the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  Duane released his grip as if he’d held something filthy and backed up. Ty’s eyes had actually sent shivers up his spine. The boy looked like a wild animal about to strike for his throat.

  Ty advanced with his piercing eyes locked on his stepfather. “You’re gonna tell Mom we had a nice little talk, and we decided I should move into the cabin, aren’t you? Who’s the liar, you hypocritical bastard! You ever say another bad word about Granddad again, I’ll kill you.”

  Duane’s face turned pale. He knew he’d gone too far. Ty brushed past him and threw open the car door, hitting him in the legs. He started the engine. “I’m glad we had this little talk. Mom will be real glad you’re so understanding.” He popped the clutch and fish-tailed out of the parking lot, showering Duane with dust.

  13

  Ty was cold, the most miserably cold he’d ever been in his life. He was shivering so badly his jaw was sore from clenching his teeth. He rode in the back of the open trash truck at 5 A.M. with rain pelting him in the face. He’d been working for an hour and was soaked after the first five minutes. The temperature was fifty degrees, but the damnable biting Okie winds that blew from the northwest were merciless, and there was no protection from the blinding rain.

  The old Ford truck stopped by the stacked trash cans, and Ty jumped off the flatbed. His hands looked like white sponges, and they hardly had any feeling, they were so cold. He picked up the first large can and hefted it to his shoulder. He’d seen the modern trash trucks in Oklahoma City but never appreciated their efficiency until he began the trash punishment job. He had to lift all the cans to the truck, get up on the bed, and dump them. Then he would toss the cans down, get off the truck, and set them in their original position. He worked four hours picking up trash in the morning before school and another three hours after school, sifting through the dumped garbage for bottles and recyclable metal cans. The first week he was so sore he could barely move. The second week was a bit better, but his shoulders and arms still seemed as if they were full of lead bricks. His body hardened by the third week, and the job was even beginning to seem tolerable until the bad weather set in. The past week of constant rain was the most miserable in his life. Each day seemed worse than the last. Getting up in the morning was painful, getting in the back of the truck was agony, and lifting the heavy cans was torture. He actually looked forward to going to school, where it was dry and he could relax his weary body.

  The truck finally pulled up to the last cans on the block. Ty slid off the back, filled with the relieved feeling of surviving the agony of another day.

  An hour later, he walked into school wearing a change of clothes and his symbol of defiance, the letter jacket without a letter. It was a reminder to himself and others that he was an outlaw. The stares and whispers had stopped, but there was still an invisible barrier around him. It was as if he were dying of something contagious. He was vulnerable and everyone knew it. If he got in any kind of trouble, Summers would throw him out of school.

  As Ty opened his locker, Becky came up behind him and tapped his shoulder. “You heard from Jason lately?”

  Ty turned around, feeling sorry for the attractive girl. He’d known, deep inside, that when Jason joined the Army, the relationship was doomed. Rebecca was a free spirit who needed a man’s constant attention. She still loved Jason, in her own way, but not enough to give up her college life for him.

  He nodded. “Yeah, he’s training at Fort Benning and doin’ really good. He called the house the other night and said he’d been selected to be the student company commander.”

  “That sounds good … I guess he likes it.” She smiled faintly and took his arm as they began walking down the hall. “I think of him a lot … but …”

  “I know, Beck. Get your head up. He understands.”

  Becky squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Ty, you’ve been a good friend.”

  Ty shrugged.

  “I hear you’re moving into the cabin this week,” she said, stopping by a classroom door.

  He spoke over his shoulder, not changing stride. “Tomorrow’s freedom day.”

  Ty hoisted the box of clothes from the trunk and walked up the stairs into the cabin. He’d made several trips to the house to move his things out of his room but felt too tired to make any more. The long hours of trash collecting drained him. He put the clothes in an old dresser and began to sit down when he heard a car pull up. He looked out the window and shook his head.

  Becky came in, carrying a small portable television set. She held it out to him and said, “This is my house … I mean, my cabin-warming present to you.”

  “Naw, Beck, I can’t take something that expensive from you. I …”

  She frowned and snapped, “Hush your face, Ty Nance.” She put the TV down and looked admiringly around the room. “It’s perfect … just perfect. You’ve done a fantastic job.”

  The pine-paneled walls and exposed rafters gave the cabin the atmosphere of a hunting lodge, especially with the pot-bellied stove in the middle of the floor. The large single room had four distinct areas. First there was the kitchen, with its small refrigerator and stove, and pine shelving covering half the wall. The eating and study portion had built-in bookshelves all the way to the ceiling and a small heavy wooden table for two. The other half of the cabin consisted of the sleeping area and a small living area with an old couch and George’s rocking chair. It had a cozy, lived-in look.

  She kissed his cheek lightly. “I love it. You’ve really made something to be proud of.”

  Ty stepped back shyly but felt a surge of pride. His mother had cried when she came the day before. She’d hugged him as he took her around the room, showing off his workmanship. She’d been awed and kept saying she wished his granddaddy could see it. So did he.

  14

  Ty raked the garbage he had just sifted through into a huge pit and stooped over to pick up the bottles he had found. The sound of tires crunching on the gravel caused him to turn around.

  Sheriff Hamby stopped his cruiser behind Ty and opened his door. “How’s it goin’?”

  Ty hefted the box of bottles to his shoulder. “Doin’ good; found four bucks’ worth of bottles this load.”

  Hamby got out of the car and followed Ty as he walked to the trash truck and tossed the box beside the other boxes of bottles he’d collected. The sheriff looked around the dump absently. “Ain’t it amazing what people throw away. The town makes a lot a money on haulin’ trash and what they find to resell. Most people don’t know this side of their town government.”

  Ty was used to the sheriff coming around and checking up on him. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and tiredly leaned against the truck. “I’ve seen more of this side than I ever wanted.”

  Hamby chuckled and took out a folded envelope from his shirt pocket. “Well, boy, not anymore you won’t. Here’s a little somethin’ from your town for all the hard work ya put in.” He held the envelope out to Ty.

  Ty pushed off the truck, wondering what Hamby was up to. He took the envelope and opened it to find a check. He looked up with a questioning stare. “What’s this for?”

  Hamby smiled. “For your hard work. Ya worked your ass off without complainin’ or missin’ a day. The justice didn’t say nothin’ about you workin’ for free. The town owes ya two months pay.”

  Ty looked at the check blankly. “This mean it’s over?”

  “You’re through, boy,” Hamby said, patting Ty’s back. “Pull the truck up to the lot; we gotta find somebody else to do the dirty work.”

  Ty looked at him strangely, not quite sure how to take it all. Hamby noticed the expression and said, “Boy, I’ve seen a lot a men work this job, but ya outdid ’em all. You was never late, sick, or come up with no limp-dick excuses. Ya impressed me, boy. Ya ain’t no punk like I was thinkin’. Ya keep your nose clean, huh?”

  Ty put out his hand. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  Hamby winked and shook his hand warmly. “Get cleaned up, boy, ya stink.”
>
  The next day, Ty walked into the Coffee Cup to pick up some food for dinner and sat down in the end booth.

  Toni broke off her conversation with Johnny Barber and sauntered over to Ty with a warm smile. “Hiya, handsome, ol’ Toni been missing you.”

  “You lookin’ better than ever, Toni.”

  She blushed and patted her packed, dyed hair. “Lordy, ya keep talkin’ like that I’ll faint. I hear ya got a job with ol’ man Randall.”

  Ty was mystified by her spy network. He’d only talked to Willie Randall that afternoon during lunch break. “Yep, I start work after school tomorrow and start full-time after graduation next Tuesday.”

  Toni patted his shoulder. “I’m proud a ya, handsome. You been through a lot, and I’ll be right prouder seeing you walk across that stage and get that piece of paper. After all the hamburgers ya ate in my place, it’s truly a wonder.”

  Ty laughed and put his hand on top of hers. “I didn’t come in here for the food … it was always you.”

  Toni fanned her face. “There ya go again … what ya want this time, a couple of burgers and fries to go?”

  “You got it.”

  Toni turned around to yell the order but thought of something else she’d wanted to know. “Oh, Ty, I don’t wanna pry, but I was wonderin’ how much they was payin’ ya for the trees. My cousin has got some on his place that’ll make good lumber and …”

  She stopped in midsentence, seeing his puzzled expression. Her face turned even paler. “Didn’t … didn’t you know they was cuttin’ trees on your hill? The loggers ate supper in here this afternoon and …”

  Ty bolted for the door in a dead run.

  “Oh, God,” said Toni in a whisper. She turned toward her husband, who was looking to her for an explanation, and motioned toward the phone behind him. “Hand me the phone. I gotta’ call Sheriff Hamby … there’s gonna be trouble.”

  * * *

  Ty braked hard and skidded into the turn off the highway. He floored the accelerator. His hands were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Ahead he saw the logging truck parked alongside the road four hundred yards past the cabin. He felt nauseated, seeing the back of the truck half full of stripped trees and a winch dragging in another one.

  The Black Widow skidded to a halt in a cloud of red dust, and Ty jumped out at a dead run, screaming for the two men with chain saws to stop their cutting.

  One of the men, dressed in greasy overalls, looked up and held his hand on his ear, signaling that he couldn’t hear over the roaring chain saw.

  Ty leaped over two of the old cedars they had felled and grabbed the startled man’s shirt, screaming, “STOP! STOP CUTTING!”

  The man turned off the chain saw and yelled over the roar of the other logger’s saw biting into an ancient tree. “What the hell is wrong?”

  Ty pointed frantically at the other man. “STOP HIM! GOD, STOP HIM!”

  “Who the hell are …”

  Ty gave up and ran to the other logger who had his back to him and knocked him over with a shovel. The hill was immediately bathed in silence. The horrible noise still ringing in his ears, Ty turned to look at the damage, but was suddenly grabbed roughly and spun around.

  The huge, bearded winch operator Ty hadn’t seen pushed him to the ground. “What the fuck ya think you doin’, asshole!”

  Ty jumped to his feet. “You’re cutting my trees! This is my land and you …” Ty was in tears and looked at the bleeding stumps, “… you can’t cut them down.”

  The bearded man took out a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and quickly glanced over it as the two loggers walked up behind him. “I got a job here says I can cut ’em down. It was contracted by a Duane Johnson, Route 2, Meyers, Oklahoma. You be Duane Johnson?”

  Ty turned to stone. “No, I’m Ty Nance, and I own this land and you get off it right now.”

  The operator glanced at the men behind him and cocked his head. “We don’t know that now, does we? You could be crazy for all we know, but we do know we got a job to do. Ya find this Duane feller and work it out with him. Now git outta here and don’t be gettin’ in the way.” He turned to the other men. “Git back ta work. We got two hours a daylight left.”

  Ty grabbed his arm and spun him around. “I said, get off my land!”

  The big man pushed him back with a powerful shove. “I’m warning ya, back up, or I’ll bust ya here and now.”

  One of the men started his chain saw, breaking Ty’s stare. Ty ran to the Widow and threw open the trunk. Taking out his 12-gauge shotgun and throwing down the leather case, he jacked a shell into the chamber. Walking back toward the operator, he raised the gun and fired just over his head.

  Pumping another round, he fired at the ground beside the logger whose chain saw was roaring.

  “JESUS, KID, DON’T SHOOT US!” yelled the bearded man, holding his hands out. “Settle down … we’ll go, shit, don’t point that thang at me!”

  Ty fired again over his head. “MOVE!”

  Ty followed the three men to their truck. He waited until he saw a dust cloud kick up before he turned to look at his beloved trees. He counted ninteen stumps as he walked over the crushed and dying limbs they had stripped from his old friends. He stopped, hearing a faint noise. Pulling back two boughs he found what was making the sound and sank to his knees. Resting in the fork of a broken branch was a squawking baby red-tailed hawk, lying in a partially destroyed nest. Beside the nest, lying on the ground, were two more of the small birds, dead and covered with black ants. Trembling, Ty lowered his head. “I’m sorry … so sorry.”

  Duane was talking to one of the mechanics, who was lying under a tractor, and tossed him a new hydraulic pump. Standing up and stretching his back, he turned around. He never saw the blow that knocked him against the tractor. Ty grabbed Duane’s shirt and hit him again, knocking him to the floor. Duane shook his head, spitting out blood, and tried to get up when Ty viciously grabbed his hair and jerked his head up.

  Ty waited until his stepfather’s eyes had focused before speaking in a venomous voice. “Why? Why did you have to do it? Wasn’t hating me enough? Why?”

  His arms were suddenly grabbed and he was jerked back by the mechanic. “Settle down, boy. Damn, why you hittin’ your daddy?”

  Duane got up, slowly wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “Hold him right there!” he commanded. Stepping closer, Duane smiled cruelly. “I made your mind up for you, that’s why. Two hundred acres to save your worthless ass from the war. That’s the price, remember? I promised your mother you wouldn’t get drafted, and you won’t. The money from the trees will be more than enough to clear the rest of it for plowing.”

  Ty struggled to free himself. “Never! You filthy son of a …”

  Duane had turned his back but suddenly whirled, swinging his fist. Ty’s head snapped back with the blow and he went limp in the startled man’s arms.

  The mechanic let go of Ty and grabbed for Duane. “STOP IT, DUANE! Goddamn, what’s got into you two! Jesus, you’re family, for Christ’s sake.”

  Sheriff Hamby walked into the work bay and felt sick at seeing Ty. Harry Sweet, the parts man, was rolling him over. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Harry, is the boy all right?”

  Harry shook his head. “He’s out cold and looks like he bit through his tongue. It’s split open and bleedin’ bad.”

  “Call the doc; tell him to come on over here and bring his bag.” Harry ran toward the office as Hamby stepped closer to Duane. “I just got through runnin’ out to the hill ’cause Toni called me about some trouble. I missed the boy, but I saw those loggers you contracted. They flagged me down, comin’ into town all upset. Did you get permission from the boy to have them trees cut?”

  Duane rolled his shoulders back indignantly. “No, and I don’t have to either. I’m his stepfather and …”

  Hamby held up his hand. “Just hold it right there, Duane. The boy is over eighteen, and he owns that land. You h
ad no right doing what you did. If the boy wants to file a charge against ya, I’ll damn well carry out my duty … and like doin’ it.”

  Doc Riddle put the cigar back in his mouth and helped Ty sit up. “Don’t try talkin’ for a while. You have four stitches in that tongue of yours … you still dizzy?”

  Ty glanced around the familiar office and faintly remembered getting into Hamby’s cruiser with the doctor. He shook his head and was about to hop down from the table when Riddle gently pushed him back. “Whoa, just sit there a minute; I had to knock you out awhile to put them stitches in. Your mouth feels funny now because I numbed it up, but in about an hour you’re gonna hurt like hell.”

  Riddle took the cigar out of his mouth, blowing out a cloud of smoke, and motioned toward the door. “Your mom is sittin’ out there waitin’ on you. I’m afraid she and Duane exchanged some pretty heated words. I think she’s gonna need you to be strong for her.”

  * * *

  Ty sat on the bank of Crystal Pond and leaned back on his elbows after reading the letter he had received from Jason. As in the other letters, his brother had written about the difficult training he had been going through and of how much he missed home, but the last paragraph was different—here Jason had written about the pain of losing Becky. Ty reread only the last two sentences:

  Ty, it hurt me badly, but I guess time and distance heal everything. I love you and wish you the best.

  Your Big Brother

  Putting the letter in his pocket, Ty stood up and gazed down the ravine. He took several steps and slowly began to jog down the path, holding an imaginary M-1 rifle and screaming silently. Block, parry, jab! The bayonet sunk deep before he withdrew the bloody knife and met the next attacker. Savagely slashing upward, he suddenly stopped his attack. He shut his eyes and slowly lowered his arms. Nothing was ever going to bring him back. Over the many years the ravine had seen too many men die in his desperate charge, trying to right the injustice of his father’s being chosen.