The Madman of Piney Woods

by Christopher Paul Curtis

I was afraid everyone would be too stiff, that Mother and Father would behave like they were questioning Red as though they were hiring him for something. I could see he might be so frightened, he’d answer everything with a yes or no and wouldn’t talk beyond that. I thought maybe Patience would sit and glare at him evilly and that I’d be so nervous that my old habit of laughing at everything, even if it wasn’t funny, would come back.

  Father said, “My friend Victor Green tells me you’re quite the student, Alvin.”

  For some reason, this was hilarious. I guffawed. Strange looks were directed at me from every side of the table.

  Red said, “Thank you, sir. I’m really fortunate to have such a good instructor. Mr. Green is known to be the best science teacher in all of Upper Ontario. It’s very difficult to get into his classes.”

  There wasn’t any possible way that was funny, but out exploded another laugh.

  Mother looked at me and furrowed her brow.

  I was certain I didn’t have to worry about Red or Pay saying anything unfortunate; it was Stubby who had me on pins and needles.

  If he had a question or comment, he was going to let everyone know. He hadn’t learned yet that many things are best left unsaid. He was the loose cannon on deck.

  And he didn’t disappoint.

  Not two minutes after Mother had prayed for Red’s comfort, Stubby made all of us uncomfortable by looking at Red and saying, “So. Does it hurt?”

  I held my breath.

  Red said, “Does what hurt?”

  Stubby said, “Being that colour.”

  Mother slammed her fork on the table.

  “Timothy Eric Alston! Plan on spending some time in the Amen Corner, young man!”

  “Why, Mother? That’s not a rude question. A white girl at school touched the top of my head and said my hair was so stiff that she felt sorry for me because I must go through every day with a headache. I didn’t get mad.”

  Mother almost smiled before saying, “Just because someone has asked you an ignorant question or made a rude remark doesn’t mean you have license to do the same. Now, Timothy, you know what you must do.”

  Stubby said, “Yes, Mother. I apologize, Red. I really wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

  Red smiled and said, “I get asked questions like that all of the time. You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

  Stubby couldn’t help himself. He said it again. “So, then. Does it hurt?”

  Before Mother or Father could react, Red answered, “To be truthful, Stubby, I have the same problem as your big brother.

  “These” – he pointed first at my face, then at his – “are completely painless … unless there’s a mirror in the room.”

  Red had done the impossible. He made it so not one Alston knew what to say. Silence and expressions of surprise hung over the table.

  Father and Mother howled first, followed by Stubby and Patience and Red. Finally, I laughed too. Mine wasn’t a laugh of humour; it was a laugh of relief.

  Pay pointed at me and said, “Ahh! He got you good, Benji! I don’t know how many times I’ve seen you staring in the mirror with tears in your eyes!”

  “You’re right, Patience. I cry because I have you for a sister.”

  Those words and those laughs were like an abandoned fishing shanty crashing through a frozen Lake Erie at the end of winter. Just like that, the ice broke and all my worries disappeared. Stubby had taken his best shot and I didn’t have anything to worry about. My new friend, this Irish boy from Chatham, could take care of himself.

  I relaxed, the other Alstons relaxed, Red relaxed. Mother’s food seemed even more delicious than usual and our everyday chatter filled the room.

  Other than when Stubby asked Red why he talked like a schoolteacher instead of a normal child, the dinner was wonderful.

  I was glad I’d invited him.

  * * *

  When it was close to time for the train to leave, Red and I stood at the door as he thanked Mother and Father for supper.

  “You’re welcome here any time, Alvin.”

  Red said, “Thank you, Mrs. Alston. You can call me Red, ma’am.”

  Mother laughed. “I’d rather not.”

  Father said, “Tell the judge Timothy Senior sends his best.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  Mother and Father walked into the kitchen.

  Patience and Stubby started pulling on their shoes and stockings.

  “Hold your horses,” I said. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

  Stubby said, “We’re going with you to walk Red to the station.”

  This was surprising. They never wanted to do anything if I was involved in it.

  I said, “That’s very sweet, but it won’t be happening this time. Take those shoes and stockings back off.”

  Patience never stopped lacing her shoes and shouted, “Mother!”

  Mother called from the kitchen, “They’re going with you, Benjamin.”

  I thought I was whispering when I said, “Fine, but I’ll pound either one of you if you open your mouth to say one word.”

  Patience yelled, “Mother!”

  “They’re allowed to talk, Benjamin.”

  I made the sign of cutting my throat, then pointed at Pay and showed my teeth.

  “Mother!”

  “Benjamin, do I have to come out there?”

  “No, Mother.”

  I said to Red, “Do you see now?”

  He smiled.

  At least Pay and Stubby had the sense to follow a little behind us as we walked.

  I could tell something was on Red’s mind. I said, “So what do you want to ask me now?”

  A devilish smile crossed his face. He said, “I didn’t want to ask you anything, but there is something I want to tell you.”

  He reached in his pocket and removed a small piece of paper. He unfolded it and said, “Do you remember the other day when you told me the word gullible isn’t in the dictionary?”

  “Of course I do. It isn’t.”

  Red made a show of clearing his throat and read from the paper, “ ‘Gullible. Adjective. Meaning easily misled and prone to being tricked and taken advantage of.’ ”

  He smiled and waved the paper under my nose.

  He said, “It seems as though Mr. Webster disagrees with –”

  It dawned on him. He stopped walking and turned the most amazing shade of crimson.

  “Oh, dear,” he said.

  Me, Pay, and Stubby almost collapsed from laughter.

  Pay said, “Don’t feel bad, Red. Everyone falls for that stupid joke.”

  Red’s smart; he changed the subject. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Timothy, but I noticed you have all of your limbs and fingers and toes, and you are by no means short for someone your age. Why on earth are you known as Stubby?”

  Stubby said, “That’s Benji’s fault. Last year when he found out Mother and Father were going to let Pay and me apprentice with the carpenter, he got so jealous that he tried his best to make us feel bad.”

  Pay said, “But since Benji’s not very bright, the worst he could come up with was to give us stupid nicknames. He called Timmy Stubby and me Ninah.”

  Red said, “Where on earth did those names come from?”

  Stubby said, “He asked me to look at all of the carpenters we worked with and notice if they had anything in common.”

  Patience said, “And they did. Nearly every one of them was missing a finger or a thumb or at the least a hunk or tip of a finger.”

  “Benji told me it wouldn’t be long before I chopped something off of me too, so to toughen me up and help me get used to being teased, he started calling me Stubby. Now everybody but Mother and Father and Patience do.”

  I said, “That’s right. When someone gets hit with a perfect nickname, it always sticks. And I’ve got to tell you, Red, I’m shocked … shocked, I say, that to this day, the boy has never uttered one word of thanks for me helping him prepare for his future
life.”

  Red asked Patience, “Why did he give you the nickname Ninah?”

  I really didn’t want this sad story to be told.

  I said, “Truth told, Red, the only nickname that ever stuck with Patience is Li’l Toot.”

  He said, “Why is that?”

  Pay said, “When I was young, I was very hard-headed and strong-willed, just like our mother. Some people call her TooToo and they called me Li’l Toot.”

  Red said, “That’s an unfortunate nickname. But why did Benji call you Ninah?”

  Pay said, “According to Benji, when I cut off one of my fingers, I wouldn’t have ten left, I’d just have nine, which means I’d be a Niner, a Ninah. But no one calls me that, and they never will.”

  “Why not?”

  Pay smiled. “Ask him.”

  I lied. “Oh, I don’t know. Some names stick, some don’t, that’s all.”

  Pay said, “It didn’t stick because the night after he said it, I made sure he was sound asleep, then sneaked into his and Timmy’s room. I tied a string around two of his fingers on his right hand as tight as I could and waited.”

  Stories like this were the exact reason I didn’t want these two to come along.

  Pay continued. “Before long, he twitched around a bit and whined and shook his hand in his sleep. When his eyes came open, the first thing he saw was me looking down at him. I was holding a lit candle and had my knife between my teeth like pirates do.

  “I took it out so I could talk, put it under his nose, and told him, ‘Guess what. Your new nickname is Eight-uh. If anybody ever, ever calls me Ninah, your next nickname will be Lefty.’

  “He felt the pain from the string cutting off the blood to his fingers and thought I’d chopped them off. He grabbed his hand, screamed, crawled under the bed, and cried for his mommy like the baby he is!”

  Stubby said, “I’ll say! His screams woke all of us up. Father rushed into the room holding a fire iron over his head. Him and Mother thought Benji was getting murdered!”

  Patience said, “That was worth the week I spent in the Amen Corner. I would have gladly done two!”

  Red and Stubby and good old Ninah enjoyed a long laugh at my expense.

  When we reached the station, the train was already boarding. I shook Red’s hand, so of course Stubby and Pay had to do the same thing.

  Red opened his mouth in surprise.

  “My word, you two have the roughest hands I’ve ever touched.”

  Patience said, “Thank you!”

  He climbed the stairs to the train and, once he reached the top, turned back around.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Patience, but there’s something I simply must tell you, particularly since your older brother is so full of himself.”

  Pay said, “What’s that?”

  Red said, “It was a pleasure making your acquaintance. I can’t wait to see some of the furniture you and Stubby have worked on. I hope your family will invite me back …”

  He paused, laughed, then added, “… Miss Ninah! I shall see you in Chatham for supper at my home next week, Lefty!”

  I’m certain he meant that as a good-natured joke, but he has absolutely no idea how bleak and cold Pay can be. There are still nights when I awake startled from my sleep and check to make sure all ten fingers are still connected to my hand.

  Maybe Red would feel some sort of remorse and understand how painful words can be if he read that day’s headline:

  WORLD-FAMOUS NEWSPAPERMAN HORRIBLY MAIMED IN HIS SLEEP! VICIOUS SISTER PROVIDED WITH AIRTIGHT ALIBI BY SIMPLEMINDED YOUNGER BROTHER!

  Three weeks after my delightful supper with the Alstons, on the evening Benji was supposed to join Father and me for supper, I was in a complete dither.

  I checked, double-checked, then checked a third time that Grandmother O’Toole had indeed gone to Windsor for her end-of-each-month, weeklong visit with Great-Aunt Margaret. I lived in dread that just as Benji, Father, and I settled down to eat, she’d come bustling in from a missed train with her “Faith and begorra this …” or “Faith and begorra that …”

  I shivered in horror through the night fearing what she would have to say to and about Benji if she saw him. Grandmother O’Toole had a ranking of the different kinds of people she hated most. On top of her list were Canadians, followed closely by English people, followed closely by anyone with brown skin, especially the brown-skinned people from Buxton. The list went on and on, but the top three were all I had to deal with now.

  Unfortunately, Benji would be at the top of the list even above Canadians because he was both brown-skinned and Canadian. She always had the most incredibly cruel and ridiculous things to say about Canadians and especially the Canadians who came from Buxton.

  I’d resigned myself that if Grandmother O’Toole did show up during supper, before she had the chance to utter one vicious word, I’d immediately grab my innocent friend and the two of us would hurl ourselves through the glass of the picture window to make a grand escape.

  Taking a chance on being shredded by sharp shards of glass would be far better than the guaranteed pain and anguish Grandmother O’Toole’s angry, mean-spirited tongue would doubtless mete out.

  The fourth time I asked Father if he was absolutely, one hundred percent, beyond-any-doubt positive she wouldn’t be back and that the train had come through on schedule, he said, “Alvin, believe me, I understand your trepidations, but we’re fine.

  “She didn’t take the train this time. Her sister was in Toronto for an appointment, hired a carriage to take her back to Windsor, and they’ve already picked up Mother O’Toole.

  “As we speak, the dear is wreaking havoc at the home of your great-aunt Margaret in the beautiful City of Roses. We have nothing to worry about. Our dinner tonight with your new friend will be a time of relaxation and peace.”

  I trusted my father.

  But that didn’t mean I didn’t still have my doubts.

  * * *

  At the very moment Grandfather Stockard’s clock chimed for the seventh time, a soft knock came from the front door.

  I almost didn’t recognize the boy who stood on the porch with a pie in his hand.

  He was dressed in a starched white shirt with a blue bow tie and full-length trousers that were held up by a pair of braces made of the same blue material as the bow tie.

  Benji looked so different. I am accustomed to him being either in the heavy denim apron and folded-newspaper cap he wore whenever he was on his way to or from work, or barefoot in cutoff pants with a short-sleeved shirt and ragged straw hat. I’m fairly certain that he wore the apron and cap so people on the train or in Chatham would notice that he was a newspaperman and might want to engage him in conversation.

  Tonight, however, Benji appeared to be as stiff as one of the manikins in Curly’s mother’s shop. Or maybe even a corpse.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, “you’ve come to the wrong home. The mortuary is three blocks down.”

  Benji laughed without humour. He put his finger in the shirt’s collar and pulled at it. “Heh-heh. My mother made me wear this.”

  He looked over his shoulder.

  “I thought about changing out of it, but you can never be sure that Patience and Stubby aren’t out spying.”

  I took the pie from him. “Thank you, Benji. Come on in and meet my father.”

  Father stood when we walked into the parlour.

  “Father? I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Benjamin.”

  His name sounded odd to me. I don’t think I’d ever called him anything but Benji before.

  Benji stepped over to Father and they shook hands.

  Benji unblinkingly looked Father in the eye. He spoke as if Father were partially deaf.

  “It is a pleasure meeting you, sir. Heh-heh.”

  Father said, “The pleasure is all mine. My goodness, Benjamin, you have a very firm handshake.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We’re pleased that you cou
ld join us for dinner tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir. You have a lovely home. Heh-heh.”

  “Thank you, Benjamin.”

  Benji near shouted, “My father told me to make sure I passed along his greetings. He filed a deed with you a while ago, sir.”

  “Yes, I remember. Tell him and your mother I say hello as well.”

  “Yes, sir, I will. Heh-heh.”

  I had to do a double take. Who was this lad speaking in this manner? Surely not my talkative, boisterous friend from the swimming hole.

  It was simple to deduce what was occurring. I was certain I’d be able to predict how this evening was going to unfold since I knew the checklist that Benji’s parents must have insisted he run through. It had to have been similar to the list Father had made me swear to follow when he gave me permission to go to Benji’s house for supper.

  1. Shake hands firmly.

  2. Make and maintain eye contact.

  3. Speak clearly; no mumbling; make certain you’re speaking loudly enough to be heard.

  4. Compliment your hosts’ home.

  5. Don’t sit until your hosts do.

  6. Make certain you put your napkin in your lap.

  7. Don’t talk with your mouth full.

  8. Compliment your hosts on the meal.

  9. Thank your hosts for a lovely evening.

  10. Firmly shake your hosts’ hands as you leave.

  Father said, “Please be seated, Benjamin. We’ll be eating shortly.”

  “Oh, no, sir” – Benji waved his hand at Father’s chair – “after you. Heh-heh.”

  He waited until Father sat, then looked at me.

  Benji prided himself on being such a joker that I decided this was as good a time as any to throw a hammer or two at Thor.

  I started to sit, but before my bottom hit the cushion of the chair, I stood back up.

  Benji did the same.

  Twice more I became partially seated but sprang back up. Benji followed like a jack-in-the-box.

  He looked in my direction as though he wanted to strangle me.

  There’s an old Irish saying for when a prankster gets his comeuppance and the joke ends up being on him. I have no idea what that saying is, but I know, just as with everything else that happens, there’s an old Irish saying for it.