by Larry Hunt
Chapter Twelve
‘BORROWING’ SOME CLOTHES
What was that he saw? There, off in the distance - a farmhouse. Finally, he thought, civilization. I need a picture, so the folks back home will enjoy my ‘vacation’.
Nearing the old 1890s lap-sided, un-painted, two-storied, wooden dwelling he thought back to those days of yesteryear. Walking toward the house his mind, in spite of his other troubles, couldn’t help but think about the early pioneers. Hearty settlers who homesteaded the wild, savage Texas land, constructed this old home, probably miles from their nearest neighbor, out in practically nowhere, and survived only by the sweat of their brow. How did they live such a desolate existence? Surveying the old weather beaten house and the matching near-by barn Captain Scarburg thought, by-ned, things sure haven’t changed much in the last hundred years! The place was bleak, cold and un-inviting. I hope the people who live here are friendlier to strangers than this place portrays.
The old, worn, weather-beaten front porch creaked as he ascended the dilapidated, wooden, front steps and walked across the rickety boards to the front door. A rusty, torn, screen door barely, hung loosely from its ancient, metal hinges. Tugging on the screen door, he heard the screech of its worn-out spring as he opened it wider and wider. This decrepit spring just re-enforced the fact that everything around this place was aged and shabby.
‘Rap’... ‘rap’... ‘rap’..., the sound his knuckles made as he lightly knocked on the door... no one answered - again he knocked... this time, much harder than before... ‘thump’... ‘thump’... ‘thump’..., still no movement was heard from inside. Walking down the rough planks of the porch, which extended the entire length of the front side of the house, he peered around the edge toward the barn. Nothing! Not a soul was seen. No horses, no dogs, no chickens... nothing. What he did see was an old, well water hand pump and a clothesline with freshly washed clothes left out in the cold, sunny air to dry. At least, he thought, someone actually lives in this decrepit place.
What truly caught his eye were a flannel shirt and a pair of denim overalls with the right knee ripped out. The flannel shirt was red, and the overalls a denim blue, but the Captain with his messed up eyes could not recognize the colors. He didn’t care what color they were; both were just about his size. Regardless, if he were in Texas in November or somewhere else it was getting rather cold, he wished he had a coat, but he was extremely bothered that he still couldn’t see the colors of the clothing or anything else for that matter. That was beginning to alarm him. What was wrong with his eyes?
These two pieces of clothing would allow him to get out of his flight suit. But... he could not just steal them... that wouldn’t be right... but no one was home. The Captain was in a predicament. He had to have these clothes! Why, he thought, had I been so stupid and not realized I should have brought a change of clothing with me?
He went into the barn to change clothes and look for, he didn’t know, something to write with like a piece of paper and a pencil. Maybe something on which to write a note telling whoever lived here he would return and pay for the clothing someday... what was he thinking he didn’t even know what today was. After a thorough search, no paper or pen could be found.
What could he use to make a note? Over in the corner of the barn was a stack of fertilizer in fifty pound brown paper sacks. The name on the sacks read: “Bulldog Granulated Ammonia Nitrate 34-0-0”, Perfect, I can write on a part of the paper sack! Now a pencil, a pen...he laughed...a typewriter or a computer would be agreeable. Fumbling around on the farmer’s workbench he found a half empty can of graphite that had been used to lubricate locks and hinges. An idea hit him... oil... are there any oil cans here. He looked and looked, but no oil could be found. What type of man is this farmer? He is too neat. He properly discards his used cans! Wait the tractor - tractors have oil. I can get oil from the dipstick. Not much but I don’t need much.
Back out in the barnyard the Captain walked around, bent over searching intently for something on the ground. What was he looking for? I’ve Got you... you little devil! He reached down and picked up an object. What? What did he find? It was a chicken feather! Now I have everything I need, he thought racing back into the barn. Using a lid from a Mason jar as a container he mixed a small amount of the powdered graphite with a drop or two of oil from the tractor’s dipstick and made himself, a fairly, respectable black ‘ink’. After tearing off a piece of fertilizer sack, he dipped the end of the feather into his homemade ‘ink’ and on the back of the paper he wrote:
“I borrowed a shirt and a pair of your overalls. I will return when I can and pay you $100.00 for them.” Signed: A desperate man.
Grabbing the piece of the paper sack he hurried from the barn back to the front porch. Jumping the three steps with one bound he crossed the porch to the front door. Opening the screen he placed his note between the screen door and the wooden doorframe. Surely the family will see this when they return, he thought to himself.
He noticed the dirt driveway was covered with automobile tracks. This must have been where I heard the automobile. As his eyes followed the driveway away from the house, he saw it intersected with a road. What... a road? A real road... a road cars travel on... now I can get out of here. Walking down the dusty driveway he heard a slight rumble of thunder off to... off to... which direction did it come from? Okay, the late evening sun is to my rear. That is west, so I must be walking east. That thunder was off my right shoulder, so it is coming from the southwest. As he neared the road at the end of the driveway, the wind was beginning to pick up a bit. It will be raining, in a while, I suppose.
The time was... was... well, he still didn’t know.
