A Miracle of Catfish

by Larry Brown

  “How far’s Tupelo from Ripley, Daddy?” Jimmy said.

  His daddy had finished eating now, but the waitress had brought him some more coffee and taken away his plate of egg scraps and puddled syrup and one last piece of country ham he hadn’t been able to eat.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I ain’t never drove from Ripley to Tupelo. I wouldn’t think it’d be over a hour.”

  Jimmy’s daddy lit a cigarette and the waitress smiled and brought over a clean metal ashtray.

  “Thanks, baby,” he said, and winked at her. Jimmy saw it. He’d seen his daddy do that before, wink at women. Like there was some secret he was sharing with them.

  “I’ll tell you what else I’m gonna do. This fall,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “What’s that?” Jimmy said. He was about to get full. And he was so glad the girls didn’t get to come with them that he didn’t know what to do. It was just the two of them, Jimmy and his daddy. No stinking girls allowed. He wondered if he ought to tell his daddy that he’d already seen Evelyn messing around again with some of the thugs on the school bus, but then decided that he might ought to withhold that information for now and possibly use it later as some form of leverage against Evelyn if she continued to get meaner and more trashy mouthed and bigger and stronger and might actually try to slap the shit out of him or send her thug boyfriend over to beat the crap out of him. He wondered if he ought to tell his daddy that a guy driving a big red truck that said TOMMY’S BIG RED FISH TRUCK had stopped by the trailer the other day asking for directions for an old man who’d just built a pond. Jimmy’s daddy fairly beamed at him.

  “I’m gonna take you over to the Gun and Knife Show. How’d you like that?”

  “I’d like that a lot, Daddy,” Jimmy said, and put his fork in his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He just said that. He didn’t really mean it. He was still a little uncomfortable every time he thought about that videotape his daddy had where those dogs chased down those hogs and the men with the dogs stabbed the hogs to death. All that blood and squealing. Jimmy never had shot a gun and didn’t know if he’d be too scared to or not. But he knew his daddy expected him to sometime. But maybe he’d enjoy the Gun and Knife Show. He sure wasn’t going to tell his daddy that he didn’t want to go. Lots of things were hinging. He might still get his go-kart fixed one day. And it was entirely possible that Tupelo Buffalo Park might be right across the street from the Gun and Knife Show, so that they could just walk over. Jimmy didn’t want to limit his options on travel opportunities.

  “Let me see them teeth,” his daddy said, and Jimmy opened his mouth. His daddy leaned closer for a better look. He had a serious look on his face when he pulled back.

  “You need to get them teeth fixed. You need to go to the dentist.”

  That struck fear into Jimmy’s heart. He’d already heard all those horror stories his daddy had told him about what some dentists had done to him when he was little. Pulling his teeth. Drilling holes. Root canals!

  “I don’t want to go to the dentist, Daddy,” he said, and closed his mouth.

  “You gonna have to,” his daddy said, and stubbed out his smoke. He grabbed the ticket off the table and told Jimmy to come on. He paid up front and didn’t go back to the table to leave any money for the waitress. They went back out and got in the ’55 and took off again. The windows were down and the wind rippled Jimmy’s T-shirt, a red one with a pocket. He had on shorts and tennis shoes to try and stay cool.

  Jimmy’s daddy pulled a cigarette from his pocket and rolled his window up long enough to get it lit. Then he rolled it back down and told Jimmy to reach back there in that cooler in the rear floorboard that was under that blanket and hand him a cold beer.

  Jimmy got up on his knees and turned around on the seat and reached way down behind the front seat and pushed the old green blanket off the cooler. He opened the lid and looked in. It was full of ice and beer. He shoved some of the ice aside and looked around in there to see if maybe there were some Cokes in there, but there didn’t appear to be any. A nice cold Coke would have been good after breakfast. Wash it all down. Burp a few times. But Jimmy didn’t say anything about there not being any Cokes in there. Even though it looked like if his daddy could go to all the trouble to ice himself down some beer for a trip they were taking together, he could stick a few Cokes from the refrigerator in there for Jimmy. How long would that have taken? Twenty seconds? Jimmy had been hoping that if things went really good today and his daddy stayed in a good mood all day, then maybe he could ask him again about the spear point. And hopefully get it back. How cool would that be for Show and Tell? With his two red arrowheads, he could have a nice little set. Maybe put them in some kind of frame on a background of green velvet. Herschel Horowitz had said he had all his arrowheads fixed up like that.

  “Now be sure to put that top back on that cooler and stick that blanket back over it,” Jimmy’s daddy said. “That way if a cop stops us he won’t see my beer. We in a dry county now.”

  Jimmy handed his daddy a beer. He knew what a dry county was. A dry county was a place Jimmy’s daddy didn’t like to visit, simply because they didn’t sell cold beer there. Whenever Jimmy’s daddy knew he was going to pass through a dry county, he took his cooler and packed it with ice and beer. And covered it up with that old green blanket.

  Jimmy’s daddy opened his beer and took a sip. He nodded to himself.

  “Let’s turn on the radio,” he said, and did. “I usually listen to this station over at Ripley. Kudzu one oh two? They play some pretty good country music. Bluegrass on Sunday mornings. Course I ain’t never up much on Sunday mornings.” And he laughed. Jimmy was glad to hear him laugh. He wondered again what had happened at the stove factory. The day his daddy whipped him so hard. Nobody had ever told him, but sometimes he caught his daddy staring off into the distance, even if he was inside.

  Jimmy’s daddy turned the volume up and they listened to the last half of “Diggin’ Up Bones” by Randy Travis, and then a commercial for mobile homes came on and Jimmy’s daddy turned it down.

  “That’s the only thing about listening to the radio,” he said. “You got to listen to all them goddamn commercials. They just play em over and over. Trying to sell you all their shit.”

  Jimmy’s daddy drank some more of his beer and they rode along. After a while, Jimmy’s daddy finished that beer and threw the can out the window and told Jimmy to get him another one, which he did.

  “You ever heard that commercial for Tupelo Buffalo Park?” Jimmy said, as his daddy popped the top.

  “Naw,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  The commercials finished and Jimmy’s daddy turned the volume back up. The announcer said that there was a Merle Six-Pack coming up within the hour, and that there was going to be a benefit for Bud and Hazel over at the community center at Ripley next Saturday evening, to bring your lawn chairs. Then they started playing “Mama Tried.”

  “You like old Merle?” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “Sure,” Jimmy said. Who was Merle?

  “He’s one of my favorites of all time,” Jimmy’s daddy said, and then he started singing along with the radio. He sang right along, and knew a lot of the words, but he had to just hum when he didn’t know them. He broke back out on the chorus pretty strong and nodded his head and tapped his left foot on the floorboard beside the clutch pedal. Jimmy didn’t think his daddy could sing very good, but he didn’t say anything since he much preferred being with his daddy and him trying to sing than to not be with his daddy at all.

  The song finished and Jimmy’s daddy drank some more of his beer. He smoked another cigarette while a rest home commercial ran. Then a body shop commercial ran. Then a feed store commercial ran. Then a commercial for Crawl Daddy’s in New Albany. They sold stuff for four-wheelers and big jacked-up pickups. Then a commercial ran for a product that grew hair because it stopped the body’s production of DHT.

  “That’s horse shit,” Jimmy’s daddy said. “That shit
ain’t gonna grow no hair. Look at me,” he said, and pulled his cap off for a moment. Jimmy gazed onto the bald dome of his daddy, his long streaks of gray hair. Jimmy’s daddy put his cap back on. “That shit wouldn’t grow no hair up there. Not unless it’ll grow hair on a bowling ball.”

  Jimmy chuckled a little bit, mostly for his daddy’s benefit, and then he stopped and got serious.

  “What’s a motherfucker?” he said, and Jimmy’s daddy almost coughed his cigarette out. Then he did cough. He shoved his beer between his legs in a fast move and caught the steering wheel with that hand and took the cigarette from his mouth with the other hand and coughed hard.

  “Damn,” he said. “I think some of that beer went down the wrong swallow pipe.” He cleared his throat and took another drink and set his beer back between his legs. “Where’d you hear a word like that?” he said.

  “From Evelyn,” Jimmy said immediately.

  “Oh yeah?” Jimmy’s daddy said. It looked like it pissed him off. He took another sip of beer. “She’s about a little smartass. What she needs is a good ass whupping ever once in a while. Course your mama don’t want me to lay a hand on her. That’s what’s wrong with her right now, Johnette won’t whup her ass. Did, she wouldn’t do all that sassing she does. Iron some damn clothes once in a while or something. ’Stead of talking on the phone ten hours a day.”

  Jimmy didn’t say anything, and he kind of hated that he’d just lied to his daddy about Evelyn, since he was the one who’d said he knew what a motherfucker was that day at the empty pond, back when the go-kart was running. And Jimmy wondered if now was the right time to tell his daddy about the dead black lady he’d seen on the bridge that night. And about how he kept seeing her, sometimes at night around the trailer, and that ever since he’d almost drowned that day, he’d seemed to be able to see her more often. He was afraid his daddy wouldn’t believe him.

  “Evelyn lies down on the bus seat with the big boys and they do things with her,” Jimmy said instead. He almost said, Evelyn lies down on the bus seat with the big boys and kisses them, and that’s what he would have said if it had been back in the spring, when she was just kissing them, but now that school had started Jimmy had looked toward the back of the bus a few times and had seen Evelyn lying across one of the big boys’ laps, with her head out of sight, and the big boy with his eyes closed and his face red, straining and grunting like he was picking up something heavy. The bus driver had already stopped the bus one time and had gotten up and gone back there, but by then Evelyn had straightened back up in the seat and was wiping her mouth with a tissue.

  “That little whore,” Jimmy’s daddy said, and Jimmy nodded to himself. He’d been right about her all along.

  “Ain’t that just a fine kiss-my-ass?” Jimmy’s daddy said. “Buy damn clothes for her and feed her, and then she does that on the school bus?”

  “Does what?” Jimmy said. “What’s she doing?”

  “Never mind,” Jimmy’s daddy said. “I’ll talk to your mama about it.”

  “Tell her not to tell Evelyn I told it, Daddy. Please?”

  “Okay. I’ll tell her not to tell her.”

  They rode along for a while and Jimmy looked at the farms and fields they were passing. He saw a farmer out mowing his pasture with a Bush Hog. He saw some hogs in a pen. One of them was stretched out pretty comfortably sleeping on a couch. Then they went by some fish ponds where people were fishing. It sure looked like fun. What if that mean old man up the road had put catfish in his pond? How would you know? How would you know if you didn’t go down there with a rod and a reel and some bait and see?

  “Holy fucking shit,” Jimmy’s daddy said, and he let off the gas.

  Jimmy didn’t even have to ask what. He could see the blue lights blinking down the road, and a lot of cars pulled over on the sides of the highway.

  “It’s a damn wreck,” Jimmy’s daddy said, and started drinking his beer really fast. He took a breath and said, “And damn cops all over the place.”

  There was a line of traffic in front of them that was slowing down and Jimmy could see all the brake lights of the vehicles in front of them coming on. Jimmy looked over at his daddy. His daddy had the beer can turned straight up against his mouth. He took it down and handed it to Jimmy.

  “Here,” he said. “Stick this son of a bitch under the seat.” Then he burped.

  Jimmy did what he was told. He stuck it under the seat and acted like nothing was happening in case the cops were watching him.

  “Make sure that blanket’s over that cooler good,” his daddy said.

  Jimmy turned around and checked it. It looked okay to him.

  “It’s covered up,” he said, looking over at his daddy. He didn’t want his daddy to get caught by the cops and mess up the trip to Ripley. His daddy had told him they had pony rides over there and Jimmy was wanting one of them, maybe two. If his daddy had enough money. Maybe a few cheeseburgers. Ice cream? His tooth was hurting.

  “All right then,” his daddy said. “Turn back around and set back down.”

  As they got closer, Jimmy could see two smashed cars, both on one side of the highway. There was a narrow open space where cars and trucks were creeping through, and Jimmy could see some highway cops in the highway directing the traffic. There was broken glass in the road and what looked like red pieces of plastic. One of the cars was red.

  “We can probably just slide right on through,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “I bet we can,” Jimmy said.

  “I just don’t want these sons of bitches to catch me with that beer in a dry county,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “What would they do if they did?” Jimmy said.

  “I don’t know. They might take me to jail.”

  “Jail?” Jimmy said.

  “You can’t ever tell with some of these assholes.”

  Jimmy could tell that his daddy was getting nervous. He was already lighting another cigarette and he just had put one out.

  “Look over there in that glove box and see if there’s any gum in there,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  Jimmy looked. He didn’t see any gum. He did see some small square packets that were stuffed behind some papers and rubber bands and things. He pulled one out and looked at it. It was fat, padded, slick. Jimmy started reading the label and the label said it was a latex c-o-n-d-o … condo? There was a wrinkle in the pack. Hiding an m. Condom. Condom?

  “This ain’t gum,” Jimmy said.

  Jimmy’s daddy looked over and alarm suddenly showed on his face.

  “Gimme that,” he said, and grabbed it. Then he stuffed it in his shirt pocket. Then he reached over and slammed the glove box shut.

  “What is it?” Jimmy said.

  “Don’t you worry about what it is,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  They had come to a complete halt now since the highway cops were letting some traffic through from the other side and halting the ones in their lane. There was also another trooper who was talking to people in the cars in their lane, leaning down to speak to some of them. It looked like he was checking drivers’ licenses, since Jimmy could see a man three cars in front of them handing his out the window. The trooper glanced at it and handed it back and nodded and another trooper on the other side of the wreck stopped the traffic coming from that direction and the one who’d been checking the licenses started waving them on. Jimmy’s daddy pressed the gas and eased out on the clutch and they crept forward. Two cars went through and then they were stopped again.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “What is it?” Jimmy said.

  “The son of a bitch is checking licenses. Why are they checking licenses at a damn wreck? He’s gonna look right in the damn car. Let me get mine out and have it ready.”

  Jimmy’s daddy leaned toward the left and reached for his billfold with his right hand, pulled it out, retrieved his license from it, and laid the billfold on the seat.

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered under his bre
ath. The trooper was checking the car in front of him.

  Jimmy just sat there, saying nothing. He knew this was one of those times when he should say nothing. His daddy was nervous and this was no time to engage him in conversation. He’d just wait until later to tell him about the guy in the big red fish truck. Sometime when he was back in a good mood. And they were at home. And safe. This was trouble.

  “You sure that cooler’s covered up good?” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “Yes sir,” Jimmy said.

  “And you shoved that beer can up under the seat good?”

  “Pretty good,” Jimmy said.

  And then the trooper was walking back to their car. He had his hat off and he looked like some of the soldiers Jimmy had seen on the television, the ones who were over there fighting the war, in that he looked like he wouldn’t put up with much foolishness. He had on sunglasses and his hair was clipped short. His uniform was full of sharp creases. He was wearing a black gun in a black holster.

  He leaned down just a bit as he came up beside the window, and he put his hand on the roof.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Morning,” Jimmy’s daddy said.

  “May I see your driver’s license, please,” the trooper said. He looked at Jimmy, but he didn’t smile.

  “Yes sir,” Jimmy’s daddy said, and handed it out the window. The trooper leaned a little closer before he took it, and then he leaned back and looked toward the wreck. He looked down at the license and then he dropped his hand, the one that was holding the license. Then he leaned in very close to Jimmy’s daddy.