The Bottoms

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know, but it’s what I want. The idea of sittin’ and waitin’ don’t appeal to me. Look under that seat there.”

  I reached under me. There was a pretty good-sized wooden box with a latch.

  “Open it up,” Grandma said. “Let’s see what all I still got in it.”

  There was a flashlight, small pistol, some first-aid stuff, matches, a box of .32 shells, and a road flare.

  “You tote that for me,” Grandma said.

  I locked the box, we got out and started walking. The rain was very hard, and soon it turned to ice. Hail in the middle of the summer, and it was pounding us so violently, we took a trail off the road and wandered into the woods, hoping the trees would give us some respite against it.

  It was dark and the air was blurred by rain and hail, but it didn’t take long before I realized the trail we were on led to the Swinging Bridge.

  I told Grandma as much.

  “That means we aren’t far from Mose’s shack,” Grandma said. “We can hole up there.”

  I thought about that. I remembered the shack being surrounded by townfolks. Not far from the shack, Mose had been strung up. I didn’t want to go down that trail to the shack, but the hail didn’t leave us much choice.

  As we broke out of the trees into the clearing that led down to the river and to Mose’s shack, the hail hammered us as if trying to drive us into the ground. It was knocking knots on my head and the rain was chilling me to the bone. It was dark as night now, and Grandma took the flashlight out of the box and we used that as we hurried down the hill that led to the shack. We burst in through the half-open door. A raccoon, startled at our presence, jumped back and hissed at us.

  Grandma pushed me along the wall and left the door open, the startled coon didn’t want to leave. Grandma took a chair and poked it and it ran out the open door, disappeared into the rain and hail. I almost felt sorry for it.

  After Grandma closed and bolted the door with the wood bar, she poked the flashlight around. The place had been turned inside out. Mose’s few clothes were strewn about. There was flour dumped and a few tins and broken jars of food lying on the floor. I didn’t know if the mob or animals had done that after Mose’s death.

  Lying on the floor, next to a broken jar of food that had gone rotten, was a photo of a colored woman in a frame. There was also a loose picture of what I figured was Mose’s son, the one that had gone out and never come back. It was stuck in the frame with the picture of the woman, just pushed into the edge of it. The picture had faded considerable. The boy appeared to be about eleven. I looked at the picture real close, realized it was a white boy’s picture cut from a Sears and Roebuck catalogue, the features colored dark with pencil. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was about. Not then. Not now. The woman was very dark and her features were not particularly distinguishable. I set the frame on the table.

  In the corner of the room was a simple wood frame with a mattress on it and some covers strewn across it.

  “Kind of smells in here,” Grandma said.

  “Well, it ain’t Mose’s fault. It didn’t stink when he lived here.”

  Grandma put her arm around my shoulders. “I know, Harry.”

  The storm grew more violent, dark and thundery with cuts of lightning slashing through Mose’s two windows.

  “I’m exhausted and cold, Harry,” Grandma said. “It’s gonna be a little wait. I’m gonna to lay down. There’s room for two.”

  Grandma sat on the edge of the bed, gave me the flashlight. She suddenly looked her age.

  “You all right, Grandma?”

  “Of course. I’m just old. And my heart gets kind of tired now and then. Beats funny. I rest a bit, I’ll be all right.”

  Without another word, she lay on the bed and pulled a cover over her. I took the spare one and put it over my shoulders and sat in a chair at the little table. After a while I got up and picked up the canned goods and put them in the shelf. I put the photo and the Sears and Roebuck cutout in the center of the table. I sat in the chair again with the blanket around me, turned out the flashlight, and closed my eyes.

  I hadn’t been sleepy, it being midday and all, but there was something hypnotic about the pounding rain and hail, the darkness. I could hear water leaking through the roof as well, dripping in a far corner of the shack.

  I focused on that sound and fell asleep to it.

  I was dreaming of Mose. Of how they must have beat on his door until he opened it, and then they pulled him out. Then Daddy showed up and he thought he was going to be all right, but he wasn’t. The fear he must have felt, the pain of strangling, feeling his life flying away from him, and for no reason at all, other than the color of his skin.

  I jumped awake to a knocking sound.

  I jerked my head around, looked at the rain-streaked window, and yelled, “Grandma!”

  Grandma came awake. “Harry? Harry?”

  “The window.”

  She looked. There was a dark face in the window, horns on its head. It was looking in the glass at us, tapping with its knuckles. Rivers of rain fled down the glass, blurring the face.

  The Goat Man.

  Grandma sprang awake, tried to get hold of the box she had placed by the bed. She managed to kick it and slide it under the table.

  The face went away. The door shook. The wooden bar held. There came a noise from outside like someone trying to talk with a mouthful of mush. The door was tugged harder, and for a moment I thought it might break free.

  I crawled under the table, got the box, opened it, gave it to Grandma. She pulled out the .38. “Go away, goddamnit! Go away or I’ll start shootin’ through the door.”

  This didn’t discourage the Goat Man. He shook the door some more, and Grandma, in spite of her threat, did not start blasting through the door.

  Finally the door ceased to shake. I got a glimpse of him as he passed the window. A heartbeat later I turned to a sound behind me. The second window was without a glass. There was only a yellow oilcloth pulled over it. A dark hand with long broken nails worked its way through, past the oilcloth, moved about as if trying to get a hold by which to pull himself inside. Grandma stepped forward and whacked the hand with the gun barrel.

  There was a howl. The hand leaped away and was gone. We listened for a while. Nothing. Grandma eased over to the window, pulled back the oilcloth. Wet wind whipped inside and chilled the room. Grandma cautiously leaned against the wall and looked out the window. She went to the other side of the oilcloth, lifted it again, looked out that way, and hopped back with a scream.

  “Damn!”

  She had hold of her chest as she backed toward the table.

  “He was out there. Soon as I looked he ran away.”

  “The Goat Man,” I said.

  “I almost believe it,” Grandma said.

  “He had horns, didn’t he?”

  “He had … He had somethin’.”

  Grandma pulled up a chair and we both sat at the table, the little revolver lying in the center next to the frame with the pictures in it.

  I suppose it was an hour later when the hailstorm stopped, and a little later after that when the rain slowed and the sky lightened.

  “It could have been Root,” Grandma said.

  “With horns on his head?”

  Grandma didn’t respond to that. We waited a while longer, then, carefully, Grandma had me lift the bolt on the front door and open it. She stood with the pistol ready.

  The Goat Man didn’t jump in on us. We both breathed a sigh of relief. Grandma got her box, and we went out of there, back into the rain. The rain was softer now and the sky was much lighter. The air smelled fresh, like a baby’s first breath. The bottoms themselves were beautiful. The trees lush, the leaves heavy with rain, the blackberry vines twisting and tangling, sheltering rabbits and snakes. Even the poison ivy winding around the oak trees seemed beautiful and green and almost something you wanted to touch.

  But like
the poison ivy, looks could be deceptive. Under all the beauty, the bottoms held dark things, and I tell you true, I felt greatly relieved when we reached the Preacher’s Road.

  We stopped at the car, tried it another time, but no deal. It was stuck and proud of it.

  There was nothing to do but walk home. The rain quit and the sunlight turned hot. It was very muddy. My shoes and pants bottoms were caked with it. So were Grandma’s shoes and the hem of her dress.

  “Next time I’m wearin’ pants,” she said.

  And she meant it. It was just the sort of thing she’d do and it would start a scandal. Back then, the idea of a female, unless they were a kid like Tom or some movie actress, wearing pants wasn’t even considered.

  When we finally walked onto the porch the sun was starting to slip on the other side of high center. Mama opened the door. She was beside herself.

  “Are you okay?” she said. “Where you been?”

  “We run off the road,” Grandma said.

  “You shouldn’t have walked all that far, Mama. How’s your heart?”

  “Fine. I ain’t an invalid, you know.”

  Both us changed clothes while Mama fixed us something to eat, a couple of rewarmed biscuits and some salt pork. Grandma even told Mama part of the truth. She said we had gone for a ride and ended up sliding off the road and staying in Mose’s old shack. She didn’t mention we had gone to Pearl Creek, that we had seen Root, and his root. She didn’t mention the Goat Man.

  It was my idea to hook Sally Redback up with a single tree and some chains, go back and pull the car out, but Mama nixed that idea, saying Sally was too old for that sort of thing, and the strain might kill her.

  It was decided, instead, I would ride Sally into town and get Daddy, who had as of late gone back to the barbershop to hit a lick at working. He’d come in as if he had never left, or perhaps as if he had never come home. He’d go into the bedroom, or outside, and sit in the chair beneath the great oak and whittle a large stick to splinters.

  Since I was going into town I decided, while I was at it, I would return a book to Mrs. Canerton, maybe get another.

  I put a bridle, reins, and saddlebag with the book in it on Sally, and Tom, who was disappointed she had missed out on our adventure, insisted on riding with me. I let her hang on the back, and Sally bounced us into town.

  At the barbershop I noticed Daddy’s car wasn’t there, but Cecil’s truck was and the shop was open. We dismounted and went inside. Cecil was sitting in the main barber chair reading a pulp magazine. I hadn’t seen him in a while. He looked tired, but happy to see us. He got out of the chair, came over to greet us, picked Tom up and sat back down in the chair and held her in his lap.

  “My goodness, you’ve grown,” he said.

  “I’m two inches taller than last year,” she said.

  “And heavier,” Cecil said. “You’ll be a woman soon.”

  I came over and stood beside them, not wanting Tom to get all the attention. I noticed up close that Cecil had a thin line of rash on the back of his neck, just above his collar.

  I wanted to interject myself somehow. “You still seein’ Mrs. Canerton?”

  “From time to time,” Cecil said, pushing Tom’s hair out of her eyes. “But she hasn’t been as friendly lately.”

  “I’m going to see her today,” I said. “Return a book she loaned me.”

  “Tell her I said hello,” he said.

  I had almost forgotten my mission. “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Well, he’s not around just now.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Actually, he’s at my place.”

  “Why?” Tom asked.

  “He wanted to relax.”

  I could tell something wasn’t right. I said, “I’ll go over to your place and check on him.”

  “Tom can stay here,” Cecil said.

  “Naw,” Tom said. “I’m goin’ too.”

  “He really wanted to be alone,” Cecil said.

  “This here is an emergency,” I said.

  “It might be best you went and got him,” Cecil said. “Tom could help me clean up here, make a nickel.”

  “A nickel,” Tom said. “You got a whole nickel?”

  “You’d have to earn it,” Cecil said. “There’s work needs to be done. Sweepin’ and such. Cleanin’ that mirror, wipin’ them hair oil bottles down.”

  “I’ll go on then,” I said.

  Cecil nodded. I slipped out the front door and untied Sally from the tree by the barbershop, started on over to Cecil’s house. By the time I got over there the sun was creeping down the horizon like a smear of sweet potato sliding off a navy-colored plate.

  I had only been to Cecil’s house once, when Daddy had wanted him to come into work early. He had given me directions and sent me over there, but I remembered the way easy.

  Cecil’s house was just on the edge of town, back amongst some trees, and it wasn’t much to look at. A two-room gray shack with a rusty tin roof and a bunch of sweet gum trees around it; a limb from one of them had grown in such a way it lifted a corner of the tin roof as if its intent was to peel it off and peek inside. The porch was rotted in spots and there were gaps in the wood where the ground showed. The ground around the house was littered with sweet gum balls.

  Daddy’s car was parked out to the back of the house, not far from the outhouse. The driver’s side door was half open. Leaning against a tree out back were the wooden side boards Cecil sometimes used for his truck, and his fishin’ boat was up on bricks to keep from rotting.

  I tied Sally to a tree, closed the car door, went on the porch and called out for Daddy. He didn’t answer. I pushed at the door and it came open. There was a faint stink inside. I walked in and looked around. A wood stove, chintz curtains over a window, a table, couple of chairs. No Daddy.

  The second room had a curtain over the door. I pulled it back, and that’s where the stink was coming from, and the stink was Daddy.

  He was lying on the bed asleep, blowing out his breath in such a way his lips trembled. The room was full of the stench of his breath, and the stench on his breath was alcohol. There was a tall bottle lying by the bed. It had turned over and whiskey had poured out of it.

  I stood there looking at him, not knowing what to think. I had never seen my Daddy drunk. I knew he liked a drink now and then, but just a drink. Yet, here he was, knocked out on the bed with an empty whiskey bottle lying in the dust.

  I knew then why I had seen him around less, and why he always got away from us when he could. He had been drinking regularly. Where before I had been sympathetic, I was now disappointed.

  I began to understand what Mama was going through, and I marveled at how well she had held up and kept it from us. Grandma probably knew as well. Suddenly, I saw those women, who I had always loved, in an even brighter light.

  I stood over Daddy, almost wanting to hit him. I decided not to try and wake him. He wouldn’t be any good if I did get him up, and I didn’t want to see him awake the way he was. I didn’t want him to see the disappointment in my face, and I didn’t want to see it on his.

  I went out of the room quietly, closed the front door, and rode Sally back to the barbershop.

  When I got back, Tom had done most of the cleaning Cecil had wanted, and he had sent her over to the general store to bring us back Dr Peppers and peanut patties, his treat.

  When she was gone, he said, “I didn’t want you to know.”

  “He’s been slippin’ into town to drink a lot, hasn’t he?”

  Cecil nodded. “He goes over to my place now and then. I thought it best he was gonna drink, he didn’t do it anywhere where he could be seen. He sobers up before this usually. I don’t really know what to say to him. He hasn’t had it easy.”

  “It’s not easy on anyone,” I said.

  “Don’t be too harsh on him, Harry. He’s a good man. He’s just down. It’s no trouble to kick someone when they’re down.”

  “I’m not kickin’ him
,” I said. “I come into town to get some help to pull Grandma’s car out of a ditch.”

  “It’s not like the business is pourin’ in today,” Cecil said. “I’ll help you, you want. We can use your Daddy’s car.”

  Me and him had put a small plan together. I was to go by Mrs. Canerton’s with Tom, to keep her away from Daddy, and he was going to walk over and get Daddy’s car, leading Sally as he went. He said there was some good grass out back of his house, and he’d put her on a long rope where she could have it till we come to get her. He would then meet us out front of Mrs. Canerton’s in Daddy’s car. I figured he was hoping he would see her.

  Me and Tom knocked on Mrs. Canerton’s door, but she wasn’t home. I put the book on the porch swing, sorry not to get a new one from her.

  Me and Tom sat on her front porch and waited on Cecil, drinking our Dr Peppers, eating our peanut patties. It wasn’t long before Cecil showed. He didn’t get out of the car. We went and got in.

  “Ain’t Daddy around?” Tom said.

  “He’s about business,” Cecil said. “We’ll see him later.”

  We drove off toward Preacher’s Road.

  It was dark by the time Grandma’s car was pulled out of the mud. There was nothing but for me to drive it home, following Cecil in Daddy’s car.

  Tom rode with Cecil. He let her sit in his lap and steer some, but that didn’t last long. She soon moved to her side. Cecil was friendly, but he wasn’t stupid enough to let her wreck.

  I followed, steering a little too hard, causing the car to go way too far to one side, then the other, but we made it home without me running off in another ditch or meeting a tree head-on. I even managed to pass a car without scaring the other driver too much.

  By the time we stopped off at the house and I rode back with Cecil in Daddy’s car to get Sally, it got dark and the moon looked like a mashed potato in the sky, rain clouds running over it like burned gravy.

  We got to Cecil’s, Daddy was gone. I don’t know where, since he didn’t have a car, but he had slipped off. The whiskey bottle wasn’t by the bed anymore. If nothing else, he was a neat drunk.

  “Your Grandma can bring your Daddy into town tomorrow to get the car,” Cecil said. “I’ll have it over to the barbershop bright and early. I think it’s better you just take the mule on home, not try and drive at night. You ain’t got the experience, Harry.”