"Damn! How many did you catch?” asked Art.
"Every one in Pickford Acres,” laughed Ronnie. “I even got my brother and sisters to help."
Lee thumped the box, and it sounded empty. He turned it back and looked inside to make sure before throwing it to the side. Picking up the bag, he began to unroll the top.
"Damn, you got more lizards?” asked Art.
Lee grinned his grin, and Ronnie chuckled mischievously.
"No.” Ronnie seemed on the verge of hysterics. “These are snakes."
Lee opened the bag, and they all took a look.
Since they were all coiled around, it was hard to tell exactly how many there were.
Art looked up from the bag, his face saying it all. “Damn! She's gonna shit!"
Inside the bag were three good-sized garter snakes they had flushed out from the high weeds running down the utility access behind Ronnie's house. On his way home Lee had stopped by Carl and Daryl's place and worked a deal with Daryl, giving him a quarter for two fat Hog Noses.
"Why'd you put ‘em in the bag?” Art asked, as Lee plucked one of the green and yellow striped garter snakes out of the bag and stuffed it head first into the slot.
"They'd eat the frogs, stupid, if we put ‘em in the box,” replied Ronnie.
Lee took the others out one by one. The biggest hog nose hissed threateningly, and spread its neck bones out wide like a cobra.
Art was so excited he was almost hysterical.
The last snake in, Lee jumped up. “Let's get out of here!"
Art grabbed the bag and Ronnie took the box. As fast as they could run, the boys made it back over to the safety of Art's front door.
"That's so great!” Art exclaimed, jumping about, again just like a little kid. “I can't wait to tell everyone."
"We can't tell anyone,” cautioned Lee. “This has to stay between us. If this gets out we could get in real trouble."
Art quit jumping around.
"I'm tellin’ you Art,” Lee put his finger in the skinny kid's face. “Not a word. If it gets out, and we get caught, I'll know it didn't come from Ronnie or me, and I'll..."
"Okay, okay, I get it,” squealed Art. He had seen Lee angry before. “It'll be our secret."
All three boys took a last look back across the street.
"You watch for what happens,” said Ronnie. “But, remember what Lee said,” he cautioned. “This is gonna stay between us three."
"I got it,” Art reluctantly agreed.
Lee and Ronnie laughed all the way back to Ronnie's house. Having to get home in time to go to church, Lee hurried as he took the back way through the utility access over to Arbuckle Ave. When he came up out of Spit Creek on the run, he saw Javier, who waved mightily as Lee ran by.
Lee heard Javier yell something that sounded like it was in Spanish, but he didn't have time to stop.
Cutting through the short cut between Javier's place and his house, he noticed a car in the Riley's drive that hadn't been there when he passed by earlier. He didn't have much time to think about it; he was late. He sped on and came around the side of his house on a dead run, hurrying through the gate and into the backyard. He found Flapjack eating doodlebugs one by one on the walkway by the back door. Lee picked one up, and began dangling it in front of the eager duck, saying, “Sit boy! Heel! Speak!"
Flapjack let loose a loud series of quacks.
Lee tossed him the doodle bug with a pat on the head and a, “Good boy!"
Just then, the back door opened and Maggie called, “Lee, time to come in and get ready for church."
Lee knew his timing had been perfect. She had no idea Lee had ever left. He'd have to thank God for that stroke of luck.
Lee followed her inside and went quickly to his room, glad that Maggie hadn't noticed and asked him why he was so sweaty. He changed into his white shirt and Sunday suit. For once, he was eager to go to church. Today was a day when he would need a little forgiveness.
CHAPTER EIGHT: CABRITO
Sunday afternoon was what made Sundays worthwhile. After church, the whole family usually went for lunch to Il Napoli for Italian or Watson's Cafeteria, two of the most popular places in Lenoir for the after church crowd. Watson's was Lee's favorite. They were famous for their huge chicken fried steak, or a whole fried catfish, with your choice of two steaming vegetables, all you could eat cornbread, and gallons of sweet iced tea.
As usual, once back home, Maggie and Ted had retired for a nap, and Patty was cutting paper dolls from the department store ads, while sitting six inches from the front of the T.V..
Outside, and inside, nothing was ever quite as quiet as a Sunday afternoon. From their house, they were far enough away from the highway that they never heard any of the traffic. But on Sunday, anywhere in Lenoir there was a special, deep down quiet.
Lee ambled around kicking gravel in the street and wondering what to do. He thought about heading over to Ronnie's or maybe going by Art's. But, he didn't feel like walking so far, and after Watson's Sunday lunch, running was out of the question. He sure missed his old bike.
With nowhere really to go, he wandered out onto Seminole Road, and decided on taking the long way toward Spit Creek.
The rusty, tan and white Plymouth he had seen this morning was still parked in front of the Riley's house. The high weeds in the cracks in the driveway were touching the car's frame. The little wood frame, three-bedroom, with its attached one car garage, was the only other house on the street aside from Lee's. The house leaned a bit, slanting west towards Spit Creek, but had been painted nicely recently, with cream walls and yellow trim. The Riley's were a young couple, not even in their twenties. They already had three baby girls, Lee had learned from Maggie, who had gone over last Wednesday to be neighborly. At first he had been excited to learn that there were girls. But that died quickly when he learned that the oldest was less than three. The other two were infant twins, no more than a couple of months old. More than once, he had heard the babies crying all the way out across the road.
Lee didn't know what Mr. Riley did, but a couple times he had seen the thin, gangly guy walking down Seminole Road in the morning carrying his brown paper lunch bag. Like Lee's family, after the wreck and before his grandmother died, the Riley's didn't own a car. Lee didn't imagine that he'd have much reason to get to know them. Maggie and Patty had done the obligatory neighborly introductions while Lee was working. That evening Maggie hadn't said much, and he hadn't asked.
Lee followed the gravel road as it twisted south through the scrubby brush and stunted chinaberry trees crowding the road on either side. He passed the broken asphalt of the long entrance road in to the PS&Y rail yard. Its big metal gate was chained shut. The huge, red and white no trespassing sign hung high on the chain link fence was peppered with an assortment of bullet holes.
Lee broke a branch from a scrubby tree, stretching out into the road. He used it to beat an empty beer can about, thrashing it forward like a hockey puck without a goal.
Back in here, down this lonely section of road, all kinds of abandoned treasures were laying in wait, ready to be found. The fine citizens of Lenoir used this section of road as a dumping ground for spent tires, broken furniture, cars, refrigerators, and just about anything that had no value. The “No Dumping by Order of Lenoir Sheriff Dept.” sign, shared the same fate as the “No Trespassing” sign at the rail yard. Both were proof of the excellent marksmanship of the citizens of Lenoir who were either too lazy or too cheap to use the public dump.
As Lee ambled along, beating the can from one side of the road to another, he began to become aware of a spicy, smoky smell in the air. Carried along on the delicious aroma, played the delirious tinkle and clatter of some far off and foreign sounding music.
Following his nose as much as his ears, Lee came upon the end of the street and the gray and white traffic barrier the city placed there to prevent stupid people from driving off down into Spit Creek and killing themselves.
The musi
c was at its loudest here. The bass thumped hollowly, sounding like a giant whapping a wet cardboard box with a wooden soupspoon, while a tinny and cheap accordion ripped up and down the scale in aimless musical abandon. The undulating lyrics Lee couldn't understand, of course. Yet to hear the singer's lament was to envision a woeful yet unrepentant young vaquero, clinging drunkenly to a sleepy, shambling burro, riding home late in the night, wailing and crying his sorrows to the world at the top of his lungs.
Billowing clouds of white smoke puffed from a big, black oil drum converted to a bar-b-que pit, which was standing out in front of the house. The colorful music issued from a record player sitting up on the porch to the side of the front door. Not another house in all Lenoir dared wear the same coat of paint as Javier's lively mixture of aqua-green turquoise walls and flaming magenta trim.
Javier himself was lying back in a sagging lounge chair, the type folks usually use when they sit and fish down by the river when the summers get hot. He had a ragged, straw cowboy hat crushed down on his head, shading his face. His enormous, work-worn hands lay clasped atop his stomach, a sweating bottle of beer supported between the fingers and thumbs. A piglet, tied to a rope, rooted around under the porch, competing with a host of chickens for something unseen.
Lee stood still in the road not knowing just quite what to do.
As if on cue, Javier brought the bottle up with his right hand and tipped up his hat with his left.
Lee could see the bubbles flow up towards the bottom of the upturned bottle.
Javier turned his eyes toward Lee. Replacing the bottle on the center of his shirt, his white teeth shown out from the shade below the brim of his hat, as a lazy smile stretched itself out broadly across his face.
"Amigo!” he said, sitting up, and pulling the hat securely back atop his head. “Venga! Venga aqui!"
"What?” Lee asked, not sure if it was the music that kept him from understanding.
Javier pulled the back of the lounger erect with the hand that wasn't supporting the beer, and then waved vigorously in a circle indicating for Lee to come over.
In one leap Lee crossed the ditch, as he was afraid the three flat boards that served as a bridge, wouldn't support his weight.
"How you doing?” Javier said. It was plain that this wasn't his first beer of the day.
"I'm okay,” Lee yelled.
Javier held up his free hand to signal a stop. He leaned way, way over in the lawn chair reaching out to the record player, while balancing himself by extending the hand with the beer far out to his left. He just managed to hit a switch without falling over.
Mercifully the vaquero's wailing ceased, as the tone arm rose up from the record and moved automatically back to the side.
Javier regained his balance. “Pull up a seat, amigo.” He pointed with his brown thumb nail to an empty orange crate sitting under a thick Oleander bush.
Lee retrieved the crate and pulled it over to the lounger.
"I bet you'd like something to drink?” he said, before sipping again lightly at his beer. “I can't give you one of these, muchacho, but I think we got some soda waters back in the house. How ‘bout that?"
"Sure,” said Lee. He'd never turned down a free soda in his life.
"Juana, lleve me un vaso de Coca, y mas cerveza!” he yelled, over his shoulder towards the house. “You want it with ice?” he asked. “In a cup?"
Lee shrugged. “Beggars can't be choosers. Whatever's fine."
"Con hielo, por favor!” roared Javier once again.
To Lee it sounded like he'd just heard him holler something about a “yellow cone.” He hoped that meant ice.
"So what you been up to?” Javier turned back and adjusted his hat. “More running?"
Javier didn't wait for an answer. “I seen you lots of times. You run here. You run there.” He gestured with his now empty beer bottle to the right and left. “You make me tired just to watch you."
Lee smiled. He liked Javier's soft, brown accent. The words melted like a blend of smoke and liquid brown sugar. The way he said “You” it sounded like “Jew.” Jew run here. Jew run there replayed itself over again in his mind.
"I don't know,” Lee answered. “I guess I'm always in a hurry."
Javier leaned in closer and wagged his finger at Lee prohibitively. “Jew shouldn't be in such a hurry all the time. It's bad for el corazon. You know.” He tapped his chest with two fingers. “The heart."
Lee nodded.
A dark woman, wearing a white cotton dress embroidered with blazing flowers, stepped out onto the front porch swinging the screen door wide with an elbow. She carried an enormous glass in one hand, and in the other, a six-pack of beer already minus two. She smiled at Lee with genuine warmth as she stepped out into the sun.
"Quien es, tu amigo?” she asked, setting the beer to the side of the chair.
"Speak English, woman,” Javier said trying to sound macho. “This one's a gringo."
She handed Lee the tall tumbler filled with Coke and ice. Lee's eyes went wide. He was used to the six and a half ounce bottles and occasionally a glass full from a bottle Maggie would bring home. But, this must be at least a quart.
"What's your name?” she asked her English more heavily accented than her husband's.
"I'm Lee. Lee Coombs,” said Lee, who'd gotten to his feet to accept the drink. “I just moved into my grandma's place back up the road."
Juana's thin, dry face tightened causing her eyes to appear even more deep and dark. “The Senora who died?"
"Yes ma'am,” Lee said.
"I'm sure she's in heaven,” Juana replied immediately, as she mechanically crossed herself then picked up her crucifix dangling around her neck and kissed the silver figure.
"Yes ma'am,” replied Lee fascinated at the rapidity of her action. There weren't many Catholics in Lenoir.
"And you!” She said turning to Javier sternly, as he opened another beer, popping off the top on the arm of the lawn chair. “Don't you drink so much beer!"
Javier lifted his hat delicately, with just his thumb and forefinger. “Kiss me,” he mouthed sloppily, working his lips like a fish.
As Juana stared down distastefully, Lee could see Javier sneak his hand around from the side. He caught her on the butt with a pinch that launched her off the ground.
"Que un sinverwenza!” she exploded, slapping at his still outstretched hand. “Que mas tonto,” she fired off in rapid Spanish.
Lee didn't have to understand the words to understand. The blush that brightened Juana's cheeks, and Javier's flashing grin and still snapping fingers left no doubt that this was a game these two had played together many times.
She waggled her finger at Lee reproachfully, then pointed it at Javier. “This one, he's a bad man. Don't you let him teach you any of his tricks."
She rubbed the spot where he'd got her and sauntered back to the porch, keeping her sparkling, dark eyes on Javier the whole way. The lilting motion of her hips, as Javier and Lee both watched, promised things Lee had yet to learn and Javier would never forget.
Javier took a drink of beer and sat back, crossing his sharp-toed western boots as he stretched out. “Sit back down,” he ordered. “I'll get a crick in my neck with you standing like that."
Lee sat back down on the crate and took an enormous gulp of his Coke before setting it down carefully in the dust between his feet.
"You're not from around here,” Lee stated rather than asked.
Javier burst out into another great bout of laughter, and then replied, “How'd you guess?"
Lee felt a little embarrassed. Even the pig was looking at him.
"I'm from Monterrey,” said Javier. “You know where that is?"
Lee shook his head.
"It's in Mexico. You know about Mexico?"
Lee smiled. “I like tacos."
Javier grinned, then took another drink. He held the bottle up, letting the soapy foam inside swish around then slide down the inside of the brown glass, befor
e setting the bottle back on his stomach.
"There's not many folks from Mexico around here,” Lee observed. “Have you been here, I mean in the United States, long?"
"More than forty years.” Javier unsuccessfully tried to stifle a belch. “When I was young, even younger than you, I used to cross the border with my family to work in the fields of south Texas. We picked everything: fruit, melons, vegetables. One year a man with a truck said he was going east to pick peaches. He told us it was cool in the east, and the peaches were fat and full of juice like the melons, only sweeter.” He took another short sip of his beer, just enough to wet his lips. “That was the year I met Juana."
The past passed across Javier's face, and Lee could imagine Juana as a young girl, her hips swaying as they had moments ago, as she carried her basket, her skin soft and dark.
"Almost as pretty as she is now,” he smiled wistfully. “But her father, he didn't like me so much. He said I was too wild. Too...” Javier shrugged. “So Juana and me, we got on that truck, and we never looked back."
Lee was wide eyed. “You left your family and everything?"
Javier nodded.
"How old were you?” asked Lee.
"About the same age as you are now,” said Javier. “Fourteen, I think. Maybe fifteen."
Lee's eyes got wider.
Javier obviously enjoyed Lee's surprise. “Things were different back then in Mexico and in the Valley. Most everyone was married and had a baby by the time they were sixteen."
"Do you have any kids?” Lee asked.
"Juana and me, we had six. But, two died when they were just babies. Two others, my oldest boys, were killed in the war, one in Africa, and the other out in the Pacific.” For a moment the big Mexican looked close to tears.
He took another drink of beer to collect himself. “My oldest girl, she run off and married a traveling man. They settled down near Atlanta. You know, I already got me three grown grandbabies down there?"
"What about the other?” Lee asked before gulping his drink. “That's just five."
"My youngest, Raul,” Javier's face tensed, “He was in a knife fight and killed a man. He's in the big prison down in Florida."
Evil Heights, Book I: The Midnight Flyer Page 17
