The Cellar

by Curtis Richardson

  The biscuit and jam seemed to coalesce into a small hard lump that sat stubbornly in Ike’s midsection, refusing to digest. The formerly pleasant aftertaste soured in his mouth. He took a long sip of the hot tea to wash down the taste and settle his stomach. He was afraid he might be as sick on the jam as Todd had been. The action of drinking the tea also bought him a few moments to reflect on how he should respond to Mrs. Pendleton’s last statement. He was at a loss for words and Johnny’s contribution was of no help.

  Ike thought of how Forrest’s cavalry “had their fun” back in Tennessee. The General had recklessly charged his men into the teeth of an infantry brigade and nearly lost his own life in the process. Bedford Forrest’s idea of fun got people killed. In spite of being shot in the back at close range Forrest had managed to grab a hapless infantryman and swing him across the back of his saddle for a human shield of sorts. The big man rode off with his screaming hostage bouncing behind him like a rag doll. When they were out of range the young soldier was flung off the horse like unnecessary baggage. The victim’s neck was broken when he slammed against one of the scattered tree trunks that the engagement would be remembered by. Forrest himself had incredibly recovered, but people around him were not usually as fortunate. Forrest left a trail of blue and gray clad corpses wherever he rode, and the man rode often.

  Marcus broke what had become an uncomfortable silence when he came down the steps carrying a bed frame. Carrying the heavy oak frame looked like it would have been a chore for two men, but Mrs. Pendleton’s vassal made the job look effortless. Ike hadn’t noticed that the straw and blanket had been removed while he was enjoying his afternoon tea. The frame was placed where the pallet had been with the head in the corner. Marcus headed back up the steps.

  “I thought you might be more comfortable and recuperate faster if you had a decent bed.” Mrs. Pendleton said. “This was Todd’s and it will be again someday. I hope you enjoy it.”

  The thought of sleeping on an actual bed was almost unbelievable to Ike as he watched the civilized furnishings being assembled for his use. It had been two years since his slumbers had been supported by anything softer than an army blanket and some leaves. He and his comrades had slept in railroad cars and on the decks of river steamers but never on so much as a rude cot since he had left home. One night he and Johnny had slept on a brush pile to avoid the mud and the water of a creek that was backing up into their camp.

  Marcus returned with a feather mattress and placed it on the frame. He had sheets and a comforter over one massive arm and prepared the bed as Ike watched with a mix of emotions.

  “Looks like you oughta’ sleep like a baby there Ikey!” Johnny chimed in. “Wonder why she just didn’t move you upstairs? Sure woulda been less work for ol’ Marcus. Wonder why that big buck never run off, reckon he’s takin’ care of Missy in other ways?”

  “You look tired again Mr. Lowery, would you like to lie down and rest a while before supper?”

  “Thank you Mrs. Pendleton, I think I would. Your kindness is……”

  “You are quite welcome young man. It is our Christian duty to care for those who are ailing and infirm, but I do have more selfish reasons as you know. I will return later.”

  The bed seemed to swallow Ike as he lay down. He closed his eyes and prayed, for guidance, for healing, and for Todd Pendleton wherever he was.

  “Yeah, Ikey, I think you better pray for that young fella’ cause if somethin’ happens to that boy his momma’ might not be bringin’ you no more biscuits and jam.”

  “Johnny, I’m trying to pray here, you shouldn’t be interrupting me.” Ike grumbled at the voice. He was beginning to tire of the constant commentary and wondered again if it was a sign of some mental problem on his part.

  “Sorry Ike, I’m new to this ‘guardian angel’ duty. I kinda think I took on somebody that needs some real guardin’.”

  Ike continued to pray. He asked God to help him maintain his sanity and for Johnny’s voice to go away.

  “Aw come on now, I’m just doin’ my job the best I know how.” Johnny said in a mock simper. “Just lay down yer’ head to sleep now and your guardian angel’s gonna stand picket. You’re safe……fer now. ‘Til that ol’ gal gets another letter anyway.”

  Supper was roast chicken and potatoes with a slice of dried apple pie. His hostess was chatty and took her supper in the cellar with her guest. Afterwards she read to Ike from the Bible. She was on the book of Job on her latest sojourn through the scriptures.

  “I sometimes feel a kinship with Job, having lost so many in my family. But I think it is my least favorite book in the Bible. Do you have a favorite part, Mr. Lowery?”

  “Well, it definitely wouldn’t be Job. I always felt like God and Satan were playing a game with him. I don’t like to think of God like that, he just seems cruel and disinterested in Job’s suffering. I guess I like the epistles of Paul as well as anything. I like his way with words.” Ike had always been impressed by the apostle’s colorful prose with his imagery of gongs booming and cymbals clashing and how he talked about seeing “through a glass darkly.” He paused for a moment and his mind wandered back to happier times. “When Emma and I were first married, we read from the Song of Solomon together. Emma would get the giggles sometimes…..”

  “You miss your wife terribly.” She said looking down.

  “Yes, we have been apart for so long…..” Ike replied trailing off. His memories of Emma were vivid in some ways but sketchy in others. It was as if his mind was a book and some of the pages had been torn out. He briefly wanted to share those thoughts with Mrs. Pendleton, but decided to keep his reserve. Her book seemed to be a nightmare tale and he was sure that he would have liked to have not been a part of this or any chapter. They both were quiet for a few moments.

  “When you are united to the right person, parting is painful. I miss my husband Jasper every day. In a way I miss him more than our sons.” She paused, sighed, and then brightened. “But let us not dwell on our losses, in your case at least you will see your Emma again I’m sure and I will have Todd by my side in my dotage. We must be thankful to the Lord for the blessings we have. All we have to do is keep you healthy and safe. Now you must do your part by getting a good night’s sleep.” She rose at this and looked down at him with a soft smile.

  “I always liked that part about old Balaam.” Johnny interjected as Mrs. Pendleton left the cellar. “You know, that feller that got the talkin’ too from his ass? My brothers and I got tickled when the preacher said ass in church.”

  “I am beginning to think that God sent me a talking ass.” Ike responded silently as Johnny went into hysterics and made braying noises.

  Chapter 2 – The Babylonian Captivity

  The days that followed took on a routine and went by dreamily as Ike’s hurts healed. He was well fed by Marcus and given a clean nightshirt and water for a bath on a regular basis. Jasper Pendleton had accumulated an extensive library and Ike was allowed to read one volume at a time by the light from the knothole during the day and by candle light at night. Marcus delivered him a new book every few days as he worked his way through the Pendleton’s favorite authors. He was also given an old Bible to keep in his room. Ike was never given matches, but Marcus lit the candle every evening at supper time and made sure he had a fresh one when needed. Mrs. Pendleton usually took his evening meal with him and read to him from the Bible afterwards. Their conversations were polite but never deep.

  Sundays were church days. Mrs. Pendleton came down late morning and read scripture and a homily from a book. They sang common hymns like “Shall we Gather at the River”, “Amazing Grace”, “Happy Land of Canaan”, and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”. Marcus’ deep rumbling baritone and Mrs. Pendleton’s tenor carried Ike’s weak alto. Johnny sang along in Ike’s head.

  Ike tried to keep track of the time by marking how many Sundays he had been in the cellar. He made a small mark on the back of one of the steps after every service, but he wasn�
�t sure how many weeks he had been here before the services began. It seemed that it must be October by his reckoning and by the cooler but still mild weather. He could begin to see some color in the few trees that were visible through his knot hole.

  Johnny was a near constant presence, commenting on everything and seemingly finding much humor in Ike’s situation.

  “Still like being dead, Johnny?” Ike asked one day when boredom was setting in.

  “Not too bad Ikey, company could be better though” he snickered.

  “I’ve been thinking lately. Since you say you’re not exactly an angel, are you a ghost?”

  “Ooooh Ikey, I always been afeard of ghosties!” Johnny replied trying to sound ominous and then paused. “I don’t know too much and if I did I don’t think I could tell you a whole lot. I just know that I ain’t afraid of anything anymore. I know my time of fear an pain is over and there’s better yet to come. I don’t just believe it or think it, I know it. I’m just a livin’ in your head for now and waitin’. Somethin’ about it kinda’ reminds me of somethin’ my old Irish Papist Grandma’ used to talk about, now what did she call it? Started with a “P”……porky…..perky…..perkytory I think it was.”

  “Purgatory.” Ike corrected him. “The Catholics believe that when you die with sin on your soul you are sent to a temporary place where your remaining unforgiven sins are washed away so that you will be pure before your final entry into heaven.” Ike had always liked the idea although his Methodist faith officially saw it as a pagan heresy.

  “Yeah, I think that was what she called it. My folks had parted ways with the Papists, but Granny still said her beads and read from her prayer book she brought with her from Ireland after the ‘tater famine and ignored it when my folks tried to get her to go to their church and get sanctified. I think Granny was as sanctified as anybody I ever knowed, the old girl loved us kids, even me, an’ love’s what’s important, I know that for a fact.”

  “So you’re in my head being purified before you move on?”

  “Somethin’ like that. Your head’s kinda cramped though, lots of cobwebs up here and some ol’ mud dobber nests like somebody’s attic.” Johnny said with a giggle.

  “Well get used to it. As I recall the soul in Purgatory had to stay longer if they were stained with too much sin. I may be stuck with you for a long time.”

  Johnny laughed a laugh that sounded like his old guffaw from back in camp but with a tone that sounded gentler. It wasn’t the laugh of derision but a laugh of joy. “It may take a while Ikey, but what’s time to a ghost or an angel, or whatever I am?”

  “Were you a churchgoer back home Johnny?” Ike asked. “I didn’t see you at the chaplain’s services very often.

  “Guess I’d become what you’d call a backslider, Ike. I sat in the anxious seat and got prayed over a couple times back home, but I was never sure it really took ‘til I started goin’ to the Nigger services back there in Memphis. I know the rest of you thought I was just a flirtin’ and wenchin’ with them brown beauties. I started out that way but then this one girl, she musta’ been a African princess, she insisted I go to a meetin’ with her. Ikey, that there girl was beautiful as any white girl I ever seen, her skin was so perfect an’ smooth and her eyes were so big you could just get lost in ‘em. She seemed to think I was funny and laughed at most of my jokes, but she wouldn’t sneak out in the woods with me like some did. She wasn’t mean about it or anythin’ she would just pat me on the cheek and smile and shake her head. One day she told me to come out to the woods with her, only it was to this big prayer meetin’. Them folks treated me like I was one of their own, they had me singin’ and a dancin’ with them, even if I couldn’t dance so good as they did. I never saw so much joy at a church service in all my life. Before I knowed it I was gettin’ baptized by this big ol’ buck of a preacher. Ikey, I felt closer to God among those Darkies than I ever did at a white service.”

  Ike imagined Johnny being lowered into a creek by a gargantuan preacher that resembled Marcus. “How long did the preacher hold you under?” he said out loud with a chuckle.

  “Just long enough, Ikey, just long enough. I knowed I was different when he drew me back out of that water. I looked around me at all them folks, half expectin’ that they was havin’ a good laugh at my red headed self a drippin like a drowned rat and all I saw was people that loved me. I sorta’ understand what Momma Pendleton thinks about God puttin’ people in the right place at the right time, I know he put me in Memphis for a good reason, and I’m sure he put me here for a good reason too.”

  The two were quiet for a while and then Ike remembered what he had been meaning to ask Johnny. He chastised himself for taking these conversations so seriously, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes were tired from reading “Ivanhoe” by the light from the knothole.

  “Johnny, what was dying like?”

  “Oh Ikey, it was awful! I’ve had some pain in my life, but bein shot where I was hurt somethin fierce.”

  “Where were you hit?”

  “In the front yard!” Johnny said laughing so hard it made Ike’s head hurt. Johnny was having a good time telling his story.

  “Well, let’s just say if I’d lived I wouldn’t be doin anymore wenchin’. Sorry to say that was my first thought before the pain really set in, I was mortified that my manhood was so mangled up. One of them Graybacks managed to put a round through my head while I was standin’ there hollerin’ and mournin’ the loss of my favorite parts and the pain stopped. I came to and found myself just a floatin’ over that mess of flesh that used to be ol’ Johnny O’Donnell. As odd as it was, I wasn’t scared or anythin’. I was just glad to be outa’ the pain. Hard to explain it Ikey, but it wasn’t just the pain of havin’ my privates near blowed off that felt so good to leave behind, but the pain of livin’ with all the fear and hurts we give each other.”

  “What about the others? Did you see them?”

  “They were there too. The Wiggins boys were smilin’ like they knew the funniest thing ever and even old four eyed Charlie Olsen had a grin on his face. They looked like kids that had been let out of school early. We all hung there just a smilin’ at each other an’ then somethin’ or maybe someone told me I oughta look over by that waterin’ trough. Next thing I knowed I was lookin’ down on your half dead carcass thinkin’ you was a gonna’ float up to me. There for a little bit I seen you come out and you just hung there like somebody had picked you up by your coat collar, but you never completely opened your eyes, you just kinda’ blinked once and then you sunk back down into yerself and moaned. I looked back toward the others and they was gone. I didn’t know where they went or how to get there so I just stayed there a watchin’ you sprawled out in the dirt. Without even thinkin’ about it I hollered at ol’ Marcus. He was startin’ to dig a hole for my sorry remains and he flinched like he heard me. It was funny how he looked around kinda suspicious and went back to diggin’. I hollered again and told him to come over by the waterin’ trough. He looked around an’ decided he needed a drink anyhow so he moseyed over to the pump and spotted you layin’ there so purty. He called the woman over and they looked at you fer a while an’ she told him to haul what was left of you down here. I just been watchin’ the show ever since. Seems like that’s what I’m supposed to do. Actually it don’t just seem like it, I know this is what I’m supposed to be a ‘doin. That’s the great thing about it, I really know that for once I’m a doin’ what I’m supposed to do, even if I’m a little short on details.”

  One evening after supper Ike decided it was time to ask Mrs. Pendleton a question that had been on his mind. “Is there a possibility that I could send a letter to my wife? I would like to let her know that I am still alive. I just don’t want her to despair.”

  The woman looked thoughtful. “Well, I can’t just take it to the post office, but there may be other channels. I will not promise anything and I would expect to read your letter, but I will think about it.” She was quiet after that
and left shortly after this exchange.

  Although he was never allowed out of the cellar, Ike heard comings and goings in the house over his head. He could hear footsteps in the room directly above, which he believed was the kitchen. He recognized Mrs. Pendleton’s light tread and Marcus’ heavier but still graceful footsteps. Other people came and went and Ike could hear voices but could not discern their conversations. He assumed that the callers were the reason he was kept in the cellar. According to Mrs. Pendleton the Home Guard kept watch over the neighborhood as much for Confederate deserters as for marauding Yankees.

  “You think I could make it if I tried to escape?” Ike asked Johnny one day.

  “I wondered if you were a gonna’ be thinkin’ about that. I ain’t no fortune teller or nothin. Cain’t see into the future, but I’d say it might be risky until you get to walkin’ better. You’d look funny limpin’ around Mississippi in that nightshirt.”

  As his leg improved and the pain in his head diminished, Ike walked back and forth across the cellar to exercise muscles that might otherwise have atrophied. Sometimes he would pick up one of the chairs and set it back down repeatedly to work his arms. When he was sufficiently healed he marched with his crutch on his shoulder and would stop and do maneuvers with it, it was not as heavy as his Springfield, but it helped him maintain his upper body strength. As he gained strength a nervous energy kept him moving like a trapped animal, he pictured a bear walking back and forth in the cage of the traveling circus he had seen once in his youth.

  “You are kind of like a ol’ bear Ikey. Lettin’ your beard grow kinda’ adds to the appearance too. Just don’t get too growly.”