Alfie Carter

by BJ Mayo

  I couldn’t help smiling, thinking of all of the talks Cotton and I had about animals. How God created all creatures with a special tool for survival and perpetuation of the species. Each was able to deflect or eliminate the threat some of the time. Maybe a lot of the time. “Imagine if God had not made coyotes, Alfie. Can you imagine how many rodents and rabbits we would have? I know they will kill anything they can catch and deal the sheep men misery to the south. But just think about the rabbit population and all of the problems that would bring. God knew what he was a doing when he was a balancing out the food chain and so forth.”

  I laughed, remembering the striped lizards we would catch as young boys, only to have their tails come off and get away. Then that dim-sighted armadillo we took after, to see if one of us could catch it. When I was slowly sneaking up from behind, that thing snorted and took off bouncing to his emergency hole. Managing to grab his tail just as he went into the hole, the tail started popping like it was coming apart as the armadillo dug his claws into the side walls of the burrow. There was no pulling him out.

  I told the story to Cotton on one of our breaks. The tears streamed down Cotton’s face, with his jowls swinging as he laughed uncontrollably. I just he wished I could hear that laughter again.

  Then, there was the one thousand legs we would try to catch, only to have them roll up in a ball and go to stinking. Possums playing dead with their teeth showing. As soon as you were safely away, up and away they would go. Cotton talked about the Amazon tree frogs that were so poisonous that if you touched them it might kill you. The local tribes learned to catch one with a leaf, and roll their darts and arrows on the back of the frog. They could kill the tree monkeys with ease with the poison darts.

  Thinking about the Bible, or at least the part I read, it seemed it might be true that all animals, fish, and insects were purposely designed by a master creator. I saw it right before my eyes that each of these creatures, no matter how big or small, was given a place in the world and a way to survive. If that were not true, I thought, who taught all doves to feint like they have a broken wing? Everything has a lifespan, some shorter than others. Even though there was a lot of animals in the human race, I was still alive.

  Standing up and looking at the moon, I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Why am I here? Why in this stupid crap of a world am I here? I have absolutely nothing to show for my life. Why did you give me a drunk for my Pa? Why did you take my Patricia Jean?”

  Pent-up rage came all at once. Anger turned to tears. Screaming into the night, “I just work. I always work and I am really good at that, you know. There ain’t nothing wrong with work neither.”

  The silence was deafening. The scream did not change the moon. The tears offered release but did not make me feel much better.” Who is listening? The coyotes?”

  “All I’ve got is my work. You tell me what else there is.”

  Wiping my eyes and nose on my shirt sleeve, I turned and walked back to the tent. Once inside, I turned on my flashlight and began digging in my backpack. I found a package of dried soup and a bottle of water. It smelled good as I watched it come to a boil in my coffee cup on the small propane grill. Gurgling and bubbling as I stirred it with a spoon, the aroma drifted up to my still-dripping nose. It made my mouth began to water as I had not eaten since morning. The small package of saltine crackers thickened up the soup a little as I slowly began to sip it. Remembering I stuck the Spring obit column in my shirt pocket, I pulled it out. There along with Old Lady Williamson’s writeup was Cotton’s picture, in his suit.

  There were things in the write-up I never knew. Even though Cotton spoke only two or three times about religion over coffee, the words in the obituary column were amazing. About how much time he spent at church. Serving on this committee or in that capacity. Cotton definitely had a large life, outside of being the JP. Written in the obituary column was one of Cotton’s favorite activities from his wife, Maude: “Cotton always enjoys Friday night date night. Especially so as I have to pay. He never can seem to get his billfold out of his pocket at the cash register. He just acts like he is trying to get it out.” Cotton mentioned on many occasions about his and Maude’s date nights, rarely if ever, anything intervening in that occasion.

  Sometimes, when funds were short after baby food, and they had enough food to feed them for two weeks, they could afford a hamburger at Mel’s. Then, come tax season, they might have a steak or a pizza, depending on the size of the refund.

  “You ever take Beatrice on a date, Alfie?” Cotton used to ask.

  I always just sat there and listened, and kind of looked away without answering. Cotton would smile and look away. “Alfie, she will like you for it. Even might love you for it. Every girl likes to be a-spooned and a-courted. I mean every one of ’em. Well, there are some that don’t want to be a-spooned and a-courted. Them mean ones, it is usually a man that made ’em mean. Kind of like sitting on a pony and hitting him between the ears with a stick. Why, they just never forget, and they dang sure do not forgive. They just get and stay mean just for self-protection.”

  Cotton once told me that although they never had a large supply of money, God had always taken care of them and their family. “Why do you reckon that is, Alfie?” he would ask. “Why, before we began giving 10 percent of our income to the church, our money ran through our hands like sand through a sieve. I mean sand through a sieve.”

  I remembered frowning at that. “You actually give away 10 percent of your income to the church? Why in the world would you do something like that?”

  Cotton looked at me with those bright and brilliant eyes. “Well, in the Bible, God said to test him on that. You know, giving 10 percent of your money, sheep, or wheat, or whatever your money is. He said to do that and your cup would surely run over. It is kind of a test, you see. The way I see it, if he can trust you with a little money, he might be more apt to let you have more of it. Sounds pretty crazy, I know. Me and Maude agreed to do just that, with whatever money came through our door.”

  I chuckled at him mockingly. “Well, did your cups run over?”

  “Youngster, I can only say that it did and it does. A cup running over does not necessarily always mean money. It can mean seeing Maude smiling back at me in the morning on the back porch, looking at the sun come up. We are sitting there drinking a cup of her hot, percolated, rich coffee, watching the sun come up. Sniffing the fresh smells in the air, listening to the birds, and watching the cat stalk a squirrel below the oak tree. I look over to Maude and say, ‘It is a good day, Missy.’ She looks back and squeezes my hand and just smiles that beautiful smile of hers. It is a smile of a happy woman. A girl that has never been hit between the ears with a stick, so to speak. Seeing that smile is worth about a million dollars to me. She is free from harm. Free to be a mother and a wife without fear of a man, getting beat and so forth. You know what I mean? Don’t you and Beatrice share coffee in the morning?”

  Cotton seemed to know that the answer would be no, but he always moved on to the next thing without demanding an answer. He would always end with, “You know what I’m a-talking about, son?” Dropping a little seed and then moving on. Then he would reflect a little while and start up again.

  “Now, I ain’t a-saying there ain’t been a few rivers to cross,” he would say. “My gosh, we have crossed a few rivers in our time, and probably will cross a few more ’fore we finish. Like always, we just take ahold of each other’s hand we take ahold of God’s hand and he either leads us across or carries us. Don’t know that there is a big difference. Then there is that money till. You and Bea got to save and spend your money wisely because he don’t expect you to be reckless with money he allowed you to have to start with, and then go blaming him for your misfortunes. And that scripture in the Bible about the widow’s mite, you know, is real powerful when it comes to poor people giving more than they can afford. Why, there is many a rich folk ain’t never gave a dime to the church, excepting on Easter Sunday, when they make their u
neasy pilgrimage. All dressed up in their finery for a Sunday church visit. You see, some folks in these church houses . . . they think they are a little better than most folks. So when these folks come visiting on their yearly Easter Sunday visit, they just kind of get the feeling they ain’t a-welcome in the house. Some never come back. We shouldn’t be makin’ people a-feel that way.”

  The words Cotton spoke in the distant past rang out in my head like it was yesterday. Cotton’s country lingo rolled off of his tongue easy, like silk, but clear as the night sky he was looking at. Cotton was always easy to listen to, with his low melodic and somewhat theatrical country voice. He smiled with his sparking eyes while his huge jowls swung. Cotton always marveled out loud about God’s creation. I had heard the story a few times, but relished the memory of recalling it.

  “Alfie, you ever read up on them wildie beasties over in Africa?” he asked.

  I always acted like I had never been asked that question, and shook my head no.

  “Well, now, they make this annual wildie beastie pilgrimage, I call it, but they call it a migration. What makes them start? Well, they are a-headin’ to a big old savannah of good grasses call the Mara Mara or Maisa Mara, something like that. Now, that is all the way from Kenya and Tanzania, and that is a lot farther than crossing these here plains, you know. They get together like our buffalo used to do, before we nearly wiped them out. Then they go to traveling in somewhat of an orderly fashion, all goin’ in the same direction. Now, why do you think they do that? I will tell you why. Cause God done told them to head that way. Kind of like the geese and those sandhill cranes coming in from the north every year. So they get to a-headin’ all the same direction towards this beautiful savannah, just loaded with fresh, sweet grass that them wildie beasties just can’t resist. Now, there is only one problem, Alfie. You know what that is? You know what is going to hold up the show? You know what is going to cause some problems for them wildie beasties? Well, I will tell you right now what that problem is. Alligators. I’m talkin’ about dawg-gone big alligators. Why, they are as long as about two of them cars out there. Now, how do you think the alligators know that every year at this time them wildie beasties are goin’ to be a crossing this here river. Well, I’ll tell you. God told them to be there. And just like it was then and to this day, you or me can’t stop it. We might get fretful about all of them wildie beasties getting attacked and et by them alligators, but they got to eat too. Now we might try and divert them and mess it up for a while, but there ain’t no a-changing God’s plannin’. Ain’t that a marvelous thing, Alfie? That we cannot change things, only mess them up for a while.

  “Why, we only live about seventy years, if we make it that long. Some shorter, some longer than others. Now, in that seventy years, how much time do we spend a-sleepin’? How much time do we spend a-workin’? Alfie, how much time do we do a-livin’, a-worshiping our Creator? A-lovin’ on our wives and kids? Well, I tell you, it ain’t enough. Why, just take these jobs of yours and mine, they are just a means that God gave us to provide for us and our families. These animals, these wildie beasties, and them alligators. They ain’t got no means to go earn or the need to earn money. There is only one thing that God put in them and that is survival. They got to eat to live. What else in the world do you reckon them alligators live on the rest of the time?

  “Do you reckon time is relevant to most animals out here in a given day? Doing all of that plannin’ and a-plottin’ like we do? No, they just want to live. And there is plenty of things standin’ in their way, I tell you. Why, there is wind, rain, snow, predators, vehicles movin’ left and a right. Do you see what I am a-sayin’, Alfie? Do you see what I am really saying? It ain’t easy being an animal. And God knows their lives are meant to be shorter than ours. Well, maybe exceptin’ them Galapagos turtles. Now, them things—God made them things to last a long time in this world. I can’t imagine them a-frettin’ much about anything. They just go a-swimmin’ around and eatin’ what God provided them to eat, and maybe tryin’ not to get et by a big ol’ shark or something like that.”

  I smiled, thinking about Cotton’s melodic speech pattern. It was like listening to water trickle over a rock. Or maybe a little wind whistling through the pines in the fall. Nothing demanding. Nothing caustic. Nothing melodramatic. Just simple reflections that rolled off his tongue. I always felt like someone had sprinkled a little powdered sugar in my ear when I listened to Cotton talk.

  It was hard not to remember the coyote and the feinting dove and the red-tailed hawk hunting late in the evening. Well into the night, I remembered Cotton’s countrified words of wisdom and inspiration. For reason, all of the words and phrases came flooding back to me in vivid clarity. Maybe blaming God for every last thing that had gone wrong in his life was the easy way out. Pa spending most of the meager funds he earned on booze. Then, once good and drunk, beating his mama. Little Patricia.

  It was not just God that I blamed for taking Patricia. I had always blamed Bea. I stared upat the moon and stars. “How in the world could she possibly be to blame for Patricia’s death?” There was no blame, yet I had cast a wide net of blame toward God and Patricia for over twenty years. I began to weep. Great sobs overcame me with every fiber of my body until there were no tears left.

  I sat for a long time on the rock perch, overlooking the sprinkling of lights in the distant, bright moon. My handkerchief was wet from all of the nose blowing. “How could Bea possibly stand me?” Hell, I am never home and she ain’t been hugged for I don’t know how long.” She was treated her as a necessary evil that I had to put up with after the baby died. “What kind of man would abandon her to deal with the pain all by herself?”

  I could never remember discussing the issue with her, for fear I would fall apart, not her. Then, like a coward, I ran away every year. Ran away to the mountains to not deal with the anniversary of that terrible day, sitting on the side of a mountain feeling sorry for myself. Poured myself into my damn work before and after my yearly trip. Coming in late from work and leaving early every day. And never a comforting word to Bea.

  The grief and guilt continued to sweep over me like an ocean wave. I could hardly ever remember crying in my life other than when Patricia died. But here, alone in the moonlight and for whatever reason, now I can’t seem to stop. My eyes were burning and red, but there was no one to see or care if they were, so it did not matter. Looking up at the Milky Way, the pattern of the Seven Sisters and beyond. As far as my eyes would allow me to see. “What, if anything, does someone like me have to offer the God of the universe? The maker of the universe, the world humans live in, and all that is in it? The builder of the moon, many moons, the twinkling stars, and God only knew what he built beyond the stars?”

  Maybe it was just too late. I remembered Cotton saying several times: “Alfie, you know we are only made of clay. When we die and they plant us in the ground, we just turn back to dust.”

  I reflected the better part of the night on things that I set aside long ago. “Why had God allowed me to continue living? Me, Alfie Carter, was of no use at all to the mighty God of the universe. There was absolutely nothing I can do that will affect the outcome of anything. Well, nothing other than my investigations of other folks.” And I was getting ready to wrap up his latest one on the Couch girl. There were people always killing each other, slandering and lying about each other. Other than the murdering part, some of those things I was guilty of myself. As far as the murdering I have seen, yes, I do wish that some of those guilty folks were no longer on the face of the planet, occupying space where decent folks existed. Who am I to make such an assumption? I just never had any sympathy for lying, killing murderers.

  I thought about the case I was working on. The cheerleader girls who were about to be interviewed. The dead Couch girl. All of this under God’s sky. But God’s world keeps on a-turnin’, as Cotton would say, in spite of men, not because of them. Is it possible that God had something I, Alfie Carter, could do for him while I was a
live on the planet?

  It seemed my relationship with Bea may be beyond repair after nearly twenty years of neglect and there was no particular way to restore any semblance of a loving and trusting relationship with her. She probably would be suspicious of my motives. Not now, not after all this time. Not after all of the things I had done to her, as far as neglect and guilt, not to speak of the things not done for her, like missing yearly anniversaries, and some birthdays, to name a few. It was always too easy to get caught up in my own life to worry about hers. A long time ago I told God “I do not need You” in a fit of rage after Patricia died. But oddly enough, right now I desperately felt the need to talk to Him.

  I really did not now how to even begin a prayer but fell to my knees in anguish. My mind was completely drained and I could think of precious few words to say. “God, this is Alfie Carter,” I began. “I was very wrong for blaming You and my wife Bea for everything, about Patricia and all. I am very sorry, and I am asking for forgiveness from You and from Bea—only I do not know how to ask her. I am asking You for a second chance, and for a second chance at love and a relationship with Bea. I have not been a good husband to her. More than likely I would not have been a good father to my girl, had she lived. I don’t know. For whatever reason, You saw best that Bea and I not have her. I imagine You have taken good care of her in Your Heaven. I just cannot hardly stand to talk about it because it hurts so bad. But I know it probably hurt Bea worse than me but she just never lets on.”

  I blinked back what little tears were available and was physically and mentally drained.

  My insides were not the same as before. I do not know what lay ahead only feeling for the first time that just maybe I was truly maybe a small part of God’s universe. Maybe something was out there waiting that I have never seen. Before I got off my knees, I looked up toward heaven. “God, I want to thank You for Cotton. I want to thank You for his death. as crazy as that sounds. If he had not died, I would not be on this mountain, talking to You. Maybe one of Cotton’s purposes in life was to tag up with me. I don’t know. But I want to thank You for him.”