by Sam Halpern
Fred robbed our traps! Couldn’t of been anybody else. My best friend! He took them and lied about it. He could’ve had them all by asking but he stole them. Didn’t care about me, he just wanted the rabbits. Fred wudn’t nothing but a thief and a liar!
By this time, I was running and the light from my Eveready was a bouncing blur as the cold and tears blinded me. Fred and me wudn’t friends no more. I wudn’t ever going to have anything to do with him again. He was just trash. All the Mulligans were.
Suddenly, my foot snagged on something, the flashlight flung up in the air, I turned head over heels and the rifle went off next to my face.
I lay there for a while shaking, then I got the flashlight and looked around. The rifle was leaning against a little bank and there was a hole blowed in the ground inches from where my head hit. I had forgotten to put the safety on. My pants were torn at the knee and all bloody and I could hardly bend my leg. I got up and started for home. As I walked, I thought about Fred. He could see signs of me if he run the line and he’d know that I knew. I hoped he did.
The next morning, I woke up stiff and achy. My knees and palms were skinned and there was blood all over the sheets. I hadn’t fixed anything when I got in and had to clean up in a hurry. I really moved, boy. Pretty soon everything looked okay except for my torn Levi’s and the blood on the sheets. I was just going to have to tell Mom I fell. I hated to lie again, but I’d lied so much already I figured one more didn’t matter. I got out clean Levi’s and went to breakfast. I didn’t feel hungry and Mom kept asking why I wudn’t eating, then she felt my forehead.
“Morris, he’s getting sick,” she said. “He was running around outside in the snow yesterday with Freddie and came in soaking wet. Look at him.”
“You feelin’ bad?” asked Dad, and I told him no.
“Just not hungry, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about helpin’ me feed th’ cattle?”
“Morris, he’s sick,” Mom said again. “He could be getting pneumonia. I don’t want him running around outside.”
Dad thought for a while, then said, “Maybe Mom’s right. It snowed last night and th’ way th’ wind’s whippin’ it, you probably wouldn’t have any fun anyway.”
After Dad left, I went into the living room. Through the window, I could see snow everywhere. It was winter, boy, and the Warm Morning stove sure felt good as I curled up in a chair and read some of my Heroes of Israel. Pretty soon, Dad come back from feeding and sat down in his chair and picked up his newspaper.
“I saw Fred,” he said. “I told him you were sick and he ran th’ deadfalls himself. You all got two last night. I put yours on the fence post by th’ backyard gate.”
“I don’t want it,” I said.
“He brought it to you. It’s yours.”
We sat there for a while and I listened to the dishes clink in the kitchen as Mom and Naomi washed them, and to the fire crackling in the Warm Morning. Outside, the sun was shining and everything was white. It should have been a nice time.
“What happened?” Dad asked softly. “You and Fred have a fight?” And he struck a match on the stove to light his pipe.
Instead of answering, I shrugged and kept looking out the window.
He took two or three big puffs and smoke come rolling out as he said, “How come you don’t want th’ rabbit?”
“Because it’s a lie.”
“How so?” and he unfolded the paper and started looking at the headlines.
“’Cause he’s been robbin’ our deadfalls.”
Dad stopped reading and turned toward me. “How do you know that?”
I told the whole thing. Except for the gun part.
“I wondered how come you were limping this morning. I won’t say anything to Mom about your goin’ out last night but I don’t want you doin’ it again, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, and a little time went by.
“What you gonna do about Fred?”
“Nothin’! And I ain’t havin’ nothin’ t’ do with cheap white trash again!”
Dad looked away from me a little, then said, “You think Fred’s cheap white trash?”
“Yeah.”
“Some folks think Jews are trash,” and he began reading the paper and puffing his pipe.
That bothered me. We were different. “Well, he is!” I said.
An answer came quick. “Cheap white trash? No.”
“Well, what is he then?”
“What do you think he is?”
“A thief and a liar.”
Dad lowered the paper and looked at me. “I don’t agree, Samuel. Fred’s proud, and his family don’t have enough to eat. You didn’t need th’ rabbits. You gave them to Mr. Mac and Babe. They eat rabbit because they like it, but they have a smokehouse full of meat. Fred and his folks are hungry. The only thing they have left are a few salt butts and some water-made cornbread because Alfred won’t kill a hog. If I know Alfred Mulligan, that family will starve before he spends any money because he’s savin’ for mules and equipment.”
I was boiling by this time, and I was going to say how I felt no matter what. “How come you’re takin’ Fred’s side? You’re th’ one always talkin’ about doin’ right. How come you’re so happy with Fred when I’m right? He was my best friend, and he stole my rabbits, and you’re my dad and you side with him.”
Dad didn’t get mad. He just nodded toward my Heroes of Israel lying on the arm of my chair. “David forgave Saul, didn’t he?”
I wondered what that meant. “Yeah.”
“Saul did more than just steal rabbits. He was gonna kill David.”
“Yeah,” I said, not knowing if it was a question or not.
It was quiet for a while and we both stared out the window. The sun was fierce bright and everything sparkled. There was a good smell from the kitchen, and the teakettle whistled.
“Well, he’s your best friend,” Dad said, finally. “You do as y’ like,” and he picked up the paper and started reading and puffing on his pipe.
I knew what Dad said was true . . . about the Mulligans being hungry and needing my rabbits, but I still couldn’t be Fred’s best friend. I figured I’d be friendly but that was as far as I could take it, and that’s the way it was all the rest of the winter.
26
After the stolen rabbit thing, I just stayed down in the dumps. Christmas and Hanukkah and my school vacation were coming up, but Bob and Debby couldn’t make it home and I didn’t feel like celebrating. In December, we went into Lexington and I found a present for Ben, a pair of light steel traps. They were $9.50, and this time I had to pay full price. After getting my folks’ stuff, the traps took all the chore money I had left. They were beautiful though. A mink’s picture was etched right on the jaws.
I gave out everybody but Ben’s present early and had Fred take Lonnie’s to church for him. I bought Fred a pair of Tougher’n Nails work gloves, and he gave me a box he made that I could lash to the carrier rack of my bike. It was nice and I thanked him but I didn’t feel nothing for it. I didn’t give LD anything.
The day before Christmas, I headed across Cummings Hill to Ben’s. It was cold, and by the time I dropped onto the bottoms, the smoke from his chimney looked good. Nothing was changed. Ten steps out of the oaks old Cain and Abel come barking and snarling. I was pretty sure they knew me now though, because they whined a little and Abel showed less teeth, but when I tried to come closer than usual, they both went crazy. That brought Ben to the door.
It was great to see him. When I handed him his present he put it under his little tree like the year before, then handed me my gift. It was prettier than any Christmas present I ever saw. The wrapping was only brown paper sack, but it was decorated all over with gingerbread Santa Clauses. There were two Santa Clauses on top and one each on the sides and ends. They had red sugar hats and coats and pants with white trim. Between them were little pine sprigs and cones and they’d been dusted white like snow. The pre
sent was shaped like a long box of candy, but the second I picked it up I knew it was wood. I loved gingerbread and was wanting to open the package anyway, so I asked if we could have some of the Santa Clauses with coffee?
“Sure,” he answered. “Why don’t we eat th’ ones on th’ ends. That way hit’ll still be pretty when you open it tomorra.”
It wudn’t what I had in mind but it was enough. The Santas were really good, and after we wolfed down the end ones, we finished off the sides.
“You havin’ a nice Christmas?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess. We call it Hanukkah.”
“Get lots of presents?”
“Quite a few. You really like Christmas a lot, don’t you?”
Ben smiled. “Reckon I do.”
“Did you use t’ have big Christmases when you were my age?”
He didn’t answer, and it hit me I was prying. Before I could say I was sorry he said, “Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. When I was a boy we’d go huntin’ after church, then have a big dinner. All my kinfolk would gather. It was like that for most families in th’ Smokies. Ever’body was nice t’ ever’body else.”
I felt warm and good and leaned against the table with my chin in my hand. Ben was by the fire and kind of draped over his easy chair. I watched his red flannel shirt move in and out when he breathed and noticed where the shirt gapped a little that his chest hair was part gray. Dad’s was that way too. I wondered if they were the same age, then decided Ben was younger, maybe forty-five. It was always hard for me to tell about a grown-up. Pretty soon, I was in the mood to talk about my problems.
“Dad and some neighbors tried to find th’ crazy man and didn’t,” I said, then went on and told him the whole story. It come out easy, and it was nice not blubbering for a change.
“Fred and me tried everything we could t’ go along, but Dad wouldn’t let us. Him and Mr. Shackelford got mad at each other after they didn’t find anything. Mr. Shackelford said it was a wild-goose chase.”
Ben gave a short laugh that made his head and chest bounce.
“Y’ know,” I said, “nobody’s had any stock killed for quite a while.”
Ben sighed, then got up and walked to the window and stared out at the bare oak tree. “He’s prob’ly scared now, but he’ll be back,” he said soft, then turned to look at me. “You got t’ deal with him, Samuel. He ain’t ever goin’ away on his own.”
“I can’t tell,” I whispered. “I just can’t.”
He nodded, then went back to his easy chair and fired up his pipe. I knew he was disappointed in me. He thought I could do anything and I kept letting him down.
“You done a good job,” he said, finally. “That was a damn good try. If your daddy knowed, he’d be proud of you.”
I felt better right off.
Ben filled the coffee cups again and we talked more about when he was a boy growing up in Tennessee. His daddy was a cropper too, only they raised cotton instead of tobacco. We did all the same kinds of stuff, except he played the guitar. When I asked if he still played, he reached under the bed and pulled out this beauty. Boy, he could play.
When he quit playing, I decided to talk about the stolen rabbits. It would be nice having somebody on my side for a change. I brought it up and he listened quiet like always.
“You seen him since then?” he asked, after I finished.
“Oh yeah. We even got each other Christmas presents.”
“Hmm. Whatcha gonna do?”
“Nothin’! He’s a thief ’n’ a liar.”
Ben sipped some coffee and picked at the crumbs on his shirt. “You like some hick’ry nuts? Short crop this year, but they got a fine taste.”
I said I would and he got up and pulled a flat rock and hammer out of a drawer and brought over about fifty little nuts. We pounded away, and the more I ate the more I wanted.
“Don’t you think he’s a thief and a liar?” I said, working on a nut.
“I think he stole and lied, yeah.”
That wudn’t what I had asked. “Yeah, and he’s a thief and a liar.”
“Think so, huh?”
“Yeah! What else could he be?”
“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “He could just be somebody who stole and lied. Everybody who steals and lies ain’t necessary a thief and a liar.”
I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t expect that kind of stuff from Ben. I stared at the fire and thought about what he said. “What would you do about it if you were me?”
Ben stretched and yawned. When he did, he looked like a big cat. “I’d forget th’ damn rabbits. Fred’d be my best friend if I was you, and a bunch of rabbits ain’t worth losin’ a friend over. ’Specially if he’s a best one.”
We talked a little longer, then I took off for home. On the way, I got mad at Ben and everybody else. I hadn’t done anything wrong! Fred stole the rabbits and lied, not me. If somebody stole Ben’s pumpkins or Dad’s tobacco, they’d know whose side I was on, but nobody give a shit about my rabbits. Okay, fine, they could just be that way!
I stayed mad all that night and lay in bed and ate the last of the Santas. The next morning, which was Christmas, I unwrapped the present. When the brown paper come off I forgot about being mad. It was a walnut box and carved like the stocks of Ben’s guns. There were birds and deer and squirrels and some animals I had never seen in real life, like moose and bear. It was polished so good the shine seemed to go way down in it. I took it to the living room to open the box and everybody gathered around.
“My goodness,” said Mom. “What a beautiful box! What’s inside?”
I lifted the lid and inside was a pair of bedroom slippers, only they wudn’t like any other slippers I’d seen. The outside was mink and muskrat and the inside was rabbit. The bottoms were real soft leather and everything was lashed together with rawhide.
“Samuel, who . . .?” said Mom.
Dad shook his head. “It’s Samuel’s secret as long as he wants t’ keep it.”
27
I was hot, sweaty, tired, and hungry as I drove back to my hotel. I took a shower, slowly turning the tap to cold. When I got out, a crisp, frosty, fall-in-New-Hampshire sensation invigorated me and with it, my appetite. I headed for the hotel’s restaurant.
The restaurant was spacious, with white tablecloths and uniformed waiters. It was still early and there were only a few diners, one table being occupied by a family. I was thirsty and ordered a beer. As my thirst slaked, I became aware of things occurring at the family’s table.
The two adults were early middle-age and with them was a girl who looked to be in her late teens. I didn’t catch all the conversation, but I could tell they were arguing. From their accents they were not of Kentucky.
Suddenly the man opened up on the girl, who was trying to defend herself but couldn’t because the man wouldn’t let her. The mother proved an unsuccessful diplomat as the man railed on. I could make out a few words, “expect,” “pregnant,” and “Ronnie.”
Suddenly, the mother threw up her hands. “I can’t stand this,” she said loudly, “I’m going back to the room.” In a few minutes the table, thankfully, was empty.
By the time my steak, baked potato, salad, and another beer arrived, the argument at the table had evoked memories of Dad and Ben. I learned a lot about parenting from them. Ben was my friend but he had advised me in some ways like a father. He didn’t become angry with me. Frustrated, perhaps, but he listened to my arguments. Dad was a little more volatile in his approach to rearing his most difficult son but was also willing to consider my thoughts when they differed from his. He never hit or ridiculed me. They let me make mistakes, provided logical guidance, then let me learn from my mistakes. In some of my darkest moments, their views, taught so long ago, allowed me to persevere, to think my own thoughts and stick to them until I was proven wrong. Their simple lessons continued to influence me as a father.
Raising daughters isn’t easy. Everything goes well until they tur
n about twelve, then they discover, or perhaps are discovered by, the opposite sex. My traumatic introductions to the maturing female brain came at 1 a.m. one morning when sixteen-year-old Penny hadn’t arrived home from a date with a seventeen-year-old “hunk” who was the star running back of her high school football team. He was supposed to have had her home by midnight! Nora tried to keep me calm.
“Samuel, they’re only an hour late and I know this boy’s mother. He’s a good kid. They’ll be home soon. They simply lost track of time.”
I squirmed about on the living room couch where we were sitting, Nora stroking my hand. I was mad and getting madder. “When she gets in, she’s grounded! For a month! And when I get my hands on that kid she’s with, he’s gonna be the only one-legged high school running back in the nation!”
Nora laughed. “You men amaze me. From puberty, the only thing you have in mind is sex. You hatch an infinite number of schemes for sleeping with girls. Then, after trying to deflower every virgin around, you turn into puritan preachers the moment you have a daughter.”
I gave Nora a baleful stare. “I did not deflower every virgin around!”
Nora laughed again, slipped her arms around my neck, and planted a big kiss on my mouth. The kiss was nice. I kissed back and pretty soon we were necking. One thing led to another . . . then we heard the door close. This required some rapid rearranging of clothes before I confronted Penny.
“How come you’re an hour and fifteen minutes late, young lady?” I asked.
Penny held up her hands. “Rita Adams’ date’s car went on the fritz and Charles and I had to take them both home. I tried to call but our line was busy. It was a long way to their houses, but it would’ve been twice as long for their parents, so I insisted that we take them. I knew I was supposed to be in by twelve but I thought I was doing the right thing. Did I do wrong?”
I reached over and picked up our downstairs phone. Our youngest daughter was talking to her friends. At past one in the morning! Nora gave me a shot in the ribs and I grinned, sheepishly.
