A Far Piece to Canaan

by Sam Halpern

  The sheriff glanced at one of the deputies, then asked, “Y’all know anything about this Begley?” They shook their heads and my heart started pounding.

  “Hit wudn’t him, if that’s what you’re drivin’ at,” said Mr. Mac. “I seen Begley couple times since he’s been here and I’d of recognized him in th’ firelight.”

  My heart started slowing down as the sheriff nodded. “All right, back to where whoever it is might be. Now, y’all say there’s lots of caves around th’ Big Bend.”

  “Aw, yeah,” said Mr. Langley. “After the sandbar, th’ river narrows, then cliffs begin again and goes all th’ way around th’ turn. Matter of fact, hit’s cliffs for miles after that with little flat breaks in between. They’s a million places he could hide.”

  “What about the Little Bend bottoms?” said Dad. “He could be down there too!”

  I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the sheriff said, “I don’t think so. You searched that area once before and didn’t find anything.”

  “Yeah, and we went all over that place then too,” said Bess.

  “But, Bess, all th’ things have happened up this way,” said Dad, and his voice was half pleading. “There’s never been an incident in th’ Big Bend. And we didn’t have bloodhounds with us that time.”

  Mr. Clark shook his head slow. “Sorry Morse, I got t’ go with th’ sheriff. I figure this old boy was a-headin’ home when he attacked Samuel. We got t’ look in th’ most probable place and do hit quick, ’n’ that means startin’ from that fence and try to track him. Boy, Sheriff, if we ever needed bloodhounds . . .”

  “No chance. After Mr. Zilkinsky called me I got in touch with Lexington PD and they said no to a search plane and that th’ dogs were already bein’ used.”

  “Well, that leaves us in one hell of a fix,” said Dad. “We got th’ Little Bend, and th’ Big Bend to search. We may as well be huntin’ for a needle in a haystack, why—”

  The sheriff cut Dad off. “We got t’ do with what we got, and right now I think we ought t’ start searchin’ at that fence where your boy was attacked. Everybody leaves a trail sooner or later and that’s how we’re gonna find him. We’re gonna search every cave in th’ Big Bend cliffs and move over that land with a man every ten foot. We’ll talk t’ this Begley fella too.”

  The sheriff kept on talking, giving instructions, with everybody’s eyes fixed on him to make sure they got every word.

  I didn’t hear a thing he said. My mind raced in a jumble. They were going in the wrong direction and they were going to get Ben. I stared at Mr. Miller. He seemed just like anybody else now, but I remembered how Lonnie and his sisters had looked after he beat them up. I looked at Mr. Mac too with his chest all bandaged and bloodied and imagined the big knife coming down and slashing through him and about my own fear when the crazy man tried to knife me. I thought about Ben again and how he believed in me, trusted me, and how he expected me to tell, and how I said I would. I started shaking inside. I had to do it. I had to do it and I had to do it now. “I know wh . . . where th’ . . . c . . . crazy man’s at,” I croaked.

  36

  People seemed to freeze; then everybody turned and stared at me.

  “Samuel . . .” and Dad’s voice was strange. I was shaking all over and trying to keep from crying. I must have looked pretty bad because the sheriff spoke next, and his voice was soft.

  “Calm down, son, you’re okay. Just tell us what you know.”

  I tried to put stuff together but my mind was in too much of a jumble. So much had happened. I had to keep Ben out of it too. I thought about Lonnie. Poor Lonnie. Mr. Miller might get drunk and kill him. My mind was flip-flopping and when I tried to speak, I couldn’t.

  “Go on, Samuel,” said the sheriff. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

  I didn’t know what else to do so I told about us finding the dog and the cave and running up the cliff. I left out everything else.

  “You claimin’ my boy was with you?” Mr. Howard asked, and his voice was hot.

  “Fred, too?” said Alfred, who sounded more took back than mad.

  Mr. Miller just stood there, his eyes strange and cold.

  Dad was staring too, but his face wudn’t mad, just questioning. “Samuel, why didn’t you say this when the animals were killed, or when we organized that posse . . .” and his voice trailed away. “That’s why you wanted to go. You wanted to show us so you wouldn’t have t’ tell.”

  “You mean Fred Cody let all this happen and didn’t say a dad-burned thing!” barked Alfred. “He’s gonna get a hidin’ like he never did when I get home!”

  “That boy’s lyin’,” said Mr. Howard.

  Dad whipped around toward Mr. Howard. “Samuel don’t lie!”

  “I’m gonna get LD and we’ll see who’s lyin’,” Mr. Howard shouted, and moved toward the door. One of the big deputies was in front of him in a flash.

  “You can get him soon,” said the sheriff. “Right now, we’re goin’ t’ hear Samuel.”

  Things seemed to hang in the air, Mr. Howard trembling mad, his hand at the gun stuck in his belt. Four, five feet in front of him was a deputy, legs spread, shotgun chest high and slightly forward with the safety off. People were scattered back against the wall and scooched down, their eyes wide. The deputy and Mr. Howard each looked like they were waiting for just a slight motion and they would do something terrible. Slowly, Mr. Howard’s hand dropped to his side, his body relaxed, and the deputy moved back.

  The sheriff glared at Mr. Howard, then slid his hip onto the arm of Dad’s big chair, letting one leg dangle. He leaned forward until he was only about a foot from me. His face was almost soft, and his eyes deep blue. It was a nice face, real honest, and any other time I would have felt calm around him, but now I just kept getting more scared.

  “Samuel,” the sheriff said, raising his eyebrows, “there’s a mad-dog killer out there. We have t’ know everything that happened in order t’ track him down. If we don’t get him, he’s gonna kill a lot of people. Now, whatever it was you boys got into that time can’t be as bad as you think. I promise you I’ll talk this whole thing over with your folks afterwards. All of y’alls folks,” and he looked around, then back at me. “I can’t say you won’t get punished, maybe even a lickin’. Nothing worse, though. The law calls you boys minors. That means you ain’t accountable like a grown-up. Now, this is a matter of life or death. And you’re a deputy.”

  The tears started pouring. I felt Dad’s hands squeeze my shoulder, then a voice yelled my name and Mom come crashing through the crowd, her fat little body turning and shoving, making people stumble all over the place falling out of her way. “Leave him alone! You all leave him alone,” she screamed, and her arms went around me and I never felt anything so good. I cried for a while, then Mom dried my tears with her sleeve. I felt like a coward, bawling and hanging on to my mama, but I was sure glad she was there.

  “M’dom, we have to know what happened,” said Dad softly.

  “You’ll know,” she snarled. “But you won’t badger him . . . none of you! You bullies and your damn guns and redneck yelling!” And her eyes were blazing. Nobody spoke, then I heard a kitchen match scratch on Levi’s, flash alive, and smelled its sulfur.

  “Miz Zilkinsky,” the sheriff said as he cleared his throat, “would you ask Samuel why they didn’t tell about th’ cave and th’ Blue Hole ’til now?”

  “Yes, I will,” she said, still hot. Then she turned toward me.

  Mom standing there made me feel safe and I decided to tell everything. Except about Ben. “We were scared about what would happen t’ Lonnie,” I said toward the end. “We were afraid Mr. Miller would beat him up. May . . . maybe kill him. Not at first. At first, we just didn’t want a lickin’ for bein’ around th’ Blue Hole, then sheep started gettin’ killed, and we held this meetin’ and Fred and me wanted t’ tell and leave Lonnie out of it but LD didn’t because his dad would beat him up bad for goin’ against what he told him .
. . goin’ around the Blue Hole, I mean. LD kept sayin’, if we told, he was gonna tell about Lonnie too. Then Mr. Miller . . .” I quit there because I knew it was going to be bad if I said the rest.

  “Go on, son,” said the sheriff.

  “Mr. Miller b . . . beat Lonnie t’ pieces on a drunk and I was sure he’d kill him if we told and he went on another. We couldn’t tell unless we left Lonnie out of it, and LD wouldn’t. Him and me, we had a big fight about it. The crazy man just kept killin’ stock, and things kept gettin’ worse and worse until we were too scared t’ tell. Then after th’ posse, he quit killin’ so we didn’t see any reason t’ tell. Then everything just went crazy with him.”

  Mr. Miller had stopped staring and just stood looking at the ground. Alfred didn’t say anything either, but Mr. Howard’s face was wild.

  “I’m gettin’ m’ boy,” Mr. Howard said under his breath.

  The sheriff stood up. His face was drawn tight and I didn’t know what was going to happen. Then he nodded real slow. “All three of you men get your boys,” he said, and people started to move. “But y’all hear this,” and people stopped. “When you get back here, those boys better be in one piece. Any of those kids been beaten, I’ll see his pa does six months!” He let a couple of seconds go by, then said, “Just one hair out of place,” then he said, “Okay, go get ’em. Be back here in less than an hour.”

  While they were gone, the sheriff and some others started questioning me again. It was easier to tell the truth now, but my big problem was keeping out any hint of Ben. I was doing a good job, but I was worried Dad would remember my Christmas gifts. My duck and slippers had to be made by a grown-up and I had always refused to tell who had given them to me. If Dad brought it up, the sheriff might think I was hiding something and go get Ben. I started shaking again as I thought about it. Ben had saved my life. I couldn’t let him down. I just couldn’t. What was I going to do, though, if Dad asked? What was I going to say? Dad was my dad, and awful things had happened. But Ben was my friend and I owed him my life. I owed him so much, and he acted like there was a terrible reason for people not knowing anything about him.

  I was still shaky when LD, Lonnie, and Fred walked in led by their dads. LD was crying and white as a sheet. Fred was white too, but I knew his head was thinking. Lonnie didn’t show any fear. His face was calm as the river in pool. He was the only one who spoke to me.

  “Hi, Samuel.”

  “Hi, Lonnie,” I kind of whispered back.

  The sheriff scooted half of his rump onto the chair again and called for quiet. “Boys,” and he looked at the four of us, “y’all come sit here in a row on th’ floor.”

  We shuffled forward, and LD began crying harder.

  “Whoa, no more cryin’. Nothin’ real bad is gonna happen t’ you kids. I promise y’ that. All I want t’ know is th’ full truth about your findin’ th’ cave and tracks down on th’ Little Bend. Samuel there says y’all found them and didn’t tell. Is that so and if it is, why?”

  “We didn’t tell ’cause old Samuel there didn’t want to!” yelled LD. “He kept us from tellin’. We wanted t’ tell. He’s just a liar . . .”

  “That’s a damn lie, LD Howard,” I shouted, and started to leap over and hit him in the mouth, but the sheriff shot his finger out at me and I sat down.

  “He’s a liar . . . he’s a liar!” LD yelled, pointing at me, then he looked at Lonnie and Fred and said, “You know he is. You were there when he told us t’ lie. You know he did!”

  “I did not,” I screamed. “LD’s lyin’! He’s lyin’!”

  Fred was death white. I knew what was going through his head. If he said it was my fault, I’d get most of the blame and he and Lonnie and LD would be off nigh free. The other way, they’d all be in trouble.

  “I wudn’t afraid t’ tell,” said Lonnie, looking straight in the sheriff’s face. “They could tell anything they wanted far’s I cared. Nobody made me do nothin’.”

  That really fired LD up. “Naw, we didn’t tell because old Samuel there kept us from tellin’. We wanted t’ tell and leave Lonnie out of hit but he kept sayin’ if we told he was gonna tell about Lonnie and then he’d get beat t’ pieces by his pa. Samuel stopped us from tellin’!”

  “LD’s lyin’!”

  It was Fred.

  LD jumped up and started to yell and the sheriff pointed his finger at him real quick and LD sat down.

  “Go on, Fred,” said the sheriff.

  Fred turned his face up toward the sheriff and his eyes looked real sad. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad too. “Samuel said he wanted t’ tell and leave Lonnie out of it. It was LD said if we told, he’d say Lonnie was with us.”

  “I ain’t lyin’! I ain’t lyin’,” LD sobbed. “They are . . . they are, Pa, they are,” and he jumped up and ran to Mr. Howard, whose right hand come slamming down across LD’s face sending him sprawling, his head crying, but not making a sound.

  The sheriff leaped off the chair. “Stop that!” he yelled at Mr. Howard, and his voice shook. “Howard, I told you once I wouldn’t put up with that kinda stuff. So help me if you hit that kid again you’re gonna be talkin’ to a judge!”

  Mr. Howard stuck his chin out. “Your judge can’t judge me. Only He can judge me,” and he shoved his finger at the ceiling.

  “Call it whoever, but I’ll see Judge Fraser gives you six months!” the sheriff shot back.

  It got quiet again, except for LD, who was bawling against the wall. Mom walked over and knelt beside him. He started to push his bloody, swollen face against her, then saw who it was and jerked away quick. Mom got up and turned toward Mr. Howard, her mouth all squenched. “You bastard,” she whispered in a little hoarse voice.

  “Call me a name, you heathen woman!” Mr. Howard yelled, and Dad yelled something back and started toward him. People scattered, then both deputies came between them in a flash.

  “Knock it off!” the sheriff shouted. “Give those guns to th’ deputies.”

  Dad showed with his open hands that he didn’t have a gun, while the bigger deputy snatched Mr. Howard’s out of his belt.

  LD was still crumpled on the floor, bawling so hard his neck veins was popping out when the sheriff said, “Come here, son.”

  LD didn’t know what to do. He glanced at his pa and kept on crying.

  “Come here!” the sheriff said again, this time loud, and LD struggled to his feet and stumbled over, still bawling. The sheriff put one hand around LD’s arm and began talking soft while he used his handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his mouth and nose. “Things are gonna be okay. This whole thing is gonna be over pretty soon and everything is gonna go back t’ normal. What we have to do now is catch this old boy who’s causin’ all th’ trouble. We need your help . . . all you boys’ help. Now, tell me th’ truth.”

  LD did. There was a lot of sobbing, and some of the time you couldn’t understand what he said and he had to say it again, but when he finished it was all out. Lonnie tried to break in twice and each time the sheriff held up his hand and he stopped. Finally, when LD finished, the sheriff nodded at Lonnie, who was sitting with his legs crossed and his face stiff as a poker. “What y’ wanta say, Lonnie?”

  Lonnie looked the sheriff right in the eye and spoke soft, but strong. “My pa is a good pa. If they didn’t tell, it wudn’t because I was afraid of what my pa would do. My pa is a good pa,” and for the first time his voice broke, but he was damned if he was going to cry.

  There was a shuffling sound and Mr. Miller come to the sheriff’s side. His lips were white and tucked together so you couldn’t see anything of his mouth but a slit in the skin. His eyes were full of tears, and his face wrinkling in and out. He kind of lifted his open hands just a hair in front of his Levi’s and Lonnie shot into his arms.

  “You m’ boy,” Mr. Miller said husky. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen t’ you. You m’ boy.”

  The sheriff glanced at Mr. Howard and Alfred and Dad, not saying anything, then
slid off the chair, checked his pocket watch, and motioned to a deputy to give back Mr. Howard’s gun. “It’s gettin’ late and I’ve gotta make plans,” he said. “Everybody be back here at four tomorra mornin’. These boys are gonna lead us t’ that cave. If we don’t find him there, we head for th’ fence where Samuel was attacked. Get some sleep. Gonna be a long tomorra.”

  37

  By the time I got off the tractor, I was exhausted. I said goodbye to my young driver and entered my own vehicle. I had no idea how much ground I had covered during the day but I knew it was a lot. I considered curling up and sleeping in the car but rejected it. Hopefully, I thought, there’s enough adrenaline left in me for the drive to Lexington.

  I became a little less sleepy as I drove, but more anxious. I knew what was happening but was powerless to stop it. I was still dealing with the event sixty years after the fact. Sweat trickled from my underarms even with the air-conditioning on high.

  Suddenly, I could smell the odor. The same odor I had smelled in our living room that night. Pungent, undeniable, terrifying. My car swerved and a motorist honked at me. I steadied the car, made it back to my hotel room and lay down on the bed. I was trembling and felt weak, and it took a while before my body and psyche relaxed, and I was rational enough to think.

  I began considering my mission. What was the point of going on? I couldn’t find any evidence of the people who had lived in my community. I wondered if anyone who had participated in that long-ago manhunt was still alive. Fred? Lonnie? Visiting my past had not turned up even a mailbox with a familiar name. People were more mobile today than in the past. Perhaps they had moved by necessity. Certainly, none of the croppers I knew could have become owners of the estates that had replaced the farmland I once roamed.

  Death, dispersion, and gentrification, slayers of my salad years.

  I had given Nora’s request that I return to Kentucky to shed light on my early life a legitimate try. There were still a couple of things I wanted to do, but they wouldn’t take long. Then there was going to be a be-all and end-all to this odyssey.