Cole Dust Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  Cole knew that Kelly had done her grieving. She moved out of the family home. She began again. But it was alone. Now he was reaching into the independent life she created. He was asking to share her life, offering his, not marriage, not living together, but a step away from truly being single and a leap toward becoming part of another forever.

  “Let’s read on the porch while there is still light. The air is nice,” Kelly said standing. “The dishes will wait.”

  On the porch, Cole put his feet up on the rail and reached for a notebook.

  “Where did we leave off, middle of October?”

  “Seems one is missing; this cover says November 13. So there is no October 11 through November 12.” Kelly handed Cole the notebook.

  “I hate it when one is missing, the curiosity kills me,” Cole said, in an exaggerated growl. “OK, November huh?”

  November 17, 1918

  It seems the flu has killed all it is going to kill. 281 dead in Orvin. Someone said the death total around the world is in the millions. All I know is our town has seen too much death. The end of the War was a happy occasion but no one felt much like celebrating.

  The Davis’s had the first barn dance in a couple of months. Not many attended but it was nice to get drunk. I feel poorly today, but for that little while, I forgot about Effie and Mama and all the folks I know who died. I even forgot that Papa has lost his mind. He still calls out for Mama in the night and yesterday he dressed to go to the bank. He doesn’t understand that they sent in a new manager from Oklahoma City. He forgot all about the bank a few minutes later.

  November 22

  A letter came today from the bank. In it was a check for $1,800.00. They called it Papa’s severance retirement settlement. It was addressed to me. They said they appreciated Papa’s years of service. He no longer works for the bank was the long and short of it. I knew it was coming, but it’s sad all the same.

  I went to see Mattie. Last night I kissed her for the first time. God in heaven, her lips are sweet. I think I am in love with her. She is all I think about. I wish we could go somewhere and be together. We talked for a long time. She is going to be thrown out of her house. She has an Aunt in Topeka that she may go and stay with. I gave her twenty dollars. She did not want to take it at first but she knows she has no choice. The little washing and ironing she does is not enough. I do not want her to leave, she is all I have.

  I have no money, not of my own, no job anymore and no college in sight. I am in a black despair. The only thing that makes life livable is Mattie and a drink or two, and she is leaving.

  December 5, 1918

  Papa is awful sick. He sat out on the back porch and got a chill. I was out looking for a job, so he sat out for hours. I fear he has given up. Mrs. Bible came and brought soup. Mr. Bible poured some brandy into Papa from a flask. He didn’t even flinch. I suspect it is the first liquor Papa ever had.

  If he dies I don’t know what I will do. I feel so alone. My only comfort is Mattie. I wish she could move into the house and help with Papa. I would marry her if I could. I asked Cal Elliston what would happen if a white married a colored.

  “Simple, they’d hang her, cut off his balls.”

  “What about an Indian? I asked.

  “Who would do that?” is all he said.

  I don’t know what will become of me.

  December 7

  I called the doctor today. Papa has pneumonia. He is running a high fever and is very weak. The doctor said to make him as comfortable as possible. It is strange he would survive the flu and succumb to pneumonia.

  I rode out to the Davis Ranch today and asked for work. I am desperate. Milton said he would talk to his father and see if they need another hand. It is winter after all and there is little to do. He said their turkey plant might need “killers”. He would ask.

  December 11

  George Edward Sage died today. He was a fine man and a good father. He worked for many years for the Cattlemen’s Bank in Orvin and retired as manager. He was preceded in death by his wife of forty-six years Josephine, and daughters Aphelia Sage, Grace Newton of Orvin, and son Albert Sage of Leverette, Kansas. He is survived by his daughter Gertrude Connor of Chicago and son George Albert Sage of Orvin. There will be a private service at the First Baptist Church of Orvin on Friday.

  I will miss him.

  December 16, 1918

  I started work today at Star Poultry. I kill turkeys. I wear a rubber suit, with pants and jacket with a hood and a drawstring that ties tight around my face. The turkeys are on a belt hanging by their feet. As each comes past I stick a thin knife into their eye. I was taught to twist the knife to “scramble their brains”. Then I slit their throat.

  Blood squirts everywhere when their throats are slit. I am covered from head to foot with the warm, sticky, sweet smelling stuff. At lunch break we hose each other down. The smell of blood has still not gone away. I didn’t tell anyone but I puked up my lunch. I receive a penny for every bird I kill. Today I made $8.81. The old man who works across from me said I would get faster in time.

  At night the house makes a whole orchestra of noises. I slept downstairs last night. I suppose now that the house is mine I can have Mama and Papa’s room. I am not ready for that.

  On the bright side of things, I am learning to cook. I fried potatoes and a ham steak tonight. It all smelled like turkey blood. I couldn’t eat it. That will change in time.

  Cole laid the notebook on the porch. “There’s a job for ya.”

  “Does this story ever brighten up?” Kelly questioned.

  “I really don’t know much about my grandparents. I know he ended up an alcoholic. You can sure see that coming.”

  Kelly stood. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Want anything?”

  “No thanks, I’ll grab a couple more notebooks.”

  Cole went to the shelves in the living room. The years from 1921 to 1930 contained the least number of notebooks of George Sage’s life. The books that would have covered 1921 through 1926 were missing completely. As Cole examined the books he found several that pages that were ripped, torn out and defaced. Across the entry dated June 22, 1926 was the word LIAR scrawled across the page in what looked like charcoal.

  Arms loaded with notebooks Cole went back to the porch. The sun was sinking but there was still enough light to read. An evening breeze was coming up from the north. Ernie was sprinkling the alfalfa and the air was sweet and cool.

  Cole stacked the notebooks by year. As close as he could tell there were at least a dozen books missing.

  Kelly came back with a couple of coffees and a slick looking blue and yellow bag of “Mr. Zips” chocolate chip cookies. “These are awful. I should have baked some.”

  “Let me try.” Cole took a bite and pretended to taste test the mass produced baked goods. “Crunchy yet lacking a definitive crispness necessary for the truly satisfying chocolate chip experience. There is graininess to the chocolate common to lesser quality chips due to a low level of cocoa in the product, thus causing a carmelization of the sugars present to a quasi-burnt stage. The overall affect is that of cardboard and artificially flavored chocolate sand.”

  “Like I said, I should have baked some.” Kelly smiled and took another cookie from the bag.

  “I sure wonder what was going on in my grandfather’s life during these years.” Cole pointed to the stacks of notebooks. “There are more books missing and the ones left are in the worst condition of any years.” Cole bent down and picked up the June ‘26 notebook. “Look at this.” He opened to the page with LIAR written on it. “What do you suppose this is about?”

  “The only way we’ll find out is to keep reading.”

  “Nearly the entire year of 1919 is missing. The first year without family. Man, I wish these were complete. This one starts at the end of December.”

  “Adds a touch of mystery to the whole thing though.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it I guess. Coffee ready?”
/>   December 30, 1919

  I must stop drinking. It is starting to get me in situations. Last night at the Davis dance I had a bit too much to drink, I guess.

  Lloyd’s sister Alma was there. We danced. She kept pressing against me. Wiggling and pressing. The next thing I knew we were in the tall grass behind the barn. She’s older and kind of took charge of things. The next thing I know, we had done the deed. She got mad after because it was too quick. I felt mad and ashamed. I don’t even like her and she was my first. I kept thinking of Mattie. She should have been the one.

  When I went back inside Tom Wilkerson was standing by the door. I could tell from his grin he knew what had happened.

  “Was that as good as your little nigger gal?”

  I hit him. Hard, like I never hit nobody before. We fought and fought. He knocked out my back tooth. I tried my hardest to poke out his eye. I have hated him all my life. He has always been bigger than me. Now we are nearly the same size. His friends tried to jump in and one even hit me, but my friends kept them out of it. We rolled in the dirt, he bit me, I kicked him and there was no one to break it up.

  The band never stopped playin’. We bumped into dancers a couple times. The fellas just pushed us away. The girls screamed. Tom ran up the stairs to the hay loft. I chased after him. There were couples doin’ god knows what in the hay, but they paid us no mind. I ram-butted Tom in the middle and we went out the open load door and fell onto a car below. We tore through the top. It crushed the frame and tore the canvas. I was on top so Tom took the worst of it. I kept punching his face. I think I would have killed him except the Davis boys came and pulled me off. They threw me in the horse trough.

  Wet, bloody and ashamed they told me to leave. I don’t know what became of Wilkerson. I had to walk all the way home. The boys I rode out with weren’t about to leave.

  I didn’t see Alma Perry after the fight. Just as well. I am ashamed.

  January 16, 1920

  I miss Mattie terribly. It has been almost a year since she went to Topeka. There is no chance of a letter because she can’t read or write. I never really thought she would leave. I kept the letter from her aunt and have sent two letters to the address on it. I hope she found someone to read it to her.

  I learned to play a card game called Poker from one of the boys at work. I seem to have a knack for it as I have won close to thirty dollars in the past few nights. I have kept the money separate from my pay and use it only for playing cards. We never were allowed playing cards so the idea that someone can win money from such a simple game is astounding. I will continue to practice. I bought a deck of cards and have been practicing when I get home playing against myself. I always win. Ha, ha, ha.

  January 22

  I cut my hand, requiring many stitches. I hate those damn turkeys. If it weren’t for the money I would never go there again. The stitches are ready to come out and the doc says I’m pretty much fit to go back. I have not been able to work or keep up with my writing.

  I have gone several times to the game in the back of old man Jacobs’ store. As many times as I have been in that place I never knew he had a card room in the back. I lost a hundred dollars in one night. But the very next night I won almost three hundred. You have to kill a lot of turkeys for that kind of money.

  “OK, so here is a break in the dates.” Cole flipped pages. “These are all blank or torn out.” He picked up another notebook. “Here we go, February 16.”

  February 16, 1920

  Back from Lawton. I have nearly a thousand dollars saved in my card money. It has occurred to me that I can make a pretty fair living playing cards. Yesterday I made the mortgage payment with my winnings. The taxes will be due soon and I believe I shall make those from my winnings as well.

  I spoke with the new owners of the paper, a Mr. Katz and a Mr. Wymere from Topeka. I showed them some of my writing and asked if they would be hiring anytime soon. Katz just grunted when he read a piece I wrote on the flu epidemic. Wymere said it was fine for a “provincial” but they would be holding to a more cosmopolitan style. I said I was willing to learn and he just smirked and said that I needed more school.

  February 18

  Last night I played in a big game at the hotel. They offered free drinks and sandwiches as we played. When I stood up to go pee I realized I drank more than I thought. By then I was down quite a bit. I am sad to say I lost most of my bank roll. I came home with only two hundred dollars.

  I should not drink when I play cards but it knocks the burrs off. I get so nervous at first that it’s nice to calm down. Now I have to build my poke back up.

  March 22

  Alma Perry came last night. I was very surprised to see her. I had not spoken to her since the Davis dance. She did not bring good news. It seems I am to be a father. She said she had not told her family yet and wanted to give me the chance to do the right thing.

  The right thing according to her is for us to get married. There is no good way I see to this. I do not love her. I do not even like her. I sure as hell didn’t want to do it with her that night. I knew that ugly bitch was trouble and now I’m in it. I regretted it then, I regret it now and I will regret it for the rest of my life. Mama and Papa would be so ashamed; I hope they can’t see down from heaven. Damn my eyes.

  The only good thing is that my Mattie is not here to hear of this. I would die if she ever found out. This is the first time since she left that I am glad. I should have gone with her. I love you, Mattie.

  March 23

  Alma and I announced to her family that we would marry. Her father was quite pleased. Her mother looked at me in such a way as I know she knows Alma’s condition. They had a cake and a few friends over later that evening. Alma and I hardly spoke. She just stood holding on to my arm.

  As I was leaving, Lloyd suggested we go have a drink. We went to the back door of Jacobs’ store and bought a pint.

  “You are a damn fool George,” Lloyd told me once we were outside.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He took a long pull on the pint and said, “If Alma had as many peckers on the outside as she has had on the inside she would look like a goddamn porky-pine.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that the kid in her belly is no more yours than it is mine.” Lloyd handed me the bottle.

  “So what do I do?”

  “Nothing now dumb shit, you cooked your goose good. First chance you get though, I would beat the hell out of her.”

  “I can’t beat on a woman!” I said.

  “Better learn if you’re gonna be married to my sister.” Lloyd laughed.

  I turned to the fence and puked. I’d been had, and good. There was no turning it around.

  April 1, 1920

  Today I was married. I feel nothing but sorrow. I wish I were dead. If I weren’t such a coward I would shoot myself. But the fear of eternal damnation holds me at bay. I fear my punishment will be just a grave being married to Alma.

  I have often thought of being married. The promise of living with the one you love “until death do you part” always seemed to me a blessing, not the curse I now have found. I used to dream of being married to Mattie. I could not take the chance of her falling to harm.

  Upstairs in my parents’ own bed sleeps a woman who I will be with until I die. If there is any justice in this world she will die first and die young. But I am sure with what I have seen in my nearly twenty years on earth I will die and she will live to be old, wrinkled and even uglier.

  The wedding was quick and done by the justice of the peace. All I remember is Alma nudging me when I was to say “I do”. After, her parents brought two boxes and left them on the porch. I did not ask them in. I may have to be married to their daughter but I will be damned if I will take them into my house.

  I am the greatest April fool of all.

  Cole looked up at Kelly and found her eyes filled with tears. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

 
“Oh Cole,” she said, “that is heart breaking. Couldn’t he have called it off? Something?”

  “Not in those days. Perry would probably have shot him. There’s a reason they call them shotgun weddings you know.” Cole sighed and said, “This child was one of my father’s brothers or sisters. He had four sisters. It had to be Paula, she was the oldest. Had enough?”

  “No, read a little more. We can’t end on such a low note.” Kelly smiled. “I’m pretty silly, huh?”

  “You got the pretty part right.” Cole gave her an exaggerated wink.

  “Read.”

  April 12

  Last night I sat Alma down and told her what I would expect from her and what she could expect from me. I told her I would provide for her and the child. She would cook and keep a clean house. I told her the duties of the married bed seemed at this point more important to her than to me. I would respect her needs and she would respect mine, but to make nothing of the physical act. Like dogs or horses those needs will need to be met. I told her that it meant nothing more to me than if she was a chippy at Jacobs’ speakeasy. I made it very clear that I knew I had been tricked into marrying her. I did not mention Lloyd but I think she knew my sudden knowledge must have come from him.

  She was welcome to visit her family whenever she wanted. However, they were not welcome in my house, now or ever. She could use anything in the house but it was not to be sold or given away without my permission. I, honest to God, do not trust this woman.