aunt Shirley to show.

  I just started laughing, it was so absurd. And then Bill said: “That was wrong of me to do. That woman thinks I’m someone she knows. She’s coming all the way down here for nothing.”