Stepping Stones

by Steve Gannon

  The bar was fairly crowded that night—fifteen to twenty men drinking and smoking and discussing the weather, their harvest, news from the city. Pa was buying drinks for friends and talking loud as usual, filling the room with his big booming voice. We could hear him all the way back at our table. He was bragging about his boys.

  I looked over at Georgie. He was eating steadily but never taking his eyes off Pa, a big grin on his face. For my part, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong. Pa could hold his liquor, but sooner or later he would always reach a point when something slipped and suddenly he’d be soused. He already had more than a good start on it when we arrived, and I was worried. If he shot off his mouth about that boulder . . .

  My apprehension shot up several notches as I saw Abe McClintock stomping through the door. His two huge sons, Caleb and Jake, were in tow. From the expression on Abe’s face, I knew the mood in the Bent Pig was about to change.

  Abe stopped inside the doorway, his thick callused hands perched on his hips. “John Neuman! Where the hell are you?” he bellowed, surveying the room as if he owned it. Caleb and Jake stood behind him like pit bulls, all muscle and spoiling for a fight.

  Pa turned slowly. “You lookin’ for me, Abe?”

  “Damn right I am. Get that rock off my property!”

  “What’re you talking about?” Pa replied. “We put that stone dead center on the boundary wall, just like all the others.”

  “It’s hanging a good six feet onto my field!”

  “No more’n it is onto mine, Abe,” Pa pointed out pleasantly. “If you don’t approve of where it is, why don’t you get those two strapping boys of yours move it?”

  “Damn you, Neuman. There’s no way we can move that rock.”

  “Why not? Me and my boys rolled it over there,” Pa chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “You telling me you McClintocks ain’t up to it?”

  Abe’s face reddened. “My boys can outwork them skinny brats of yours any day of the week,” he said. “Besides, you never rolled that stone. There’s no track in the field.”

  “Well, Abe, it must’ve been nigh on dark when you went up there,” said Pa. “Could be you just missed the track. Or,” he added slyly, “maybe we raked over the ground so’s you couldn’t tell how we done it.”

  A number of Pa’s cronies snickered, which was all the encouragement Pa needed. My bad feeling got worse. Pa didn’t know when to quit.

  “I’m telling you me and my boys moved that rock, and it’s sitting in the middle of the north field to prove it,” Pa taunted. “You may not like it, Abe, but that’s a fact. And I’ll tell you something else. That’s rock’s gonna stay right where it is because when it comes right down to it, none of you McClintocks is a match for a Neuman.”

  “That so?” McClintock’s eyes turned squinty-shrewd. “If you’re so sure of that, let’s put some money on it.”

  Pa stroked his chin. “What’ve you got in mind?”

  “What I have in mind is a wager, Neuman,” Abe spat. “I’ve got money says my boys can wrestle them two runts of yours flat on their backs inside of five minutes.”

  The room quieted, the mention of money getting everyone’s attention. I pushed away from my food. I wasn’t hungry anymore.

  At first Pa didn’t reply. He knew he’d been backed into a corner. I could see it in his eyes, and I knew he was trying to figure a way out.

  McClintock kept pushing, not giving Pa room to back out. “What’s the matter, John?” he taunted. He reached into his pouch and slammed two gold coins on the bar. “You say your boys moved that rock? Hell, they shouldn’t have any trouble with a couple McClintocks, then. Or maybe you were just shooting off your mouth, as usual.”

  Finally Pa spoke. “Even money?”

  “Even money.”

  “You’ve got a bet.”

  That was just like Pa. He figured it was better for Georgie and me to take a beating than to back down himself. Seething, I watched as he tossed down his drink and ordered another. I could see his face in the mirror. He looked mad and sick and stubborn, all at the same time.

  After finishing his fresh drink in one gulp, Pa turned and peered unsteadily into the smoky room. Then, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he walked back to where Georgie and I were sitting.

  “Thanks, Pa,” I said when he arrived. “Thanks a whole lot.”

  “Button your lip, Seth.” Pa pulled up a chair and sat with his back to the room, facing Georgie and me. Georgie was still eating.

  “Listen, boys,” Pa whispered, lowering his voice so’s only we could hear. “I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lose this bet to old man McClintock. Here’s what I want you to do. Seth, you’re smaller’n Georgie, so Jake’ll probably take you. Keep away from him as long as you can. He’ll get you, but make him work for it.”

  “Great plan,” I said, shaking my head in disgust.

  “Georgie, Caleb’s gonna go for you,” Pa continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “I want you to use that power of yours to keep from gettin’ beat.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Pa, no!”

  Pa glared. “Seth, you shut the hell up!” Then, to Georgie, “Can you use that power of yours just a little, so’s nobody can tell? Just enough so’s he can’t beat you?”

  Georgie seemed confused. “I . . . I guess so.”

  “Pa, it’s not worth it,” I said.

  Pa was close to drunk by then, but still plenty quick. In a blink he backhanded me across the face. I didn’t even have time to flinch. “I told you to shut up,” he barked, slurring his words. “Don’t make me tell you again, boy.”

  My face stung like fire, but I looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not worth it.”

  “You’ll do what I tell you,” he warned, his voice laden with menace. “Georgie, you know what to do?”

  “Yes, Pa. Don’t let him beat me.”

  “Right.” Pa rose from the table and clapped Georgie on the back, then turned to me. “We’ll show them bastards. Right?”

  I didn’t say anything, glad Ma wasn’t there to look into my heart and see what I was feeling. Pa glowered another warning at me, then stumbled back to the bar. Georgie finished his stew.

  Within minutes a group of men had cleared the center of the room—stacking chairs against the walls and pushing tables to the corners—forming an open area in the middle. Extra lanterns were hung so there would be plenty of light. Men stood expectantly around the perimeter, waiting for things to begin.

  Pete Jenkins was bartending that night. He agreed to hold the wagers, keep time, and settle any disputes. Although in his stubborn pride Pa had foolishly given Abe even odds, most side bets in the room were weighed heavily in favor of the McClintocks. Just about everyone had money down, and you could feel the tension mounting as Georgie and I stepped forward.

  Jake and Caleb were already waiting. They had taken off their shirts so’s not to get them torn. We did the same. As I said, Georgie was a big kid for nineteen, but Jake had twenty pounds on him, and Caleb was even bigger than that. Next to them we looked puny.

  The rules were simple: no kicking, biting, or gouging. Everything else was okay. Jake and Caleb had five minutes to put us on our backs, either wrestled down or knocked unconscious. From the way the McClintock boys were grinning, I knew they intended the latter.

  “Hey, swifty, c’mere,” said Caleb, smacking his big-knuckled fist into his palm. “I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

  “Aw, Caleb, you know my name’s not swifty,” Georgie replied with a smile.

  “The match begins in thirty seconds,” Pete yelled, staring at his pocket watch.

  Balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, Jake squared off against me. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said quietly.

  “Fifteen seconds,” Pete called, eyes still on his timepiece. “You boys ready?”

  None of us said anything. I concentrated on Jake, watching his hands. The room had turned so still I could almost hear the blood pounding
in my ears.

  “Go!”

  Jake charged in fast and low, trying to circle me with his arms. I sidestepped. As he went by I shoved down hard on his shoulders, slamming his face into the floor.

  “Atta boy, Seth!” Pa hollered. “Now stay away from him.”

  Damn right, I thought.

  Jake rose, blood streaming from his nose. He cupped his hand to his face, staring in disbelief as his palm filled with blood.

  By now everybody was shouting. Old man McClintock yelled something at Caleb. Pa shifted to the other side and I could hear him yelling, too. A deafening mix of grunts and cheers and clamors resounded in the room, beating at me from all directions. Ignoring the roar, I focused on Jake.

  Anger slowly replaced his look of surprise. I think he had planned to end it quickly by sweeping me off my feet. Now things had changed. I could see it in his eyes and the way he balled his fists. Now he wanted to hurt me. Bad.

  I circled right, trying to keep space at my back so I would have room to move.

  Jake charged a second time, swinging as he came in. I slipped his first punch and ducked inside, ramming my head into his face as hard as I could. Something crunched against my skull. I dropped to the floor and tried to roll away, but Jake got a grip on my ankle. I kicked and connected again. Jake loosened his hold. I twisted away and scrambled to my feet.

  Jake was panting, his mouth spraying red with every breath. We were both spattered with blood. Jake’s.

  Abe screamed at Caleb. “Damn it, boy, finish him!”

  Hearing this, I glanced over to see how Georgie was doing. Caleb was trying to wrestle Georgie down but couldn’t seem to get a grip.

  Without warning, Jake was on me. I never should have taken my eyes off him. He got his arms around me and lifted me off the floor and slammed me down on the wooden planks so hard I thought he’d broken my back. I couldn’t move.

  Dripping blood from his nose and mouth, Jake stood over me, eyes brimming with hate. Old man McClintock yelled something. Jake ignored him. With a snarl, he lifted his boot over my face and stomped down with all his might. I turned, taking most of the blow on my temple.

  “No kicking!” yelled Pete.

  Ignoring him, Jake used his boot again, catching me in the ribs. The blow lifted me off the floor. My head was ringing. I couldn’t breathe. I lay helpless, retching.

  Jake’s lips curled in a grotesque red grimace. Reaching down, he grabbed my hair and jerked me up. I saw him cock his fist.

  “Damn it, Jake, he’s down!” Abe shouted, bursting into the circle and shoving his son aside. “Go help your brother!”

  Reluctantly, Jake left me puking and hurried over to Caleb.

  Eventually I got my breath. The spots before my eyes cleared. I rolled over and peered across the room.

  Somehow Georgie was still up, even though both Caleb and Jake were now trying to bring him down. Everybody was yelling. Pa and Abe were shouting at each other—Pa contending two against one wasn’t fair, McClintock arguing that it was. Pete called out the time. There were still two minutes to go.

  I could see what Georgie was doing. He wasn’t throwing any punches. He was just trying to stay on his feet, and he was using his “skin” to do it—employing it occasionally to break a hold or slip a punch. I smiled, recollecting just how slippery that “skin” was. Nonetheless, Georgie was having a tough time keeping track of both the McClintocks at the same time. One would approach from the front while the other threw a punch from behind. Some of them were landing. Georgie was getting tired.

  Most in the room had money on the McClintocks, so naturally they were cheering for Caleb and Jake. The mood of frustration turned ugly as the final seconds slipped by. At one point Caleb and Jake piled on Georgie together, slid down his “skin,” and wound up sprawled at his feet. If you didn’t know what was happening, you’d have thought they were clowning around. Abe was furious.

  Pa was laughing, catcalling the McClintock boys, mocking them.

  Caleb and Jake didn’t like getting laughed at any more than they liked getting beat. They looked ready to explode.

  In a fight, five minutes is a long time. Nearly exhausted, the McClintock boys made one last run at Georgie, closing from opposite sides. It seemed as if Georgie just put out his hand and brushed Caleb aside, then neatly sidestepped Jake. Once again they wound up sprawled on the floor. Above all the shouts of anger and derision, I could hear Pa laughing.

  “Time!” Pete yelled. “John Neuman wins the wager.”

  “Hold on,” Abe shouted. “Jake got the younger one down. That makes it a draw.”

  Pa stopped laughing. “The bet was you’d get both my boys down. One ain’t both.”

  At that point everyone with a money interest began voicing his opinion. I was fed up with the whole thing. Georgie started over to join me, a big grin on his face. He knew he’d done good.

  Georgie was almost there when I saw Caleb sneaking up behind him, his eyes blazing with fury. Caleb had a wooden stool from the bar clenched in both hands.

  “Georgie, look out!” I screamed.

  Too late.

  Caleb slammed the stool down on Georgie’s head. I heard a sickening thud as the heavy oak stool connected with Georgie’s skull.

  The next few moments seemed like a horrible nightmare. It was as if a noiseless explosion suddenly detonated in the bar . . . with Georgie at the center.

  Caleb was the closest. He got hit the hardest. It looked like an invisible fist just picked him up and hurled him across the room. And he wasn’t the only one. Every man there got knocked flat, as did several walls near the kitchen. The front door was ripped from its hinges and blasted into the street. Every bottle behind the bar shattered, sending glass flying everywhere.

  I was close to Georgie when it happened. I think what saved me was that I was partially shielded by a heavy support post, but I was still slammed to the floor. Hard. Shakily, I rose to my knees.

  The room was silent. All the lanterns had been blown out. A few lay on the floor leaking kerosene. Luckily nothing caught fire. There was only one light left shining.

  Georgie.

  He lay unconscious, jerking like a poleaxed steer. As I watched, his back arched and his head began thrashing from side to side, as though he were fighting some unseen hand. There was something else, too. Georgie was floating a foot above the floor. And he was glowing.

  “Oh, Georgie,” I whispered.

  Then it started.

  “God save us!”

  “Lord Jesus, what is it?”

  “It’s the work of the Devil!”

  “Kill it!”

  “Abomination!”

  “Satan!”

  I tried to crawl over to my brother. I couldn’t get closer than a couple feet. That “skin” was all around him again, glowing, with him twisting and shuddering inside it.

  Someone got a lantern lit, then another. Soon there was enough light to see the extent of the damage to the room. The Bent Pig was a shambles, but there was a worse damage than that. Caleb’s lifeless body lay crumpled at the foot of the bar, a section of the stool he’d swung at Georgie buried in his chest.

  “Oh, God, my boy,” Abe sobbed, sinking down beside him.

  “Jesus,” Pa whispered.

  “Georgie didn’t mean it. It wasn’t his fault,” I said, stumbling over. Men shrank back as I approached. “It wasn’t his fault,” I repeated. “Tell them, Pa.”

  Abe rose to his feet and grabbed Pa’s shirt. “What do you know about this, Neuman?”

  Pa glanced away. “I . . . I don’t know anything. You can’t—”

  A hollow thump sounded in the center of the room. Every man there turned. Georgie had dropped to the wood planking. The light around his body was gone.

  With a snarl, McClintock released Pa and strode to the middle of the room. He stood over Georgie. “Get a rope,” he said.

  Pa stepped forward. “Now, hold on, Abe. You can’t—”

  Abe whirled, trembli
ng with rage. “You shut your mouth. You got no right to speak. My boy’s dead, and this . . . this thing you raised killed him. You keep out of this, Neuman, or I swear by all that’s holy we’ll be getting two ropes instead of one.”

  The wager money was still on the bar. I scooped it up. “Here,” I said, thrusting it at Abe. “Take it. It wasn’t Georgie’s fault. Just take the money and leave us be.”

  Jake was standing beside me. He knocked the coins from my hand. Then he swung his fist, putting all his weight behind the blow. I went down. Hard. I wound up on the floor beside Caleb’s body, blood pouring from my mouth.

  Jake spat on me. “This ain’t about the money,” he said. “This is about right and wrong.”

  Someone brought a rope from the storeroom. With a hollow feeling, I realized that the men in that bar were going to hang Georgie, and there was nothing Pa or I could do to stop it. Rising to my knees, I looked up at my neighbors. All I could see in their faces was cruelty and fear and hate. They had changed. They had turned into a mob. Alone, each may have been fair and honest and moral; together, they had become an ugly mindless force bent on violence and revenge.

  Rough hands jerked Georgie to his feet. They bound his wrists behind his back with wire. He was still dazed but starting to come out of it.

  Abe dragged him to the bar, forcing him to look at Caleb’s body. “You done this!” he hissed. “And by God, you’re gonna pay.”

  Confused, Georgie stared down at Caleb, then peered around the demolished room. Slowly, he understood what had happened. As he did, I saw despair fill his eyes.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Georgie,” I said.

  Georgie looked down. “Yes, it was, Seth. I should have kept my promise to Mama.”

  I moved closer. “Listen to me,” I said softly so only he could hear. “They’re going to hurt you, Georgie. You have to save yourself, like when the boulder rolled on you.”