A Far Piece to Canaan (5 page)

“You 'bout ready for some river fishin'?”

“When we goin'?” I said, leaning up against the barn, opening and closing my hands, which were cramped from squeezin' tits.

“How's tomorra suit you?”

“Dandy, if I can get Mom and Dad t' let me go. Lonnie and LD both goin'?”

“LD, anyways. Lonnie's ma said he could go, but hit'll depend on his pa. Can't never tell about Lonnie's pa. If he ain't in a good mood, don't nobody in th' fambly do nothin'.”

I'd heard about Lonnie's pa and he sounded scary. “He's mean, ain't he?”

Fred brought a foot up and scratched its bottom. “Pa says no, less'n he's drunk. Then he's mean. You just got t' know when t' stay away from him.”

“How'll we know if Lonnie's goin' or not, then?”

Fred laughed and took a swipe at a lightning bug. “Hun'ney, ain't nobody knows those parts down there like Lonnie. He'll just show up if he's comin'.”

“What you figure we'll start doin'?”

“Lordy, I don't know. Maybe fish first, then we'll throw some rocks at th' Blue Hole. Y' know, if we had some slingshots we could stand back and shoot at th' Blue Hole.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “We'll get that inner tube, Fred. A whole one and it won't be patched or rotted. You'll see.”

Fred nodded. Pretty soon he sighed and said he'd better be getting home; then he climbed the hog lot gate and was gone.

T
he next morning, I woke up just as dawn was breaking and went out the door of my room and onto the screened-in porch. It wudn't even 5:30 but you could already see and really smell, especially the hay Dad had mowed a couple days before. Everything was still, and the hollow was full of fog and dew, which was glistening on the tops of the tobacco and sheep barns that stuck out of the fog like mountaintops. It was great to watch and listen to the day come on. I knew it was gonna get hot and muggy though, it being July.

I'd been thinking how to ask Mom and Dad about going to the river ever since Fred mentioned it, but I still hadn't come up with a good idea. I decided to act like it was nothing special and hope for the best. When I heard Dad come in from milking, I went to the kitchen where Mom and Naomi were fixing breakfast and he was washing up.

“What do you say, Samuel,” Dad mumbled into a towel as he wiped his face. “Up kind of early for a man of leisure, aren't you?”

“Fred and me and LD and Lonnie are goin' fishin',” I said.

“What else is new?” he said with a chuckle.

I pulled my chair up to the table and folded my arms on the red checkered oilcloth. “Yep, fishin' th' Little Bend today. Get some cats and a buffalo or two.”

“The Little Bend!” Mom said, looking up from her cooking. “You mean the river?”

The way she said it was what I was afraid of. “Uh-huh,” I said like it wudn't nothing.

Mom's eyes were large. “Down on those cliffs? With those wild boys?”

“They aren't wild boys, Mom,” I said. “They're buddies of mine.”

Mom looked at Dad as she put the hash brown potatoes, eggs, and grits on his plate. “Morris, are you going to let him go down on that river with those boys?”

Dad wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and sprawled out. “Don't see why not,” he answered after a gulp. “Those kids know that area well.”

“There are cliffs down there, Morris, and the river is deep. I don't like it.”

“M'dom, he's a boy. You can't lock up boys.” He turned in his chair and looked at me. “You got sense enough not t' step off a cliff or get in th' river don't you, Samuel?”

“Sure,” I answered.

Mom's lips pursed and she moved around the kitchen quick like she always did when she was upset. “I see him running around with those wild boys and starting to be just like them. Is that what you want for your son . . . to grow up to be a tobacco yap moonshiner?”

Dad sighed. “M'dom, there's nothing wrong with those boys. They're good kids and they treat him like one of their own. They don't hold it against him that he's a Jew. They don't look up to him or down at him, just across, and that's what I want for Samuel.”

Mom didn't say anything for a minute but the way she kept scurrying I knew was trouble. “Morris, I want Samuel to grow up like us. I want him to know we're different from these people. I want him to know who he is.”

Dad smiled at Mom like I had seen him do so often when they talked. “I do too, Liz,” he said soft. “Let's let him grow. He'll be a fine man.”

Mom took the biscuits out of the oven of the old white cooking stove, shook the baking tin into a little towel-bottom basket, then carried the biscuits to the table and sat down. She looked at Dad, shook her head, and they both laughed. Then she turned toward me.

“Promise you won't get in the river and you'll be back before dark,” she said, looking so deep in my eyes it was like she was seeing the back of my head.

“I promise.”

“What are you going to do for lunch?”

I eyed the biscuits in the basket. “Take some biscuits.”

“Just biscuits?”

“Sure.”

“No wonder you're so skinny. I'll put some butter and jelly on them.”

“They'll get my pocket sticky, Mom.”

“What! You'll have a bag.”

“Aw, Mom . . .”

Mom stopped moving and her little fist went on her hip. “In a bag or you don't go! And remember something: you get into trouble with these meshuga friends of yours, and that's it. No more bony or loony, or kids with just letters for names. Understand?”

I knew she meant it so I just said, “Yes, ma'am,” and shut up.

Along about eight, Fred and LD showed up. It was a long way to the Little Bend, shortcut and all. When we come to the path along the cliff, we set down under a big oak tree for a rest.

“You guys want some biscuits 'n' jelly?” I asked, and opened the bag and poked it toward them. LD's hand went inside so quick I almost dropped the bag. They took a couple each, which left two that I ate in a hurry, figuring if Lonnie showed up, I was going hungry.

When we finished the biscuits, Fred picked up his pole and the worm can and started down the cliff. The path was about two foot wide, mostly dirt and rock. Brush and roots covered part of it and it didn't take anybody to know if you tripped, you were going to fall a hunnert feet. About halfway down, the path widened and curled back on itself. As I made the turn, I could see a hole in the upper part of the cliff maybe ten foot wide and about that high.

“Hey, Fred, what's that?” I asked, and pointed toward it with my fishing pole.

“Old cave. Lots of 'em down here, hun'ney.”

“Ever been in it?”

“Naw, but I been in others. Dozens of 'em between here and th' sandbar.”

I looked downstream and could see a strip of sand in the far distance that kind of made a beach. Then I looked back toward the cave. “Can we go in it?”

“Reckon. Let's wait'll Lonnie shows up and see if he's been inside. Might narra down in just a few feet. No reason t' make a climb for nothin'.”

I said okay and we went on down to the bottoms.

“Where we goin', Fred?” LD asked, as Fred started leading us through the river brush. “They's a great fishin' spot about a hunnert yards from here where I caught a mess of buffaloes with Daddy one time. Figured we'd start there.”

It was a great spot. The bank was clear of brush for about thirty foot. We were catching some little cats, then LD's cork shot under and when he jerked, his elm pole bent double.

“Whooee,” he yelled. “Got me a big 'un!”

The fish took off and LD's line cut through the water. Any way it ran, LD followed, pulling hard until finally the fish's big body flashed.

“Hit's a buffalo,” Fred yelled. “Don't lose him, LD!”

Me and Fred were jumping up and down. In a few minutes its silver side showed again, but the fish was moving slower. Little later, we had him out on the bank.

“Whooee!” LD yelled. “He'll go four pound for sure. Now, that's a buffalo!”

“Yeah,” I said, “that's a real buffalo!” even though I never seen one before.

As soon as we put him on the stringer, we all put our lines back in the water. I was tingling all over. Wudn't but a couple minutes until my pole was almost jerked out of my hands.

Fred and LD kept yelling, “Hold him! You got him! You got him!” But the fish kept swinging back and forth, making deep swirls. Just as I drug him up on the bank, the hook straightened and he flopped back onto the water's edge. Fred come out of nowhere and landed on top of him, but the fish squirted out of his arms, and LD and I dove for it at the same time. Mud and water was splashing everywhere as we tried to throw it up on the bank. Somehow, we did. He was a beauty, and must've weighed five, six pound. We were sopping wet, laughing and talking, when all of a sudden there was crashing in the brush. It was Lonnie.

Nobody said anything, then Fred pulled up the stringer of fish and Lonnie yelped and started unwinding his pole. We fished for about two more hours and caught four more buffalo, two big carps, some channel cats, and then they quit biting.

We'd been sitting there watching our bobbers for quite a while when Fred stretched and stood up. “Guess that's hit for today,” he said. “What y'all say we take off? With this much fish we got a lot of fish cleanin' t' do and them carps and buffaloes ain't easy t' clean.”

“Okay by me,” I said, then everybody agreed.

We pulled up our stringer of fish, which was heavy, and started walking. We hadn't gone too far when LD got a funny look on his face. “Fred, why we goin' downstream? Path up the cliff's over yonder,” and he pointed with his pole.

“Blue Hole's a ways from here and I figured we'd take a look at hit since Samuel's never been there before,” Fred answered.

LD stopped and his eyes got wide. “I ain't supposed t' go there. Pa says hit's evil!”

“Ain't goin' close,” said Fred, soft. “We'll just throw in a few rocks and leave.”

“Fred said it's hainted,” I said to LD. “Where do you figure its haint comes from?”

“That's where they found th' Collins family,” LD answered. “Th' river flooded long time ago, come up fast and caught 'em in their shack. Somehow, they tied themselves t'gether with a rope and tried t' swim out and they all drowned and got warshed up in th' Blue Hole. That's where they found th' woman and two little girls, anyways. Mr. Collins wudn't there, but th' loop that went 'round his waist was. Blue Hole's been evil ever since. Other people's drowned there too. They use to find dead animals around hit, but not n'more.”

“Ain't no wild animal'll go near th' Blue Hole,” said Lonnie. “Some folks claim they've seen tracks of a man around hit though.”

“Yeah,” said LD. “Old man Hackett trapped mink down here. He told everybody he seen a wild man. Said he just barely got away from him by goin' up th' cliff, wild man right behind callin' in th' name of th' Lord.”

I thought about that for a little, then said to LD, “If Mr. Hackett was so old, how come he got away from th' wild man?”

“Dad-burn nigh didn't,” said LD. “Old Hackett claimed he was almost grabbed when th' wild man slipped and fell back down th' cliff.”

“You figure it's th' wild man makes th' tracks and does all that stuff?” I asked.

“Nobody knows,” LD said. “Most folks thinks hit's the ghost of Mr. Collins. Pa thinks hit's th' Devil and we ought have a prayer meetin' at the hole and float a Bible on it. Won't nobody do hit so I reckon he'll just stay there.”

It came to me then what Mr. Berman said the day we were renting, about the people that were in the yard yelling when he bought the farm. It was a tall man that was wanting to float a Bible. “LD, is your pa a tall man?”

“Yeah,” said LD, stopping to untangle his pole from a bush. “Why you askin'?”

I didn't want to say what Mr. Berman had said, so I told him I just figured his pa was because he was so tall himself. LD had a good three inches on me even though we were about the same age. He was big all over too, big round face, big nose, coal black hair and dark brown eyes. He was always nervous though, but since he treated me okay, it didn't matter.

We started walking again but nobody talked. Then the dry sandy bottom started getting moist under our bare feet. You could see our tracks plain, but there hadn't been any animal signs for a while. Something stunk awful.

LD pulled up. “Somethin' smells dead.”

“Probably a dead bird,” said Fred, and kept walking.

Lonnie shook his head. “Hit ain't a bird smell. That's a animal smell.”

Finally, Fred stopped and held up his hand. “Blue Hole's about two hunnert foot from here,” he whispered. “If we circle behind hit, they's a knoll we can see hit from and be far enough away so's we're safe from th' skeleton hand. Lots of rocks t' throw too. Come on.”

Fred and Lonnie and me started, but LD didn't. “Lordy, we oughtn' be doin' this,” he said. “My daddy knowed, he'd skin me alive,” and his voice quivered.

Fred looked at LD and kind of sneered. “Scaredy cat.”

“I ain't a scaredy cat,” said LD, “but you ain't never seen my pa when he starts with his razor strop. He almost don't stop. If he knows I've been here I don't know what he'll do t' me.”

“Stay here, then,” said Fred, and the three of us went on. Pretty soon, I could hear LD coming up behind. Fred looked at me out of the corner of his eye and grinned.

The circling was hard going because the brush was taller and thicker than what we had just come through, but we finally made it to the top of the knoll. I could see this big pool of water down below, just as blue as the sky and looking cool and peaceful. We stood a time, then Fred reached down and picked up a rock and gave a big heave, not quite making the water. I was next and fell short too, but Lonnie hit the edge and LD plunked it right in the middle. After that, Fred hit it and I finally got it on a bounce and said that was good enough for me.