Billy Goat Hill

by Mark Stanleigh Morris

  Luke and I laugh so hard we scream at the sky.

  “At about that moment, Mrs. Hackworth turned around to see just what in tarnation all the people are pointing at. By then Jakey’s dress had crept up around his waist exposing his naked scrawny legs, and the blue tinted wig had twisted around and dangled sideways off one side of his head. He no longer resembled Mrs. Hackworth at all, and she just stared at him. He was a sight to behold, looking like some tortured little creature not of this world. Thank goodness he was wearing underpants!”

  Luke and I yowl, tears streaming down our faces. The Sergeant is hysterical, too.

  “Then, one of the teachers ran to Mrs. Hackworth’s side and hurriedly explained what was going on. Her expression slowly shifted to horror as she absorbed the information. She watched as the wig slipped off of Jakey’s head and fell to the ground. It became a sombrero for his zany Mexican Hat Dance. Around and around he went, prancing, bobbing, weaving, and inadvertently stomping on the wig every other time his foot came down. It was hilarious!

  “However, Jakey was no longer trying to be funny, and that was when I began to realize he might be in trouble. The water balloons had swung every which way, and the twine had become twisted and tangled around his neck. The weight of the water-filled balloons kept pulling the noose tighter and tighter until his mouth gaped open. He couldn’t get enough air, and he started clawing at his neck.

  “The crowd was mesmerized and convinced that Jakey’s frantic struggle was all part of his act. They were into it good, hundreds of hands and feet clapping and stomping in unison while Jakey hopped around doing his crazy tormented dance. His face was a smeared mess of lipstick and rouge and was starting to turn a noticeable blue. Then he fell down to his knees, slapped at his neck for a few more seconds, and slowly rolled over on his side, like a groggy wild animal shot with a wildlife biologist’s anesthetic dart.”

  We stop laughing.

  “Geez Louise, sir! What the heck?”

  “Yeah! Did somebody stomp on the balloons?”

  “Come on, Luke!” I yell and laugh at the same time. “Let him tell us!”

  The Sergeant first has to catch his breath after cracking up at Luke’s remark. “Somebody shouted from the crowd, ‘Hey! He’s choking to death!’ Some of the women started screaming, and people ran over and hovered over him. I couldn’t see through the crowd, and a couple of minutes went by while nothing seemed to be happening. Boy, was I worried. But then, all of the sudden, Jakey scrambled out through the forest of legs and took off running for home with nothing but his underpants on.”

  Luke doesn’t know what to think. He stammers and then blurts, “Unbelievable!”

  “You’re right, sir. Your friend sure wasn’t boring.”

  The Sergeant slides back to that distant place, the one I now take to be grief. We all sit for a few minutes immersed in a reverie of solemn reflection. My eyes keep drifting down. Where had Jakey Blume’s body landed?

  The afternoon winds have gone, leaving Eagle Rock still and peaceful, save the murmurs of the traffic that forever hums below this ancient place. I feel close to the Sergeant at this moment, the exact feeling I experienced that night on Billy Goat Hill. He opened his heart to us, and it makes me feel good and important and satisfied.

  It wasn’t a lecture, but the Sergeant made his point. I look at Luke as he cautiously stares over the ledge. I can tell the story has gotten to him, too. He turns around and smiles at me. It is a trusting smile, one that tells me he thinks it’s okay to be up here on the rock because he is with his big brother.

  Deep in Luke’s eyes, I see Matthew. I glance away but cannot abate the stinging constriction of remorse that seizes my throat and swarms across my chest. I flex my hands, then press forefingers to thumbs and rub them together nervously. I strain hard, trying to fight off a pang of sorrow, but a single rebel tear tumbles down my cheek in full view of Luke.

  I wrestle with the reason I am upset, and it pins me to the ground. The saga of Jakey Blume has wrapped me up tight in the realization that I have failed at my responsibility to protect my little brother. Geez. What kind of irresponsible idiot am I? My recklessness is constantly placing Luke in harm’s way, and to make me see that, I conclude, is the purpose of the Sergeant’s story.

  “What’s the matter?” Luke’s little pink chin starts to quiver.

  It is automatic that Luke will cry if he sees me cry. I am the same about him. Lucinda calls us symbiotic brats because she can’t handle it when we both set off like civil defense sirens. We need only to feign a blast of stereo wailing to head off a punishment. If Lucinda ever catches on to the ruse, the jig will be up, and a new technique will require invention.

  Luke frowns and tears up, hundreds of freckles bunching in orange blotches where laugh lines had been.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just got some dust in my eyes.”

  Mac knows better, though. He comes over and puts his head in my lap. I hug him around the neck and can tell he is uneasy being this close to the ledge. His nails seek a purchase in the granite, and he leans against me, pushing away from the ledge.

  Luke seems to accept my fib, his freckles slowly returning to where they belong. “Yeah, I think I got a little dust in my eyes, too.”

  The Sergeant shifts his legs and slides a little closer to me. He puts his arm on my shoulders, his leather jacket groaning with the movement. The noise of the leather registers slight interest with Mac. He twitches his ears but does not lift his head from my lap. The Sergeant scratches him behind his ears, and Mac relaxes. We stay like that for a good long while.

  Sergeant Cavendish takes his arm off my shoulder, unzips the front of his jacket, and reaches for something in his inner pocket. The tightness in my throat has subsided under the comforting feel of his arm. I am in control again. Mac can tell I’m okay, and he returns to where he was sitting before.

  I hear the faint squawking of a police radio and realize the Sergeant has parked his motorcycle somewhere down below. I can’t tell from what direction the sound is coming. Has Luke been throwing his pebbles down on the motorcycle?

  Would the motorcycle make a ping or a thud?

  Luke resumes picking at the rock with his pocketknife. Mac resumes watching Luke with curious interest. The two of them are capable of going on like this indefinitely. All seems back to normal.

  We have been sitting here with the Sergeant for well over an hour, and I am surprised, intrigued, that he has been content to stay with us this long. He isn’t preparing to leave and has yet to say anything about getting down off Eagle Rock. I think he realizes it would do no good, but he has made his point about the danger. We sit in silence for a moment or two longer, no doubt each of us thinking some more about poor Jakey Blume.

  “That’s a good dog you have there,” the Sergeant says, his hand still in his pocket. He seems to be toying with something, and Mac trains one curious eye on him while still watching Luke.

  I glance at Mac and then at the Sergeant. The insightful glint in his eyes suggests he knows Mac would probably kill to protect us, or the trying, and that he finds great honor in that. “Yes sir, Mac takes good care of us.”

  Luke and I came up to the rock after school let out. We made a routine stop at home first to gobble down peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and to take the telephone off the hook. The standard plan is to blame Mac for knocking the phone over if Lucinda later bawls us out for not answering. There is great honor in being a scapegoat, too.

  Lucinda should be home at about six-thirty, and we need to allow at least forty-five minutes for the return trip. The sun is slipping low to meet the horizon, leaving the valley below us in shadow as I start to think about the long walk home.

  “Have you guys seen your father lately?”

  “He came home for my birthday last month,” Luke answers.

  Earl’s appearance on Luke’s birthday happened only by coincidence. I have let Luke think otherwise. The truth is, Earl probably wouldn’t know if it was Chr
istmas Day, but he sure knows when to celebrate Jack Daniels’ day.

  “We haven’t seen or heard from our dad since then, sir.”

  The Sergeant pulls an Abba-Zaba out of his pocket and hands it to Luke. “Happy birthday!”

  Luke sits up straight and grins a mile, his freckles stretching so thin they become almost invisible. “Wow! Abba-Zaba’s are my favorite!” He has the wrapper off and the candy in his mouth in three seconds.

  “Would you like one, too, Wade?” He reaches back inside his jacket.

  “No, thank you. I only like Butterfingers.”

  As clever as a magician, he slides his hand out from his jacket and hands me a Butterfinger. “Here you go.”

  The sleight of hand amazes me, as much as if he had pulled a live squirrel from his sleeve. My reaction is a catalyst for him, and he laughs out loud, just like Scar did on Billy Goat Hill.

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m a well-trained detective.”

  We chomp on our candy bars and laugh until chocolate streaks down our chins. Our confection-painted faces make us look like descendants of the great Shoshone Gabrieleno, who first sat on Eagle Rock and laughed as we are now partaking in the timeless magic of innocence.

  Luke speaks as he chews on the last of his Abba-Zaba. “You know what? I heard Lucinda jawing on Earl the last time he was home. I woke up the night of my birthday and went to the bathroom. I didn’t turn the light on, so they must not have known I was up.”“What about it?” I offer the last bite of my Butterfinger to Mac. It vanishes.

  “Well, have you ever heard of some place called Barstow?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s a little town out in the desert on the way to Las Vegas,” the Sergeant volunteers.

  “Oh. Well, I heard them say Las Vegas, too.” Luke wipes his sticky chin with his shirtsleeve. “What does da-borse mean?”

  Now he has my full attention. “That’s just kind of a funny word grown-ups use sometimes. What did you hear them say, exactly?”

  “Hmm,” he murmurs, thinking. “Well, I think Lucinda was ticked off at Earl. She was cursing and all. She said, ‘I know about the one in Barstow, Earl. Her name’s Trudy. Don’t even try to deny it.’ Then Earl said, ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want it. We’ll get the da-borse in Las Vegas.’”

  Luke, appearing content, finishes wiping his chin on the other sleeve. I am thinking that little Matthew never wanted any of this to happen. I look at Sergeant Cavendish and read the sympathy in his eyes. He puts his arm across my shoulders again. We are all quiet for a little while longer.

  Luke resumes picking at the rock, his question left to the unanswered. The sad inevitable has arrived and Lucinda has apparently opted not to tell me about it. I am old enough. She should talk to me. I squint at the sun, watch it settle lower and lower.

  Soon the Sergeant’s leather groans as he moves to get up. He takes his time, stretches his legs and does three deep knee bends. “Maybe it’s time we thought about heading for home, boys.”

  I look at my watch, five-thirty. It’s time to go anyway. Luke and I stand, following veiled orders. Mac gets up and goes through his stretching routine. Luke looks over the ledge and tosses one last pebble before we head for home.

  One thousand, two thousand… “Hey.” He turns to face the Sergeant. “How did your friend Jakey fall off this rock anyway?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  I am a little irritated that Luke brought up the subject of Jakey Blume again. At the same time, I am also interested to know exactly what had happened.

  Luke steps closer to the Sergeant. “I’ll believe you.”

  “You’ll be the first one, then.”

  For a second I think the Sergeant is about to cry; he looks so lost and alone in his memories. Down below, half of the cars have their lights on, casting soft glowing arcs on the pavement in front of them. I watch the lights for a second or two and then look back at Luke and the Sergeant. Luke has moved, his back now to the ledge. Their forms are silhouettes centered in the remaining half-round shape of the dwindling sun.

  Luke looks up innocently at the Sergeant. “I’ll believe you.”

  The Sergeant’s eyes meet Luke’s trusting gaze. He slowly places his hands on Luke’s shoulders. He smiles and almost in a whisper, says, “To be completely honest with you, some people actually thought maybe…I…pushed him.”

  Mac stiffens and begins to growl, very low, very tentative. Something is wrong, but what? My heart kicks hard and accelerates. My legs suddenly feel rubbery, disconnected from my body. Oh no! I can’t move. Terror crashes all around me, rendering me helpless to stop the unthinkable thing that is most certainly about to happen. I try to speak but can’t form any words.

  What words?

  What can I say?

  Help?

  Who will hear?

  Who will help?

  O God. No!

  “I know you couldn’t have pushed him,” Luke says. “He was your friend. No way would you do that. What really happened? How did he fall?”

  I will my legs to step closer. The gap between us begins to close, and I sense movement like I am floating, but I can’t feel my legs taking actual steps. My eyes focus on the holstered gun hanging from the Sergeant’s hip. What an impossible thought, but what else can I do? I want that gun!

  “Let’s move back from the ledge, Luke, and I’ll tell you what really happened.”

  Mac relaxes and I slump to the ground and take a deep breath. I can’t take this. I don’t know what to believe about anything anymore. I begin massaging my legs, hunting for feeling.

  Luke and the Sergeant sit next to me.

  “It happened on a day just like this—a little cool, a little windy, so clear you could see all the way downtown. Jakey and I had climbed up on the rock after school. We liked to come up here and sit. We talked about stuff, you know, anything and everything, whatever came to mind. Jakey was excited about going to Catalina Island with his family the next day. It was to be his first visit to Catalina. I had been there twice before, so I told him what I knew about the island. He was especially interested in seeing the buffaloes and wild goats.

  “I also told him about the bright red Garibaldi fish I had seen through a glass bottom boat at Emerald Bay. Funny, I remember telling him the Garibaldi fish had been named after a famous Italian general whose soldiers were known for their distinctive bright red shirts and not knowing for sure whether the story was true or not. Huh, isn’t that weird? Oh yeah, and Jakey wanted to know all about the glass bottom boat. I think he was nervous about being on a boat with a glass bottom. Jakey didn’t like the water much.”

  The Sergeant’s voice chokes to a stop. He takes a deep breath and resumes his story with more emotion in his voice than before.

  “Jakey and I had been sitting for an hour or so right about where we’re sitting now.”

  “Right here?” Luke places his palms down on the rock.

  “More or less.”

  “Gosh.”

  “Anyway, here’s the part nobody ever believed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, two mockingbirds swooped down and started attacking Jakey.” The Sergeant averts his eyes and looks off toward the sunset like he expects one or both of us to laugh at him.

  But what he said hits me like a sledgehammer right between the eyes. A chilly curtain drops around me as the blood drains from my face. I already know the story.

  Luke tugs on the Sergeant’s shirtsleeve. “What happened? Tell me. I’ll believe you.”

  “At first, I thought it was funny. The birds were after him and weren’t bothering me at all.” He looks at Luke and fails at an effort to smile. “They swooped and screeched and dove at him, pecking and clawing at the top of his head like something crazy. Jakey scrambled to his feet. I’ll never forget the terror in his eyes. He was swinging his arms over his head, and he just took off running…right over the edge. Before I really knew what was happening, he was gone. His scream still h
aunts me. It just faded away into the sky.”

  Luke turns pale, close to tears. “I believe you.”

  The Sergeant finally manages a weak smile. “Thanks, Luke.”

  The sun retreats below the ridge line leaving a wake of pinkish-purple brush strokes across the western sky. It is so quiet, so still, I can hear my heart pounding hard, deep, deep down in my ears. I lean back and rest my head on Mac, curled up behind me.

  “What color hair did Jakey Blume have?” I close my eyes and wait to hear what I already know. Dreams, including daydreams, are strange and powerful things.

  I wonder what Duke Snider would say about that?

  A SATURDAY IN EARLY JULY, 1960

  uke shakes my pillow at the first expectant pulse of false dawn and insistently repeats in my ear, “Get up—Wade. I want to go to Three Ponds early today.”

  I am sluggish after a long fitful night, and Luke has to pester me awake. Mac wants to go, too, and lends his tongue and breath to the effort. I drag myself out of bed and mope my way to the bathroom.

  My lackluster mood is due in part to the increasing absence of my mother. The house is so empty without her. Wondering if she is home now, I think about peeking into her room. While brushing my teeth, I consider brushing Mac’s teeth as well. Not a chance. He won’t cooperate. I slog into the kitchen and spot a note left near the sink.

  See you guys tonight.

  That’s it. No, I love you, Mom.

  With Earl now completely out of our lives and residing in Barstow with someone named Trudy, and Lucinda working more hours than ever, Luke and I are left to entertain ourselves. What we lack in material things we try to make up for with imagination. Still, our devices are limited. Only three weeks into summer vacation and we are trudging through periods of tedium and restlessness, the onset of the devil boredom. The devil’s plucky partners—phone pranks, simple trespass, petty theft, and other minor transgressions—whisper in our ears with the zealousness of overstocked drug dealers.