The Madman of Piney Woods

by Christopher Paul Curtis

  Looking over Benji’s shoulder, I could see a man’s legs on the ground, covered by buckskin. He had one shoe off and one shoe on. His bare left foot was clenched like a dark brown fist.

  “Oh, Red! He’s barely alive.”

  I clawed at more vines until I was at Benji’s side.

  The South Woods Lion Man’s head, with its mass of tangled hair, was cradled in Benji’s lap.

  I must’ve been in shock, because the thought I couldn’t get out of my mind was that this must be some sort of mistake; we needed to keep looking. This man was far too small to be the South Woods Lion Man.

  But it was he.

  “Red, you’ve got to run to Buxton and get the mayor! And the doctor. I’ll stay here and look after him.”

  Benji wasn’t thinking clearly.

  A sense of fear and panic rose in my chest as I said, “That is madness! I would never be able to find this place again.”

  He rocked the Lion Man’s head and looked up.

  “I can’t leave him! I’ll start a fire; you can tell where we are from that. Just climb a tree and you’ll be able to see it. Just make sure you keep heading southwest, you can’t –”

  “Benji! You need to go. What if I get lost? It just doesn’t make sense. You can cut hours off the time it will take to get someone here.”

  Benji muttered, “You’re right.”

  He leaned forward until the Lion Man’s head was completely covered by his sobbing chest.

  “Come,” he said, “cradle him and try to make him comfortable. You must promise me you’ll hold him; you must promise me you’ll not let go of him even if …”

  “I promise, Benji. Please hurry. It won’t be long before night sets in; I’m absolutely terrified to be out here! Please hurry.”

  Benji kissed the Lion Man’s cheek and told him, “Please, sir, just hold on. I’m going for help.”

  The man’s eyes blinked rapidly, but it was not an acknowledgment that he’d heard.

  Benji stood, a stain of blood on his lap and chest. I took the Lion Man’s head into my lap. It was surprisingly light.

  I stared down at his mass of hair and at the smooth, dark brown skin of his forehead.

  My confused mind thought about playing chess with Father.

  During our matches, without knowing how or why, I’d so often find myself in a dire situation neither foreseen nor easily reversed. The only thing I knew was that the game was over. I had that same feeling now.

  But in this dire situation, I found myself holding the dying South Woods Lion Man’s head in my lap in a jungle of grapevines somewhere in the forest as night crept forward. It did seem as though the end was near; however, there was no king to tip in resignation to make it all end.

  I raised my head and said, “Please, Benji, hurry!”

  He was already gone.

  I ran so hard, trees of the forest whooshed by me like I was on the 3:15 to Chatham. A forest of worries and thoughts whizzed by me just as fast. And just like I tried to avoid running into the trees, I tried to avoid running into those thoughts. If they stood between me and what I needed to get done, I sidestepped them and let them fly by. Not avoiding either would mean being knocked down.

  The thoughts I couldn’t afford to have were about what I was running from. I had to think about anything but this poor wounded man and Red and what a bad situation this was.

  I figured it would take me no more than forty-five to fifty minutes to get to Buxton. Then there’d be at most another half hour to find the mayor and the doctor. By then the mayor would probably be preparing to leave the fields or would be sitting on the porch of Miss Aden, having a cool drink.

  There’d be another fifty minutes to an hour to return to Red and the Madman. Plus, if I added another fifteen to twenty minutes for unforeseen events, I would be gone from them for at most two and a half hours. I also figured that if all went well, that would be probably a half hour before the sun set.

  An unwanted thought intruded: The deepest parts of the forest have a love for darkness; they invite the night in an hour before the sun sets and hang on to it for an hour after the sun rises.

  I let the thought zoom by.

  I hoped for two things, that the Madman would not die during that time and that Red’s courage would not abandon him. The thought of Red losing hope and leaving the Madman lying alone in the woods spurred me to run harder.

  I would never blame Red for becoming so frightened that he’d run. He’d been right. He wouldn’t have been able to find his way out of these woods in full daylight; in the black of a moonless night, there’d be no hope at all.

  I let this thought go and turned my thoughts to figuring out how we’d actually move the Madman once me and the mayor and the doctor returned to them.

  How would we carry him back? He was so deep in the woods that a wagon wouldn’t be able to reach him and would take far too long.

  Charming Little Chalet in the Woods came to mind, and just as I was about to avoid the thought, I knew why it had! Stubby and Pay used a travois to carry the tools and lumber that went into building their tree house. Everything they built was done with care and quality, so there was no doubt their travois would still be around and would be able to carry much more than the Madman, who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and forty pounds.

  That meant I’d need another half hour to forty-five minutes to get all of that together. My spirits sank. It would be well past dark when the mayor and I would get to them. The poor boy!

  Even as well as I know the forest, being alone, lost in the woods on a pitch-black night would be enough to make me lose my mind. Plus, Red might be sitting with someone who was no longer alive. It would have overwhelmed even a woodsman like me.

  I forced myself to run even harder. I also feared the dark would slow my progress so much that it might take me forever to find them. I cursed myself for not starting a fire before I left.

  I let those thoughts go and ran until my eyes and lungs burned.

  It’s impossible to say the relief I felt when I began to notice certain landmarks, when I knew exactly what lay ahead. I was on the far north fringe of the Russells’ land, only a fifteen-minute hard run from the mayor’s fields!

  My lungs felt like they wanted to come out of my chest by squeezing out of my throat. Every time my feet struck the ground, it felt like a wooden stake was being pounded into my chest, but the sight of known land and the glorious smell of familiar fields kept me moving on.

  I burst through the tree line and looked the three or four hundred yards toward the back of the Russells’ barn. Two tiny familiar figures moved there.

  Could that be … ?

  No! I ran harder. I waved frantically but was too far off to be noticed.

  I had to stop to make certain my eyes weren’t playing a dirty trick on me.

  Air fought into me through both my nose and mouth. Stopping was a mistake. The moment I did, I weighed tons and sank to my knees.

  I looked toward the Russells’ home and once my chest stopped heaving and my eyes cleared, it was what I thought!

  And what a salve for sore eyes!

  Patience and Stubby!

  They were building a shed not far from the Russells’ barn. I’d never in my life been so happy and relieved to see those two!

  They were so far off that the sound of their hammering reached me seconds after their arms actually went down. Shouting would be useless.

  I waited for my wind to come back to me, struggled to my feet, and started loping toward them.

  Once the sound of the hammering and the hitting of the nails started to happen around the same time, I stopped and began shouting.

  “Pay! Stubby!”

  Nothing.

  “Patience! Stubby!”

  She looked up and held off her hammering in mid-swing.

  Putting one hand over her eyes, she yelled, “Benji?”

  Stubby looked up too. My strength gave way, the world began whirling madly around me, a
nd the ground rushed right up to my face. I saw a flash of light, then darkness.

  * * *

  The world stopped spinning.

  We were on a porch, and Patience was cradling my head. Stubby had brought a ladle of water, and its coolness was divine. The only thought on my mind was to cling to it ferociously so he wouldn’t take it away.

  I couldn’t understand why Pay’s voice was so angry. Plus, she was asking a million questions.

  “Benjamin Alston? Benji? What is wrong with you? Who’s chasing you? Is this a prank? If it is, I’m telling …”

  I remembered!

  I swallowed another ladle of cool water and said, “No! I swear it’s no prank. The Madman of Piney Woods has been shot in the back and is lying far off in the woods with Red. He’s nearly dead!”

  “What?”

  “Quick, we’ll need a couple of fast horses and your travois. I’ll get the mayor and Doc.”

  Pay said, “You wait here, we’ll get everything. The Russells aren’t home, but they won’t mind if we borrow their mare. We’ll go home to tell Mother and get the travois, then we’ll get Doc and the mayor. We’ll tell Mother we’re taking Jingle Girl.”

  I said, “Wait, just let me catch my breath.”

  She said to me, “You’d only slow us down, Benji. This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. We’ll need you to guide us to them. Stay here and get your wind back.”

  As she ran toward the barn, she called over her shoulder, “And I’m telling Mother you’re still calling him a madman. She’s warned you about that.”

  I waited on the porch.

  I was very happy that Patience was in charge.

  * * *

  Time dragged horribly, but finally the hurried clomp of galloping horses approaching grew louder. The mayor was atop his mare; Patience sat behind Stubby on Jingle Girl. The fabric of the travois was folded and its long poles were tied alongside a third horse I didn’t recognize. Patience held its reins.

  The mayor jumped off his horse.

  “Benji! How bad is he –”

  His eyes fell on the blood on my shirt and he cringed.

  I said, “Sir, he was alive, but barely. He was breathing terribly hard. But where is Doc?”

  “He’s on his way back from Toronto. You and Patience take the mare and lead us. How far off?”

  “An hour and a half.” I climbed onto his horse.

  He looked to the sky. “We gotta get there afore dark.”

  Stubby climbed onto the other horse while the mayor took Pay’s spot and she settled in behind me.

  I kept going over everything, anything to take my mind off how time was flying and how the sun seemed like it was trying to set faster than it ever had before.

  Just as we turned into the woods, Patience said, “Benji! What about Red’s father and grandmother?”

  “What about them?”

  “You said Red ran into the woods as soon as he heard about the shooting. Does his family know where he is?”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “I don’t see how they could.”

  “Stop the horse. Now!”

  She pounded me in the back. “Stop!”

  I pulled the mare up.

  “Patience, stop hitting me! What is it?”

  “What do you think Mother and Father would do if one of us didn’t come home one evening? What would be going through their heads?”

  Again I was forced to admit, “I just hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I guess you hadn’t. Have you thought how if it takes us a couple of hours to find them, it will take maybe four more hours to get him back and for Red to get to Chatham. Red’s family will go insane.”

  She slid off the horse.

  She told the mayor, “Sir, Timothy and I are going to have to ride to Chatham and tell Red’s father he’s not in any kind of trouble. We won’t be able to go with you. Timothy?”

  “Aw, Patience, I want to –”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Timmy, let’s go.”

  Stubby said, “No, I’m going with them.”

  Pay shouted, “Now!”

  Stubby climbed off the horse that was carrying the travois, and the mayor took his place. Pay pulled Stubby up behind her on Jingle Girl.

  As they rode off, the mayor said, “Now, there’s a child with a great head on her shoulders.”

  I had no choice but to agree.

  Father’s best friend, and the only person who consistently gives him a struggle in chess, the Honourable Justice Steven Mariotti, explained to me once how very fortunate I am.

  We had been sitting on the front porch one evening waiting for Father to return from the courthouse, when Justice Mariotti said, “Alvin, there will come a time when you’ll benefit greatly from your father’s advice, and he won’t be there to give it to you. It may not happen until you’re seventy-five years old, but I guarantee a time will come that you’ll desperately want to hear from him for guidance … and he won’t be around.

  “You, however, are blessed to have spent a great deal of time with your father and blessed to be wise enough to have an idea of what he would do, given a particular set of circumstances. Not many young people are so fortunate to be doubly blessed in this manner. When that time comes and, whatever the reason may be, your father is unable to directly answer your questions, simply ask yourself how he’d behave. Then do the same. Trust him and follow suit. You’ll not go wrong.”

  If ever there was a time that I needed to talk to Father and was unable to, this gloomy evening in the forest was it.

  What would he do?

  I knew he would not abandon the South Woods Lion Man. That was a certainty. I knew no matter how frightening a situation this was and no matter what the cost to himself, he’d do what was decent and honourable. I’d do the same.

  I’d promised Benji I’d stay and I would.

  I’m certain one of the first things Father would have done is to try to soothe my fears with humour. But I’m afraid I don’t know how he’d find humour or levity in this predicament.

  “Alvin,” he’d often say, “humour and tragedy are such close friends that one is always hand in glove with the other.”

  So even though this situation was loaded with tragedy, there had to be something comical in it. Maybe the fact that here I, who was rather timid about the forest, was sitting with the head of the man who’d greatly frightened me lying in my lap while night fell would tickle someone’s funny bone. Maybe two people trapped within a strangled web of grapevines would be funny to someone.

  I’m sure the lads would see some reason to laugh at this.

  But they’d also be impressed. Hickman would doubtless compose a speech that would be clever and memorable.

  Petey might look at me with admiration and simply say, “Good job, boy.”

  And the Bayliss boys? After they got over their embarrassment at running from the man whose head I now cradled, I imagine they’d find me to be the bravest lad in Ontario!

  Father would doubtless trace that courage to my Irish blood.

  He’d probably suggest …

  The South Woods Lion Man caused all thoughts of comfort and humour to flee when he dragged in another lungful of air.

  It was so dark now that the mane of hair circling his head like a halo was all I could clearly make out. I could see nothing two feet away from my outstretched hand.

  I prayed more fervently than ever to be delivered from this tomb!

  But no matter how much I prayed, this wasn’t going to go away.

  I imagined Grandmother O’Toole would at that very moment be planning how to punish me for not being home for supper. I imagined Father would tell her something comforting, something along the lines of, “Well, I’ll wager when the lad gets home we’ll hear about some grand experiment Mr. Victor Greene had him involved in where they lost track of time.”

  Most frightening was that it was impossible to estimate the passage of time in that accursed darkness. I felt as th
ough I’d been there for days, but was it really hours? Or maybe even minutes? I didn’t know.

  I thought again of how Father might try to comfort me. Maybe he’d recount one of his funnier cases from long ago.

  He always would start by saying, “It was so hilarious that when I told your mother she …”

  Mother.

  I don’t know why, but I said the word out loud. “Mother.”

  That’s when I cried.

  I was good up until that one word.

  I hadn’t cried for Mother in years, but the tears came so freely, they cascaded onto the South Woods Lion Man’s face, causing his face to twitch with each drop.

  My sobs quieted the croaking, chirping, cawing nightlife immediately around me.

  Justice Mariotti had been right; I did wish Father were here to advise me. But more than that, I wished for something that I hadn’t wished for in years: I longed, no, I ached for Mother to be here to tell me not to worry.

  The sorrow and pain and loneliness I hadn’t felt in years found me in this little cage of grapevines and made me wish for just one more chance to hold her hands to my face and deeply breathe in her scent.

  My misery began to slowly rend my heart in two.

  Fortunately, before I sank into complete melancholy, my training as a scientist took over. I changed one element in Justice Mariotti’s advice to get a different outcome.

  Instead of thinking what Father would do, I imagined what Mother would say.

  The answer was obvious.

  She’d scold me for thinking only of myself in this situation and not about the poor man who’d been foully ambushed and was dying in my arms.

  She’d have been greatly disappointed in me, but she’d have been careful in letting me know.

  She simply would have tousled my hair and said, “Alvin? First things first. Who’s in more need of comforting here, you or this poor soul you’re holding?”

  An embarrassingly obvious question.

  She would say, “We’ll get back to you in a minute, but now, let us try to help ease this man’s burden.”

  And I knew what would come next. She’d do one of those magical things mothers do that, on the face of the evidence, don’t seem very important or powerful or capable of causing much change, but which do all of that and more.