A Far Piece to Canaan

by Sam Halpern

  The second I called, two dogs run to the front of the house barking their heads off. I kept on calling and soon a tall man come to the door. He shushed the dogs and yelled for me to come on down. When I got there, LD was beside him.

  “Pa, this here’s Samuel I been tellin’ you about,” said LD, and Mr. Howard shook my hand and said to come in.

  Inside, it was hot, and there was a great smell of hickory burning in the fireplace. There was a pine smell too that come from the Christmas tree in the corner.

  “Sarah, come here and meet a neighbor,” Mr. Howard called.

  I could hear dishes rattle in the kitchen, then a round-faced, kind of fat lady, wearing a red apron with flour dust handprints on it and a yellow dress, come in smiling, her hands still having little bits of bread dough on them.

  “Mama, this here’s Samuel,” LD said.

  Mrs. Howard smiled, and her whole face lit up. “Well, land sakes, I was about t’ think I was never gonna meet you people. I’ve been meanin’ t’ get over a dozen times. LD talks about you every day. How’d you like some biscuits and honey?”

  I was about to say, Hi and Yes ma’am to the biscuits, but Mrs. Howard had already rustled back into the kitchen, talking as she disappeared.

  LD and his dad and me sat in the living room. It was a nice room with a linoleum floor and lots of chairs and a table. There were pictures on the walls of Jesus and things from the Bible everywhere and some other people. One of them was a little girl. LD saw me look at her.

  “That’s my sister,” he said.

  That surprised me since LD never mentioned he had a sister.

  “She’s gone home,” Mr. Howard said, and I knew what he meant. “She got th’ typhoid back about ten year ago and went home. I almost went too but Jesus didn’t want me yet.”

  Mr. Howard kept talking about going home and I just sat not knowing what to say.

  “Your pa finished strippin’ yet?” he asked, finally.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. “He just finished.”

  “Going to be a good sale, praise th’ Lord. Th’ Lord’s providin’ for us, son. This here’s one of them fat years. They’ll be lean years comin’. That’s what old Daniel told th’ King, and hit’s been like that ever since. You know about Daniel and th’ King?”

  I answered that I’d read a lot about Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar, which I had in my book Heroes of Israel.

  “You read a lot from th’ Old Testament?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s good, that’s good,” he said.

  Just as Mr. Howard was about to say more about the Old Testament, LD’s mom stuck her head in and said our biscuits and honey was getting cold.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Howard began talking to me and I thought she’d never stop. I didn’t think I was ever going to get LD alone to tell him about the sheep and give him his present. After what seemed like forever, Mrs. Howard went to the living room with some wood for the fire and I grabbed my last biscuit, tucked the present under my arm, and nodded at the kitchen door. As soon as we got outside, I started walking toward the tobacco barn.

  “What’s wrong?” LD asked, as we trotted along together.

  “Tell you at the barn, and Merry Christmas,” and I handed him his present.

  “Why, Samuel . . . I thank you. I . . . I don’t have one for you. I asked Mom and Dad and they said y’all don’t give Christmas presents.”

  I could tell he felt bad and was wanting to give me something so I said we take them but for another reason and that if he wanted to, he still had time. He perked right up until we reached the barn, where I told him about Mr. Shackelford’s buck.

  “Lordy, what we gonna do? Hit’s a crazy man and he could kill somebody!”

  “Huh-uh. It’s th’ Devil,” I said, and I was positive the way I said it. LD turned pale as a ghost. I really shook him up bad and had to calm him down.

  “What makes you so sure hit’s th’ Devil?” he asked, after we had talked awhile.

  Suddenly, I realized how dumb it was saying that and was mad at myself for making the same mistake twice. I moved over to a pile of tobacco stalks and sank down on them. “I just kind of figure’s all,” I answered. “You said it first, y’ know.”

  LD came over and sat on the pile, beside me. He pulled up a cuff of his Levi’s and scratched, then looked at me kind of sideways. “What you think we ought do?”

  “Fred says th’ four of us need t’ talk about it. He’s gonna meet you and Lonnie after church and make a time when we can all get together.”

  LD’s eyes opened kind of wide. “That’s a good idea. Man, I’m gonna get a hidin’. Pa’ll razor strop me somethin’ awful. Reckon hit’s comin’ t’ me, though,” and he seemed to feel as bad about not having told as about the licking he was gonna get. Not me, boy! If the Devil done it, I knew wudn’t anybody going to do anything about it because a human idn’t going to win against the Devil. I was going to say not to tell anything.

  14

  LD and I walked back to the house, where I thanked his folks for the biscuits and honey, then I headed to the Big Bend bottoms. The hills were clean and quiet with tracks everywhere, mostly fox, bobcat, and rabbit. Patches of rabbit fur said some critters got their bellies full.

  A hundred yards or so from Ben’s house, Cain and Abel came for me and I was scared until their chains stopped them. I kept coming until I got close, then stood talking to them. They just kept on barking. Nobody come out so I yelled, “Mr. Begley!” and let a few seconds go by.

  “It’s Samuel, Mr. Begley!”

  The dogs were barking so loud I thought he couldn’t hear, so I kept on trying. I was about to quit when the door opened and there stood Ben in a checkered blue shirt and Levi’s. “Cain! Abel!” he said, and the dogs trotted back to him and sat by his legs. “Come on in, Samuel.”

  I walked to the door, took off my muddy shoes, and went inside.

  “How y’ been?” he asked.

  “Okay,” I said. “You been okay, too?”

  “Yep.” We sat down, him in the big chair and me in a small one. He grinned. “You get a hidin’ from your folks when you showed up with new clothes that day?”

  I grinned back. “They were put out, and I haven’t gotten to do much since.”

  “What’d you tell them?”

  “I said I got ’em from some people down on th’ river I didn’t know.”

  He laughed. “They knowed that was a lie.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “but I couldn’t think of nothin’ else,” and he really laughed.

  “I can see how that might be hard t’ explain. Anyways, it’s good t’ have you here. You’re good company. Most folks just bother me. You havin’ a nice Christmas?”

  I said yes and noticed a Christmas tree in the corner about four foot tall hung with popcorn chains, pine cones, painted carvings of animals, and a big carved wood star at the top. About the prettiest Christmas tree I ever seen except there wudn’t nothing under it, which struck me as lonesome. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the whittling knife. “Merry Christmas.”

  Ben got up and stood rock-still, not saying anything. I was beginning to think maybe he wudn’t going to take it, then he swallowed and spoke so quiet you could hardly hear him.

  “Thank y’, Samuel.”

  I don’t know how long he rolled the knife around in his hand, then he put it under the Christmas tree. “I’ll open th’ blades Christmas mornin’,” he said, then began looking around.

  I knew he was searching for a present for me and figured it was going to be one of his wood carvings. If that was so, I wanted the mallard duck and let my eyes fall on it long enough to tell him that was it but not so long he’d have to give it if he didn’t want to. He did, and we shook hands, and I said, “Thanks.”

  That duck was something to see, boy. It looked like it would take to wing in a second. It was as big as a live duck, which was going to cause a problem at home since I couldn’t tell Mom and Dad whe
re I got it and a wooden duck a foot long is hard to hide.

  We sat by the fire for a while, then I brought up the buck. He didn’t seem at all surprised.

  “You say hits eyes was gouged out.”

  “That’s what Mr. Shackelford said. Eyes gouged out, nuts and hindquarters cut off.”

  “Hmm,” he said, and lit his pipe again, which kept going out. “You say this happened inside a mile from th’ river?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

  Ben kind of sucked his teeth. “Be a long way t’ get there from th’ low bottoms if you didn’t go up th’ cliff, wouldn’t it?”

  “Aw, yeah,” I said. “It’s three mile anyway down to where the sandbar starts, then you got t’ double back. Maybe seven mile that way.”

  “Any footprints around th’ carcass?”

  “Mr. Shackelford didn’t mention any.”

  “Don’t make no difference,” Ben said, getting up from his chair and standing with his back to the fire. “Hit’s moving inland from th’ river. Hit can climb th’ cliffs again.”

  “Th’ Devil’s got t’ climb cliffs?” I said, that not making any sense to me.

  “Two-legged ones does.”

  He meant a man! That was what he meant last time! “You think a man done this?”

  “Man, or somethin’ like it, anyways.”

  “Why you think that?”

  “I know th’ river. I’ve been livin’ here over ten year and I seen his tracks down on th’ Little Bend. Big man. From his footprints, he’s bigger’n me, and I’m six-three and two hunnert. He never left th’ river until a few year ago, then he began goin’ over th’ cliffs until, somehow, he got hurt and just stayed on th’ bottoms. His tracks have changed.”

  “Cloved,” I said.

  Ben’s eyes widened. “You been foolin’ around that water hole, ain’t you?”

  I told him the whole story from start to finish, the blue hole, the dog, the cave, how we got away, and even about burying the fish. “It happened before you told me not t’ go there,” I said, “and none of us been back since.”

  Ben sat back down in the chair and threw a leg over one of the arms. “Samuel, you better tell your pa about this. I don’t know for sure, but this fellow may start t’ come further inland from th’ river if th’ winter gets rough. Hit’s a lot easier t’ kill a sheep than get rabbits and squirrels when you got a gimpy leg. Besides, most of th’ game has left th’ Little Bend. If he comes out further, I’m afraid of what he might do. Ain’t nothin’ in him but hate.”

  “Has he killed anybody before?” I asked, thinking about the people that was drowned or maybe, I thought, found dead in the Blue Hole.

  “Don’t know. I heard the same tales you probably have about th’ Blue Hole. One thing I do know is he does crazy things. I seen his doin’s before on some animals down near that water hole. Nobody’s done nothin’ about th’ goings-on ’cause up to now hit ain’t bothered them directly. Hit’s like any other kinda evil. Folks will let hit grow until hit gits t’ be a monster, then hit’s too late t’ do anything without a lot of people gettin’ hurt.”

  He was still talking about evil and it scared me. “LD said his pa wanted to float a Bible out on th’ Blue Hole. He said it would drive th’ evil out of th’ water.”

  Ben shook his head. He had started shaking it the second I said, “float a Bible” and kept on shaking it until I finished, which surprised me because up to now I’d never seen him do anything without thinking it through first.

  “Naw, you don’t fight evil holdin’ prayer meetins. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that pool of water. People say all sorts of fool stuff. Never let fear rule you, Samuel. Someday, when this is all over, you need t’ go out and swim in that thing. Show you’re not afraid of th’ stupid things people say. But, when it comes t’ evil, you got t’ face hit down, and you got t’ do hit just soon as you know for sure hit’s evil. There’s lots a signs whoever’s doin’ this is crazy. Mean crazy. If nobody does nothin’, he’s gonna hurt or kill someone. I hope your pas don’t wait that long.”

  I knew what he was driving at. We had to tell. Man, were Dad and Mom going to be mad. I’d never get to go anywhere and might lose my friends. Fred would get a licking, but LD would get razor stropped and it would be a real bad one. That brought me to Lonnie. I remembered what Fred said about Mr. Miller when he got drunk. I wondered if maybe he was the one doing everything when he got liquored up. He had already knifed somebody. Even if he wudn’t the crazy man, he still might hurt Lonnie real bad if we told.

  By this time, I had been sitting and thinking just like Ben. I decided to ask him about Lonnie’s pa being th’ crazy man, and th’ problem with Lonnie even if he wudn’t.

  “Lafe Miller’s a mean drunk,” he said when I finished. “He might kill somebody when he’s boozin’, but he ain’t your crazy man. He don’t have a cloved foot.”

  I felt like a fool for not thinking of that. “Mr. Miller might still hurt Lonnie, though.”

  Ben sighed. “Yeah, he might. Y’all better not say Lonnie was along. But you got t’ tell about what you saw. Hit won’t wait, Samuel.”

  I knew he was right and it was going to spoil everything. I kept trying to figure some way around it, but nothing come to mind. By this time, it was nigh two o’clock and I had a long walk ahead of me and stood up. “Well, gotta go. Be seein’ you, and Merry Christmas,” I said.

  Ben got up too, but he didn’t say Merry Christmas. “Got a gun at your house?” he asked.

  “Dad has a shotgun, and Bob has a .22.”

  When we got to the door he put his hand on the latch, then stopped. “Ever shoot ’em?”

  “Shot th’ .22.”

  “Shoot pretty often?”

  “Once,” I answered, beginning to feel funny at his questions.

  Ben kind of sucked his lips, then went over to a long box all shined up and opened it. Inside were three of the prettiest guns you ever lay your eyes on. There was a 12-gauge shotgun with the stock carved with birds and rabbits, a .22 carved with squirrels, groundhogs, and trees, and another rifle of some kind that was the prettiest of all. It was carved with deer and a wild boar with his head down coming at a hunter, its tusks white ivory.

  “Come on,” Ben said, pulling the two rifles out of the box along with a couple boxes of shells. “It’s time you got a little more shootin’ under your belt.”

  We walked outside and the dogs growled. He shushed them, then put a cardboard box against a tree and smeared some mud in a little circle four or five inches wide on its bottom. We backed off about a hundred foot, and he handed me the .22.

  “Put one in the middle of that mud,” he said.

  The rifle was a single shot just like Bob’s with the sights the same and all, but from a hundred foot I just ticked the box edge. Ben watched for four or five shots, then said I had a good eye, but there was a couple of little things he had picked up would help and for me to watch. He shot four times and trimmed out a hole in the center of the mud no bigger than a dime. Then he showed me how to relax and a bunch of other things and pretty soon I was hitting the mud circle almost every time. We shot up the whole box of shells. Then he picked up the big rifle and fired. Man, it was loud. I asked what kind it was.

  “.30–30,” he answered. “Deer rifle. You like to shoot it?”

  I sure did. It was a lot heavier than the .22, and I had trouble holding it. When I shot, it kicked like a mule. Dang nigh deafened me too. “Wow, that’s sure some gun.”

  He laughed a little short laugh. “Ain’t much use around here, though,” he said. “No deer, no hogs. I keep it oiled and cleaned. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?” I asked.

  He kind of squenched his mouth. “Anything . . . what kind of shells you got for your .22?”

  “Shorts,” I answered.

  When we got back to the cabin, he took out a box of .22 long-rifle hollow points.

  “Shorts is for practice,” he said. “I want you t�
� take these with you. A .22 short won’t stop nothin’ unless you hit it in th’ head. A long-rifle holla point will spread and take down a big critter. You understand what I mean?”

  I did. It scared me and he could tell. When he spoke again, his face and voice was hard. “Samuel, I want you t’ clean that rifle and put it where you can get hold of it quick. Hide these holla points near it. If some night your daddy ain’t home and somebody tries t’ break in, aim like I showed you and shoot right at th’ center of his chest. Then put in another shell and keep shootin’ ’til whoever it is has gotten away or is dead.”

  I felt weak all over and Ben could see it, but his face stayed hard. “I know what I just said is awful, but that thing down on th’ river is gonna hurt lots of people if he ain’t stopped. I don’t want you t’ be one of ’em.”

  I understood, but I knew I couldn’t do it. Wudn’t any way I could shoot anybody.

  It was past three o’clock by this time, so I said goodbye, put my duck under my arm, and headed for home at a trot. The cows were in the field where the Dry Branch Road turned off the Cuyper Creek Pike, and since I had to get them up for milking anyway, I decided to go home by that direction. As I trotted I thought about Fred. I had to tell about the crazy man not being a devil but I knew he’d ask me how I knew. I couldn’t tell him that Ben Begley had told me. And another thing, I was going to have to change what I said when the four of us met. Thinking got to bothering me so much I decided to quit thinking.

  When I passed the Mulligans’, I took to the hollows, not wanting to explain my duck. Things were going well for the Mulligans. I could see the edge of their strawberry patch. It had really taken off. Dad and Alfred had made a deal so Alfred could have a share in an acre of tobacco by working some for us and got Mr. Berman to say it was okay. Mr. Berman also let Alfred make a garden and grow a couple of acres of corn so he could feed some hogs. Alfred’s sows had pigs and they were really growing. As soon as the pigs were weaned, Alfred killed one of the sows, and they had lots of pork to eat. They had a great show going.