The Open Gate

by Kate Seredy

  They reached the edge of the little pond close on the heels of young Van Keuran. Unhesitatingly he had marched up to the turtle and now hit it on its huge dome of a shell with the long pole. The turtle hissed, its ugly head swinging. The end of the sturdy pole jabbed it under one eye. It reared up on its short, powerful legs. Its tail swished once, then its head shot out like that of a striking snake and its vicious beak clamped on the pole. The boy grunted: “Got you now, old devil!” He braced himself and pulled on the pole for all he was worth. The turtle hung on. The boy shortened the distance, hand over hand, taunting the turtle into keeping its hold by giving the pole quick, sharp jerks. The beast was fighting mad. Its fore feet left the ground, it was bracing itself on its tail and hind legs. Young Van Keuran slid into a sitting position; one bare foot shot out to kick the turtle off balance and he twisted the pole at the same time. The turtle flopped on its back. As it crashed over, a heavy layer of dried mud crumbled off its shell. The boy pulled himself upright, flushed and grinning. “No more duckmeat for you,” he panted.

  “Oh what a monster,” Mother shivered, watching the struggling turtle. The pole trembled in the vicious grip of that wicked looking beak and they could hear the wood crunch.

  “Ain’t very big; seen many a bigger one before Gramp drained the swamp. This is about the last of them now,” said young Van Keuran. He rubbed his hot face against his bare shoulder, sending an amused glance at Dick. “This your dragon?”

  “Gee but you are strong!” Dick said, admiration like a light in his eyes. “What will you do with it now?”

  “Drag him home. Gramp likes turtle soup. Come on, old devil,” the boy grunted, pulling on the jerking pole.

  “Let me help you,” Father said. “It must be very heavy. That was clever work.” He smiled, pulling in step with young Van Keuran.

  “ ‘T ain’t nothing. Got to keep the critters down. Once we dragged one out of the swamp; Gramp cut off its head an’ it lived for four days after. Can’t rightly kill the head . . . ever. Once Gramp got bit real nasty by a head.”

  “You mean . . . just the cut-off head?” Mother asked incredulously.

  “Yep. Keeps on snappin’ every time you go near it. Gramp says he knew one that ate a chicken after a week. Gramp says it came out of the cut-off end . . .”

  “Never mind, dear,” Mother said with a shudder. “How . . . how old do you think this must be?”

  “ ‘T ain’t very old as snappers go,” explained young Van Keuran. “The one we sent to the Zoo was the grandpop of all of them. The man who came after it . . . forgot his name, but he was some doctor . . .”

  “Not Doctor Ditmars?” Father looked interested.

  “Him. He came after Mr. Green sent a picture of it to him. He says that old one was two hundred year old if a day. Real pleased he was; gave Gramp ten dollars for it.”

  “Imagine !“ Mother exclaimed. “So close to the city and a creature like that can live undisturbed for two hundred years.”

  “Whoa,” yelled the boy, staggering forward with Father, as the pole crackled and came loose in their hands. “Bit clean through it. Come on, here, take it,” he teased the turtle. It snapped again and clung.

  “Let me pull a while, Dad,” Dick asked. He and the boy went on, pulling the turtle through the gate and down toward the Van Keuran house. Janet, admiring glances flitting between the boy and the turtle, went with them.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Andrew. You the new folks?”

  “Yes. My name is Richard and she is Janet,” said Dick.

  “Hello. Thought you was a sissy but I guess you was just fooling about the dragon, huh?”

  Dick gulped. “No, I wasn’t. I’ve never seen a snapping turtle before.”

  “Never seen one?” Andrew stopped to look at Dick. “Where’d you come from?”

  “New York.”

  “Well . . . ain’t there any swamps near your place? Don’t you help your Pa take care of it?”

  “We live in an apartment on the fifteenth story,” Janet piped up. “I had a turtle once, in a glass bowl, but it died. It was just an itsy-bitsy one; all red and black and yellow.”

  “Painted turtle. What . . . where’d you say you lived?”

  “In an apartment house in New York. We have a doorman in a purple uniform with gold buttons and the elevator boy has a black uniform with silver buttons. I like him. He takes me up and down as many times as I want if he isn’t busy. Our house has twenty-one stories and a basement which makes twenty-two up and twenty-two down. When he goes down quick you have to open your mouth because it makes your ears go funny if you don’t. They click. And we have air-conditioning so we never open the windows. Our radio has a television button and you can see everything that happens . . . just like the movies only much smaller . . .”

  “What’s she talkin’ about?” broke in Andrew, frowning at Dick. “Sounds like Granma when she has a talkin’ spell on, only it don’t make sense.”

  “Well, it’s true,” Dick defended Janet. “But not important. Anybody can have those things, I guess. A farm is much more fun. Have you a horse, Andy?”

  “We got two teams and the old white mare. She’s Gramp’s horse only now I ride her. Gramp used to race her at Goshen but never made any money. Granma put her foot down a few years back when Gramp lost his breeches on the races so now he don’t fool with them any more.”

  “Gosh, a real racehorse?” Dick breathed in awe.

  “Naw, trotter. Don’t you know nothing? Goshen is where they have the trotting-meets. Gentlemen’s sport, says Gramp, not like horse racing. I aim to raise a colt some day and try my hand.” Andrew spied Funnyface slinking up to sit by Dick’s feet.

  “Gramp said you got Bluebell. She’ll make a good hound if you know how to break her. Do you?”

  “I call her Funnyface,” said Dick, evading the question.

  “No name for a hound . . . but I guess she’s yours to call as you please. Well, come on if you’re gonna help me tote this critter. Say! Want to ride it?”

  “Sure,” Dick nodded, “but I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll show you. Here, keep him mad with this pole while I get a wire.”

  He was off like the wind, little clouds of dust blossoming at his feet as he ran. The Van Keuran barn was just around the bend in the road and in no time at all Andy was back. He had a piece of sturdy wire in his hand that had been bent into the shape of a noose. He slipped the looped part over the pole and down to the turtle’s neck. Then, bracing himself, he pulled on the two long ends of the wire until the noose tightened into a strangling grip. The turtle released the pole and hissed.

  “Now,” Andy said to Dick, “you jam the pole under and upend the critter.”

  Dick did as he was told, although his untried muscles ached by the time the turtle flopped over. It and Dick grunted together. Andy had the wire in his hand, holding it taut as a rider would hold the reins of a horse, only he was pulling the turtle’s head up and forward instead of back. He stepped on his strange mount, bending forward from his hips to keep his hands well ahead and above the turtle’s head. He pulled on the wire reins and the creature reared, pushing itself forward. Dick was fascinated. “Gee, it must be awful strong!”

  “Take your shoes off if you want to ride,” Andy said, stepping off. Dick, barefooted, took his place. He didn’t keep the wire taut enough at first and the ugly head swung back, snapping viciously. “Look out,” Andy yelled, jerking at the wire. “Take your finger off slick as a whistle if you give’m a chance. Now . . . come on, giddyap, old devil . . . giddyap!”

  Watching her brother’s unusual ride for a while, Janet wanted to try. With her much lighter weight, and prodded by Andy, the turtle made real progress. The strange procession—flushed, laughing Janet, excited Dick, slightly superior Andy, and a very mad turtle, arrived at the Van Keurans’ barn gate. Mr. Van Keuran was just coming out of the barn, two shining pails swinging in his hands.

  “Got him,
Gramp,” Andy yelled.

  Mr. Van Keuran walked over to the gate and inspected the turtle.

  “Seventeen ducks he et since May, the devil. Who catched him you, Andy?”

  Andy hesitated for one split second, then he said: “The folks and I. And he,” indicating Dick with a jerk of his chin, “never seen one before, either. It was headin’ for the pond by the foot of Fox Hill.”

  “Well, glad you got him. ‘Bout the last of them now, Andy, and ‘bout the biggest since we got grandpop. Yessir,” he grunted as he picked up the turtle by its tail. “Weigh ‘bout four stone or better . . . don’t recall hoistin’ a heftier one since grandpop.”

  “How much is four stone, Mr. Van Keuran?” Dick wanted to know.

  “Calc’late a mite over fifty pound. Grandpop weighed sixty. Carry a man three times their weight, the critters do, powerful! Well, Andy, I’ll chuck him into the old stone pit for tonight and tomorrow we’ll have him for supper.” He turned to go, then looked back at Dick and Janet. “Andy got a new calf in the barn; just borned an hour ago.”

  Andy exclaimed: “Which one come in, Gramp . . . Daisy?”

  “Yep. Sweet little feller, sound as a dollar. Come easy too, no trouble’t all.”

  Andy was halfway to the barn. “Want to see it? She’s my calf!” he cried, waving to Dick and Janet. They followed him through the side door of the big red painted barn. Inside it was cool and the air smelled strange. It was a clean smell of good fresh hay, milk, and clean animals, but to Janet it was strange and she wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny,” she whispered to Dick. He didn’t seem to mind. “Gosh, it’s pretty,” he exclaimed, stopping in surprise. The big, spacious barn was snow white with fresh paint; even the concrete floor was painted white. Black and white cows stood placidly in two even, orderly rows, each in a separate, shining metal stanchion. They turned gentle, curious faces as the children passed by. Andy was calling from the far end of the passageway. “Over here, Dick, look. My calf!”

  There were several stalls at the end of the barn. Some housed great heavy horses, some had very fat cows in them. The one Andy was leaning against with a blissful smile on his face, was a snug little room, with clean yellow straw spread thick on the floor. Standing on lanky and very uncertain legs in the middle of the straw was a tiny calf. It was still wet, but in spots its hair had started to dry into a thick soft fluff.

  “Oh you darling,” Janet squealed. Dick just smiled his admiration, but Andy wanted more.

  “Ain’t she a honey? Ever seen a better calf?”

  “I have never seen any before,” Dick said truthfully.

  “Aw, you’re kiddin’ me,” Andy grinned. “But I don’t b’lieve you ever saw a better one.”

  “What are you going to call her?” Janet asked.

  Andy looked at his calf with loving eyes. “Ain’t given much thought yet to her name. Ought to have a pretty name, huh?” He glanced at Janet, then looked away quickly again. His bare toes worked a spiral pattern into the loose lime on the floor. “You got eyes just like her, kinda like chestnuts.” He blushed, and went on in a gruff voice: “Janet ain’t a bad name for a pretty calf, huh?”

  “Oh Andy! That’s nice of you. Would you really call her Janet? I’d love it!”

  Andy tried the sound of the name again, his eyes on the calf. “Janet here, Janet. Yep! Ain’t a bad name at all for a calf.”

  Janet was squirming with pleasure. “Then I’m almost like a godmother to her. What can I give her, Dick? I should give her something! Oh! I know! My hair ribbon.” She pulled the bright red silk bow off her hair. “All right, Andy?”

  Andy wasn’t sure. “Never seen a calf with a ribbon,” he hesitated, reaching for it just the same, “but . . . ‘t ought to look right smart on her.” He opened the gate of the stall, then checked himself and gave Janet a shy push. “Go on, you put it on. I ain’t much of a hand with ribbons and such. Might mess it up considerable.”

  Janet was already on her knees in the straw. The little calf gazed at her out of solemn, sweet baby eyes and allowed herself to be decorated. Janet pulled the ribbon around the little neck and tied it into a perky bow under one fuzzy ear. “Oh you darling,” she squealed again, kissing her namesake on its bulging little forehead.

  Andy, hastily wiping a broad and happy grin off his face, turned to Dick: “If that ain’t like a girl . . . kissing calves!” But his eyes strayed back to his pride and the grin spread broader than ever.

  “Got to keep her extra clean now; she’s a special calf. Born on a Sunday . . . oh! I got to make a chart for her. C’mon. We go to Gramp’s office.”

  “What is a chart, Andy?” Dick asked.

  Andy stopped in his tracks to stare at Dick. “Gee . . . you don’t know nothin’! Didn’t your Pa keep records of his stock?”

  “Of course he did but he kept them in the main office at the store. They had rooms and rooms full of records all in steel filing cabinets. Dad had a secretary, a girl who wrote all his letters for him and checked all the records for him.”

  “Oh, that’s the way it is!” Andy said in a relieved but slightly condescending way, leading them into a small, cluttered room. “Gramp can’t write very good either, but by’n’ all he knows enough to do his own writin’. Or did, until his eyes gave out. Now I do it for him. See? These are the charts I make out.”

  He pulled a sheaf of papers from the shelf above the old-fashioned high desk.

  “One chart for every critter we raise. Tells when it was born, how much it gains, which cow threw it and, after it freshens, we write down how much milk it gives ‘n’ what kind of calves it throws. That’s for cows. These here,” he pointed to another shelf, “are for the hounds. Gramp, he sets more store by them than by cows, but Granma, she keeps rantin’ at him so he’s got to mind his dairyin’. She’s a one to mind, Granma is, just as leave as not she’d take the broom to him. Now, let’s see about Janet.”

  He took a fresh sheet of lined paper and wrote on the top line: “JANET. June 22, 1941.” Cocking his head to one side, he squinted at the results. “Looks right pretty in writin’ too.” He glanced at Dick. “It says, Janet, June twenty . . .”

  “I can read!”

  “You can? Why don’t you learn your Pa then?”

  “Learn . . . oh, you mean teach? Why . . . Father can write too. Everybody can WRITE !”

  “Why in Sam Hill don’t he do his own writin’ then? Is he shiftless like?”

  Dick reared up like a little fighting cock. “Now look here, Andy! My father is the cleverest, best man in the world. He can do anything better than anybody else. He is an engineer and he is . . . was the advertising manager for the biggest department-chain stores in the world. He can drive any car and make a radio and if he wanted to he could build a . . . an airplane or anything. So there! Bet he knows more than your father, anyway.”

  Andy never took his eyes off Dick. His face showed disbelief, surprise, admiration, and amusement in turn, to give way finally to a pale, pained look.

  “Told you I ain’t got no Pa,” he said in a low voice.

  For a moment Dick was at loss for words. Then he blushed. “Oh Andy . . . I am sorry. I should have remembered. What . . . what happened to your father?”

  Andy hung his head. He started to scribble absentmindedly on the new chart. “Well, I don’t recollect any of it because I can’t remember that far back, but Gramp, he told me ‘bout it once. He just don’t want to talk about it ‘cause he’s grievin’ somethin’ terrible, but the winter afore last he was ailin’, so one day he says: ‘Andy, ‘bout time I told you what happened to your Pa and Ma. I’m an old man,’ he says, ‘and God might take me sudden like.’ I said to Gram, ‘Don’t carry on so, Gramp, you are good for another fifty year after the ailin’ had its way with you.’ Gramp says, ‘Just the same, it’s time you knew what become of your own.’ So he told me.”

  “What happened, Andy?”

  “Well, time I was ‘bout a year old, in the winter of 1930, my Pa and m
y Ma came home to Gramp’s place here for Christmas. They had me with them, but I don’t recall it. Pa and Ma had their own place up Wurtsboro way—I don’t recall that either. Then, Gramp says, on Christmas Eve my Ma, pretty as a picture she was, took it into her head to go to the Christmas Meetin’ down at the Grange. She just plumb had to go, snow or no snow and it was a right heavy snowfall. She and my Pa, they had some words about it, and Granma took on somethin’ awful, about leavin’ her on Christmas Eve to flounce around at the meetin’. But my Ma, she said she was a’goin’ to hear the minister an’ see the folks, if she had to walk every step of the way. So my Pa was right fond of her and he says to Granma: ‘If Libby’—Libby was Ma’s name—’if Libby Wants to go, go she will and I am a’goin’ with her.’ Then he hitched the chestnut mare to the new sleigh and, rantin’ or no rantin’, off they go. Gramp says it made him want to sing hallelujah to see SOMEBODY stand up right smart to Granma so he slipped a dollar to my Pa and said: ‘Have a right good time, Joe, and get home safe. I’ll be waitin’ up for you, be it ever so late.’

  “So Gramp sat in the kitchen by the stove an’ waited. Granma, she just went to bed, real put out she was. Gramp, he sat ‘n’ waited. He’d doze off a spell, then he’d wake an’ listen but all he could hear was the snow hissin’ on the window. He just waited an’ waited and all he could hear was the hissin’. The snow was hissin’ and a’hissin’ and later the wind come raisin’ Cain in the old hick’ry; it was like the rattlin’ of bones, Gramp says, enough to make a man shiver something awful. And there he was a’waitin’ and a’noddin’ when just about eleven by the clock he hears the voice of my Ma and Pa out there, singin’ and a’laughin’. So Gramp, he takes the lantern and out he goes to light them home. But there wasn’t anybody TO light. There wasn’t anything in the yard or on the road but the snow. Nary a track in the snow; just the wind a’blowin’ and the snow a’hissin’ as it blew an’ drifted. And the old hick’ry limbs a’rattlin’ like bones.