Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift

by Ron Foster

  “Them Al Quidey used swords? Hear that Bertha they was toting sabers. Them are crazy bastards Bertha, kind of like them stories Uncle Willie told how he got that samurai sword off that Jap officer. They promote the craziest dumbest one to carry a big pig sticker and charge the enemy while they carry guns and run after him to make sure that he does it. I guess they think if we watching that crazy bastard hollering he is going to kill us and were waiting for one of his own men to shoot him and save us the trouble we won’t think about shooting at them running behind until they get too close. Doesn’t work though, Uncle Willie just said shoot the crazy bastard in the lead first or whoever is hollering loudest with the most stripes. Go ahead Crick resume your story.” Clem said hollering at Bertha to be thinking about what they were having for supper since they had company today.

  Loomis started to interject something snide but Crick laughingly cleared his throat and said to let it ride.

  “Anyway, I don’t know who I can find in charge of anything to help get them folks off the island but once we do and we get them off there safely they are going to need some help getting home. You know the gas pumps aren’t working a thousand miles in either direction now that the powers been cut, don’t you Clem?” Crick asked.

  “See, I told you to fill up 3 weeks ago, but nooooooooooo. Then you had to get drunk in the truck and run the battery down listening to the radio!” Bertha complained.

  “Hey you were in on that, we had to listen to that school station that has gotta tell you everything about a jazz song or big band hit before they play it for ya.” Clem complained.

  “Well who the hell listens to race cars on the radio? You never even seen a race car let alone been to one of them racetracks you listening to. Besides, how you tell the race cars from the static on there without an announcer, anyway?” Bertha fired back.

  “Don’t mind us, bickering is one of the things we do to pass the time around here. Truck won’t start until we get a jump so we can’t help you out none with a ride to town. Got an old bicycle if you can ride it. Slim Furlong lives about 6 miles yonder way, he give you a ride if you tell him I told you to.” Clem said as they walked out into a field across from 10 cinderblock and wood ramshackle shacks. You could see which ones might be still serviceable and not collapsing and one had an old blue and white pickup truck sitting in front that had seen its better days.

  “That’s my truck over there in front of Berthas, told you she was in on that hoot nanny the other night. I live over there on the other end of the field.” Clem said pointing at another assemblage of tin roofed shanties and a few big wooden barns.

  “This here is what we call the bottoms. Used to be reserved for colored folks. Still is, I reckon.” Bertha said with a giggle, smiling mischieviously at Clem.

  “They called it the bottoms because it’s at the bottom of the hill. I told her to move up to one of the houses up by me years ago but she is stubborn and won’t do it.” Clem said complaining.

  “Don’t listen to that crazy old white man. Them houses up by the barn yard ain`t no better than what we has in the bottoms excepting his house which was reserved for the foreman. I keep telling him he ain`t no foreman anymore but you should hear how he tries to boss me around. Least ways down here in the bottoms I ain`t so accessible for him to holler at me to help him do something.” Bertha replied with a shame on you look towards Clem.

  “Now Bertha you know I don’t boss you as much as you nag me. It ain`t fittin that we still got us a black and white section on this plantation. Told you back in the 90`s we should integrate the place just like the schools are now and invited you to my neighborhood.” Clem said protesting.

  “Don’t listen to that old fish eyed fool. He just don’t like having to walk down to my house every day for breakfast and wants me closer to cook and clean for him.” Bertha said fussing but with a slight smile.

  “Now I tell you what Loomis, you ain`t going to believe this but she is the most contrary and most prejudiced one on this place. Her chickens lay brown eggs, she’s got Black Nubian goats, raises black magic zucchini, why the only thing integrated down here is that black and white jersey milk cow she has got that is more cantankerous than that world’s oldest black mule she keeps around for no other reason than he don’t like me.” Clem advised stopping momentarily to wipe his brow with an old blue bandanna.

  “That’s another thing, every Christmas she gives me a blue bandanna and I give her a red one. Told her we ought to swap one time and she gave me a look and a talking to like you wouldn’t believe mister. I am telling you I ain`t seen her so riled since that social worker offered to exchange her white picture of Jesus for a black one.” Clem said about to carry on with his tirade further but Bertha pointed her weapon at him and advised him there were places for people who blaspheme like him and told a bit of that story.

  “Now, I don’t know what color that man might have been and it don’t matter to me as long as somebody don’t tell me he is red like the devil. That was my mammy’s picture and I like it. Besides Jesus is always white now my grandma says, he is the Holy Ghost now right? She tell me not to worry about folks saying they seen a ghost around the old cemetery. Might have been Jesus or Saint Peter coming to lead somebody up the golden staircase to heaven.” Bertha declared in a don’t- mess-with-me admonishment.

  “See what I mean? You just can’t talk to her about modernization, religion, politics or them critters she keeps.” Clem said sulking.

  “I got mines and you got yours. You move up to the big house if you want to put on airs. You as poor as any field hand that ever worked this place being white and living in the foreman’s house don’t mean nothing around here.” Bertha said with a bit of fire none of the guests had seen out of her yet.

  “She’s talking about the old Mc Cloud plantation house up on the hill a mile from here. Hell, them Mc Clouds were poor as far as plantation owners went and if it wasn’t for the slaves staying on after the Civil war and the share croppers moving in, they would of lost everything they had. I just hope that old bastard Talmadge stays alive long enough to keep paying us a pittance to look out after the place before that scurvy son of his Earl sells the place off piecemeal to pay the taxes. Ain`t no Mc Clouds living on Mc Cloud property for nigh on 40 years I would say unless you might count Bertha.” Clem said with a “Oh shit” look that he had said something he shouldn’t have.

  “Clement K. Bowman! You ain`t to big or too old for me to find me a hickory switch to dust your britches with. It’s true I might have more than a drop or two of white blood in me but it’s not your place to be telling folks such. And it’s damn sure it’s not fitting to be washing our laundry around city guests.” Bertha scolded a much apologetic Clem.

  “Here we be, you all come in side. Its lots cooler than on that little porch.” Bertha said escorting every one into the darkened main room of the old shotgun style house.

  “Have a seat, boys.” Clem said indicating an old 1960 style gray couch that Bertha had festooned with what appeared to be handmade starched white doilies.

  The house was spare but immaculate and had homemade braided rag throw rugs of every color imaginable placed strategically throughout. Loomis sat uncomfortably for a moment and then advised Clem he needed to use the bathroom to which he was advised that there was an outhouse out back and bushes aplenty if he didn’t need to utilize a seat.

  Loomis walked out back after excusing himself and Bertha hollered at him to go use the backdoor because it was closer and to mind the mule if he had a notion to go see it. He had no sooner got out the door and they heard the screen door slam when Clem jumped up and Bertha bustled herself back into the living room following Clem in a rush out the front door. Crick just sort of followed along out the front door trying to keep up with the animated giggling pair wondering what was going on but not going to miss whatever it was when the procession came to a halt next to a bush by the front fence that they all peered from in anticipation. The back of the sharecropper compound h
ad three venerable old blued with age wooden barns of which only one seemed to be in repair and holding its roof up without leaks with a small split-rail corral that a milk cow and a mule were sharing and peering at Loomis with interest.

  Various breeds of chickens were scratching around in the sand and weeds in back of the house and Loomis was trying to whizz on a big honeysuckle bush when the cow and the mule commenced to talk about him.

  “E ah! E ah! Moo Moo! Commenced to echo around the chicken yard and small garden area as Loomis tried to look over his shoulder without getting his feet wet as to what the animals were complaining about.

  The mule was having himself a complete fit and it looked like the way he stretched his head out every time he brayed that someone must be pulling his tail to help him out. The cow was a bit more reserved in her vocalizations but she was damn sure fertilizing more ground than what was normal.

  “Easy! Easy!” Loomis crooned in their direction as he finished his business and zipped up and went to see about the animals.

  “What’s got you so riled up? Settle down mule! You need water? Is there a snake in your pen?” Loomis said approaching the old split oak rail corral.

  “Get out of my road chickens I ain`t got no grain for you. You all hungry? Miss Bertha not fed you yet today?” Loomis said trying to figure out how to cow and mule whisper while watching a giant black multi colored rooster fighting chicken with spurs an inch and a half long start towards him.

  “Surely the house hears this commotion going on.’ Loomis said to himself looking towards the backdoor and then noticing Crick and crew were grinning at him in the front yard watching the show.

  “What’s the matter with these damn beasts? I ain`t done nothing to them, I just watered that bush a little and all hell broke loose.” Loomis called up to them pointing a don’t even think about it finger at the rooster who had decided to back off, just for the moment.

  “I told you to mind the mule, Loomis! He is a nice old cuss once you get to know him but he don’t take to strangers.” Bertha said smiling a brilliant white but gap tooth grin at him.

  “I told you to quit picking on him, Bertha.” Clem said with a laugh and smacking Crick on the back of the shoulders with a lets go see thump much harder than Crick thought the old geezer could produce.

  “It’s the hat, boy! Talk your hat off, Loomis!.” Bertha declared and gathered up her dresses to hurry his way with a bemused Crick and Clem whispering and grinning to each other.

  “Now Toby, Bessie, you all settle down. This here is Loomis and he is a friend.” Bertha said taking Loomis by the hand for an introduction.

  Loomis wasn’t sure what to do, he had his hat half off and was holding it about shoulder length not knowing whether to put it back on and run or keep it handy for beating off that damn foghorn leghorn looking rooster that seemed like he was trying to sneak up on him once he looked the other way.

  Clem and Crick caught up to the pair and Crick was trying his damndest to keep a straight face as Bertha and Loomis seemed to be using his arm as a tug of war rope to keep him moving towards the corral when a shot rang out.

  “Ah hell, Katy bar the door!” was all Clem managed to get out before the already disturbed Barn yard erupted into even more pandemonium. All the chickens made a beeline for Bertha like they were going to hide under her dress and that great big rooster must of thought hiding in back of Loomis`s knees must be the safest place around as the mule started spinning and kicking and Bessie the cow high tailed it back in the barn a pooping and a sliding.

  “What the F-word!” Crick said reaching over and grabbing his pistol out of Clem’s waist band and trying to figure out where the shot had come from.

  Clem and Bertha somehow managed to remain calm as a cucumber and told Crick to put up his pistol that everything was alright and for Loomis to lower his cowboy hat further.

  “I told that damn Rossi Ross not to hunt so close to our houses but she don’t listen. Could be too she is watching us and up to no good.” Clem said spitting out the last of the chewing tobacco he and Bertha had “borrowed” under threat of guns from Loomis.

  “Rossi Ross! You out here?” Bertha bellowed in a voice that would have probably carried to the county line.

  Silence. Nothing but silence was heard as Crick and Loomis nervously looked around for indications of where the shot had been fired from before Clem started yelling that Loomis wasn’t the sheriff and to come on out of the woods and be sociable if she was near.

  “I am here! Who are they then?” a voice not too far from Loomis`s watering bush called back.

  “Told ya! They are friends, we is just fine! Now get your little hiney over here and quit acting like a wild Indian.” Bertha called back.

  After a minute or two a non-descript rag clad form toting a single shot 20 gauge shotgun emerged from the woods and hollered “howdy” to the group.

  It was hard to tell between the ill-fitting clothes and the ragged cap if this youngster was male or female until she got closer. A wisp of dishwater blond curls managed to poke their way out of what was once was a brown stylish slouch hat from the disco era. The kind that looked like a beret with a brim you could see in a fat Albert cartoon or JJ had on the TV show Good Times.

  Crick still had his pistol out but he had it pointed down to his side as he watched this creature of the fields and forests approach carrying the old single hammered shotgun easily in one hand without a care in the world.

  Loomis on the other hand was considering just how much what he knew now to be a teen age girl had seen as he took a nature break and remained kind of freaked that someone with a gun could of got the drop on him so easy.

  “It’s ok, babies” Bertha cried to which the cow poked its head through a window to reassure itself and the mule snorted like he knew that already but calmed down and quit his incessant braying.

  “Shit fire! Is everyone around here crazy or do you all just wait in the woods all day hoping to get the drop on somebody when they got their guard down?” Loomis complained looking around and listening to the woods to be sure nobody else was going to join this carnival of peepers and creepers that he had got stuck in somehow.

  “My names Rossi Ross!” The boy now known to be a developing girl thrusting a grimy callused hand out to Loomis declared with a bright smile.

  “Uh, I am Loomis. How long you been over there?” Loomis started to question.

  “Long enough, but no worries I got a little brother. Miz Bertha! Uncle Clem! I am sorry to scare your guests but I was just beside myself seeing this here sheriff taking a pee on old Marmies grave.” The 13 or 14 year old gushed.

  “Marmie was an old Blue Tick hound Bertha used to have that that child played with when she was young. Unfortunately for all, Loomis didn’t know that Marmie’s buried under that old honeysuckle and I reckon that old’ cow and mule remember too, the way they’s protesting.” Clem advised everyone.

  “Well I just couldn’t let that happen and I got riled. I figured maybe if it was the sheriff trying to throw you off the land I would distract them and give you a chance to escape his deputy. Who is that anyway?” the little hellion said pointing at Crick.

  “Why don’t he have on a cowboy hat?” the little darling declared.

  “They don’t fit my head..” Crick started to say before Clem bumped him and explained they were not police and that it was best to explain things nicely to the girl because she was going to repeat everything word for word that transpired to everyone in a 50 mile radius.

  “I like him Bertha, he got them Jesus blue eyes just like the picture you keep on your mantle.” Rossi said walking up to Crick and starting to hold hands like he was her new Beau and looking up at him adoringly.

  “Uh.. pleasure to meet you Rossi, thanks for giving me my gun back Clem.” Crick began, trying to get his hand back before the mule started braying again because Loomis had put his hat back on and the cow uttered one long moo out the barn window and disappeared.

  “What is
wrong with this friggin hat and you people?” Loomis began, taking the hat back off and examining it for a second, trying to find the flaw or ‘kick me’ sign Crick mighta put on it.

  “Nothing at all, go ask him nice Rossi to see the inside of it. It has a pretty blue bow to size the underwear inside of it just like a pair of bloomers.” Bertha advised.

  Well at this point Crick didn’t know who spluttered worse, him trying to hold in the laughter, Loomis telling everyone he didn’t wear underwear on his head, Clem doing his code of the old west lines or Bertha trying to understand it all and why Loomis left the packing labels on it like Minnie pearl with her price tags on hats at the grand ol opry.

  Once the levity and confusion had died down, Bertha apologized once again and told Loomis to take off his hat to meet the mule.

  “Damn it Crick, I ain`t took my hat off so many times since my military days.” Loomis said as Crick took his own off to go greet the livestock with his fellow rafter.

  “Yea, I know, Uncover! Recover! Hats on, hats off. Still in all this shit is kind of fun. Maybe I need me a Cowboy hat?” Crick said not letting a chance go by to needle his buddy a bit.

  Clem enjoyed the hell out of two good ol boys to share the fun times with but with livestock and dogs and such it was a matter of safety or serenity to take them hats off to make everyone comfortable.

  “You see boys, and I am sorry Bertha but its funnier than hell. These folks around here mule included never seen a cowboy hat mean anything other than the law and that one non gentile veterinarian we once had around this place, so they sound the alarm. Be glad we ain`t got no geese to goose you any more, why if I remember right this black gander one time Bertha had..” Clem began before Bertha indicated enough said.

  “Well anyway, animals don’t see faces like we do, they see hats, whether or not you got something in your hand etc. and you got to well for lack of a better word get naked for them so you and they can see your inner being. Kind of like don’t stare a bad dog in the eyes or forget to get down on your knees to greet a smaller animal so you’re less threatening.” Loomis left them for consideration.