Me and Jake

by Boo Riley

  “When you shake another man’s hand, look him in the eyes.”

  “Yes, sir.” I squeezed back hard as I could, eye to eye.

  He turned my hand loose and patted me on the shoulder. “Hand me that net, Ty. I’ll put some minnows in your bucket.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dad walked up. “Boy, take the ice to the boat and put it in the cool box.”

  “Yes, sir.” I picked up the plastic bags and walked out.

  Dad brought the minnow bucket out a minute later and got in. “What’d he say to you?”

  “Nothing, just asked my name.”

  Dad spit out of the window and put the pickup in gear.

  I didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at me. His jaw could have been flexing, but the chaw of tobacco stuffed in his cheek made it hard to tell for sure. Dad was hard to read. He could explode at any time. Even with a smile on his face.

  We worked in silence, untying the boat. I put in both plugs, tightened them, and helped push it off the trailer. Choke, but not too much choke, and it started right up.

  Dad mounted his perch. He’d been quieter than I’d ever seen him. Not that he said much at all to anyone on a good day, but something stuck in his craw had him by the tongue.

  The sun had yet to show its face. The day was easy on the eyes, no glare off the water, and cool, a hint of fall in a slight northerly breeze.

  I eyed my father as we motored to the set of hooks. Cameron’s words echoed in my ears, his thumbs-up and crossed fingers etched in my mind. I hadn’t answered his question. Could I? Much less, would I?

  Could I say I hated my father? Yes. But I didn’t want to hate him. I tried to remember, but couldn’t recall he’d ever said he loved me. Not even “good job” after a hard day’s work.

  Dad leaned over, opened the cooler, took a piece of ice, and let the lid fall. The slough was plenty deep. We were in the middle. Just turn hard left and Cameron and I would be free of him. I rubbed my tooth and sore lip with my tongue, looking for a reason.

  I steered straight.

  Dad centered his mass in the chair. He propped his feet on the bow and leaned back.

  My chance passed.

  The red mole on his neck looked bigger, full as a tick, ready to pop. The backs of his arms were white to the elbow, rosy pink to the wrists, with sunburned patches. His blue shirt bulged at the seams.

  A Red-Tailed hawk soared over the treetops. A small blackbird chased him from behind, moving in on swift wings. The cheek-lady dogging Dad came to mind. As the hawk cleared the last branches over the slough, it flipped over and struck out with its sharp talons, but missed catching the blackbird and fell from the sky like a rock. My stomach fell with it. At the last second, just before crashing into the water, its wings unfolded and it soared again, gaining altitude. Its shrill screech echoed through the trees over the drone of the motor. Before it disappeared in the distance, the blackbird resumed its attack.

  Dad watched every move the birds made, shook his head, and whistled low and soft, like wow what a sight.

  The warmth of a blanket on a frosty night came over me, and I knew I couldn’t harm my father.

  I wanted to yell for joy. Something down deep, a feeling I’d never felt before, wrung my heart until my eyes ran with tears.

  12

  I’d never felt the kind of tears that flowed down my cheeks, nor could I describe the feeling that came with them. Optimism or hope? But in what or for what? My soul had received good news, but it didn’t register as something I could put into words.

  All the bad of the last nine years—Mom giving us away one day, waking up in hell with Dad the next—ran from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, dripped off my chin, and pooled at my feet in the bottom of a dirty boat. Dad could have turned to look at me at any second, and I wouldn’t have had an excuse, nothing to say for my blubbering. But he didn’t. The flood ran its course. The clouds cleared. The sun shined on a new me, a new feeling.

  Crying didn’t go with the good things in my life. I didn’t know tears of joy. This cry ended too soon.

  The boat slowed to a crawl as the notch on the throttle passed the little turtle stamped on the handle. Our trotline lay around the corner.

  A red-breasted hummingbird darted by and disappeared into the trees. A minute later, it returned with a smaller, green-breasted mate, dipping and diving. They sang their own song, a happy tune, like a kid walking up the street with a plastic whistle. They were small and quick, hard to see, but the tune gave them up wherever they traveled.

  Water roiled in a dozen places between the two large branches we’d tied the trotline to. Big fish made a ruckus like that, or a lot of small fish. Someone passing by, unaware of the line of hooks, would sure wonder why the branches shook the way they did.

  Now, if they were catfish and not carp, we’d have something.

  Dad swiveled around and reached for the oar. “Shut the motor off, boy.”

  “OK, Daddy.” I pulled the red button. The wake chasing us lifted the backend then the frontend as it passed and raced toward shore.

  The boat drifted in close with the help of Dad’s rowing. I took the line, pulled in the first catfish and grabbed him behind the head, careful of his sharp, poisonous fins, and removed the hook from the corner of his mouth. A poke with a fin will make the area sore as the devil for a day or two. The fish might have weighed three pounds.

  Dad took him from me, put him on the stringer tied to the boat, and dropped him over the side into the water.

  Big minnows were easier to catch than little ones, but they were still slippery. After chasing them around the minnow bucket with my hand, I finally grabbed one and put it on. Dad pulled us along with the oar.

  The next fish didn’t weigh anything, a slight tug at the most. I pulled once, twice, then, the fish pulled so hard both of my arms went into the water to the elbows.

  “Watch out boy. Hang on to him. That’s a real fish we got there.”

  Dad leaned to help me, but only made things worse. “Daddy, be careful, we’re taking on water!” I turned loose.

  “What did you call me? Where did that come from?” Dad sat back and grabbed onto both sides of the boat.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy, I just thought…”

  “Don’t call me that. Since when do you call me ‘Daddy’? That’s three times you said it.” He regained his seat and motioned at the water where the fish went under. “What’d you turn loose of him for? You had him. He’ll get tired after a bit and give up. Just hang on. He gets off I’m going to boot you in the rear. Get a hold of him.”

  Where “Daddy” came from was a mystery. It just came out. “I won’t let go again. You think there’s room in the boat for him?”

  A dark blue tail bigger than my hand broke the water’s surface.

  “There’s room. You hang on this time. Soon as he quits fighting, stand up and pull him in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The big cat jerked me around long enough for Dad to get involved again. “Pull on him. Not like that. Hold the line up. Boy, you’d better get after it. Get mean with him.”

  Before the fish tuckered enough for me to stand, my arms ached like I’d been bucking hay bales all day, and my hands were turning numb from the thin trotline wrapped tight around them.

  It’s a wonder I got him in the boat. Every time he’d about clear the edge, Dad thought he needed to lean over to help. Like to have dumped me out twice.

  “Boy, that’s got to be the biggest cat I ever seen come out of these here waters. No telling what he weighs. Thirty pounds I bet. You won’t believe the filets I’ll get off of him.”

  No, Dad, I’ll believe it. What I won’t believe is if me and Cameron will get to eat one.

  Dad hoisted the fish and turned him slow like, looking him up and down, a big smile on his face. He’d be telling someone about his huge catch down at the coffee shop tomorrow morning. Me and Cameron were going to have to hustle out and find some more eggs to hide tonig
ht, just in case he left to brag and took Momma Ray with him.

  He pulled the stringer up, put his prize on it, and then gently lowered him over the side. He looked at me. “What? What are you looking at? Quit your gawking. We won’t put on no more minnows. That fish there will be plenty. We’ll run the rest of the hooks, taking fish off, then roll the line up and take it home. I’m going to tell you something else too. Don’t ever call me ‘Daddy’ again.”

  13

  White, boneless filets came off in slabs. Dad looked like Jake drooling over a bone, even whistled a tune. I’d heard it on the radio, but couldn’t remember the words—something about crying and dying and pickup trucks.

  Dad skinned fish and cut meat until the cooler stood half-full. It took both of us to slide it in the back of the pickup between wads of orange baling twine, a flat spare tire and a shovel.

  He opened the lid, gave another satisfied grunt, let it fall and slammed the tailgate. “Come on, get in the pickup. I told old man Jordan I’d have you boys to the house by two, and it’s pushing that right now.”

  “Dad, what kind of work are we going to do for him?”

  Dad cocked his head and wrinkled his nose, so his bifocals moved up and made his eyes bigger. “That’s a dumb question. You’re going to work. What difference does it make what kind of work it is?” He opened the door and climbed in. The pickup started, then died. He had to crank on it a few seconds again before it coughed and started. “The only thing you need to do is work. Don’t ask no dumb questions, and work. And don’t you mess up like you do in the hayfield neither. You better not get fired ’cause you don’t watch what you’re doing, you or Cameron, either one.”

  If I thought Dad would fire me for messing up, I’d do it more often. I didn’t mess up on purpose. It just happened.

  Cameron looked like he was about sweated down when we pulled in the yard—rosy wet cheeks, shirt soaked through. He stood, arms at his side, shoulders slumped.

  Dad got out and unhooked the boat. “Cameron, don’t just stand there like you got no sense. Get over here.” He pointed to the cooler. “You two take that in the house and get back out here. Hurry up.”

  Jake dragged himself out of the shade in the barn, so I could give him a scruff on the head.

  We grabbed a handle each. Jake padded back to his lair.

  “Cameron, we caught a fish that must have weighed thirty pounds. Or that’s what Dad said.”

  Every stride I took, the cooler hit me in the leg. I tried to adjust my step to match Cameron’s, but it got worse. “Quit bumping the cooler. That hurts.”

  “You didn’t do it.”

  I’d been thinking on that. Murder was done all the time, but people never got away with it. Always opened their mouths and gave themselves up.

  “Obvious, ain’t it? I couldn’t do it. You sound disappointed.”

  “I am. Makes me want to cry. Why couldn’t you? Didn’t get a chance or what?”

  “I had plenty of chances. Something told me not to.”

  Cameron pushed hard on the cooler, but I was ready for him and pushed back. He talked through clenched teeth. “You believe a dog is an angel and now you’re hearing voices. I didn’t tell you not to. I’ve been hoping to see the cops drive up all day. Now I know why they didn’t. Aren’t you tired of your heart jumping in your throat all the time? It’s not supposed to beat up there. I’m just plain tired too.”

  We placed the cooler on the kitchen table. Momma Ray would bag up the fish and put them in the freezer in their bedroom to make sure we couldn’t put our hands on any.

  “Cameron, I just felt like something’s going to happen. Someday soon, we’ll get out of here. I know it.”

  “Someday? You know how long that is? It’s just like ‘maybe’. That’s all we’ve ever heard. ‘We’ll see’, ‘someday’, ‘if you’re good.’ Ain’t one of them arrived yet.” Cameron leaned in close and jabbed an elbow into my ribs. “Too bad you didn’t drown yesterday.”

  Tears rose to overflowing and streamed down my cheeks. “What’s that mean? You want me to die?”

  “No, don’t be dumb.”

  “What then?”

  “You’d be free of all of this. Even hell would be better.”

  “Don’t talk like that. Hell wouldn’t be better. Folks are on fire down there.”

  Cameron grabbed my elbow. “We almost went down there, and you know it.”

  “I don’t know nothing of the sort.”

  “If we’d killed each other, we would have gone there. Both of us for murdering the other one.”

  “We were kids, we’re still kids, and dumb ones too. Like you mentioned before. Just look what we’ve become.” I pulled my elbow away.

  Cameron laughed.

  I thought he’d really gone off to the duck farm then.

  “T, we tried to choke each other to death. That’s real dumb. Think about it.”

  I had to agree, but laughing? It wasn’t a laughing matter. “Cameron, look at these filets.” I opened the cooler. It was time to talk about something else.

  His eyes grew wide and he blew a good puff that had a hint of the whistle on Momma Ray’s old teapot. “Boy, that’s some fish all right. Come on. Let’s go before Dad blows up. Maybe Mr. Jordan wants us to weed his garden, and we can eat some of his tomatoes.”

  14

  Cameron grabbed the door handle on the pickup and pulled it open. Then he stood there expecting me to hop in. “No way, Cameron. Your turn.” I pointed a thumb to indicate which way he needed to move, in case he didn’t get it.

  A cheek rose enough to close one eye and pull his mouth out of shape. His head and shoulders sagged. He was mulling his options. It was his turn and he knew it. I followed him in and pulled the door closed.

  Dad didn’t talk, at least not to us. We didn’t have conversations. Unless he had a task for us to do or we’d made a mistake, he never said a word.

  Cameron kept glancing at him. Like he had something he wanted to say. I hoped he’d just be quiet. Silence meant a lot around Dad. But no, Cameron piped up. “Dad, what kind of work are we going to do?”

  Dad had his right arm propped on the steering wheel. He looked over his glasses at me. “Ty, tell him.”

  The words spilled out of my mouth quicker than my thoughts. “Work and don’t mess up like we do in the hayfield and get fired.”

  Cameron looked at me sideways, without turning his head, and mouthed, “What?” like he didn’t believe what he’d just heard. His jaw worked. All he needed was a chaw of tobacco and a window to spit out of. I let him chew on it without seasoning the thought with my input. Dad might whack him if he didn’t be quiet.

  Farms, woods, and grasslands gave way to blocks of houses as we entered Ozark. Downtown, the streets radiated from a central square. Most of the businesses shared a common wall, and large, plate-glass windows provided an eye into each store. The occasional awning, sign, or red and white striped barber’s pole hung from brick storefronts to give a hint as to the products and services sold inside.

  A doughnut shop sat on one corner. I’d gone there a couple of times, but long ago. It was probably where Dad met Mr. Jordan, since the city’s center was just down the street. Most likely, Dad would sit at the bar there, drink coffee, and brag about the biggest catfish he ever saw.

  We turned onto a narrow, paved road shaded by huge oaks. A large barn with brown stone across the bottom came into view. Above the big double doors stood the letters “AJ” painted in white. As we neared, I could see a matching stone house with lots of trees and bushes around it. Looked like several peach trees in the bunch. Peaches would be good. It was that time of year.

  To live on a place so big, in such a nice house, would be something for sure. Maybe someday.

  Dad slowed, then turned between two huge logs planted in the ground holding another log across their top. It must have been thirty feet tall and as wide, with a forest of red roses growing to each side. Someone mowed the grass beside the road.
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  Unbelievable. The “J” on the barn stood for Jordan, and we were going to work here.

  “You boys sit. I’ll see if the old man’s around.” Dad opened the door, pulled the chaw from his mouth and tossed it into the bed of the pickup. He looked around, worked his cheeks, spit, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  A tall, thin man with a slight limp strode from the barn. He pulled off his straw hat and waved Dad over. He looked confident and sure, even nice. “Don, come in here a minute. Bring your boys with you.”

  Dad motioned for us to get out, and then he slammed the door.

  Beautiful wooden stalls lined the alleyway through the barn. Each door split in the middle, upper and lower. The bottom sections were closed. Hooks on the wall beside each door held nice leather halters.

  Two big red horses looked at us. One stretched out his head toward me and took a sniff as I passed.

  The tall man in the straw hat stood at an open door toward the middle of the barn. Thumping sounds came from inside. A man in short chaps and a cowboy hat walked out with a horseshoe, put it on an anvil, and gave it a couple of raps with a hammer. His chaps had narrow pockets for his hoof knife, clippers, and rasp.

  “Don, how are you?” The tall man stuck out his hand and Dad shook it.

  “I’m real fine, Mr. Jordan. Sorry, I’m a few minutes late.”

  Boy, Dad sounded like he was gushing. He didn’t dare call him “old man” to his face.

  Mr. Jordan looked at me and Cameron. “Well, introduce your boys.”

  He took a step toward me.

  Dad pointed. “That’s Ty. The other one’s Cameron.”

  Mr. Jordan stuck out his hand.

  I grabbed it and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m Ty, Mr. Jordan. Nice to meet you.”

  He shook hard, real hard. His blue eyes sparkled.

  Cameron stuck out his hand and shook but didn’t look him in the eyes.

  Mr. Jordan bent a little at the waist to look into Cameron’s face, and then turned his hand loose.