The Last Road Home

by Danny Johnson

  CHAPTER 54

  In January of 1969, the medical staff felt I was sufficiently recovered to return to duty. I sat on an airplane in Yokota, Japan, and watched snow swirl outside the window, wondering what it would feel like to be in the States again. Fourteen hours later, I landed in Chicago, where it was also snowing, but more like a blizzard. Flights were grounded the rest of the day, and I spent an uncomfortable night in O’Hare Airport slouched in a plastic chair, watching the people around me. Some were dressed normally, and usually nodded a greeting at my marine uniform. Others wore an assortment of flowered shirts and dirty jeans, and stared at me like I’d killed their child. None of them offered a “thank you.”

  After a two-hour flight and a three-hour bus ride the next day, I was in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, on a cold, sunny afternoon. I reported in and was assigned to live in a common barracks, given desk duty, and ordered to have weekly follow-up medical evaluations. After a couple of visits to the docs, this major suggested I go over to the VA, said I could probably get some benefits since I only had one lung. “No disrespect, sir, but I’d rather eat something that came out of another man’s ass than bother with those people.” He scratched his marine-cut gray hair and let out a chuckle.

  After six months, the marine corps concluded I was unsuitable for regular duty and discharged me on June 19, 1969. Nobody said thank you then either. They gave me a check for two thousand dollars to cover back pay and unused leave. I cashed it at the bank, bought a used Chevrolet truck from a car dealer, a Remington 30.06 rifle from a pawn shop, a fifth of Jack Daniel’s, and headed home.

  It was close to midnight when I pulled into the yard. I shut off the engine and took a pull from the half-empty whiskey bottle. I waited for the parade and marching band to welcome me home. They never showed. Instead, a familiar loneliness waited, like a shadow hiding behind the house. I was scared to death to open the truck door.

  I sipped on the bourbon. The old house seemed so much smaller than I remembered. Grandma waved from the porch and I could smell frying chicken and biscuits in the air. Fancy was sitting on the steps in her red dress, constantly tucking it under her legs, and Sally Mule was in the barn. Things had come full circle. I’d hoped coming back here would let me find that beginning and somehow change it. I took a deep breath, flipped the door handle, and stepped to the ground.

  Grass and weeds were grown up everywhere. One of the porch steps broke when I put my weight on it, and a hinge on the screen door pulled loose. I sat down on a straw-bottomed chair, and remembered other nights spent sitting in this very spot.

  Inside, the house smelled musty, the odor of longtime emptiness mixed with a dose of sadness. I found a candle in the sewing machine drawer, lit it, and walked around. It was still the same as it was when I’d left, Grandma’s bed covered with the quilt I’d laid across it four years ago, the kitchen table that had been privy to so many conversations still protected by the red-and-white-checked oilcloth. I listened for voices, but the only sounds came from little critters scurrying across the floor. I stood in my bedroom, the place where Fancy and I made love the first time, and the room I’d spent so many nights trying to make sense of my life. This house should have been where the world was safe and peaceful and things always worked out for the best.

  I pulled some jeans and a T-shirt from my duffel bag, then carried my marine uniform to the trash barrel out back, dropped it in, soaked it with the remainder of the liquor, and held my lighter until the green clothes caught fire. I watched the last four years disappear.

  The mesh screen on the porch suffered from neglect, the wire rusting and corners pulled away from missing nails. I gazed out above the dark treetops at a yellow summer moon, remembering days when my biggest concern was the weather. People had come home to this land from wars before. I hoped I would be the last.

  I walked across the road to the edge of the woods where I first learned to become invisible. The stars winked a welcome home. “I thought for a while I was going to be with you, Grandma. In a lot of ways, I wish I was. I’m not sure I can do this life alone.”

  When the sun came up, I made an inspection. I stood by the dry well. “Wish it was me down there, Lightning, instead of you.” I waited like I expected him to answer. The chicken house had fallen down, and the pack house was a pile of burnt rubble. The tobacco barn still stood, but honeysuckle vines and wisteria covered its sides and roof. I walked up the old horse path toward the Wilson farm. Kudzu and briars had reclaimed a lot of the trail, but the stumps Lightning, Fancy, and me sat on to tell ghost stories, and the place I got my first kiss, were still there. At the clearing, I could see Fancy running home across the clover field. Our childhood had been too short.

  The fact that I’d killed three people before I was eighteen felt unreal even now. It was more unreal that I hadn’t stopped there. I would have settled for that. It was a destiny I never wanted but seemed to want me. I’d just turned twenty-three, but felt so much older. I looked up and talked to the sky, hoping my words would make it all the way to Texas. “Is this what you meant by ‘you won’t ever be the same,’ Snake?”

  I piddled until the sun was up full, then got in the Chevy and drove to Apex. It didn’t appear a lot had changed through the countryside, but closer to town there were a couple of new gas stations and a 7-Eleven store where before there’d been just open fields. A café I’d never seen advertised a country breakfast, good ham, eggs, grits and biscuits, a thing I missed. Some of the voices at the other tables had a Yankee twang, another surprise. I sipped through four cups of coffee and read about Joe Frazier’s upcoming fight with Jerry Quarry in the newspaper. By then, I figured Lawyer Stern’s office would be open.

  He stared like he was trying to place me at first, but after a couple of seconds he broke into a big smile. “Raeford Hurley! Good God, son, you’ve grown up. Look at you.” He grabbed my hand and shook hard. He’d got a little heavier. His bald head had wrinkles that started over his eyebrows and folded backward. “When did you get home?”

  I smiled, embarrassed by his goings-on. “Last night. Figured to visit you first thing.” The only new item in his office was a picture of Governor Moore.

  “Clemmy Stroud came to visit me last year, seemed to be worried that nobody had heard from you. She’s the one that told me you were in Vietnam. How’d you make out over there?”

  “Fine. The only hard part was keeping all that equipment running in the mud and jungle. I worked in the motor pool, and got hurt when a jack handle flew back and hit me in the chest. I was laid up awhile, and just forgot to write. No big deal.”

  “I’m real happy you’re home in one piece. From what I see on the news, a lot of boys aren’t so lucky.” I didn’t take the bait. We went to sit down. He offered a cup of coffee, but I passed on it. “What’s on your mind this morning, Raeford?”

  “I figure we’re all up-to-date on our business, but wanted to make sure.”

  “We are. You don’t owe anything to anybody as far as I know.”

  “That’s good. If I decided to sell the farm, how would it work?”

  He explained the process. “But I’m going to give you this piece of advice, Raeford. Folks are starting to move in here from all over. All of a sudden everybody wants to live out in the sticks. Couldn’t hardly give land away a few years ago, but now it’s getting to be right valuable. You might consider holding on to the place awhile to get the best price, or maybe sell part and keep the house.”

  “I’ll think about that. Would you mind going to the bank with me?”

  We took our time walking down Main Street on a beautiful early warm morning. I enjoyed the noise of storekeepers opening their shops, cars moving up and down the street, folks standing and talking. Smells coming from a donut place we passed were much better than the stink of shit-fertilized paddy water and rotted vegetation imprinted on my brain. My ears still wanted to listen to the wind, and I cut my eyes around every blind corner.

  At the bank, the man printed a s
tatement of my account. I asked to take out a thousand. Mr. Stern reminded me to stop at the post office and let them know they could deliver mail.

  The drugstore hadn’t changed, and neither had the saleslady. She stared at me like she might be trying to remember my face, but then went about her business. It seemed a lifetime ago Fancy and me had sat on the curb outside eating ice cream. I wandered to the back where they still had comic books, and picked up a couple to sniff the paper. On the way out, I considered asking for a pack of Trojans just to watch her reaction, but got a chocolate cone instead.

  CHAPTER 55

  I stocked up on new towels and sheets at Salem’s General Store, got home early in the afternoon, and fixed up the bed. After sweeping out four years’ worth of dust and dirt and wet-mopping the floors, I decided to ride to the Wilsons.

  Mrs. Wilson answered my knock. She looked thinner, her face pale and drawn. Time had not been kind to her. Her mouth gaped open. “Well, Lord have mercy.” She yelled toward the back of the house. “Clyde, come see who’s here!” She took my arm and pulled me inside, giving me a big hug. “I’m so glad to see you, Junebug.”

  Mr. Wilson came through the kitchen door, his gut drooped over his belt like a fat woman’s butt. He walked with a cane for support, hadn’t shaved, and blotched red patches crisscrossed his nose and sagging cheeks. “Junebug Hurley! Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  I was glad he looked bad. “Came home last night and thought to drop over, so if you noticed somebody at the house you wouldn’t worry.” Didn’t want him to think he had any black folks for neighbors.

  “Where in the world have you been these long years? Sit down here and tell us about it.” He motioned to a chair. “You want some iced tea?”

  “No, I appreciate it. What’s with the cane?”

  “Hurt my back a while ago, ain’t been able to do much of anything since. Then Lila got sick, so we just been living like two wore-out mules.”

  I looked at Mrs. Wilson. “What caused your sickness?”

  She dry-washed her hands. “Got to feeling real poorly one day, went to the doctor, and he sent me to the hospital to run some tests. They think I’ve had a couple of little strokes. I’m better now, though.”

  She must not have been looking in the mirror. “You need to take care of yourself, slow down some.” We spent a while catching up.

  “Did you have to go to Vieet Naam?” Mr. Wilson asked.

  “Yep. Spent a little over a year there.”

  “What did you do? Was it bad? Did you get to kill any of the little chink bastards?”

  “Never fired a shot. Worked in the motor pool.” I could see the letdown on his face. “Mostly it was like living through a year of late Julys, hot as hell, and the place smelled like Fido’s ass. How’s the farming business been?”

  “Ah, you can’t hardly make much of a living no more. Can’t get help. All the niggers”—his eyes made a quick cut at me—“is moving to town and getting public jobs. Plus, Roy’s got too damn old to do much of anything. Hard to farm tobacco without good labor.”

  That was enough for me. I got up to leave.

  “We sure are glad you’re home, Junebug. A lot of boys are being killed over there. We’re real proud of you.”

  Heat rose up my face. Him saying he was proud of me was like spitting in my face. But I let it pass. “Appreciate it, happy to be home.” I paused at the door. “By the way, whatever happened to my old mule, Sally?”

  Mr. Wilson shook his head. “That was the craziest thing. She didn’t live a month after you left, just lay down one day and died. I could swear she was grieving.”

  “To tell you the truth, she was what I missed most.” His face wrinkled, like his feelings were hurt.

  Mr. Wilson walked as far as my truck. When we were out of earshot, I turned around to face him. “I know it was you.” I held his gaze until he looked away. “You should know I ain’t forgot.” My face flushed red as that night came back to me. “If you or any of your sheet-wearing sons a bitches ever show up around my place again, I’ll kill you. You understand?”

  He nodded and quick-limped back to his house.

  I stopped at Roy and Clemmy’s. I ran my hand over the fender on Granddaddy’s old truck. Clemmy answered the door. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed me around the neck, held tight, and started crying. She took my hand and led me to a chair. “I was worried we might not see you again. Fancy said you got hurt.”

  “I was worried a bit myself there for a while, but the docs fixed me up, so no worse for wear.” The little house had good cooking smells, a hominess unlike the Wilson place. There was a line of pictures on one wall, a few of Fancy and Lightning as they grew up, and a big black-and-white framed one of Fancy. I walked over to it. “Is this recent?” It showed her from the waist up. She wore a white shirt with a collar that stood up against her neck. I could see a river behind her, and it must have been spring because her sleeves were short. Seeing that face never failed to stab me in the heart.

  “She sent it about a year ago. That girl has sure grown up, ain’t she?”

  Fancy was far from a girl anymore. She was a beautiful woman. Her hair was cut and fashioned around her face like I’d seen in magazines. She looked stylish, but I could still see my Fancy, the one with bowed teeth, skinny legs, and that fire in her eyes. I could almost feel her saying, “I dare you.”

  Roy was out in the backyard and came shuffling as fast as he could when Clemmy hollered to him. We hugged each other. I was truly happy to see the closest thing I had to a family. Roy was showing his years. His hair had turned completely white, and a lifetime of hard labor was catching up with his once-powerful body. We sat down and I teased him about being gray-headed. “Weren’t you and Grandma about the same age, Roy?” I asked.

  “I expect so. I’ll be seventy-one next month.” He said it proudly. I looked at his eyes. When you’re young, all grown-ups look old, and by the time you are a grown-up, they are old. Only pictures assure you they were young once. I wondered if this was the way Roy thought his life would turn out, what his dreams might have been when he was young.

  When we settled down, Clemmy wanted to talk about Fancy. “She decided she would stay and live in France, did you know that?”

  “Got a letter from her a while back that said she was. I sure have thought about her a lot, hoping she would make out good. She sounded happy.”

  Clemmy smiled. “I think she’s doing fine; homesick some I can tell, but don’t expect she’ll ever come back here after what them Klan people did. That scared her down deep.”

  Roy spoke up. “Things are changing, Junebug. Black folk about had a bellyful of being on the bottom. These young bucks ain’t going to take shit no more.” Fancy’s words rang in my head, “One day the blood’s going to run the other way.” “What are you aiming to do now that you’re back? If you’re considering farming, I’ll help you.”

  I shook my head. Roy was fooling himself if he thought he’d ever prime another row of tobacco. “About had enough of ruining my back growing up. I’m going to take some time and wind down, figure things out as I go along.”

  Clemmy rubbed her hand down the side of my face, the same way Fancy used to do. She’d always had knowing eyes. “I’m guessing you got some stuff that’s going to take a bit to get out of your system.”

  I pulled up from the chair. “If you hear from Fancy, tell her I’m home.” I hugged Clemmy and Roy. “Y’all come down anytime. I expect I’ll be around.”

  Roy held on to my arm for an extra minute. “You know, Junebug, we ain’t heard nothing from Lightning since before you and Fancy left. I can’t help wondering if one of these redneck sumbitches didn’t kill him and never let on.”

  I gripped his shoulder. “Maybe he’ll just show up one of these days like he did before.” It galled me pretty bad to lie to such a good man, but what could I tell him? That Lightning tried to kill me and I’d just been lucky to kill him first? I believed if I could sit do
wn with Roy in the right circumstance I could tell him the truth, because I felt like he’d always known the truth about Lightning. But at this point it would just cause more hurt, and I figured Roy had suffered enough pain in his life.

  CHAPTER 56

  I pulled all the machinery and tools from the barn, tinkered, oiled, rubbed the rust off, but had no urge to use them. My farming days were over. I went to Durham, bought a television, and would sit watching it for hours, turning it off when there was news about the war.

  I dreaded the nights and my dreams. I began to roam the woods in the dark again, slipping in and out of the shadows, reliving the jungle. Other times, I’d just sit and talk to Grandma. “You always knew more than you said. I need the comfort right now to know I’m not completely lost.” I never sensed her around me.

  I was still haunted by the rush of war. Lieutenant Heaney had warned the taste for that feeling of living on the edge caused many soldiers not to be able to adjust to regular life. It drove many to risk everything to feel it again, others to drugs to dull their minds, and some simply disappeared. I would see Huy over and over, asking me why. I still didn’t have an answer. Many times I considered sticking the rifle in my mouth, but was never brave enough, or maybe desperate enough, to do it.

  At the end of October, Roy had a heart attack sitting at the supper table. I did as much as I could for Clemmy, paying for the funeral in a way she wouldn’t know it had come from me. As long as Roy had lived in the community, and had at some time or other worked for about everybody in it, I was the only white person at the church. “Glory be to God for letting us have such a fine man all these years,” said the preacher. “Amen,” echoed the congregation. I listened to Clemmy cry. The choir sang beautiful hymns, and I couldn’t help but think it would have been a big comfort if Fancy had been there for her momma. I sat in the pew and confessed silently to Roy about what happened to Lightning. Maybe he could forgive me. In the graveyard, I watched another box lower into a hole in the ground.