by Cole Savage
“But these boys were stone-faced, and next thing I know this Nigger does sum kind of Kung Fu shit on me, and he’s holdin’ my knife— I’m kissin’ the floor.” Tyler and Cole are laughing, and T.D is about to bust a stich. “They scoop me off the floor like I’m sum kind of hard case, and this white nigger is tellin’ me a joke that don’t sound funny to me.”
“What was the joke, Slack?” asked T.D, starting to break into laughter.
“I can’t remember exactly, but the Nigger, I remember. He was as black as the night, but he sounded like those other white guys. He talked in this deep voice, and he said, Hey, John. How many Yankees does it take to throw out a Bush cracker? The Jaspers are laughing and one of the crackers says, I don’t Know, Nathaniel, how many does it take? So the spade says, None. We’re with the FBI and were just taking out the trash. They was laughing like that shit was funny or something… So they take me out and throw me in the back of Hooch’s truck.” Everyone is laughing, listening to his version of the story, trying to mimic voices.
“What did you say, Slack?”
“Well, T.D, I can’t recollect everything, but I told them that I had a lot to drink last night and I was sorry that my mouth tasted like their mamma's cooch.” T.D had a mouthful of beer that suddenly came rushing out of his mouth, heaving beer and saliva all over Tyler, as Slack Jaw finished the sentence. Everyone laughed, and Slack Jaw chuckled.
“Sorry, Tyler.” T.D said looking at Tyler. “You didn’t say that, did you, Slack?” T.D asked while he wiped the beer off Tyler’s face with his palm.
“Your darn tootin’ I did. I called them huckleberries and asked the Nigger if he was my Uncle Tom. I even told them to pound sand…I said lots, but mostly I told them they was about to meet my friend Hooch, and if they didn’t have the back door trots right then, they was about too. I told the Nigger, Sorry I burped, but your Betty gave me the runs and a belly ache last night. I was still jawin’ them when they went back in the bar.”
“What’d you do then, Slack?” asked T.D.
“I didn’t do nuthin’. Hooch got out of the truck and marched in the bar. Not runnin’ or anythin’. Kind of like a Sasquatch, walkin’ fast, with his hands in a tight fist. Me and Skeet stayed behind him laughing. Hooch went to the Nigger first because he recognized him. He was the only porch monkey in the place and all the other crackers looked the same. Dark hair, clean shaved, talk like they got’s a banana up their ass, wearin’ suits and all. The four copperheads were still laughing at me when we went back in. Hooch went over to the spade, who turned his head last minute and saw Hooch. His eyes got real wide, you know, like an owl in the night. So the negro started to say sumthin’ to Hooch, and the Mandingo wasn’t no small fry, you know. He’s lookin’ Hooch in the eye, so Hooch grabs that monkey by the back of the neck and slams his fat round head right into the corner of the bar top. The porch monkey goes limp and drops like a sack of potatoes.” Slack Jaw looked at Tyler and Cole who had a look of disbelief in their eyes.
“It’s okay, boys. He wasn’t dead. Not yet.” T.D was leaning forward in the pool, arms crossed, laughing, while Skeeter and Hooch splashed water at Slack Jaw.
“What happened next, Slack?” asked T.D.
“Well, two of the blue legs jumped on Hooch’s back, while one of the other two threw haymakers on Hooch’s belly one after the next, like he was preppin’ for a match, you know? Hooch is tryin’ to get the Jasper off his back, and I ain’t real sure that Hooch even knows this cracker’s wailin’ on his belly, cuz Hooch didn’t flinch. Skeet pulls one of the yanks off Hooch and jumps on him like a duck on a June bug, and Skeet starts poundin’ him with haymakers, right on his John Brown face.” Tyler and Cole were leaning forward, and T.D gave Hooch a hand blast.
“What’d you do, Slack?”
“Well, boys, that’s about where my recollection ends. I remember bein’ bushwhacked from the back. I never even saw who dun it. But I remember those boys were carryin’ me like a chair, and faster than a cat can lick his ass, I remember goin’ through the big window by the front door, and it was lights out. Skeet tells me I was out for nearly an hour.” Skeeter laughed momentarily, then cut in.
“I was on top of this Yank, who was layin’ on the ground, and I’m wailin’ on him. Sidewinders, bitch slaps, whatever I could muster, and I see Hooch draggin’ this cracker across the bar top, just like the movies. Beer mugs and glasses were flyin’ every which way, and the Angelicas and stuffed suits sittin’ at the bar, were runnin’ out the way as Hooch made his way across the bar, towin’ the Yank. A Cadillac size bouncer picks me off the Jasper, and I turn around to wallop him, but he says, chill, boys, that’s enough, right before I landed a hard right on his chin. He had one hand up in tryin’ to stop the throw down, holdin’ his chin with the other, like he don’t feel a thing, even after I gave him my best shot. But listen here, boys. By now, ain’t no one wanted a piece of Hooch after seein’ what Hooch dun to that gorilla, so I look at Hooch. He picks the Yank he dragged across the bar, up by the arms, stands him up, and starts shakin’ the glass of his three-piece dungarees, sayin’ sorry, using a rag to dry the liquor on his face, like he was helpin’ granny Moses cross the street. Meanwhile, the Negro is down for the count.”
The boys laughed, splashing water, T.D looking at Skeeter, smirking, sharing hand slaps. Hooch is grinning at the boys, thrusting his fist into his other open hand, and Sack Jaw’s chuckling.
“When in doubt, boys, knock’em’ out,” said Hooch.
“That’s so cool, Hooch. Has anybody ever beaten you?”
“Only one man has ever brought me to my knees, Tyler.”
“Was it a giant?” asked Cole.
“No, it wasn’t a giant, Cole. It was Toby.”
Tyler and Cole looked at T.D, mouths open and wide-eyed.
“You beat Hooch, T.D?”
“That’s an exaggeration of the truth, boys. If I had to beat Hooch in a slogging, I think I’d be scared to fight him. I reckon his punches would rearrange my perty face.”
“But he said you beat him?” said Tyler.
“Boys, we were just messin’ around. You know, grappling. Hooch wasn’t mad or anything, and I was close in. Now I ain’t sayin I wouldn’t throw down with Hooch, I’m just sayin’ there better be a perty good reason to. Like standin’ on the edge of a cliff and the only way out was through Hooch. I don’t reckon I want to be on the receiving end of an angry Grizzly who wants his vittles.”
T.D. looked at Skeeter and said, “Skeet what happened after the brawl. Did the law come?”
“Oh, they came. We was sweatin’ like a blind man on a tightrope. We was scared they was gonna search the truck, where we had twenty pounds of Bambalacha. The lawman let us go when the tender told them the FBI guys started the fight.”
“Did they haul them in?” asked T.D.
“Hell, no. Those boys scattered like the wind. Two of the Jaspers had to carry the Negro out. That boy was still in Never, Never Land. His head busted a corner of the bar top clean off. There’s no tellin’ what would have happened if that countertop had been stone.”
“You know, boys. Garrison Ville is a hoot and a holler from Quantico,” T.D said.
“And that’s supposed to mean exactly what, Toby?”
“I’m just sayin’, boys. That place is crawling with Feds. Probably not the best place to be hawking Bambalacha.”
“Shit, that makes sense, Skeet. That’s why those yellow bellies ran when the fuzz come. They was afraid to get thrown in a cage.”
“Shit, Slack. I never thought of that... I also can’t figure out how they knew that was our truck.”
T.D was out of the pool getting jerky and beer, and above the false peaks, the sky was a turmoil of clouds—round and fierce, their bellies full and close to the peaks, as sunset fired their edges, casting deep purples into the ephemeral canyons. T.D turned his head to slack Jaw and Skeeter, and said sarcastically, “You boys think maybe they knew that was your truck, cause Old Dixi
e was coverin’ your whole back window?”
“Shit, Skeet. How dumb are we?”
“Or, maybe your truck was the clue, boys. Let me guess, it was the only car around those parts older than ten years… Am I right? You boys do know that Garrison Ville is a yuppie town.”
“What the hell is that, T. D?”
“I don’t know. It’s like young professional people. Doctors, lawyers, and a whole bunch of FBI. You guys are lucky they didn’t toss you in an eight by eight.” Hooch reached over and slapped Skeeter and Slack Jaw on the side of the head, then said, “That’s the last time I listen to you, Slack. You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
Toby looked at them with a truculent stare.
“Come think of it, Skeet. Slack can’t fight his way out of a whorehouse, and if he can’t do that, what in the world do we need him for?” Hooch said, Tyler and Cole laughing at Slack Jaw, splashing water on him.
“Who in hell said I can’t scrap?” Slack Jaw said, dispirited. “We ain’t lost a fight yet.”
“How would you know, Slack. You was lights out— kissin’ the concrete, waitin’ for the buzzards while me and Hooch cleaned up your mess.”
“Those Jaspers bushwhacked me. Besides, my daddy always taught me that a gallant retreat is better than a bad stand.”
“Slack, do you even know what gallant means?” said T.D. Slack Jaw bit his nails and thought about it.
“Tyler tell old Slack what gallant means.”
“It means brave, Slack.”
“How in tarnation do you know that, boy?”
“My mom’s an English teacher.”
“Shit, Slack. You’re dumber than a bag of rocks” Skeeter said, and splashed water on him.
“Shit, Hooch. I ain’t had this much fun since Old Bama Black took slacks left nut,” said Skeeter winking at Toby.
Everybody laughed simultaneously and splashed Slack Jaw with waves of water. Avoiding the onslaught, Slack Jaw lifted his middle finger and covered his face with the other hand, unable to talk from the amount of water that was being doused on him. Taking a serious tone, T.D looked at Tyler and Cole, pointed his finger at the two of them and said, “Let this be a lesson to you, boys. This is your life. Don’t you worry about what people think about you. Do what you want, what you need. People gonna hate you, they’s gonna judge you, and they’s gonna try to break you. Only thing matters is how strong you stand. That’s the one thing that will define who you are in times of trouble. The first-time you boys get in a scrap, stand tall and pound whoever is messin’ with you, even if you lose. Don’t just beat them, beat the living hell out of them. If you do that, that’ll be the last time you’ll have to scrap. Believe me, folks will remember, and whatever happens, they’ll respect and fear you. When folks start walkin’ out of their way to avoid you, you know they was watchin’, you know they was payin’ attention.”
CHAPTER 28
A backing wind brought forth a granite sky and the stars seemed to stretch overhead and beyond the horizon. The pallor of late summer was closing in on the hills, cloaking them in a mist as they trudged forward single file, retreating to the place where the boys met Raven’s Peak for the first time. The evening was perfect, cool and dry and scented with pines. Nay a word was spoken on their march back to where the day had unfolded. The air was charged with a special calm. Tyler and Cole had a conical look in their eyes. A smile that would captivate even the most repugnant of hearts. Cole looked up at T.D, he smiled, perplexed by the quandary he was living. On one hand, the absence of his mother— her warm embrace, a look that only a mother can accord. A love transmitted telepathically with nigh a word haven to be spoken. A simple wink or a tender stare from her could make his heart flutter. On the other hand, a man who had stolen him from her, but also a man who was teaching them more than they could hope to learn in a lifetime wit their mother. Cole glanced up at T.D, was he wondering that under different circumstances, why couldn’t this be my Father? Or was his outcome already written— ending in the destruction of him and his brother. How could a man who had taught them so much, turn cold, callous, strip them of their mother and life after spending protracted moments fostering them in all the things that he spent a lifetime culturing, without the presence of his own father.
Tyler looked around, taking deep breaths, looking at the moonless sky above Raven’s Peak. A place far from the lights of the city, incessant habitations, clapboard shanties, and concrete edifices. A place filled with the scents of Cardomen, Ragweed, and Pine. The occasional howl of a wolf, the sound of a bullfrog or unknown gilled quarry, jumping out of the frigid waters, served as a reminder of the serenity and solemnness of these Elysian Fields. Lightning bugs hovered magically, mere specs of refulgent flickering light dancing vivaciously in the crisp, moist air. Behind the darkness of Tyler’s eyes, he thought, now I understand why this place was so special to T.D.
It was obvious that Raven’s Peak had sojourned some new fans. If you could look through the glass, into their minds, would you see snapshots streaming past in infinite profusion, recording the details of life. Roughshod through the single-track path and darkening sky, they moved silently. The boys looked exhausted, standing tall, the smell of Sulphur lingering, holding tightly to the memory of the day. Tyler’s head on a swivel, jerking side to side, photographing the beauty, the majesty of this place. Then, reposing it back in the recess of his mind to render again in the foreseen future. Something vanishing swiftly across his dark eyes caught his attention. Eyes so fixed on the world around him that no move escaped him. It was early evening and the few stars that struggled feebly here, at the rim of the canyon, sparkled against a background of thin, misty clouds. The trees overhead made a great sound as the wind purged unseen in a swift gale, kicking dust up from the trail. Tyler picked up a Lucent rock and skipped it into the creek. Then another. The sound of three skips than two. Then, silence, the brook singing wistfully, trickling its cold, pristine waters down, ebbing slowly towards the now darkening summit of Raven’s Peak. Tyler put some stones in his pocket, then handed Cole a few. No doubt, evidence that this day had taken place.
CHAPTER 29
Skeeter, Hooch, and Slack Jaw went home the next morning, and T.D and the boys carried on at the cabin as usual. T.D went on an excursion to town, to get shingles for his roof that he hadn’t fixed since his grandfather lived there. That afternoon the boys helped T.D replace the shingles, and T.D took the time to show the boys the tools of the trade, allowing them to practice hammering nails into firewood. Toby explained that he could show them the tools, but nothing could replace the practicality of using them in actual applications to develop muscle memory.
One of the most memorable days for Tyler and Cole, for different reasons, was the second Friday at Raven’s Peak. Thursday, the day before the Deer hunt, T.D took them on a backpacking trip to scout Elk and Deer. T. D mentally noted landmarks where they spotted herds and the water sources they were milling around. The three of them had spotted a herd on the ridge of Lava Flats, next to a tributary of the Potomac river. Friday, they donned their backpacks and T.D carried in two rifles— two old 30-06 rifles and five rounds.
The morning was cold and smelled of pine; filled with the sights of the freshly laid scat of wild animals. They followed a deer trail, an ascending path a couple of feet wide, three in some places, with a drop of several hundred feet, not a place for people with Acrophobia. Confident the boys wouldn’t panic, he remained close, the sigh of the wind crossing their path. Looking down, they could hear the purr of the river below that had grown ribbon thin from this elevation. T.D felt the boil of thunderstorms in the air and reveled in it. T.D spotted the herd through binoculars, at a distance of a half a mile. Tyler had practiced multiple times with the rifle, so T.D felt he was ready. They moved carefully for fear of scaring the Deer and they laced themselves through a copse of Hickory trees. T.D was between where he thought the Deer would be and the water source. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Deer app
roached the stream, so wearing woodland camo, T.D whispered to Tyler, “Keep your rifle pointed up”.
Cole, too green to carry a rifle, played the avid observer today. They threaded their way through the trees, where they saw the rub yesterday, but today, the antler scrapes were fresh. The white flesh of the tree and pale green strips of peeled bark were chafed raw. They looked down and saw three sets of tracks—one much larger than the other two.
“He's already been through here,” whispered Tyler.
“He’s probably following the Doe’s,” said T.D.” Deer in rut weren’t as aware as usual, so focused on the Doe’s they were chasing, they sometimes forget to avoid the predators who might be hunting them.
T.D and the two boys walked softly through the woods, following tracks in the direction of a marsh, and suddenly, T.D stuck out his hand, signaling to stop. Glancing up, they saw two does—one older, and a yearling. T.D turned, gesturing for silence and muttered, “Don’t move.”
The Buck stepped out from behind that tree, and everyone held their breath. The Buck was massive. On top of its substantial neck sat an eight-point rack. T.D pointed at the gun and said, “Go ahead.”