by Boo Riley
Questions kept burning a hole in my tongue. “Mr. Jordan,” I shifted in my seat, “you’re a judge. Does that mean you put murderers and such in jail?”
Cameron coughed, put a hand to his mouth, and bent over. It sounded phony to me. I would have elbowed him in the ribs, but he got a pat on the back from Mr. Jordan. “You OK?”
Cameron raised and rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, sir, just got something caught in my throat.”
“Ty, we don’t have too many murders around here, small town and all. I haven’t sat on the Bench for a murder trial in ten years. Most of it is just young kids making mistakes. A lack of guidance from moms and dads is mostly the cause.”
We turned left onto Main and headed for the big highway toward Little Rock. “Mr. Jordan, I think we’re going the wrong way,” I said.
He turned on the left blinker, pulled into The Burger Stop, then looked at me and Cameron and grinned. “You think?”
17
The Burger Stop sat easy on my belly. A big ole burger with fries, a large soda, and an apple pie tasted better than anything I’d eaten in awhile.
My eyelids grew heavy. Cool air inside the pickup didn’t help. I was ready for a good night asleep. I took a drink of soda that turned noisy, shook the cup, and held it up to see if any remained. There was never enough, even in a large cup, not for me.
Shadows had grown long by the time we turned off the road into the woods toward our house. It would be time to tackle chores.
“When I was a kid, I used to hunt coons out here,” Mr. Jordan said. “Had me a couple of Black and Tans and boy, did I have a time.”
He had my attention. “My Jake’s a Black and Tan. He can howl the bark off a tree, I’ll tell you.”
“Yes, sir-ee. My old dogs could too. I got them as pups and called them Fred and Alice. My dad laughed and said I’d be the loneliest coon hunter in all of Arkansas. No one in their right mind would hunt with dogs named Fred and Alice. He may have been right, but I didn’t care. It’s been forty years since they passed, and I still miss them.”
Cameron stirred. “Fred’s a strange name for a coon dog for sure. Did you have a gun, or did you let your dogs have at them?”
“At first, we just treed them and kept count of how many. I guess when I turned ten or eleven, Daddy gave me a single-shot, .410 shotgun, a break-over. I was proud as a strutting rooster carrying that thing around. Still got it too. I gave it to Randy when he turned eleven. I love the smell of burnt gunpowder. If I couldn’t get them out-right with the gun, at least I could knock them out of the tree with a blast so Fred could have at them.” Mr. Jordan’s eyes lit and he smiled with big white teeth, excitement in his voice. “There’s a hickory back of Parson’s holler—we treed three coons in it at the same time.
“Yes, sir. You know, Fred nearly drowned in a creek back in there one night. Old coon got him under. Sure scared me. I was going to shoot, but you know how a scattergun is, might have shot my dog. Alice tried to help him, but I thought he’d bit the dust for sure.”
I had the jitters like ants had crawled in my pants. “That’s where Jake lost his eye, back of Parson’s holler, chasing a coon. If I’d had a gun, well, I don’t know. I didn’t actually see the coon, but it scared me too.”
“Yeah, you cried,” Cameron said.
Sometimes, I wanted to poke Cameron in one of his eyes. Always quick to volunteer information about me and slow to open his mouth about anything he did or thought. He could jab my feelings with words, and it hurt more than an elbow to the ribs. He silenced me, ruined my story.
Mr. Jordan drove for a minute, quiet like. “Nothing wrong with crying, Cameron. Tears can wash away all the bad. I cried for my dogs when they died. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
I put an elbow into Cameron and got one back.
We pulled in the yard and Mr. Jordan backed in the trailer, by the barn, to turn around.
Our yard, house, and all the junk around it stood out in bright colors like I’d never seen it before. The sun might as well have been shining at high noon. Junky boat with a kitchen chair mounted in it, gray, weather-worn barn with holes in the walls and crooked doors, rusty pickup, a house with water-stained siding and dead leaves piled in the valley of the roof, tall weeds, and boards lying around. Shame coursed through me like a chill on a cold morning.
Mr. Jordan didn’t act like he saw what I did. He pointed toward our barn. “That old Jake there, Ty?”
Jake stood just outside the door with his nose high in the air. “Yes, sir, that’s him. You can bet he knew we were coming five minutes ago.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet, no, sir. Kind of askew with that eye gone, isn’t he? Sleeps on the blind side too?”
“Yes, sir, but it don’t bother him much. He gets along just fine.”
Mr. Jordan bumped the transmission out of gear with the palm of his hand. “Men, here you go.” He pulled two bills from his shirt pocket and handed one to each of us. “I really enjoyed your company today. You’re good, hard-working young men.”
Me and Cameron grew two inches in the seat. I unfolded the money, a fifty. Cameron got the same thing. I’d never seen that much before. Never. If my eyes were big as Cameron’s, we must have looked a sight. Words left me again.
Mr. Jordan stuck his hand out and we shook. “I’m going to talk to your dad and see if you can work this weekend. I’ve got some fence that needs mending. Give you a chance to practice your driving skills. Maybe Saturday, and Sunday afternoon after church. That OK with you?”
Cameron’s face lit. “Yes, sir, it would be just fine with me.” They locked eyes when they shook.
Good job, Cameron!
Jake stuck his head into the cab when I pushed open the door.
The back door on the house slammed and Dad stepped off the porch.
Mr. Jordan stopped Cameron. “Son, would you mind taking The Burger Stop sack and your cups and throwing them away for me?”
Uh-oh.
Cameron grabbed the trash, tucked the sack under his shirt and held the cups close, then backed away, walking at a quick pace for the barn. If Mr. Jordan didn’t know, he did now. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Dad we stopped and got something to eat. I counted on it, gave him a quick wave, and followed Cameron.
Cameron stuffed the sack and cups under a bag of chicken feed. “Dad sees that and we’ll get what for. Can you believe how much money he gave us? The burger and fries would have been enough for me.”
“Yeah, me too. Those cookies were good as I’ve ever ate.”
“Like you’re an expert on cookies.”
“Cameron, quit cutting me. I know I ain’t nothin’ special. You don’t got to keep reminding me. And let me tell my own stories too. You don’t got to tell everyone about me crying over Jake.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry ‘bout that. Just jumps out of my mouth sometimes on its own.”
“Well, stop letting your mouth get loose.” I let that soak for a minute and continued. “I been thinking we need to find some more eggs to hide. Dad will be down to the doughnut shop tomorrow bragging ’bout that fish we caught. He might take Momma Ray, and we can eat good in the morning.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t take care of Dad when you had a chance. Wait. Be quiet. Where’s Jake?”
Dad filled the doorway like he’d stepped from nowhere, a round peg in a square hole. “He give y’all money?”
Cameron and I answered at the same time. “Yes, sir.”
“Give it here.” He held out a chubby hand, spit on the floor, and took a step toward us.
I handed him the fifty. Cameron did too.
Dad took the bills and eyed us through his bifocals as he eased them open and pressed them against his pants leg. He rubbed each one between a thumb and forefinger like there might be more stuck to them. “He ask y’all a bunch of questions?”
Again, we answered at the same time. “No, sir.”
“What’d you do?”
I took over.
“Bucked bales and put them in a barn.” He didn’t need to know which barn or where. That would only produce more questions about Miss Daniels.
Dad spit again and disappeared, his voice lingered like the odor of a fresh cow patty. “Get your chores done and get to bed.”
I walked to the door to make sure he was well away. “Cameron, that was close. You think he heard?”
“He didn’t hear a thing. The thought of our money had him on a beeline to get it. He didn’t wait around to listen to us talk ’fore he come in.”
Jake walked back inside. I needed to pay closer attention to my dog. He tried to tell me. I just missed it. “That pickup sure is quiet. I never heard it leave.”
“T, this weekend, we got to figure out a way to ask Mr. Jordan to pay us in fives and tens, ones even, anything but a fifty.”
I was missing something now. “Why?”
“Mr. Jordan didn’t tell Dad we stopped and got something to eat. Dad didn’t know how much money we got either. He’ll never know if we squirrel some away.”
18
I went to bed thinking about Mr. Jordan and woke up thinking about him. He talked about faith—a hope in something he couldn’t see. A hope that the Lord would make his son well? Is that what he meant? Was he so sure in his faith he could go on with everyday life and be happy to boot? He said that’s what it was, and he sure acted like it.
Is that what stopped me from trying to kill my dad? Faith that our life would get better?
It dawned on me that to have faith, you had to have patience—something I wouldn't know much about.
Most mornings started in turmoil. Dad’s scream from the living room, “Get up, get up,” followed by me and Cameron trying to hurry and dress and take care of personal needs before he opened the door to check on us. It never turned out good.
This morning, I woke before anyone else. I dressed and eased out of the house. When I pushed the kitchen door open, Jake sat on the step as if he’d been there all night waiting on me.
The morning felt great, cooler, not cool, but a good sign of fall taking a peek around the corner. Light dew covered the grass. A couple of chickens had picked a bush next to the house to roost under. The skeeters were still up, and some tried to take a sample from me.
I plopped down on the top step and put my arm around Jake. He looked at me. I looked at him. “How’d you know it was me, boy?”
My voice started his tail to going.
“I wish you could talk and tell me how you know everything before it happens.” He got a big hug. “I love you, my old doggie.”
He had a bloody spot on one ear, but didn’t flinch when I touched it, only ducked his head slightly, like it was sore. “What you been doing? You been out gallivanting at night without me? You better not be.”
Jake’s tail stopped and his ears twitched. Someone stirred. Was Momma Ray up to start the fire under the coffee? Jake eased out from under my arm and hopped off the porch. Dad coughed and a chair slid across the kitchen floor.
He looked up when I walked in. “Go get Cameron up. We got work to do.”
Great, we’ll have to choke something down on the way. The hay should be ready to bale. That might be his motive.
He missed the fact that I was awake and outside so early. He had a problem with Cameron being up and out early, but not me.
I shook Cameron. “Hey, wake up, we got work to do. Won’t be feasting on eggs this morning.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Dad’s up and raring to go already. And he ain’t going to drink coffee and brag about fish neither.”
Cameron stretched. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing, just told me to get you.”
“That’s about right. I’ll be happy to see the school bus tomorrow.”
“Yeah, me too. Come on before he stomps in here screaming.”
Momma Ray had a couple of biscuits with grape jelly set aside for us. We ate them on the way to the barn.
Dad waited on us. “You boys come on. We’re going to load some hogs and take them to the sale this morning.”
We’d loaded pigs plenty of times, but Dad always went to the sale alone, or Momma Ray went. Doing something new, like going back to town, would brighten the day.
Cameron perked up. “Where’s it at, Dad? How long are we going to be there?”
“You ain’t going. You got hay to bale. I’ll drop you off on the way.”
Cameron looked away, and his mouth moved with silent questions. He felt disappointed, I know, but who’s to say? I thought he had the better deal, and if not for the risks involved, I’d suggest he went in my place. Driving tractor didn’t bother me none. It made the day go by.
“While you boys were at old man Jordan’s, I went and hooked up the baler. By the time we get back from the sale, you’ll have bales ready for Ty to stack with the hay spear.”
It struck me as Dad talked. He usually borrowed the neighbor’s two-horse trailer when he had hogs to take to town. We built a little chute and pushed in the hogs. I didn’t see it. “Dad, where’s the trailer?”
“We don’t need it. I’m only selling two. They’re small. You boys can tackle them, and then we’ll get a rope on them and put them in the pickup.”
That’s the craziest idea I’d ever heard. That old sow was going to eat one of us for sure. Pigs are low to the ground and strong as all get out. Even those shoats we’d been doctoring put up a heck of a fight, and they didn’t weigh much at all. Dad sure didn’t have it in mind to sell them. They weren’t big enough.
Cameron looked like a fly buzzed around in his nose. He had a strong fear of pigs, even little ones that couldn’t hurt you.
That’s sure enough what Dad had in mind. He produced a couple of ropes and led the way to the sty.
When the sow saw us coming, she ran to the fence and rooted around by our feet, like she did at feeding time. This got the rest of the pigs excited. Flies took flight like a million geese leaving a lake all at once.
Dad pointed. “I want them two there—the white one with the split ear and that one with the black snout.”
Holy cow! They were big as Dad.
“Just grab one by the foot and turn it over, just like you do the little ones. I’ll tie their feet and we’ll put them in the truck.”
I edged over the fence, the long wooden slop trough at my feet. Cameron followed. I had my eye on the one with the split in his ear. My luck was running good because he walked up and nosed my leg. I pounced, grabbed a foot. Look out.
Dad screamed, “Get in there, Cameron. Don’t stand there. Help him.”
That hog kicked so hard my teeth chattered. I thought my arms were going to come loose at the shoulders. The thing squealed and ran three-legged, dragging me by his fourth leg through I-don’t-even-want-to-think-about-what. There was no way I could hang on. It left me in the slop, spitting and sputtering, and then it scurried to the back of the pen. Rolling, I got to one knee.
Dad struck with his big, tooth-loosening right fist, and Cameron landed flat on his back under the old sow.
19
Cameron sat on the edge of the seat. Any closer to the door and he’d slide off in the crack onto the floorboard between the seat and the door. We had a tooth just alike now, both of them loose. I noticed him rubbing his tongue across it. He’d been right about me leaving mine alone. It was getting better by the minute and didn’t hurt much anymore. It would be better to mention that fact to him after he cooled off, maybe tonight.
Something had lit a fire under Dad this morning. We sailed down the road to our pasture. Stretches of washboard road pulsed through the seat, all the way to Dad’s belly and my cheeks.
Dad turned into the hayfield and stopped next to the baler. Cameron had the door open before we stopped. He got out and slammed it.
Dad yelled through his open window. “Hey, boy! You better get over it! I’ll give you some more if you’re not careful.”
Cameron stopped, but he didn�
�t turn.
“Don’t get in a big hurry to finish and plug up. It’s an all-day job. We’ll be back in a bit.”
I looked back before we topped the first rise. Cameron’s tractor coughed up a belch of black diesel smoke as he cranked up.
Driving through town, Dad slowed. The Burger Stop came and went on the right, Burger Monster on the left. I knew better than to ask how much farther. We were getting close. I could smell hogs.
The number of pigs assembled in one place at the same time was unbelievable. All the oinking and squealing, dust rising, and men hollering, I had never seen. Dozens of trucks and trailers were backed up to the pens. Wooden chutes of different heights, made to accommodate any sized pickup, truck, or trailer, stuck out from the pens. Men stood on fences counting and marking pigs with different colored paint as they streamed by. Orderly confusion.
Dad backed up to a gate and we got out. He waved a short, muscled-up man over. “I got a couple of hogs I want to get in the sale this morning.”
The man spit and moved his chaw to the other cheek. “Well, go get ‘em. The sale don’t start for awhile yet.”
Dad dropped the tailgate. “I got them here, just let me know where they need to go.”
The man’s eyes flew wide and he stepped over for a look into the back of the pickup. “Good grief!” He yelled over his shoulder. “Hey, Jim, there’s a feller here with two tied up in the back of his truck!”
I wasn’t the only one who thought Dad was nuts.
Dad took offense. If he’d been a hairy man, he might have looked like Jake, when my one-eyed protector had his hackles up. “You don’t got to advertise how I haul a hog in here. You going to help me get them out of the pickup and sell them or not?”
“Yeah, sorry, but them two pigs are huge. How’d you get ’em in there?”
“This boy and his brother done it just fine.”
The guy walked over to me, gave my shoulders a squeezing, and shook his head. “You and your brother must be tough, kid. I’ll say that for you.”
Bleachers and benches lined the walls on three sides of the sale barn, like the ballpark in town. Dad picked a spot high enough for us to see into the arena and plopped down.
