by Weston Ochse
“I’m not playing,” said Danny. “We know who you are. And we’re not going to let you get away with it.” This was it. His hands were buried in his backpack and carefully, he depressed the record button on the cassette player.
The Maggot Man stood, the sudden movement sending his chair clattering to the floor. The movement startled Danny and suddenly he had trouble breathing. His confidence evaporated and his terror mounted as the Maggot Man stalked slowly towards him. The hook of his right hand opened and shut, snapping invisible necks. When he was a few feet away he halted and did something that Danny would have never expected. The Maggot Man leaned back his head and howled with laughter. It was almost a full minute before he finished, out of breath, tears in his eyes. By then, Danny’s own fear had disappeared, replaced by anger and confusion.
“So tell me, boy. What is old Maxom guilty of now? I know I’m black. I know I’m ugly. I’m about as poor as they come. But there must be more than that, so give. Let me in on your theory.”
“It’s no theory,” said Danny, trying not to let the laughter fluster him. “First my sister. Then Bergen. God knows what other children you’ve gotten.”
“Other children? Your sister? What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“You know,” said Danny, praying the man would just come out with it.
“The hell I do,” he said. “And if I’m to be accused of something, I sure think it’s in your best interests to tell me what it is. No more of these hints and riddles. What do you think I did? Something to your sister? Is that what she said? If so, then bring her here. Even a broken down old black man like myself has the right to face his accuser.”
“You know we can’t do that.”
“There you go again with the riddles. Damn it all, but you are a dense one.” He snapped his fingers. “What was it you said about that other boy, Bergen? That the fat kid? All I did was take him to the hospital. I had nothing to do with his injuries. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I will if—when he wakes up.”
“Oh. He’s hurt bad, is he?” The Maggot Man lost a little bit of his fury. “I was afraid of that. Then your sister, what’s she say about all this?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You go around accusing people of things when you don’t know? Why don’t you ask her?”
“I don’t know because nobody knows where she is.”
After a few seconds pause, “And you think I had something to do with it.”
Danny nodded.
“Why? Why me?”
“Cause everyone knows. Everyone says so. Cause you’re a—”
“What? Say it.”
Danny lowered is eyes.
“Go ahead. Lemme say it for you. Nigger. You were gonna call me a nigger, weren’t you? You think a man is less than a man because of his skin color.”
Danny tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work. Suddenly he wanted out of the house. He didn’t need to be here. Everything seemed wrong.
“Well then the hell with you! Get out of my house,” said the Maggot Man pointing towards the door. “Little motherfucker first tries to burn my place down and then walks into my house and calls me nigger and then accuses me of being with his sister.”
Danny stood, the backpack with the tape recorder gripped tightly in his hands.
“But I didn’t—”
“The hell you didn’t. You get out of here, or I swear, I’m gonna show you what hatred can do to a man. And trust me when I tell you, I know more about hatred than any motherless soul on the face of this planet.”
Danny walked to the door and stepped onto the porch. The door slammed behind him hard enough to rattle the hinges. “Monster,” he whispered to the shadows. “I was going to say monster.”
* * *
Ooltewah, Tennessee
Two hours after he’d been thrown out, his mother drove up. He explained as best he could that the reason he was outside was because the man had been mad at him. To his great relief, she dismissed it, stating it was his father’s problem and he’d deal with it later. Then she went on to explain how Bergen had awoken last night and was taking visitors this afternoon.
All the way from Booker T. Washington State Park, down Highway 58 and the edge of the Tennessee River on Amnicola Highway, Danny thought of his friend. There were a million things he wanted to tell him, not the least being their adventures in vengeance.
Strange how the Maggot Man had so violently defended himself. The man had been so upset by the accusations that Danny had begun to doubt his earlier assumptions. The problem was that if the Maggot Man wasn’t guilty, then who was?
Danny stared at the deep green of the murky Tennessee River as his mother drove into town. He was feeling very adult lately. Responsibilities. Self doubt. Once he’d imagined how cool it was to be all grown up, now he wasn’t so sure.
* * *
“Do you know they taped your eyes shut? You looked pretty dead.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Bergen, grinning weakly.
“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Danny glanced around. Their mothers were out in the hall leaving the boys alone in the room. “So what happened?”
“Dunno.”
“Dunno? What the hell do you mean? How can you not know?”
“I was drunk, that’s how. I remember a car and I remember two people and that’s all I remember. Except,” Bergen added, “I thought the car was a boat and the road was a river. God, you know I was laughing when they hit me? Man, oh, man, I am never, ever ever gonna drink again.”
“You were that drunk? I mean, all you had was a few beers.”
“Yeah, well. I guess I can’t hold my liquor.”
“It’s not like we’re drinking experts. What about the Maggot Man?” asked Danny.
“The Maggot Man? What about him?”
Danny watched his friend’s face. A thick emptiness grew in his chest. “Wasn’t he…wasn’t it the Maggot Man who did this to you?”
Bergen didn’t even think about it, so fast was his reply. “No way. Like I said, it was a car. Anyway, the Maggot Man doesn’t come out during the day, everyone knows that.”
“I hate to break it to ya, Berg, but he’s the one who drove you here. During the daytime, even.”
Bergen stared at Danny, “But I’m sure it was a car. I already told the police.”
“But you were drinking. You were probably too drunk to remember it right.” Danny found himself scrambling for moral purchase. He needed desperately to be right on this.
“No, I would have recognized a big old truck.”
“But you were drunk, you said so. Look at me, Berg, it was the Maggot Man. It had to be. Tell me it was the Maggot Man.”
“No, I don’t think so. Why do you think he did it?”
“He was the one they saw. I mean he did bring you in…and…”
Danny suddenly felt the full depth and width of his stupidity. Why would the Maggot Man bring Bergen to the hospital if he’d been the one to assault his friend? It didn’t make any sense. So, then why had Danny been so quick to believe him guilty? And if the Maggot Man hadn’t beaten up Bergen, then did that also mean he had nothing to do with his sister? Danny had known in his heart the Maggot Man had nothing to do with his sister, but he had counted on the man knowing. Somehow, someway, he’d felt that the man couldn’t help but know.
Now, no one knew where she was.
“What did you do?” asked Bergen.
“I…we…nothing.”
“Bull. You did something. Danny, what did you do?”
“We avenged you is all,” came the weak reply.
“You avenged me? Danny, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid. Please.”
Stupid? Try criminal. Everything his parents had said, everything the Maggot man had said, it all suddenly fell into place, logic dispelling everything he’d taken at face value, purging rumor and innuendo until Danny was left struggling with the tr
uth.
“I’m an idiot,” he said.
“I could have told you that,” Bergen said.
“I wish you had.”
“Like you would have listened to me anyway. I call you an idiot at least once a day and you’ve yet to believe me.”
“Well, everyone gets it right once,” said Danny, walking to the window.
“Hey idiot,” Bergen said softly.
“Yes?”
Bergen giggled at the exchange. It wasn’t more than a tremor of humor, but it was enough to make him reach for his stomach. He moaned. Through clenched teeth he asked, “what did you do?”
“Are you all right?” asked Danny.
“They think it’s my spleen. Stop changing the subject.”
“I’m not changing the subject, you are. And what the heck is a spleen? Sounds weird. Spleeeen. Like an alien organ or something.”
“Take me to your spleen,” giggled Bergen, groaning again as his stomach reacted to the humor. “But I’m okay. The doctor said they’re going to remove it. They say I really don’t need it anyway.”
“If you don’t need it, then why do you have it?” asked Danny.
“I don’t know. I mean you have a brain, but you don’t use it. Right?”
“Very funny. Seriously, though. I’m just glad you’re okay, Berg. You have no idea how worried I was about you, seeing you lying there like that.”
Bergen sat up straighter and managed to lean forward and grab Danny’s wrist. “So what did you do to avenge me, Danny? Were the others involved?”
From start to finish Danny told the whole nasty tale, leaving nothing out. In the telling of it he realized how poor of a person he’d been. The more the story unfolded, the angrier Bergen became.
“How could you have done that?” asked Bergen.
“Because I’m an idiot, that’s how.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I was just trying to do what was right, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. You can’t go around treating people like that, Danny. What were you thinking?”
“Hey, you were there when we threw rocks,” said Danny, trying to alleviate some blame. “You called him names just like the rest of us.”
“Throwing a few rocks and burning a cross are two completely different things. My God, Danny. Someone could have died!”
“I know. I know.”
Bergen stared at Danny for a second. He did his best to shrug, but his shoulders barely moved. It was as if a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, all of the boy’s energy seemed to be gone.
“Bergen?”
“Tired,” he whispered. “So tired.” His eyes fluttered and closed.
“Berg, you okay? Berg?”
His only answer was the sound of the heart monitor registering faster and faster heartbeats.
“Mom? Mrs. Bergen?” screamed Danny. “Something’s wrong.”
They rushed into the room but were pushed aside by a nurse.
“Visiting Hours are now over. Stand outside, please.”
“What’s happening? Tell me what’s wrong,” pleaded Bergen’s mother.
“Stand outside, now!”
Danny felt his mother’s fingers wrap around his wrist as she jerked him from the room. Out in the hall, he pushed his face against the window, trying to see what was happening.
Doctors and nurses swarmed around the boy on the bed. After ten long minutes, they began to disperse, leaving one lone doctor and nurse within the tiny room.
Surgery, said one. They were taking Bergen to surgery in order to remove his spleen. Such drastic measures for an organ he didn’t need.
CHAPTER 11
Tuesday—Thursday
Ooltewah, Tennessee
“Little shit thinks he can come into my home and treat me like this. I don’t think so. Hell, if this was anywhere other than America, I might just kill him.” After a moment of thought, “And it would be legal.”
The squirrel glanced up from its feast of shelled walnuts and cashews and appraised the giant black man. Cocking its head, the squirrel paused from chewing for a moment.
“No. Not you, Nuts. That little shit we took down.” Maxom chuckled. “You know, little friend? We did good.”
As if pleased with the turn of the conversation, the squirrel resumed chewing, his bulging cheeks cheery. Maxom leaned against the peeling door jam and watched the squirrel’s almost mechanical consumption for another fifteen minutes, then stalked back into the house.
Light streamed through the windows he’d. He stared disgustedly at the filth that had been all but invisible in the black light gloom. Truly, he’d had no idea how badly he’d been living. If he’d had, he’d have been much more serious about getting help.
As Maxom had told himself the other day when the life of that fat white boy had hung in the balance, living in fear of a symbol was ridiculous. Plodding around the living room, Maxom picked up a few things, more as a way to pass the time than to accomplish anything. It was just too much and in a matter of minutes, he found himself heading for the couch. The amount of filth was staggering. The mess that was his life was just too much for one man, much less the parts of him that were man.
A knocking at the door was what finally moved him. Maxom stepped to the front window. It was the boy again. A wave of anger surged through him, but he let it fade. Anger was a tiresome emotion, and Maxom was truly a tired man.
Maxom opened the door.
“What do you want boy?”
The kid stared up, licking his lips. He seemed nervous but not scared. Good, thought Maxom. He hated when people were scared of him. Scared was easy.
“I came back,” said the boy.
“I lost my legs, not my eyes.”
“Yeah. Well…” The boy shuffled his feet.
Maxom was enjoying himself. Their conversation wasn’t going as the boy had planned. Boy probably thought he’d just saunter up, apologize and then POOF everything would be all right as if this were a fairy tale. The boy needed to realize that crosses weren’t burned in fairy tales.
“Spit it out. I’m not gonna stand here all day.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry and…” The boy glanced at Maxom for some help, but turned quickly away when none came. “And I want to make it up to you. Help you like my dad said.”
“Ain’t that just the nicest thing. You’re a regular Martha Stewart. Hell, lets make this an official holiday. Break out the noisemakers. String some stringers. Make it up to me? Ha! I can tell you right now, that I’ve been waiting for someone to show up at my door and say just that. Doctors and nurses of the world said it couldn’t ever be done, but tell me boy, how exactly are you gonna give me some new legs, an arm and a life?”
“What?”
“I don’t see none on you?” Maxom smacked the front of his head. “Wait a minute! If you’re gonna offer me your legs boy, let me say that I appreciate the sentiment, but they’re just too short for me. Plus I think I’d look kinda silly in swimming trunks with me black on top and white on the bottom. Kinda like half a s’more, you know?”
“What?” asked the boy. “I mean, no!”
“No, I wouldn’t look silly?”
“No! I mean yes. I mean—” Tears appeared in the boy’s eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried not to stare at Maxom’s prosthetics. Clearing his throat, “I mean I’m here to help you.”
“Oh. Hell if that ain’t nice. So what you gonna do then? What are you good for?”
“I can clean.”
“See! Now that’s a useful skill,” said Maxom. He’d given the kid enough of a hard time. “Come on in then. I’m sure you’ll find yourself something to do.”
Danny hesitated, wiping his eyes.
Maxom continued, “Last time I cleaned was, let me see, do you happen to remember Marlin Perkins and that monkey of his? Or that guy Bob? No? What about Shaft? Do you remember Shaft?”
The door slammed shut after Danny as he entered the Magg
ot Man’s domain.
* * *
From dawn ‘til dusk for the last few days, Danny had experienced a very special kind of Hell. One where the running days of his thrill-happy summer had tripped, fallen and become forever entangled in the life of another, crippled existence that kept him inside and handcuffed to a man he’d once hated.
Life was funny.
When his father had first brought it up, helping the Maggot Man had seemed as awful as anything Danny could imagine. Still, the indentured servitude was better than a week’s worth of whippings. Or reform school. Or summer camp. Or being grounded all summer.
Or so he thought.
Now, struggling through the hip-deep lawn with a fifty year old manual lawn mower, gnats and mosquitoes attacking him as if he was Pearl Harbor in the kamikaze free-for-all of a Japanese surprise attack, Danny was convinced he’d made a mistake.
The whippings would have been terrible, but they would’ve been over by now. Maybe a bruise or two would remain, but nothing to compare to the bright red aches of the claw marks still healing upon his face.
Likewise reform school. Although enrollment in one of the many military academies found throughout the South was a constant threat, even Danny knew the cost was prohibitive. In times of stress, the threat worked well, eliciting the terror needed to control his behavior. Once his head was clear, however, Danny understood just how empty the threat was. But by then it was too late.
Summer camp, on the other hand, was a terrible place he’d not wish on his worst enemy. Well, maybe his worst enemy, but no one else. The Kingdom of the Geeks as Doug called it, or the Land of the Unwanted as Bergen called it, was a place Danny had visited only once. Yet that one time had left an impression. The acne-faced eighteen year olds explaining how to tie-dye, the non-thrill of making your first leather bracelet, the hilarity of the grown-ups trying to scare the kids around a campfire with ghost stories when those same kids had grown up with Freddy Krueger and Chucky as nighttime pals were only a few of the reasons summer camp was a pre-teen Hell.
