the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  Ty lay stunned, with the breath knocked out of him. He had to listen helplessly to the sounds of Rowdy’s last, pathetic yelps amidst the popping and crackling of the flames devouring the cabin. Sparks fell on Ty’s face and jolted him from his dizziness. He jerked upright, gagging. His grandfather lay sprawled on the ground, his hair smoldering in the eerie orange light. Ty patted the sparks out and grabbed the overall shoulder straps. He began crawling backward, dragging his grandfather away from the intense heat that was sucking all the air from him. He felt he was going nowhere, he was so weak, but he kept digging his feet into the red soil and forced himself to push.

  Twenty yards from the flames, he reached a small depression and pulled his grandfather into it. He leaned over him to see if he was alive. Many Moons still clutched the cigar box and was wheezing in air through his blackened nose. His eyes were open in a fixed stare. Suddenly, dark spots appeared on his face and spread. Ty reached out to wipe them away but felt a coolness on the back of his hand. The spots were drops of blood dripping from his own slashed face. He patted his grandfather’s forehead, ignoring the wound. Many Moons’s eyes rolled to the side. He looked at his grandson and tried to speak. Ty leaned closer to him and spoke in a painful whisper. “Don’t try to talk. Save your energy, Granddad.”

  Many Moons lifted the cigar box toward Ty and whispered in a sickening gurgle, “I … I love … you … my son.” His hands trembled and released the box that fell to his chest. The old man’s eyes began to close as Ty leaned over and kissed his grandfather’s cheek. “I love you, too, Granddaddy.”

  The wheezing stopped. Ty looked at his grandfather’s still face and lay down beside him to hug him one final time. He felt a blissful peace spreading through his body. The horrible pain was gone as he closed his heavy eyelids, knowing his grandfather would soon be riding with his wife and son.

  3

  Mea wiped her eyes with a Kleenex and held Ty’s arm tightly as they walked away from the flower-draped casket. Duane walked behind them with Jason and Becky. Mea felt devastated and empty, yet she was also relieved—at least her father had not lingered on to life in a burn ward.

  At the church service there had been standing room only, and she’d been pleased so many old friends had come to pay their final respects. She had requested that only immediate family be present at the burial on the hill because her father had never shared his hill with anyone but family.

  Mea squeezed Ty’s arm closely to her side wishing she could say or do something to ease his hidden pain. He hadn’t cried or showed any emotion since the fire. Doc Riddle had added to his loss by telling him he wouldn’t be able to play football. His hands would need several months to heal, then require extensive rehabilitative exercises to regain full function. His hands and the top part of his face were still covered in bandages. The rest of his face was splotched with new pink skin. His right cheek was still partially swollen from the thirty-eight stitches that held the wound together. Doc Riddle had said he would have a bad scar because the tissue around the cut had died and had to be removed. Mea knew her son’s hands and face would recover long before his heart. His brooding silence worried her.

  Duane stepped in front of her. “You’d better thank the pallbearers again; they had quite a time getting up the hill. And don’t forget the appointment with Charlie. We’ve got to be there in thirty minutes.”

  Mea had forgotten about the appointment with Charlie Doss, the town’s only lawyer. Duane had wanted to settle the affairs of her father as soon as possible to get it behind them. She nodded to him and patted Ty’s back. “Honey, you go on to the car, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Ty turned around and looked at the grave. He spoke quietly but forcefully. “I’m staying here awhile.”

  Duane began to protest, but Mea raised her hand and gave her husband a warning glare that was unmistakable. Duane threw up his hands and spun around. Mea put her arm around her son and hugged him tightly. “I’m going to miss him so much”

  Ty returned the hug and kissed his mother’s cheek. “It’s all right, Mom, he’ll always be with us.” Ty gently pushed away from his mother and looked into her teary eyes. “I want to be alone with him awhile. You go on and pick me up later.”

  Tears trickled down Mea’s face as she nodded in understanding. She wanted to be with her son but knew of his need to be alone. She wiped her eyes and joined her husband as Ty began walking back up the hill.

  Ty sat on the log bench, looking at the fertile valley, lost in thoughts of his grandfather. Fifty feet away, directly below him, a large coyote walked out of the underbrush. The movement caught Ty’s eye, and he instinctively held his breath. Many Moons had taught him how to track the animals years ago and he had snuck up on quite a few, but never this one. The coyote took several more cautious steps and froze. He swung his head in Ty’s direction and lifted his nose, sniffing. Ty smiled to himself. It was Split Paw. The old boy was almost blind, but there was nothing wrong with his nose. Ty stood up, taking in a deep breath of the fresh air, and noticed a red-tailed hawk making lazy circles far above him. He looked around at the trees scattered over his grandfather’s hill. Before he hadn’t wanted to leave his grandfather alone, but now he understood that George Many Moons would never be alone. He was with his family and the countless animals, birds, and trees of the unspoiled hill. They would always be with him.

  Duane listened to the reading of the will, trying to contain his anger. The old bastard had given everything that mattered to Ty. Mea only received three thousand dollars and ten acres adjoining the house, while Ty had gotten the whole damn hill and a thousand bucks to waste. That irresponsible kid had it all!

  Ty walked back to the blackened remains of the shack and saw Jason sitting on the wooden fence, waiting for him.

  Jason hopped to the ground. “I couldn’t leave my little brother here alone … thought you might want some company.”

  Ty nodded in silence and walked to the shade of a nearby oak and sat down. Jason sat down beside him and put his arm over his brother’s shoulder. “It all seems so unfair. I wish I could do something.”

  “It was Granddaddy’s turn.”

  “What about you, Ty, are you gonna be all right?”

  Ty nodded and looked up with a sad smile. “Remember when Granddaddy took us to Fort Sill to hunt the buffalo? He was the happiest I ever saw him. He really got a kick out of telling us about when the big buffs ruled the plains.”

  Jason grinned. “Yeah, but he was happy because his grandson got up close enough to almost touch one of the big bastards. I was with him watching you sneak in close to the herd. I thought I was going to have to hold him down, he was so excited. You really made him proud that day.”

  Ty shut his eyes and could hear his grandfather telling him he was a true Kiowa hunter. He had surpassed the test of stealth and cunning of the best of the hunters and had proven he was blessed with the gift. He hadn’t killed the protected buffalo but had done even better by sneaking up so close. His grandfather had said he had taken the big bull’s spirit. He’d had the gift to become the buffalo, to feel the animal’s fear when he had surprised him that day. The bull had meekly walked away, knowing he was no longer the master.

  Jason patted his brother’s back, seeing tears trickle down his cheeks. “George gave you a lot of memories, didn’t he?”

  Ty fought back his tears and stood up. “The best … I’m going to remember him by that day we went on the hunt. Granddaddy always said remember the dead when they were the happiest. Thanks, brother, for being here … you’ve always been there for me.… Things are gonna work out.”

  Jason walked through the showroom where a new tractor sat and entered the large work bay. Two tractors were parked on one side, with various parts scattered between them. On the other side was a partially disassembled combine. Jason stepped over an oil puddle and looked around the garage where he’d worked since he was fourteen. After today the smell of grease and oil would be nothing but a memory
.

  Duane tossed his wrench into a toolbox and picked up a grease rag. He noticed his son standing to his right and broke into a smile. “How’s it feel knowing you’re through with this place?”

  Jason grinned. “Great!”

  Duane laughed and walked toward the office showroom, still wiping his hands. “It’s a big day, all right. Mea and I are taking you out tonight for a celebration dinner. It’s not too often I get to send my boy off to college.”

  Jason followed him into the office. “Hey, thanks for the new clothes; you didn’t have to do that.”

  Duane tossed the rag on top of a pile of others in the corner. “Don’t thank me. Mea picked the stuff out with Becky. By the way, Becky is coming with us tonight. I didn’t figure you’d mind.” He gave his son a wink. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Jason took a few steps and turned around. “Dad, I’m worried about Ty. It’s been a week since the funeral and he’s still really down.”

  “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t have any real problems but himself.”

  Jason stiffened. “How can you say that? His hands are burned so bad he can’t feed himself, can’t dress himself, he can’t even wipe his butt himself. He knows he’s not going to college because no school gives scholarships on a junior year’s performance. And when he goes back to school he won’t be able to carry his books or take notes. Damn, Dad … aren’t those problems?”

  Duane sighed and nodded with reluctance. Knowing his son was upset, he softened his voice. “There’s nothing I can say that will change things. He doesn’t listen to me; you know that better than I do. He’s working things out in his mind. He’ll bounce back once he starts school.”

  Jason lowered his head dejectedly, knowing he wasn’t getting through. “I wish you’d try and be a little more understanding … he’s been through a lot.”

  Duane put his arm around Jason’s shoulder and walked him toward the door. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Now, quit worrying about Ty and start worrying about making the team.”

  “But …”

  Duane interrupted by opening the door. “Doc Riddle is lettin’ him start school tomorrow. Being with the other kids will bring him out of the blues. Come on, we gotta get going. Mea is waiting for us.”

  Mea stood in front of Ty as he rocked in her father’s chair. “Honey, you sure you don’t want to change your mind and go with us? We’re going to the Cattlemen’s Cafe in Okalahoma City.”

  Ty raised his bandaged hands. “Mom, I’d be a freak show. You couldn’t enjoy yourself, having to feed me and yourself, too. Go on and have a good time. I’ll be fine.”

  Mea patted her son’s arm. “I set the channel on four so you can watch “The Virginian,” and after that is “Red Skelton.” There’s a milkshake in the refrigerator for you with the straw already in it, and I’ll bring you something from dinner.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m going to change my shoes. Tell Duane I’ll be ready in just a minute.”

  When Ty walked into the kitchen, Duane was standing by the door, waiting with Jason. He rolled his eyes when Ty had delivered the message. “Women. I swear they were born late. I’m gonna get the car and bring it up to the walkway. We’ll be back around ten.”

  Duane pushed open the screen door and started for the car.

  “I wish you’d come with us,” Jason said.

  Ty smiled faintly. “I’m not quite ready for the stares just yet. You have a good time with Becky. You won’t be seeing her for a while. Bring me a doggy bag, huh?”

  “Are you sure?” Jason did not like leaving his brother alone.

  Ty playfully kicked at Jason’s behind. “Get outta here, will ya!”

  An hour later, Ty lay in bed thinking how empty the house was going to be without Jason. Their morning freeweight workouts would come to an end, and there would be no one to push him to his limit. Jason was more than a brother; he was a best friend and protector. When Ty was young, it had been Jason he had run to in the schoolyard for protection from Indian haters. They had called him half-breed and brown trash and had made fun of him and his granddad. The insults had hurt more than the rocks and fists. As the only Indian-blooded boy in Meyers, he had been the obvious target for people who loved to hate, and they had delighted in making a little boy cry. It had been the start of a new life when Jason had become his big brother. Jason had always been there for him to wipe away his tears and to pay back insults for him with bloody noses and bruises. As the years passed, Ty had grown strong enough to fight his own battles, but still Jay had always been there to back him up. Jason had been more like Ty’s real father, a man about whom Ty could remember only gentleness and kindness.

  The one person Jason couldn’t protect him from was Duane. The punishment the young boy had taken from his stepfather had hurt much more than Duane ever realized. Ty had never understood why a man who loved his mother so much had so wanted to hurt her son.

  Ty closed his eyes and thought about his real father. If only his father had come home from Korea, things would have been different.

  The shrill sound of bugles and screaming men shattered the morning calm. The wave of charging Chinese soldiers came into view as they crested a ridge opposite the Americans.

  Sergeant John Nance spoke calmly to his men. “Steady.… Let the machine gun fire first. Pick your targets and make every shot count.” He lowered himself back into his foxhole and brought up his M-1 rifle.

  The screaming Chinese platoon ran through the snow as they charged down the ridge, jumping over frozen bodies left from previous failed assaults. They fired from the hip. The first of their numbers were mowed down by machine-gun fire, but the bugle blared on, and they continued their suicidal charge.

  The machine gun quit its deadly chatter, and the wounded gunner yelled, “I’m out of ammo!”

  Nance cussed under his breath and gently squeezed the M-1’s trigger. The lead Chinese soldier pitched over into the snow. Nance fired at his next target, knocking him down. He quickly aimed and squeezed the trigger again, but the ping sound of the clip ejecting after releasing its last bullet sent a tremor up his spine. He knew he was going to die. He had no more ammunition. Five more Chinese went down with the last rounds fired from his squad. Nance stood up, ignoring the bullets popping over his head, and raised his bayoneted rifle. “Come on, let’s make the bastards pay!”

  Nance and his men faced the charging enemy and broke into a slow run. Screaming in defiance, he swung his rifle butt at the first charging soldier, knocking him down, and thrust his bayonet into another. Withdrawing the bloody knife, he spun around but suddenly jerked with the tremendous impact of bullets tearing through his legs.

  Ty bolted upright in his bed, his body drenched with sweat. His father had died again in his dream. Ty shivered, feeling Korea’s deadly cold. This time he had heard the crunching snow beneath his father’s boots and seen the vapor cloud blowing from his nostrils as he ran toward his death. The first bullets tore through his numb legs and he fell to the frozen ground. Blood from his wounds smoked in the frigid air as he raised up, only to be shot again in the neck and face. His head snapped back and then the emptiness … floating, helpless emptiness. There was no feeling, nothing to grab onto and hold. There was no up, down, sight, sound, or smell. There was nothing but the black emptiness.

  Ty lay back down in the darkness as he had done for so many years and fought back the tears. He hated the dreams and yet he loved them. They were all he had left of a father he hardly remembered.

  Years ago in the dreams his father had come home. It had all been a mistake. He wasn’t dead like they said. He had come back from Korea and stood in the doorway in his uniform with the same smile as in the picture on the dresser. Later, his father would laugh and wrestle with him on the floor and play ball in the lazy summer afternoon. His dad was so strong and yet so gentle. He had never hit him or had to raise his voice. His eye expression was always enough.

  Those were the young years when every day
a little boy would stand by the front door and wait for the dream to come true. Later, the dream became cruel. The small boy grew up and learned the truth about death, Dad, and Santa. The dream changed. Sergeant John Nance became a hero, a man who would have been a wonderful father. Instead, he had been a great soldier who had died too far away.

  Ty Nance shut his eyes knowing in the morning he would glance toward the doorway and still hope.

  Ty woke up early and walked down the hall to Jason’s room. Suitcases were lined up at the door, but Jason was still in bed, asleep. Ty sat down at the foot of the bed and nudged him with his elbow. Jason raised his head groggily. Ty smiled. “Wake up, college boy. You don’t want to miss your first day.”

  Jason sat up, rubbed his eyes, then playfully cuffed Ty on the shoulder. “I’m going to miss ya, brother.”

  Ty kept his grin. “You’d better make the team and send us tickets. We wanna see you get smeared like ya did playing at Meyers.”

  Jason pushed Ty back with mock anger. “Smeared? Me? Come on, Ty, you know I never get smeared. I’m almost as fast as you.”

  “What about the Tuttle game?” Ty asked with a smirk.

  Jason blushed and lowered his eyes. “That was a smear.”

  Both boys laughed, and Ty got up to let his brother dress. Mea walked in to see what the commotion was. To see her boys laughing and joking with each other for the first time since the accident pleased her.

  She tried, with difficulty, to put on a stern face. “You two have managed to wake up the whole house. Do you realize it’s only six o’clock?”