The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 1

by Donald Harington

  The ant, Tish perceived, had no sniffwhips nor gitalongs. It had a head and a thorax and an abdomen, and a long, long tail which, in fact, was attached to the beetle! It spoke some more to the Woman, who answered, “No, but I had another letter from him yesterday, and it took my breath away. He’s never written so beautifully, and if he has to get drunk to write like that, he might as well stay drunk! It was all I could do to keep from rushing right over there and hugging him!”

  The ant spoke for a long time to Sharon, who only contributed an occasional, “Yes, Gran,” or “I know that, Gran,” or “You’re right, Gran.” Then Sharon said, “At least I’ve done something I haven’t done before. I’ve written an answer. No, I haven’t mailed it. Where would I mail it? Oh? But this is Sunday, isn’t it? Where? Oh. Is that his mailbox, that thing? Well, I guess I could just poke it in there, but would he find it? I feel I have to say something to him, and maybe it’s the only way. I think he expects an answer. I told him in the letter that if he could just go for one solid week without a drink, I’d come and talk to him. I don’t know. What? I’d just have to take his word for it, I guess. He thinks I might let him move in here. It’s out of the question, the way things stand.”

  Sharon listened for a while longer, then said, “Well, thanks, Gran, I appreciate that. How’s everything up your way?” Another minute of listening followed, and then Sharon said, “Take care of yourself too, Gran. Oh, wait, by the way, I meant to ask. The other night I saw a cockroach. Did you ever have those when you lived here?” Listening, Tish thought: cockroach? and wondered if she had heard correctly. The Woman would not have said Smockroach or Frockroach; all of those lived at Holy House and were never allowed to come here. Maybe She had said “Clockroach,” and was referring to Sam? But would Squire Sam have allowed himself to be seen by the Woman?

  “…So I called this toll-free number up at Harrison, you know, the one called Tel-Med sponsored by the Arkansas Regional Medical Program, which plays these tapes with advice on everything. I dialed the tape called ‘Cockroaches—Menace or Nuisance’ and got five minutes of stuff about their history, they’re the oldest insect on earth, haven’t changed for three hundred and fifty million years, and there are fifty-five different kinds of them in the United States. It said they have filth all over their legs and bodies, because they like to live in filth, and they’ll spread this filth all over your food, and they’ll puke and crap in your food too. It said to look out for their eggs, which are sort of leathery pouches that look like tiny pinto beans, and if you see an egg, destroy it, because it’s got a dozen or more baby cockroaches inside of it. The tape said that cockroaches are a sign of poor housekeeping, and that if you keep your house clean and sanitary, they won’t bother you. I was so ashamed when I heard that! This house isn’t dirty, Gran, you know that….”

  Listening. Listening. Was Gran giving Sharon advice on how to get rid of roosterroaches? Tish wished she could hear the voice coming through the ant, and she strained to hear, but could not.

  At length Sharon said, “Well. The tape warned that the disgusting little buggers will give you salmonella poisoning, diarrhea, nausea, dysentery, and even polio and TB, so if I don’t answer the next time you call, you know I’m bad sick!” Sharon laughed, and Tish heard some laughter from the ant, and then Sharon said, “Well, I guess I’d better go mail my letter before I die! Goodnight, Gran. Sleep tight.”

  The Woman returned the ant to the top of the beetle, but the beetle did not scream again; truly it must have been westered by the ant. Then the Woman reached under the bed and brought out a shiny and silvery stick with one great eye at the end. The Woman squeezed it, and it lit up like a zillion lightning bugs flashing at once, only it remained lit and did not twinkle off. The Woman picked up an envelope and carried it out of the room and to Her porch.

  Quickly Tish climbed down the mantel and followed, squeezing under the screen door as its spring closed it. The Woman was descending the porch steps as Tish gained the porch. Tish observed that the Woman was pointing ahead of Her with the great lighting stick, which was casting a circle of illumination out into the yard, and the Woman walked out into this circle. Overhead the dark sky was filled with heavy clouds full of water. Tish scrambled along behind the Woman as fast as her six gitalongs could carry her.

  Chapter fifteen

  The Loafer’s Court, gathered around Doc Swain and Squire Hank on Doc’s porch, had an unexpected visitor, who arrived right while O.D. Ledbetter was telling a really good ’un, raunchy as all git out, about this feller what claimed he had not just two pricks but three. “He was fixin to marry this gal up on Banty Creek,” old O.D. was saying, “but she accidental seen him a-takin a piss one night behind the wall, and she commenced hollerin that the weddin was called off. ‘That pecker a yourn is jist too big fer a little ole gal lak me!’ she tole ’im. But he jist laughs and says to her, ‘Sweetheart, I got three of ’em. One is the tickler size, another’n is the prober size, and the great big ’un is the depositer size. I always use the depositer size to piss with.’

  “So they went ahead and got theirselfs married,” O.D. told it, “and the first night he tried the tickler size, and everything was just fine. So the second night she ast fer the prober size, and he tried that ’un on her too, and it was just fine. Wal sirs, the third night she begged for the depositer size, and it was the best of all. Him and her had the finest couple a hours you could imagine, and it looked like they’d live happy ever after.

  “But about three weeks after the weddin the girl woke up one evenin and she says to him, ‘Hon, do you reckon you could find a rubber band anywheres?’ And he says yeah, they’s some rubber bands in Man’s writin-desk over to Holy House, but what does she want with one? ‘Wal, I jist thought of somethin,’ she told him. ‘If we can tie all three of yore pricks together, I might could git a decent fuckin for a change!’”

  Every loafer laughed fit to bust a gut, and complimented O.D. that that was the best ’un they ever heard, and challenged Squire Hank to tell a better one, and Squire was jist hitching himself up to do it, when they noticed that one of the loafers, who hadn’t laughed, was coughing pretty bad. They looked at the loafer and discovered that he wasn’t a loafer after all, at least not a regular one, but the preacher himself! Brother Chid Tichborne had climbed the porch unnoticed and moved in amongst them.

  O.D. apologized, “Heck, Preacher, I wudn’t never of tole such a brash tale iffen I’d knowed ye was listenin.”

  Tolbert Duckworth put in, “Yeah, Preacher, and I shore didn’t mean to laugh, neither. Why, I thought that there was the nastiest story ever I heared. Phew!”

  Fent Chism put in, “Yeah, and this is the Lord’s Day, and all. We ort to be ashamed, tellin dirty tales on the Lord’s Day.”

  “Wal, boys,” said Brother Chid. “I hope I don’t never hear of none you’uns stealin the Lord’s rubber bands.”

  “Hit was jist a story-tale,” O.D. protested. “Wudn’t never nothin ever really happent lak thet, nohow.”

  “Naw,” said Elbert Kimber. “Wunst she had been fucked with the tickler size, that was all she could take!”

  Everybody laughed again, except the preacher, who frowned at Elbert’s language. Everybody stopped laughing abruptly, and studied the preacher’s frown, and waited for him to say something else. But Brother Tichborne only looked properly pious and disapproving.

  Finally Doc Swain himself had the boldness to ask, “Wal, Reverend, what brings you to my place tonight?” This was a fine question to ask, because it reminded the preacher that he wasn’t a regular member of the Loafer’s Court.

  At least half of the loafers, Chid had mentally counted, were Crustians, and members of his congregation. Tolbert Duckworth was even an elder in the church, and Fent Chism was a deacon. It was to these good Crustians rather than to Doc that Chid addressed his next words, “Brethren, the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Though He giveth thee the bread of life, He also planneth to taketh it away from thee.”

&
nbsp; “Amen,” said Tolbert Duckworth.

  “Praise His name,” said Fent Chism.

  “And as ye may know,” Chid announced, “tonight we are havin the prayer meetin and worship service right at the Lord’s gitalongs, with Him awake and all, and ready to cast judgment upon us.”

  “Amen,” said Fent Chism, and “Praise His name,” said Tolbert Duckworth.

  “No doubt He will rapture right and left,” Chid observed. “No doubt a many and a many of us will know Rapture. Amen. Praise His name. And et cetera. But fellers—” Chid paused for dramatic effect, changing his tone and his tune “—I am here to tell ye the news that the Lord is fixin to try to move into Partheeny!” Chid glanced at Squire Hank to see his reaction, but the Squire remained expressionless. The others, however, stared open-mouthed at the minister, and then at one another, and then at Squire Hank, to see what he would say.

  Squire Hank squinted at Chid and asked, “How do ye know?”

  How could Chid tell them? He had preached at them every Sunday, and sometimes on Wednesday night prayer meeting too, never to touch the Lord, never even to think about going near His Person, and here he had been up underside the Lord’s shirt collar himself, and that was how he knew that the Lord had written a letter to the Woman of Parthenon, in which He had hinted, or actually requested—well, to be honest, begged—to be allowed to move His “things,” including His self, into Parthenon.

  “I have done seen a letter,” Chid revealed. “I caint quote you His exact words, but He more or less informed Her that it was his intention to abandon Holy House and move into Partheeny.”

  Again all the loafers looked at Squire Hank for his comment, and finally the Squire declared, “I misdoubt that She would ever think of allowin Him to move in on Her.”

  “Maybe She invited Him, who knows?” suggested Tolbert Duckworth.

  “Yeah,” Chid allowed. “One way or th’other, He jist might do it, and then what would we do? Maybe we had better be ready to move out, ourselfs.”

  “Or maybe,” Squire Hank said, “all of you’uns ought to be prayin to yore Lord to stay put.”

  “Good idee, Squar!” said Fent Chism. “Yeah, Brother Tichborne, maybe tonight at the prayer meetin when we’re all assembled right there at the Lord’s gitalongs, maybe we had ort to pray to Him and beg Him not to leave Holy House.”

  “That’s what we ort!” agreed Elder Duckworth.

  But Chid said, “Naw. It wouldn’t do no good to beseech the Lord in that wise. Maybe the one we ort to beseech is Squire Hank, right here. Maybe we ort to be askin Squire Hank if he would ever let every last blessit one of us move into Partheeny when the Lord does.”

  All eyes and sniffwhips were upon Squire Hank. He ruminated. He spat. He frowned a bit. He ruminated some more. Then a trace of a smile crept upon the corner of his face, and he said, “Why don’t you’uns ask Her that?”

  “Speak of the Mockroach!” exclaimed Mont Dinsmore, who was sitting on the north edge of the crowd nearest that direction, and suddenly thrashed his sniffwhips. He exclaimed, “Hey, fellers, lookee who’s a-comin yonder!”

  Every one turned and tuned their sniffwhips, and beheld the approach of none other than the subject of discussion, the Woman Herself. The great circular beam of Her flashlight preceded Her, but only briefly did the flashlight illuminate the front of Doc Swain’s clinic, and it did not shine upon the porch floor where the mob of loafers crouched. The Woman was strolling slowly down one rut of the Roamin Road. No one could ever remember having seen Her on this part of the Road before, approaching Holy House. Hardly was She out of sight when all the roosterroaches began a busy prattling amongst themselves.

  “Wal strike me blind!” Tolbert Duckworth said. “If that aint the—!”

  “Maybe She’s a-gorn to visit Him!” Fent Chism voiced the thoughts of several.

  “What’re we a-waitin fer?” Chid Tichborne said. “Let’s go see!”

  At that moment a girl roosterroach came running down the Road, following in the steps of the Woman, but scrambling as fast as her gitalongs would carry her. When she came within sight and sniff of the Loafer’s Court, she stopped, pausing for breath and to cast an anxious glance at all the loafers.

  “Morsel, gal,” called Doc Swain. “What’s the rush?”

  The girl looked from one to another of the loafers. She was panting. “Howdy, sirs, and morsels to y’uns,” she said timidly, between wheezes.

  “Somethin chasin ye?” Doc Swain asked. “Have you seen the White Mouse?”

  The girl looked over her shoulder, and appeared uncertain. “Yessir, I think there’s some kind of booger a-follerin me,” she declared.

  The loafers laughed, and one of them teased, “Was it white? What color was it?”

  But the girl did not answer. Taking a deep breath, she resumed her journey, as fast as she could skitter.

  “Now who-all was thet?” asked a loafer.

  “I do believe that was little ole Tish Dingletoon, Jack Dingletoon’s biggest gal,” declared another.

  Another loafer asked, “Did ye hear that ole Jack has done went and westered off?”

  “Yeah, him and Josie both, together,” said another.

  “Maybe she’s jist a-lookin for to find them,” suggested still another.

  “Wal, fellers, that’s sorrowful news,” commented Brother Chid Tichborne, “and I don’t know about you’uns, but me, I’m gonna git right back to Holy House and see what’s up.” He straightened his gitalongs and rose up from the porch floor. He paused to see if any other loafer would budge, but the others remained crouched. “Wal?” he said. “Aint none of you’uns interested in goin with me?”

  Tolbert Duckworth asked Doc Swain, “Hey, Doc, what you aimin to do?”

  “Me?” Doc said. “Why, I don’t rightly know. How about you, Squire Hank?”

  “Wal…” said Squire Hank, but showed no sign of budging from his crouch. Everyone watched him closely for a sign of a budge, and then they watched Doc Swain for a sign of a budge. Squire Hank spat, and said, “I thought maybe that booger she was afeared of might jist be my boy Sam, but it don’t look like he’s a-follerin her. Don’t look like any boogers a-follerin her.”

  Chid Tichborne said, “Wal, I don’t know about the rest of you boogers, but I aim to foller her.” He took another couple of steps toward the edge of the porch, but there was no sign of a budge from any of the others.

  Finally Doc Swain remarked, “Jist think, fellers. This might could be the only chance we ever have in our lifetimes to see Her speak to Him, or vice versa.” Doc creakingly rose up from his crouch and stood upon his still-remaining three gitalongs, wobbling unsteadily, and moved over beside Chid.

  Squire Hank said, “Could be She’s jist going to tell Him to stay away from Her.” He too rose up, stretched, and prepared to go. With the Squire leading, all of the assembled loafers decamped from Doc’s porch and ambled off down Roamin Road in the direction of the Woman’s flashlight, now just a pinpoint of light nearly a furlong away, rapidly merging with the light coming from a window of Holy House.

  Chapter sixteen

  But the Woman did not climb the porch of Holy House. The Roamin Road skirts within sniffing distance of the porch, but the Woman stayed on the Road, and Tish stayed on Her heels, or close behind, almost to the edge of Banty Creek, where a small dirt road led from Carlott to the old low-water cement bridge over the stream and provided the Lord’s vehicle with access to the outside world. It also provided access for the mail vehicle from the outside world to stop at the Lord’s mailbox, which was a piece of metal junk, a World War ii cartridge case mounted upon a pole stuck in the ground amid brambles and brush. Here the mail carrier, driving out of Jasper, the county seat eighty furlongs to the north, stopped every morning to leave a copy of the Arkansas Gazette (daily), the Newton County Times (Thursdays), the New York Review of Books (biweekly), Arkansas Times (monthly), Audubon (bimonthly), and Poetry, the Southern Review, Poetry Northwest, and PMLA (all quarterl
y), and various circulars, fliers, handouts, and other promotional material and appeals from purchasers of mailing lists for “literate middleclass natureloving bookreading forties white males.” The only exercise the Lord was ever known to take, apart from the late-afternoon inspection of the weeds in His Garden, was to walk from Holy House to His Holy Mailbox, a distance of maybe half a furlong. Very rarely did He get a letter.

  The Woman found the cartridge case with Her flashlight, opened its lid, and dropped the letter into it. “There,” Tish heard Her say to Herself, “I hope the mailman doesn’t think it’s an outgoing letter.” Tish wondered what an outgoing letter was; one that was friendly and sociable?

  The Woman did not pause before turning around, and Tish had to leap to get out of the way of Her footsteps as the Woman began retracing Her path. She walked faster on the return journey, and Tish did not even try to keep up with Her.