The Farm

by Matt Moss

  He rises and stands in front of me. “Don’t we all.”

  He’s got more to offer, so I’ll play along. “Fine. But what if they find out that I’m spying on them. They’ll kill me for sure.”

  “Bah, they wouldn’t kill you. And besides, they’ll never know. This will be our little secret. Deal?” He sticks his hand out.

  I shake on it. “Deal.”

  He puts his cigar out on the glass ashtray and I do the same. I guess breakfast is over. “It’s settled then. Well, best be on your way. You’ve got work to do, and we wouldn’t want to keep them waiting,” Mr. Whyte says and shows me the way out. “If you’ve anything to tell me about them, now’s the time.”

  I stop in the foyer. “Well, they have been all buddy-buddy with us lately. Even partied with us the other night.”

  “Partied? You mean they drank?” he asks it as if they’ve never drank before.

  “Yeah. Even smoked a little, too. And it ain’t like the tobacco you got in those cigars.” Whatever I said makes him look away, deep in thought.

  He brings his attention back to me, smiles, and pats me on the back. “Thank you for telling me this. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  I nod before turning to open the door. Before I leave, he speaks and I pause to listen.

  “A wise man will seek out knowledge and understanding—a foolish man, not. Go spend some time with Marcus Aurelius and learn from one of the greatest minds of the past. Knowledge is a tool as much as it is a weapon and, when wielded properly, can change the course of history.”

  For the remainder of the day, I’m on the receiving end of suspicion. On multiple occasions, the farmhands talk among themselves while casting glances my way. It’s odd how you can get a sense of when someone is talking about you, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that they are, even though they try to hide it. They think they’re being clever and nobody’s the wiser, but they can’t outmaneuver the unseen strand that binds. Some call it a ‘sixth sense’ or intuition.

  Call it whatever you will—I’m in tune with it.

  With head down low while I work, they can’t see me watching them out of the corner of my eye. From all the stolen glances, I’ve deducted all the possibilities down to two things that I’m fairly certain of: One—they are most definitely talking about me. Two—they’re planning something. From the way they’ve ignored the rest of the guys for the greater part of the day, and how they’ve acted skittish when one of them approaches, I’d wager they’re plotting something big.

  This is why Mr. Whyte wanted me to watch them. Does he sense they’re up to something, too?

  I’m sure he does. He’s a smart man, or at least he comes off as intelligent. Could be a good liar. Unlikely, though. He carries himself with confidence, and that’s hard to fake all the time.

  “Donald,” Mr. Gibbs calls and waves him over. Donald trots up to the the farmhands and nods his head while they give him orders. They both leave on the four wheeler — Gibbs riding on the front rack while Red drives. We all watch them drive away and glance at each other in shock. It’s the first time they’ve ever left us alone in the field.

  “Alright you sons’a bitches, I’m in charge now!” Donald exclaims and sticks out his chest, hands on his waist. We all walk up to him.

  “Really? They put you in charge?” Benji asks incredulously. “What’s the deal with that?”

  Donald crosses his arms. “Deal? The deal is to get back to work.”

  Abram laughs. “Alright, Don. Fun’s over. Now, tell us what’s going on.”

  “I’m not bull-shittin’ you all. They left me in charge and I’m gonna make good on that responsibility. Now, get back to work.” He points back to the field in all seriousness. We all look at one another like he’s gone mad.

  “Don, it’s us against them, right?” Benji notes in a confused, almost hurt tone.

  Don looks away and grinds his teeth. “Damnit, Benji, I know what side we’re on. But they trusted me to be in charge and told me not to slack up on the work. Hell, they could be watching on the other side of those trees just to make sure I’m doing my job.”

  “Whatever, man,” Abram says and gets back to work.

  Larry puts a hand on Donald’s shoulder and nods his head slowly. “Earn their trust. I see what you’re doing. Smart. Very smart.”

  The rest of us turn to get back to work. “Cole, not you.”

  “What’s up, Mr. Donald?”

  “Don’t call me that. We both know it’s just for show.” He leans in close. “What happened today? You know, with Mr. Whyte.”

  I’m not going to tell him what Mr. Whyte’s intentions truly are. The way Donald tries to impress the farmhands, and the way they’ve been treating us lately. I’m suspicious of everyone.

  There’s only one man I trust, and right now he’s feeling on my balls.

  “Why are you holding your balls?” Donald asks, steps back and gives me a funny look.

  “They just started hurting. Ever have that happen?”

  “No. Can you be serious for a minute? Mr. Whyte?”

  “Oh, yeah. Nothing.”

  He frowns. “What do you mean, nothing? Why’d he invite you then?”

  “He wanted to know if I read the books.”

  “That’s it?”

  I smile. “And he likes to have someone to drink with.”

  Donald shakes his head and grins. “You lucky bastard. I bet he drinks the good stuff, too.”

  “The best.”

  “Make sure you read that book soon… like tonight. Better know what it’s about before he asks you again. You’re in there now, so don’t screw it up.”

  “In where?” I say and throw my hands up while walking away.

  “Get back to work,” he yells back for everyone to hear. He marches up and down the side of the field and watches the rest of us work. If he’s acting the part of farmhand, he’s doing a pretty good job. I, for one, am enjoying the show. Can’t say the other guys are, though. I laugh to myself at the position he’s in—the situation we’re all in. From what I’ve gathered so far, life’s a trip and can be awfully strange at times.

  The sound of the four wheeler in the distance makes Donald turn. He begins marching double-time while barking out orders to dig faster. We all look at each other and shake our heads, which infuriates him even more. He’s really selling the whole boss man thing and is trying his best to impress them.

  “Hey Don, the world’s full of kiss-asses!” Abram shouts. “And since you’re so good at it, here you go.” His pants fall around his ankles and he bends over, giving Donald the full moon. Larry, Benji, and myself burst out with laughter and I can see Donald’s face turn flush-red from fifty yards away. Larry does like Abram, bends over, and gives Donald a show, except he accentuates it with a series of smacks with his hand.

  As the ATV pulls up, so do the pants. We all go to meet the farmhands.

  “Did you see what they just did!” Donald screams at the farmhands, pointing an accusing finger at us.

  “What kind of operation are you running out here, Donald?” Mr. Red asks, hopping off the bike.

  Mr. Gibbs chuckles. “You boys have been spending way too much time together in the barn. At night. In the dark. All alone.” He grins at Donald before lighting up a smoke.

  “What? I just tried to do a good job, but they disrespected me!”

  “Did you establish the rules?” Mr. Gibbs asks.

  “Well, no. But that’s still no excuse for outright defiance,” Donald huffs.

  “How does it feel?” Mr. Gibbs replies, implying that the role of a leader isn’t easy.

  Donald looks at me and gives a faint wink. One that only I could know; one that shows he’s playing the game.

  In leaving, Mr. Gibbs throws his arm up, signaling to us that the work day’s over. “Come on. We got a surprise waiting for y’all.”

  “Everyone gets Meat of the Day? Like that one time?” Benji asks, his voice hitting all the high n
otes like a kid begging for treats.

  Mr. Gibbs struts away and replies behind his back. “Something like that.” Mr. Red fires up the four wheeler and takes off ahead. The five of us look at each other. Abram punches Donald in the arm.

  “What the hell was that for?” Donald says and throws his arms out.

  “You know what the hell that was for, asshole.” Abram storms ahead and Don stops.

  Donald yells to Abram’s back. “I was just doing my job!”

  Larry marches in front of Donald, clicks his heels together and salutes. “Permission to leave, sir?”

  Donald shakes his head and starts walking.

  “Come on, Larry,” I tell him after a moment, because he’s still standing in salute and I can’t take it anymore.

  “You sure?” Larry asks. “Boss didn’t say we could leave yet.”

  “You can leave, Larry,” Donald shouts back.

  As we fall in at the back of the pack, Larry walks beside me. “What do you think the surprise is?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.” In truth, I don’t want to know. If Mr. Whyte is suspicious of the two farmhands, it may be for good reason. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  Larry rambles on with a bunch of conspiracy theories on the way back, but I’m not really listening. I nod my head and pretend that I am, but can’t stop thinking about the situation Whyte put me in. I don’t know what he expects from me. Gibbs and Red are always together. For the brief time that they are alone, they bark out orders and keep their distance. And I can’t spy on them when they go behind the fence and through the gate that’s next to the white house. There’s no way to know what lies beyond it. What am I supposed to do, jump the fence? It’s at least twelve feet tall. If they catch me…

  “Cole, what do you think? Yes or no?”

  “Uh… yea, sure.”

  “I think so, too. I’ll tell Abram when we get back.”

  “Tell him what?”

  “What we were just talking about. I swear, Cole, sometimes you can be awfully weird.”

  That’s the pot calling the kettle black.

  “Whatever. I gotta piss,” I tell him, not because I really have to go, but because I want to get away from him. Hopefully, he’ll keep walking. I can’t think when he’s around.

  He stops. “I’ll wait on you.”

  Damnit, Larry. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  He shrugs, then continues walking.

  I keep my distance in the back the rest of the way, and can’t think about much else other than the ‘surprise’ that’s waiting for us. I can see Mr. Gibbs walking out of the white house with a tommy gun in hand and yelling ‘SURPRISE’ before mowing all of us down as we stand there with dumb looks on our faces. It wouldn’t necessarily be the worst-case scenario; more like a middle-of-the-road-case scenario. Worst-case would be spending the rest of my life on this cursed farm.

  They gather around the entrance to the barn and wait for me to join them. “Now that we’re all here, let’s talk,” Mr. Gibbs says and looks to Red to lead next.

  Mr. Red rips the tobacco out of his mouth with a finger and flings it on the ground. “We’ve been impressed with your work ethic and how you’ve followed the rules lately. Ever since Donald kicked Gibbs’s ass here, everyone’s really turned things around.”

  Gibbs folds his arms. “He didn’t kick my ass.”

  “Debatable,” Abram says.

  “Whatever,” Gibbs says and pulls a smoke from his pocket. He smiles at Donald and sets the group at ease.

  Mr. Red continues. “Anyway, we wanted to reward you. So we’re inviting you for supper.”

  “Inside the white house?” Benji asks.

  “Yes,” Red replies. “But first, you all need to wash up. You smell like you’ve been living in a barn.”

  Benji practically comes out of his boots as he dashes for the well.

  “See you all in fifteen,” Gibbs says. “And don’t be late.” They turn to leave.

  “We won’t, Mr. Gibbs,” Donald says. “Thank you for the hospitable invite.” Abram grabs him by the arm and spins him around. “Come on, suck ass. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

  Donald grins from ear to ear. “Maybe all the suck-assing has paid off, eh? Hey Abe, you should bring some wine to supper. That’ll impress them; especially Mr. Whyte. He hasn’t tried it yet.”

  I hear them go on about how great it is that they got invited into the white house. They wonder what’s inside and come up with different ideas about what it looks like. Their voices fade away as I watch the farmhands go through the gate and into the backyard—to the part of the house that can’t be seen. Before Mr. Gibbs closes the gate, he looks back at me. He holds his stare for a moment before latching the gate shut and, for an instant, I feel like they’re onto me.

  A cold chill runs down my spine.

  I shake away dark thoughts and make my way to the well.

  Nine

  Standing inside the foyer, everyone’s looking around the room—somewhat disappointed that it’s not as luxurious or mysterious as they thought it would be. It’s just an old house.

  “Look at this,” Benji says and pulls a club from the wall which joins the hall that leads to the smoking room. “I wonder how old this is?” he says and holds it for inspection.

  “Older than you could imagine,” Mr. Whyte states as he enters the room from the top of the staircase.

  Benji nearly drops the artifact. “I… I’m sorry. I’ll put it back.” It rattles against the hooks on the wall when replaced until he takes his hands away.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Mr. Whyte addresses us as he walks to the center of the foyer. “I was unaware of this meeting,” he pauses and looks away to gather his thoughts. “But regardless, I’m glad it has been called. Welcome to my home.” He smiles at us. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what is the purpose of all this?”

  “We invited them to supper,” Mr. Gibbs says as he enters from what appears to be the dining room to our right. A smile creeps across his face in answering. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Most certainly not. Though, I would like to be notified of matters such as this from now on.”

  “Alright,” Gibbs notes. He looks to us. “Come eat, fellas.”

  I can see that Mr. Whyte is keeping his cool in front of everyone else, but the way he glares at Gibbs’s back tells the truth. They didn’t tell him about any of this and he’s furious right now. I would probably feel the same way if the privacy of my home was invaded, unannounced.

  Donald leads the line around a large oak table that’s seated for ten. The smell coming from the kitchen fills the room and makes my mouth water. We sit down, our places already set with a glass, fork, knife, and spoon.

  Mr. Red walks around the table and hands each of us a fine linen napkin. “Place these in your lap.” I unfold it and make it flat by smoothing it out with my hands. Aware of my slouching posture, I sit up straight and look to see how the others are sitting. Larry and Benji seem to have some manners, but Donald and Abram must have forgotten theirs. The silver in front of them is already disorganized and their arms are lazily lying on the table, waiting to be served.

  “What is that enticing smell?” Benji asks Mr. Red before he goes back into the kitchen that’s hidden around the corner, behind the archway.

  “Pork, canned corn, green beans, and bread. Should be ready any minute now.” He disappears around the corner. Donald raises his eyebrows at Abram who’s grinning from ear to ear. Looking around the table, we’re all smiling like jesters. It’s a good feeling to know you’re appreciated. Not many people take the time to let others know that they appreciate them and everything that they do.

  Mr. Whyte stands behind his chair at the head of the table and clears his throat. “I’ll mirror the sentiment that Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Red are showing you and say that I,” he checks himself. “That we really do appreciate all the hard work you do around here. It has been a bit of a rough road, but I know
the worst is behind us and the future looks bright.” He picks up his glass of water. “Cheers.”

  We all do the same. It feels weird to toast with water, but whatever. Abram reaches down by his feet and pulls out a jug of his wine to set on the table. “I brought wine for you and for the meal this evening, if you would like to toast with it instead.” He stands to offer it to Mr. Whyte who’s sitting next to him.

  “No, thank you. There will be no alcohol at this table.” Mr. Whyte shifts in his seat and places the napkin in his lap.

  Abram pulls his prize back slowly before sitting back down. He keeps the insult hidden well and forces a grin, then replaces the jug by his feet and keeps his head held low.

  In unison, the two farmhands round the corner with platters in hand. Red serves the assorted tray of vegetables and Gibbs sets the pig on the table. A whole pig. Beady eyes and all. The only thing that’s missing is the apple in its mouth. “Bon appetit,” he says and smiles at Mr. Whyte as he spins the tray so the pig’s face meets his. The landowner crinkles his nose at the cooked beast and looks away.

  Gibbs then takes the butcher knife and begins hacking away at one of the rear haunches. He slaps it on a plate and serves it to Whyte, the greasy butcher knife still in his hand.

  Mr. Whyte politely pushes it away. “You know I don’t eat pork.”

  “Oh damn, I forgot. Silly me,” Gibbs says and bonks himself on the head with the butt of the knife. “But I just don’t get why. Pork is the most versatile and delicious animal there is to consume. You gotta be crazy not to like some bacon, am I right?” He looks around the room for confirmation.

  “I love bacon,” Donald states.

  “Me too. I love bacon, too,” Larry says. The rest of us nod in agreement. Gibbs plants his hands on the table and leans in close to Mr. Whyte. “You see? Everyone agrees with me.”

  Mr. Whyte ignores him. “Donald. Would you be so kind to pass the corn, please?”

  “Sure thing,” Donald says.

  Mr. Gibbs sits down, and soon all the plates are filled with food. Donald starts to eat. “Stop,” Gibbs commands him. “We haven’t said grace yet.” Donald slowly lowers the hunk of meat away from his mouth.