Clifton's mind flashed to the orderliness of Swamper's house and kitchen. Of his expertise over the stove. It all made sense. "So what's your real name then?" asked Clifton with a smile.
Swamper's face went rigid and his suddenly harsh tone surprised Clifton. "Swamper's my name. That's all--just Swamper."
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***
Chapter 7
For the next few weeks , Clifton got up every morning before daybreak and attended to the trot line, and in the early evenings he baited the hooks. Sometimes he would go home during the day, but more often than not, he'd stay around Swamper's place. He'd help pick weeds in the garden, or he might go in the skiff to Old Henry's and help carry back a few groceries. But most of the time they'd sit on the porch and talk, or if it got too hot, which was happening a lot lately as July settled in, they'd stay inside by a pair of box fans as Swamper related stories about his time in the Navy or about the old days in Crocket's Mill. But the thing they did more than anything was play chess.
The first time they played, Swamper had noticed Clifton fingering some of the pieces. He'd said, "You ever play chess before?"
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"Yeah, when I was little. My dad taught me."
"I built that table years ago. A board is nice, but sitting at a table with the board built in is better. Made out of a wild cherry that dropped in the backyard. Had a buddy at the mill over in Samford do some rough cutting for me and then I shaped it up."
Clifton ran his finger along the track of the beveled edge and admired the craftsmanship. Each square had been individually cut and set in place. Half were stained a deep mahogany, the other half red oak. "Did you make the pieces, too? That must've taken forever." He picked up one of the black pawns and fingered it. It was intricately carved to look like a court jester.
"Yeah, they took a while. About a year, all told. Pieces are made from poplar. It's a lot softer and easier to work with. Tommy used to come up here some and play when he was still alive. Lord, I'd beat that man to death."
"I'm impressed."
"You wanna play a game?"
"Sure, I'll play. But it's been a while."
Swamper helped Clifton carry the table away from the corner and set it in the middle of the room, each of them walking carefully to avoid dumping the pieces. Swamper disappeared for a moment and then returned with two folding chairs and a pair of Coca-Colas. He then went to the
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corner and turned off the radio, which always seemed to be on, and practically skipped back like an excited child. He grabbed one of the pawns, put his hands behind his back, and then held out two closed fists toward Clifton. "Which one?"
Clifton eyed Swamper's hands and couldn't help but think about his father. About the way he'd always played the game. "It's okay. I'll just be black."
Swamper tilted his head and looked at him strangely. "You know that white always goes first, don't you?"
His father's face flashed through his mind. He smiled to himself and said, "Yeah, I know."
Swamper released the pawn from his right hand and set it back on the board. "Suit yourself, boy. That might just be your first mistake."
Swamper clapped his hands together, then blew into his fists like he was about to shoot dice. He moved his queen's pawn two spaces to open the game. Six moves later, Clifton took a sip of his Coca-Cola and said, "Checkmate."
Swamper gritted his teeth and glared at the board as if the pieces were lying. He reached into the pocket of his flannel, tapped a cigarette out from a box of store-boughts, and lit it. He set the box on the side of the table and stacked his lighter neatly on top. The cigarette bounced from the corner of his lips as he said, "One more."
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This time, the match was over in twelve moves. "I 'll be a son of a bitch. One more."
Over those next three weeks since they'd first met, Swamper didn't win a single game.
***
In mid-July , on a scorching Friday after Tricky Bob had paid them for their best week so far, Clifton left Swamper to go into town. With his new-found job, he had plenty of cash and was enjoying the freedom that the money gave him. For one thing, he didn't have to steal from his mother's purse as often, though he still checked it from time to time out of habit.
After the walk down the dirt road that led into Crocket's Mill, Clifton was hot, hungry, and thirsty. The first store he came to was Good Enough's Grocery, so he went in and bought a pound of ground beef, not for him but for Bosco. Then he stopped at the Popeyes for a cold drink and something to eat. As he walked through the door, two things instantly hit him: the cool of the air conditioning and the brightness of the restaurant. Everything was bright yellow. Taxi cab yellow. Yellow counters, yellow walls, plastic yellow tables and benches.
He placed an order, and when the food came, he took his
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yellow tray to a corner booth. He set the tray and his Good Enough's bag on the table, then sucked down some of his Coke. He was just about to dig in when he felt something slap the back of his head. He spun around quickly to see Colt Jenkins's ugly face staring down at him. A couple of his football buddies were behind him.
"What're you doing, Skunk?" asked Colt, who wore a pair of baggy khaki shorts, flip-flops, and a tight-fitting T-shirt that said crocket's mill football across the chest. The T-shirt was so snug that it looked like he'd sprouted a little pair of rigid breasts.
"What's it look like I'm doing?" said Clifton as he rubbed the back of his head. "I'm eating. You know, the same thing your mom's doing twenty-four seven?"
Colt's buddies snickered, which only seemed to anger him, judging by the way his face tightened. He rubbed at a light stubble under his chin as he looked down at Clifton's plate. "Imagine that. Fried chicken. Too bad this place don't serve watermelon and greens. Bet you'd have a big plate of them if they had that shit here, huh?"
Clifton's mind whirred into action. He had two options: say nothing, which he had difficulty with, or attack. Attack like an aggressive queen on the chessboard. He chose the latter. "Actually, they do serve it here," said Clifton, "but they're
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all out. I saw your mom here earlier with three of her favorite bro's from over on the west side of Samford. I overheard her say she had to make sure they were well fed so they'd have energy for the workout she planned to give them later. Not sure what she meant. Does your mom belong to the Y or something?"
Colt's lips puckered and the folds on his face scrunched together like the jowls of a wrinkled dog. He rubbed at his faint beard again. His buddies laughed once more and jeered at him. "Listen, dickface. You're lucky we're in a public place, or I swear to God I'd wear your ass out."
Clifton took a sip from his straw and realized that Colt most likely wouldn't touch him. As always, when it came to dealing with Colt, he knew he should just shut his mouth, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. "That's funny. That's exactly what your mom said to her black posse on the way out the door. And something about loving that dark meat."
Blood filled Colt's cheeks. He turned around quickly and scanned the room, then turned back around and punched Clifton in the arm. The blow sent Clifton to the other end of the booth, where he banged against the wall, knocking his soda over in the process.
"You better watch your back, Skunk-boy. Next time it'll be your head that I come after."
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Clifton rubbed his arm as he got back to a sitting position and upturned his cup, salvaging an inch of soda. He thought about using Colt's words for one last perfect mama joke, but decided he'd pushed it as far as he could.
When Colt and his buddies walked to the counter to order, Clifton took a napkin and wiped up the soda and ice cubes on the table. The brown paper bag holding Bosco's hamburger meat was soaked through. He ate his chicken quickly and left while Colt was still in the restaurant. He knew he needed to get a little distance, just in case Colt decided to come after him. Colt might show a little restraint in a restaurant, but if he
caught Clifton on the side of the road, it could be a different story. In the parking lot, however, he did manage to hock up a sticky, Coke-laden loogie and deposit it on the windshield of the car that Colt's father had given him for his sixteenth birthday. A Mustang, believe it or not.
He'd gotten only a few blocks down the road and just out of reach of the stores when he heard a car tap its horn and then a crunch of gravel as it slowed behind him.
"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Here we go."
He turned around expecting to see the Mustang, but instead saw a brand-new, bright red Honda Prelude. The glare on the windshield made it difficult to see the driver, but he could make out a waving hand. He stepped off the curb and
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ducked down to look into the passenger's window as the car sidled up next to him. As the power window slid down, he saw that it was Julie.
"Hey, Clifton," she said. "I thought that was you. Like my new ride?"
Clifton put one hand on the windowsill while gripping his soggy bag of hamburger in the other and poked his head in. A blast of cold air met his face. Julie's blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her tight white miniskirt showed a tremendous amount of her tanned legs, and her tank top looked like it had been painted on by a masterful artist. The seat belt crossed directly between her prominent breasts, which made them stand out even more.
"Wow," he said. He'd meant the car, but he thought it might have sounded like he meant her. Actually, he didn't know what he meant at the moment. "This is yours? I haven't even thought about getting a driver's license yet." And that was true. He'd gotten his permit through driver's ed at school, but his mother had to have the car for work, and anything he ever needed was only a short walk into town anyway. Besides, a car wouldn't do him any good when it came to getting to Swamper's. In the time it would have taken him to maneuver a car down the washboard road, he could have already been there by cutting through the woods of the Killing Pit. And,
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up until recently, he'd never even had enough money to buy a tank of gas, let alone a car.
"Yeah, my parents bought it for me for my sweet sixteen a few weeks ago. It's so awesome. I love it." She held the steering wheel with her left hand and gripped the knob of the gear shift with her right. "I'm still not too good with the clutch yet, but I'm getting there. You want a ride?"
Clifton squeezed the top of the car tightly, feeling nervous and anxious, thinking about the dirty clothes he had on. Thinking he probably reeked of fish. "That's okay. I don't live too much farther." He couldn't believe what he'd just said, but as he looked at Julie, someone who he'd known his whole life, he suddenly felt intimidated. This wasn't the same little girl who'd once told him his skin looked like melted caramel. Are you out of your mind? Are you seeing what I'm seeing? I swear to God I'll never forgive you if you don't get your ass in that car. Yeah, but I stink. I'm going to embarrass myself. I don't give a rat's ass in hell if you stink. Get in that goddamned car.
"Oh, come on," she said with a smile so sweet and pure and luscious that Clifton felt something move. She patted the seat like it was the head of a cute little boy. "Get in."
Are you insane? Get the hell in. Right... now.
"Okay, thanks. But I have to warn you. I was fishing this morning, so I might smell."
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"I don't care. Hop in."
Clifton opened the door and sat down. The seat immediately sucked him in. He didn't think he'd ever felt so comfortable in his life. It was certainly a vast improvement over the vinyl Naugahyde of his mother's beat-up Dodge.
"You have to put your seat belt on. Dad said he'd kill me and snatch the keys if he ever caught me or anyone else without one." As Clifton complied, she continued. "Mom's got me doing all of her errands for her now. She loves it. I dropped my little sister off at her friend's house this morning and then went across the river to the record store in Samford. Check it out--it's even got a CD player." She punched a button and a plastic tray slid out, already holding a silver disk. She giggled and punched it again to make the tray slide back in. "Isn't that so cool? This is like one of the first cars to have a CD player. I'm so psyched."
"Yeah, that's wild," said Clifton. And he really meant it. He wasn't just saying it to get on her good side, though he wasn't above kissing up to her if he had to. He and his mother didn't even have a cassette player at home. All they had was an old turntable that had been his father's and a stack of mostly warped albums.
"Have you ever heard of Guns N' Roses?" she asked as she tapped different buttons on the CD player. "They're this awesome new band from California. They rock."
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Before Clifton could answer, the heavy twang of an electric guitar began pounding through the speakers. Little red and green lights pulsed on the equalizer as Julie yelled over the guitars, "You know where you are, Clifton. You're in the jungle, baby." She looked over her shoulder to see if any cars were approaching, and as she did so, Clifton couldn't help but stare at the tightened muscles of her thigh as she engaged the clutch. Her tan legs looked like smooth, shapely sticks of milk chocolate. Maybe even melted caramel. And her breasts jutted out from her chest like a promontory on the edge of a mountain. Like the Palisades. Clifton felt something move again, so he set the bag of hamburger in his lap and prayed she wouldn't notice.
The car bucked slightly and Clifton's head jerked forward as Julie pulled into the road. Once she got going, she turned the music down and said, "See what I mean? I have to keep working on the clutch. Hills are the worst."
"Seems like you already got it. Better than I could do." And now he freely admitted that he was kissing up. And he didn't care. What a day he was having. He'd gotten paid, had messed with Colt with only minor injury, and then found himself being rescued by a fair maiden. Things were going pretty well.
"Thanks. It's so much fun, Clifton. I feel so free. Hurry up and get your license and then I'll let you drive it."
"Yeah, I guess I need to do that soon."
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"You still live over in King's Ridge, right?"
"Yeah, just up a little farther," said Clifton as a prickle of heat jabbed at his cheeks. "Right off Kamron. You can just drop me at the corner. That'll work."
He suddenly realized that he didn't want Julie to see where he lived. It was ridiculous, of course, since she already knew the condition of the neighborhood, but he didn't want her to see his house: the sagging carport, the Dodge with rust patches over the wheel wells, the barren yard that struggled to even grow dandelions.
"Don't be silly," she said as she clicked the turn indicator and slowed at his street. "I'll drop you off."
After an oncoming logging truck passed, she pulled onto Clifton's road and then stopped at the corner a second later. Clifton glanced at his house and cringed with embarrassment as he opened the door. "Thanks, Julie. I appreciate it. Believe it or not, you might have saved me."
She turned her head and looked at him quizzically. A yellow strand had slipped from her ponytail and now hung over her cheek. She made a quick sweeping motion with her finger and tucked it behind her ear. For some reason, that single thread of hair nearly melted him. She said, "What do you mean?"
"Just before you picked me up, I had a little run-in with our favorite castrated horse."
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She laughed and said, "Colt? He's such an asshole. I can't stand him. Did you hear what he did on the last day of school?"
Clifton shook his head.
"You know that really dorky kid who's into Dungeons and Dragons? A year younger than us. He wears those weird boots?"
"Dweedle?"
"Yeah, exactly. Dweedle. Anyway, on the last day of school, Colt walks up behind him in the hall and for no reason jams a pencil in his ear. Busted his eardrum."
"Get out of here. Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. He lost his hearing in his left ear. Of course Colt didn't get in any trouble. Said it was an accident."
"God, he's a jerk. At leas
t I got a few good shots in on his mother today before he cracked me a good one."
Julie knocked the stick into neutral and ratcheted the emergency brake. "Ooh, tell me."
Clifton shook his head. "No, I better not."
Julie pierced him with those greenish-blue eyes that looked like the gas flames on Swamper's stove. "Just tell me. I'm a big girl."
He knew he didn't have a chance against those eyes, so he told her and she cracked up. "I love it. You know, he's going to kill you one day, but I love it."
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Clifton raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "If nothing else, he keeps me entertained." He got out and grabbed the door to close it. "Thanks again for the lift. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Anytime. Give me a call if you ever need a ride. Maybe we can hang out or something this summer."
Clifton's heart began racing. Was this actually happening? But for once he played it cool. "Okay, sounds good. I'll see ya." Completely cool.
He closed the door and began walking up the driveway, using every last bit of restraint he could muster not to jump in the air and scream with excitement.
Did she really say "Maybe we can hang out or something?" Yes, my man, she certainly did. I told you to get your ass in that car. I know, you were right. Did you see her? How is it possible that she doesn't have a boyfriend? Jesus, I think I'm in love. You're not in love, dumb-ass, you're in lust. Yeah, whatever, call it what you want, but I've got butterflies swimming around in my gut. Yeah, and jumping beans in your pants. This is true, but I plan to take care of that in just a minute.
Gray baby: a novel Page 10
