Precious Bones

by Mika Ashley-Hollinger

  The airboat’s noisy engine sent disturbing ripples of sound into the silent swamp. Snapping turtles, basking lazily in the warmth, slipped off their logs and into the still water. Two huge white herons rose leisurely into the air, their wings spread like billowing bedsheets across the clear blue sky. A pink-feathered spoonbill strolled along the shore, shoveling its flat beak into the mud. It turned and looked boldly in our direction.

  We flew past tall stands of cattails and saw grass. At the base of a willow I spotted a familiar mound of mud and sticks. I looked up at Nolay and mouthed, “Is that Old Snaggletooth’s nest?” He nodded. At one end of the nest, enjoying the heat of the day, several juvenile gators were stacked on top of each other like pieces of yellow-striped firewood. I couldn’t see her, but I knew the ever-watchful eyes of Old Snaggletooth, the reigning matriarch, were somewhere close by.

  On the far side of the swamp, Nolay cut the engine and glided the flat-bottom hull around the back of a stand of cattails. In front of us, a huge tree lay sideways in the water. Nolay jumped down from his seat and grabbed the push pole. “Bones, lift up those bottom limbs.” He pushed the boat under the limbs and we entered a small clearing, totally hidden from the entrance.

  He moored the boat, and we walked through a tunnel of thick brush. We entered another small clearing, where Nolay lifted up some tree branches, and there it was, the thing he had come to check on: his moonshine still.

  A small concrete-block structure, built of leftover supplies from our house, sat in the middle of the clearing. Like green snakes, copper pipes twisted up in the air and ran from the concrete tank into two five-gallon glass jugs.

  “Looky there, Bones, perfect timing, that one jug is just about filled up. Go over there and grab me an empty one.” After switching the jugs, Nolay placed the full one in a croker sack. He dumped the sack of corn and sugar into the concrete structure, then poured in a jug of swamp water. We picked up the empty sacks and walked back through the tunnel to the boat.

  Nolay placed the jug under his seat and the two of us climbed back on board.

  I looked down at the jug filled with shiny liquid. “Nolay, isn’t moonshine against the law?”

  “Well now, that would depend on how you interpret the law. The way I see it, there ain’t nothing wrong with making a little extra money for your family. The only thing missing between shine and store-bought liquor is paying the government taxes. And Indians ain’t required to pay taxes, so nobody’s missing anything.”

  Now, that made perfect sense to me. My daddy had an explanation for everything he did.

  Nolay poled the boat back out to open water and cranked up the engine, and once again we skimmed across the swamp water’s smooth surface. On the other side of the swamp, Nolay cut the engine and pulled up to a small, sandy landing. There was just enough room to moor the boat. Past the clearing was a tangle of twisted oak trees and scrub palmettos. Nolay picked up the sack Mama had given him and asked, “Sure you don’t want to come pay your respects to Miss Eunice?”

  “No, sir. I’ll just stay here and watch the boat so nothing happens to it.”

  “All right. Now, you stay put and I’ll be back shortly.”

  I cradled my single-shot .22 rifle across my legs and watched as Nolay disappeared into the thick undergrowth. Alone on the boat, I felt the warm silence of the swamp wrap around me. The steady beating of my heart filled my ears.

  I gazed over the edge of the boat and watched my reflection shimmer across the water’s surface and stare back at me. My skin was a perfect blend of Mama’s buttermilk and Nolay’s light mahogany. My silver-blond hair hung like two curly tassels of corn silk halfway to my waist. The eyes staring up at me were the same piercing sky-blue as Nolay’s. As I stuck my finger into the clear water, my image rippled and swirled across the surface.

  I looked back to where Nolay had disappeared and thought back on some times I had been to Miss Eunice’s house. Actually, I had never been inside that house. Usually me and Mama just drove up to the yard and she came out and met us. Or Mama would drop something off at the front porch. But on a couple of occasions I had heard some strange noises coming from an old shed by the side of that house. And there was a peculiar smell, sort of like something I had smelled out by our swamp. I couldn’t put it all together, but it sure made me uncomfortable.

  A sudden crash in the undergrowth jarred my senses. I jumped up and pointed my rifle in the direction of the noise. Out of the tangled brush, Nolay appeared. He threw up his arms in an exaggerated gesture and said, “Don’t shoot, it’s just me.”

  “Well, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Sneak up! I sounded like a dang wild Brahman bull coming through those woods. You must have been daydreamin’ about something.”

  “I guess I was, but I kept watch over everything just the same.”

  He jumped into the boat and pushed us off the small landing.

  “So everything was all right up there?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Everything was fine. Miss Eunice was out cooking something up in that big old pot of hers. I swear, for someone her age, she sure keeps busy.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. I looked back at Nolay to see what kind of expression he had on his face, but all I saw was the back of his head with its curly black hair.

  Nolay climbed up on his seat. “We best be gettin’ back, Bones, before your mama sends the game warden out after us.”

  He cranked up the engine; the noise from the huge propeller cracked the silence like an eggshell. Once again we flew out over the slick water.

  As we neared the landing to our house, twilight was settling in. Nolay cut the engine and said, “Let’s pole the rest of the way in. This here is my favorite time of the day, listening to the night wake up.” The silence gave way to chirping, croaking, and grunts.

  Softly, Nolay said, “Bones, you know people go to church ’cause they think that’s where they can get close to God, but to me, this is the only church we need. This here is God talking to us. Now, I don’t know if God is a man or a woman ’cause I ain’t sure if a human can paint something as pretty as this. Just look around, Bones, look at the show God’s lettin’ us be a part of.”

  Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream. The hair on my arms stood up, and I almost dropped the push pole. Nolay grinned and said, “That’s a good sign. That ol’ panther is lettin’ us know he’s still alive and king of the swamp.” He pointed to a thick stand of saw grass and cattails at the edge of the swamp. “Bones, can you see him over there? He’s looking right at us.” I peered into the shadows and glimpsed the flicker of two bronze eyes. Slowly, the outline of a sleek cat’s body unraveled itself from the shadows.

  Soon as he recognized that we had seen him, he moved stealthily along the edge of the thicket and disappeared into the darkness. “He’s letting us know that we live in his territory and he’s the ruler here,” Nolay said. “I been running into that ol’ guy and his family, or what’s left of ’em, since I was your age.”

  The sun had just kissed the day goodbye as we approached the landing to our house. The flat horizon looked as though someone had spilled a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice across it. Clusters of orange dripped and melted into red and gold. Nolay and I sat bathed in a soft splendor as the colors reflected off the water’s glassy black surface. The only sounds were our poles dipping gently in the water and the symphony of the swamp. Nolay leaned forward and whispered, “It’s like we’re being cradled in the hands of God, in the very hands of God. Can you feel it, Bones?”

  I looked back into his crystal-blue eyes and replied, “Yes, sir, I sure can.”

  When I got up Monday morning, Nolay was already gone. After I finished feeding the animals and ate breakfast, Mama asked if I would walk down to the Last Chance and pick up a can of lard and a pack of Lucky Strikes.

  I always looked forward to a visit with Mr. Speed, but I was really eager to see him today. It seemed like so much had happened
since the last time me and Little Man were with him.

  When I arrived at the Last Chance, Mr. Speed was in his usual spot.

  “Morning, Mr. Speed. I gotta buy a few things for my mama, then I’ll come out and sit a spell with you. You want an RC Cola or anything? I know it’s early morning, but I still think it would taste mighty good.”

  He wobbled his lopsided head in agreement.

  When I walked inside the store, instead of Mr. Ball standing behind the counter, I found Mr. Speed’s mama, Miss Evelyn. I had never talked with her very much because she was usually sitting in the little office at the back of the store.

  “Good morning, Miss Evelyn.”

  “How are you, Bones?”

  “Just fine, thank you. If you don’t mind, my mama needs a can of Crisco and a pack of Lucky Strikes. And she asked if you would put it on our tab.”

  “Of course.” She turned to get the cigarettes and said, “You know where the Crisco is, just go back and get it.”

  On the way back to the counter, I stopped at the soda cooler and pulled out two bottles of RC Cola. I placed them on the counter and said, “This one is for me, so please put it on our tab, and this one I’m taking out to Mr. Speed.”

  Miss Evelyn smiled and said, “That’s all right, Bones. The cola is on me. You just go out and enjoy your time with Speed.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  I put the cigarettes on top of the Crisco can and wrapped my arm around it, then grabbed the two bottles. I went out and sat down beside Mr. Speed.

  “How have you been, Mr. Speed?”

  “Good, been good.”

  Together we sat and looked out over U.S. 1 and the glistening top of the Indian River.

  Mr. Speed said, “They done made a tire that don’t need no tube. It’s called a tubeless—yes, sir—a tubeless tire.”

  “But Mr. Speed, how can that be? How can a tire hold air without a tube? And what will we float around on at the swimming hole? We need inner tubes to float on.”

  “They can make something to take its place; something will take its place.”

  “Yes, sir, I guess they will. Seems like someone is always making something new.”

  I wanted to talk with Mr. Speed about finding the Yankee man’s leg and the knife, but those were not the sorts of things we shared with each other. He was full of information but not answers. I just enjoyed being with him; sitting next to him was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

  “Mr. Speed, me and my daddy went out in the swamp yesterday. That big ol’ gator Snaggletooth had a heap of babies around her.”

  “Good mamas, gators are good mamas. The babies stay with ’em for years.”

  “I guess that’s sort of like a real family and the kids don’t want to leave home.”

  Mr. Speed nodded. “They help each other. The big ones help the little ones, the little ones.”

  “Yes, sir, I would say that is just like a family would do.”

  The door to the Last Chance opened, and out sauntered Peckerhead Willy. Right behind him was that Yankee man that had been out to our house. They stood together at the front entry, while the Yankee man ripped open a pack of cigarettes and threw the wrapper on the ground. He turned to Peckerhead. “You haven’t found anything yet? You got paid good money, now get out there and do what you’re getting paid for.” When that Yankee looked over and saw me, he grabbed Peckerhead by the arm real quick-like. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I watched as the two of them walked around the corner and disappeared. I hadn’t seen them when I was in the store. They must have been in the back by the three-stool bar, where grown-ups could buy beer.

  Mr. Speed held up his index finger. “A finger, it’s like a finger.”

  I studied that finger for a while. “You mean the state of Florida? It does look like a finger. Last year there was a big map of Florida hanging on my classroom wall. And it did look like a finger sticking out in the ocean.”

  Mr. Speed pointed to his knuckle. “On the knuckle, the knuckle.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Speed, I do believe you are right. We live just about right there.”

  “Look by the knuckle. When it’s dry.”

  Sometimes I wasn’t quite sure what information he was sharing with me, but it didn’t make any difference. I knew he had a wisdom I couldn’t always understand.

  We finished our RCs. I took the bottles back inside and set them on the countertop. “Thank you again, Miss Evelyn.”

  “You’re very welcome, Bones.”

  I went outside and said, “I best be getting back home, Mr. Speed. I’ll stop by again real soon. You have a good day.”

  “See you later.”

  On my walk home I kept looking at my finger and the knuckle that Mr. Speed said we lived on.

  Tuesday afternoon, Nolay returned home with one of the biggest surprises of my life. One that made me clear forget about Yankees, legs, knuckles, and knives. Me and Mama were outside working in her garden when the dogs began to bark. Pulling up in our driveway was the most astonishing vehicle I had ever seen. Its heavy body sat low to the ground. The back was squared off, and the front was pointed like a shark’s nose. It was the color of ripe limes. Gleaming strips of chrome ran down the sides and sparkled in the sunshine. The convertible top was down. and Nolay sat behind the steering wheel.

  Me and Mama, along with the dogs, approached cautiously, as if the car were a rattlesnake coiled to strike. Silver let out a low growl; the hair along her back stood up like porcupine’s guills. Nolay laughed out loud and blew the horn. “Y’all come on over here. It ain’t gonna bite ya.”

  Me and the dogs broke into a run to see who would get there first. I began to circle the car, running my hands over the smooth hot metal. The dogs sniffed the huge whitewall tires and wagged their tails. Perched on top of the hood was a shiny chrome angel poised in flight, its wings spread. I came around to the driver’s door and asked, “Nolay, what is this?”

  “It’s a 1949 Studebaker Champion, one of the finest vehicles ever put on a road.”

  “Is it ours? Can we keep it?”

  “It’s ours. We don’t own it, but we’re sure as heck gonna keep it.”

  Mama stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes drinking in the vision in front of her. She shook her head. “Nolay, where on earth did you get such a thing? And where is our truck?”

  “The truck is up at the Fish House. Ironhead’s gonna drive it down tomorrow. Don’t worry about where this car came from; just get in so we can go for a ride.”

  Mama continued to stand and stare. “Nolay, we cannot have something like this. What will people say? What will people think?”

  “I don’t give a hoot what they think or say. They’ll probably wish they had one, too. Now y’all jump on in here and let me take ya for a spin.”

  Mama rubbed her hands over her garden-soiled shirt and said, “Well, I cannot get in that car and go for a ride looking the way I do.”

  “Then, Honey Girl, go get yourself gussied up so we can go for a ride. How ’bout you, Bones, you ready?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Now, be careful when you open the door, don’t let them dang dogs in. They can ride in the truck, but they ain’t welcome in here.”

  I pulled open the heavy door and slid in across the slick green woven seat. I could feel the warmth of the sun-baked material seep through my dungarees. The back of the seat burned my thin T-shirt.

  Nolay lifted me onto his lap and let me grab the massive steering wheel; I pulled the headlight switch off and on, blew the thunderous horn, and flicked the spotlight back and forth in different directions. Silver jumped around and howled at the sound of the horn. The Champion was full of power and wonder.

  Mama came out dressed in clean slacks, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her head and tied neatly under her chin. She slipped in quietly beside me, looked across at Nolay, and said, “Well, let’s go out and give everybody something to talk about.”

  “Mama,
ain’t this just the finest thing you ever did see?”

  Mama looked over at me. Her face was serious, but her eyes were filled with joy. “It is a thing of beauty.”

  I turned to Nolay and asked, “Can we go out and visit Little Man? I bet he’s never seen anything like this before.”

  “I reckon that’s a good place to start,” Nolay said. “What do you think, Honey Girl?”

  “Fine by me. I’ve been meaning to go out and see Miss Melba’s new gas stove.”

  Nolay turned the key, and the Champion’s engine sprang to life. He glided the car gently over our deep-rutted driveway, turned left on the county’s dull yellow marl road, and headed to Little Man’s house.

  Soon as we pulled into his yard, we were welcomed by an assortment of hunting dogs. The weathered wooden house sat like a sideways matchbox on stilts about three feet above the ground. At both ends of the house was a single door, so there was no front or back entrance.

  Little Man and his daddy, Mr. Cotton, were on the side of the house, starting a fire under a huge black pot. When they saw us, they walked toward the car. Mr. Cotton had the same bird’s nest of hair as Little Man, only his was white. He came up to the driver’s side, and his tanned face crinkled into a smile as he said, “Whoo-ee, Nolay, you done outdone yourself. That is one fine-lookin’ mo-chine.”

  Little Man’s eyes sat in his round face like shiny moon pies as he stared in disbelief. That familiar question mark started wiggling up between his eyebrows. Little Man’s mama, Miss Melba, walked down the steps, wiping her hands on one of her ever-present flour-sack aprons. Her plump face and arms were covered with brown freckles. Miss Melba was like a second mama to me. I spent nearly as much time out here as I did at home. Sometimes she would run her hands over my hair and say, “Bones, your hair is the perfect color of sweet-corn tassels, it’s just lovely.” Normally I would not be real happy about someone calling my hair corn tassels, but the way Miss Melba said it, it made me feel good.

  Miss Melba came up to Mama’s side of the car and said, “Oh, my goodness. Why, Lori, I have never seen anything like this before.”