“Flain, before she gets here and we ask her about keeping Ney for a stretch, do you see what I see over yonder?”
“I do. The female is married to a Dorman. There’s not a lot of privacy here.”
In the distance, and I think they were trying to hide, was a woman and a Dorman male standing in a smokehouse fucking. The woman was bent over, not an unattractive lady, and her skirt was raised to her back. He was pounding her from behind like a section of beef and it wasn’t unpleasant to watch, both well-muscled and profoundly enjoying it, Flain and myself transfixed, though no one else seemed concerned, until Mama Dorman’s shotgun exploded. The door of the smokehouse flew off the hinges as the couple sprinted into the forest.
“Stop fuckin’ in my motherfuckin’ smokehouse! I don’t want no ass on my meat! We got visitors! Get on them crops! The Lord God, you’re a screwin’ with a doctor in the yard!” Her eyes then locked on me. “Looky there, if it ain’t Laney McComb a ridin’ around with Flain! You tuggin’ on that big ol’ pickle?”
“Hello Mama Dorman,” said Flain.
“Hey Mama,” I then added. “You’ve seen Flain’s penis I suppose?”
“Naw. The outline is enough. Even bagged that fucker is huge.”
She came to Flain’s window, looked down at the baby and said “Beatrice, take this fuckin’ shotgun.”
From the bed of the truck leapt a five-year old girl who hefted the shooter like a soldier, said “pow, pow, pow, you dead bastard.” She put it on her shoulder, traipsed into the house, and emerged doing cartwheels. Down the steps she flipped like some deranged gymnast before returning to the bed of the vehicle.
“To what do I owe the pleasure? Asides the birthin’ of this here youngin’? Dr. Youngman, I reckon Laney caught you in the rut, and now you and her got you a chap? Naw, sorry, that’s a fe-male.”
Mama Dorman flicked her hand rolled cigarette and took a quick pull from her snuff. Her hair is grey washed white, her arms old but muscled, with a jaw so square you could frame it. There are tiny little scars all over her face like a rooster attacked her as a child. With a blade of some kind the right side of her face has received a downward slash. The eye there is milky white. The other holds the color of the deep blue ocean and makes up for the one that’s been pierced. Ney reaches for Mama Dorman. Flain hands the baby to her. Mama Dorman speaks “infant” like a bird knows its nest and she’s already amazing to us both.
“So Dr. Youngman. Yourn proposition?”
Flain lays it out. Word for word. And I mean he tells her the truth. No detail hidden or betrayed. While he speaks Mama Dorman is playing with Ney and giving her a quick examination. I guess that’s what you’d call it. She gets beneath her clothes, looks at her navel and toes, and rams her fingers in her ears. Just as Flain is getting to the part about Ney being born in the Econo Lodge Mama Dorman says “this’n was squatted out. Weren’t no doctor present. Not nobody even in the room. Whoever done it was a tough ass bitch. I done it myself twice over.”
“You’re correct,” replied Flain with a smile.
“Rooly! Go fix me a sugar tit! This baby’s ailin’ a tooth!”
“Oh my,” said Flain. “A sugar tit. My mama gave those to me.”
“You probably didn’t get that in your medicine school. I reckon they left such out.”
“Mama Dorman, yes mam, they did.”
When the boy named Rooly came back to the truck he was holding the “tit” by the string. Flain said “this isn’t suggested. Even for abandoned babies.”
“I use three pieces of cheese cloth and the purest cane sugar you can get. Our own brand of whiskey is the topper.”
A “sugar tit” has been around in the south for centuries for whatever happens to ail you. You take a piece of cheese cloth, load it down with cane sugar, and dip it in the finest white lightning. Bourbon also works well. Tie it up with a string and you’re ready to go. It doesn’t cure a damn thing, but stuns the pain away, and Ney was no exception. She sucked so hard her temples dented. Mama Dorman was pleased with herself. As for me it was unsettling to see. When I pinched Flain Mama saw it.
“Laney girl. Don’t you fret. Mama Dorman is on top of all this. Hell, I used to gargle kerosene, for throat aches or the ague or whatever.”
“You’re tougher than me,” I replied.
She mused for a minute, arranging her thoughts, then said “sho-nuff, we’ll keep this lil’ baby for as long as you’d like us to. Baney’s crib is still in yonder and she can sleep right next to the fire. These children will love her like a princess. Hear ‘em? They’re already squealin’!”
A thin pitched whine from the back of the truck became “Lordy, we got us a baby! Oooh, I love lil’ babies! Mama Dorman can we make a pallet? Let that lil’ baby squirm around? Can we? Can we? Can we?”
Mama Dorman replied “of course.” Ney sucked on, already so hammered she was pulling on the string like a rip cord. When Flain extended his hand with the cash Mama Dorman put it in her bra. She asked “do you need change?” and he responded “no mam, we need secrecy, and to visit whenever we can.”
“You can visit as much as you want. Take your time and make up your minds. You ain’t askin’, but I’ll make a reco-mmen-dation, and you can take it as far as desired.”
“Give it to us,” I said gleefully smiling.
“Ya’ll need to raise this’n as a pair. Be best for ya’ll and the child. God give her to you and now it’s your responsibility and there ain’t no way around that. You can’t run from what he done seen. He knows all and has laid his special hand upon you by giving you a dropped off baby. A reject that come straight to you. That there is ordained and sealed. Take these words as these words is given. Okay, let’s fuckin’ organize.”
She made us get out, inspect her whole house, and then showed us Ney’s special corner. After that Mama Dorman made an announcement from her porch which doubled as a podium. She screamed “come the fuck here! Ever’ last fuckin’ one and I mean to the oldest and littlest!” Ney was fast asleep in her arms.
Dorman’s came from beneath the house. Dorman’s materialized from the fields. There were three Dorman’s that descended from the heights of a tree and another from the ground. The child wasn’t there and then the child was, covered in dirt and soot. A little urchin with pearly white teeth that said “Lordy we got us a baby.”
Then came Mama Dorman’s speech. To twenty-one people. I counted: “okay! Listen to me! It’s important! This here lil’ girl goes by the name of Ney and she’s gonna be with us for a bit! Outside of this family she does not exist and I mean if you utter a motherfuckin’ word I will personally stomp your ass! Ney got dropped off by a mama and a daddy that didn’t never want her in the first place! Well, the mother did, but the swingin’ dick husband didn’t. She’ll be with us till Dr. Youngman and Laney McComb decide else! Questions? Any fuckin’ questions?”
Not a word. They didn’t shuffle their feet. I could not imagine what Mama Dorman would do if the pact of silence were broken.
“There you go,” Mama Dorman said. “She’s here and we’re glad to have her.”
Two teenage girls then climbed to Mama Dorman and waited for further instructions. They got them and they got them quick. “Get that lil’ tub out and let’s heat her some water. You two bathe Miss Ney from the graveyard. That formula is boxed underneath my bed. Make sure the labels from her basket match.”
They were lightning fast, on the task, and they did it with raw enthusiasm.
“Thank you Mama Dorman,” Flain said. I repeated the same.
“Thank me hell. Thank you. This baby’s resurrected. That’s more good luck than twenty-five lives and we’re pleased to have her here. You bear your cross and you get results. Gimme till tomorrow and we’ll have it streamlined. I got a lotta help around me.”
“Flain replied “yes you do. It already appears streamlined.”
“Fuck no. This is chaos. Sorry them two was a fuckin’.”
I thought what a
great place to grow up. People actually being themselves. Even though infants shouldn’t drink.
9.
“Come to the house and spend the weekend. We have to discuss this thing. May take a day or two to outline it. The pros and the cons and whatnot.”
“I need to fill the hole where Ney was found. Besides that, I think I’m free. Have three on Monday in three different places but, hey, aren’t you on call?”
“I am not. Two days off.”
A baby and its future is pending here and we have to make a decision. We’re driving from the Dorman’s, to no place in particular, and I can tell something’s on his mind. I’ll wait. See what he says.
“Ney is a beautiful baby. Laney, I know it has to hurt for you to look at her, but, well, I guess she isn’t to blame.”
“No Flain. It’s not her fault.”
“We can go fill the hole in now. I have my tools in the back. Save you from having to burn your gas and load that big ass backhoe.”
“Okay. That’s fine with me.”
When we return there’s a stranger. He’s perched at the edge of Toby’s grave. When we drive up he pretends, unconvincingly, to be reading Toby’s headstone. His interest is the empty grave. Flain is glowing with rage, of course already knows, as he attempts to calm me down. His eyes are wide and his hands are shaking.
“Laney, don’t let him know you know.”
“Can we kill him?”
“Better not kill him. Instead we’ll send a message.”
We park, get out, grab both of the shovels and remain at the tailgate waiting. I say “let’s pretend to do what I do and see if he figures it out.”
“You don’t think he’s already done that?”
“He put a fucking baby in a grave. We’re dealing with well below average.”
“Point taken Laney. Point taken.”
We went straight to our shoveling, yucking it up, discussing Alabama football, and why God prefers “Amaricans.” When Flain Youngman wants to he can act like a bumpkin better than bumpkins themselves. He said “well, hellfire, bosswoman, daddy flew the flag of Alabama right nexta’ Old Glory herself! And on the same fuckin’ level was his Roll Tide flag and the Stars and fuckin’ Bars of the Confederacy! They all blow’d in the wind till the day he died! He was proud! A proud Amarican! Roll Tide!”
“Roll Tide! Praise the Lord!” I refrained. “God Bless the Confederacy! Fuck the Yankee and their abo-minable invasion of our South!”
In the state of Alabama these subjects, combined in a specific order, will draw any fucking idiot right to you. One can switch Roll Tide with War Eagle and get the same reaction every time. If the hearer is a fan of that team. The mandatory thing to remember, to attract total fucking dimwits, is to add the following with that team: 1. Old Glory (you’ll be safe and they’ll, probably, be decent, if you only combine our country’s flag with “Roll Tide” or “War Damn Eagle”). 2. The state flag of Alabama (add this to Roll Tide or War Damn Eagle with the “Amarican” flag and you’ll begin encroaching on the land of the stereotype seen in films where people marry their siblings). 3. The Confederate battle flag (combine “Roll Tide” or “War Damn Eagle” with the “Amarican” flag and the state flag and you are now in Backwardsassville. Welcome. Don’t stay long). If you add the word “Yankee” to the aforementioned you’re sure to draw them in, even though the particular war in question has been over for a century and a half.
To review: team + “Amarican” flag + the flag of the state of Alabama + the Confederate battle flag + adding “Yankee” as a finish = a reaction from a fucking dimwit.
And for Flain and myself it worked. The fool came right to us.
“I like what I’m hearin’ over here!”
“Hell yeah brother!” Flain yelled. “This ol’ world has spunt outta control and we need to brang it on back!”
“Shit yeah!” I added. “Shit yeah!”
This bastard was raised by jackals. Appeared to have come from their den. Stringy, dirty hair, missing three or four teeth, and the kicker, which gives them away, a tee shirt that read SWAP MEAT. M-E-A-T. Below SWAP MEAT were two long legs spread open with the words between them. Like SWAP MEAT was the vertical slit of a vagina and I almost laughed when I read it. Flain was ahead of me.
“I like that pussy shirt my man! SWAP MEAT! A ol’ tooty shirt!”
The cornpone dumbass rubbed down to his belly and crudely fingered his navel. Licked his lips and looked at me: “that’s right. Ol’ good pussy. You can’t beat no ol’ good nookie. Whaddaya say thar sis?”
Shit, I’m here, why not join in? When I do Flain laughs out loud. I reply “ooh boy! I like to lick ‘em! Ol’ good ol’ pussy! Yessir!”
The cornpone responds “awright! A lezz-bean! Lezz-beans is sexy!”
“Shit yeah! Shit yeah!” I said.
“You visitin’ a grave?” Flain asked.
The poor bastard was the epitome of dumb. He needed an award for his dumbness. An engraved gold chalice with the Confederate flag and a lifetime of potted meat. He replied “lemme tell you what I done!”
What followed was his admission. Every detail included. From the mother of the baby proposing the idea right up to him standing before us. How he knew “this bitch, this Laney McComb, would be a comin’ right here to this hole. So why not dump the baby in thar?”
I stopped shoveling. Flain did also. There wasn’t much dirt in the bottom. The cornpone dumbass thought we were in cahoots. Fellow travelers in goofball outer space. Then he made his final mistake. He had to say it. Couldn’t he tell? Are some people really this dumb?
“I get shit to do like this all the time. My parole officer knows zilch. Shitfire, I ain’t supposed to be outta the county, what with my registration.”
Flain’s interest immediately peaked. Now it wasn’t a game. I was so angry I was huffing.
“What registration?” I asked.
“Sex o-ffender status. I done three years for dickin’ this bitch and her a knowin’ she wanted my cock.”
In his normal accent Flain then asked “sir, how old was she?”
Still, the man remains blinded. Flain’s sudden change in accent and demeanor is lost on this son of a bitch.
“The little cunt was twelve years old. She wanted it. So I gave it to her.”
When the shovel hit his mouth it was me that swung it. His teeth went in, before them his nose, the man flipping once and then into the grave where he landed on his face and stayed. There was a crack, a moan, and Flain said “shit” before leaping into the grave. He put his fingers on the pulse in his neck.
“Alive?” I asked.
“Of course. There’s Cracker Jacks in his front right pocket. I thought that crack was his neck.”
“Can we bury him alive for the sake of Miss Ney and the twelve-year old girl he raped?”
“We cannot. Actually, I’d be happy to do it, if Ney weren’t connected to this hole. And to the one over there containing Toby. That would draw a lot of attention. Even this fucker has a mother. Let’s get him up and into his car before he awakens and gives us trouble. Then, we might have to kill him.”
“He can ID us for assault.”
“Could, but won’t. Look at his ankle. That bracelet sends a signal. Sheriff’s departments are so overloaded oftentimes they don’t send cars. When he gets back they’ll get him. He wouldn’t put his word against ours.”
I didn’t want all of this to make me wet, but as you know from reading thus far, this violence does it for me. I’m going to have to be punished. Someone will need to spank me.
“Flain?”
“Yes Laney?”
“After we get this bastard into his Pinto would you mind spanking my ass? I mean really lighting it up? If you break a hip that’s okay. I have another I can rely on.”
“Here? In the graveyard? Spank you?”
“How about in the woods against a tree?”
“Of course. May I also make a request?”
“You may.”
“If I do that will you please consider raising little Ney alongside me? I kind of always wanted to be an older father so I wouldn’t just drift away. Of course I realize I’m forty-seven years old and you’re only twenty-three. But I wouldn’t leave you in a lurch without money or security when I died. You don’t have to marry me, if you didn’t want to, and we could keep our houses separate. I need a partner in this. That’s a lot to ask for a spanking.”
Flain Youngman smiled and between his grin I could see how serious he was.
“I will,” I replied. “Most certainly.”
“Have you already been tossing that around…”
“Flain, you know I have. We’ll make a schedule or something, whatever we have to do.”
“I’m not generally a happy person. Laney McComb, you’ve made me delirious.”
“I’ll be equally DELIRIOUS if that hand of yours doesn’t start landing on my ass.”
“Yes mam. Let’s get to it.”
I grabbed a foot and Flain got the other. Though we weren’t gentle, we did drag him out. With his head bumping and him bleeding on the grass we sat the dimwit inside his Pinto. Flain made sure that his airways were clear and then he took his phone from his pocket. It was thrown on the church and there it stayed, and we were off to fill the hole. The work loosened our muscles and being loose was important when receiving a hand that big. I kept looking at those hands wrapped around the shovel and imagined my own machine, manufactured at “Spanky’s Emporium,” which I could buy and hide at my business. Turn it on, turn it up and get my ass pummeled whenever I chose to do so. I might never leave the shed if such a machine existed. Now for the fun of the game.
“Flain, I’ve been terrible.”
“What? You’ve done a marvelous job!” Then he figured it out. Knew the direction I was headed. “Yes Laney, you’ve been bad. You broke the child molester’s teeth and crushed his nose and damn you, the bastard is still living. Into the woods with you!”
“Yessir! For a thorough lashing!”
My overalls were unlatched and lowered to my knees before I reached the edge of the woods. No panties, Flain walking behind me. I knew he’d be getting hard. I selected a tree twenty feet away and walked around to the offroad side. My palms pressed the trunk, slightly bent at the elbows, my ass stuck in the air like a she-dog. The overalls then fell to my ankles. I was hoping he’d approach with a running starter pop then proceed to try and put me on my knees. Instead what he did was build the tension by kneading the meat of my ass. He grabbed handfuls of flesh, one hand then the other, saying “look at that tight red asshole. I’ve got a big fucking cock for that.”
Stirrups Page 6