“I’d perch there for hours with a pad and charcoal pencil and draw them the best I could. I’d make up names and stories for them and days would pass without my ever so much as moving.
“Ah, to live the life of a child again.”
Uncle Cat turned to me and gave a half smile, then shifted back towards the album. He motioned towards the date written along the edge and said, “In the summer of 1937 my brother and I were invited to our first ever birthday party. The man that owned the laundry had a daughter named Terra that was between Jack and I in age.
“Terra was turning six and her father was throwing a party for all the children in her class at their house outside of town. They were going to have pony rides and food and games, he was even going to dress up like a clown for it.
“I had never met Terra before and from what I gathered she and Jack didn’t much like each other. Jack said she was as full of herself as her father and she didn’t like the way Jack hardly ever talked.
“One night Mama came home late and announced that Mr. Albon had asked that we come. She said she knew we didn’t want to but that she didn’t want to risk making her boss angry, so we were all going.”
Uncle Cat’s face grew into a grin as a low chuckle rolled out.
“My brother and I fought her tooth and nail about it too. Man, we did not want to go to that thing. Didn't matter though.
“The next day we got into our church clothes and the three of us walked two miles out to the Albon farm. Most of the other families in town had buggies and we were by far the last ones to arrive. A few folks pointed and whispered as we walked up, but Mama told us to pay them no heed.
“We joined the party the best we could, though it didn’t take long to realize the only thing stronger than our not wanting to be there was the other kids not wanting us there. The minute everybody broke for lunch we took our plates and disappeared to the furthest corner of the yard, content to hide for the rest of the afternoon.”
Uncle Cat paused, leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. I watched as the corners of his eyes tightened and when he spoke, his voice was a touch lower.
“Just before lunch was served, Mr. Albon asked my mother to help him with some things in the kitchen. She told us she would be right back and we continued playing, never giving it another though. Awhile later we were sitting in the corner eating when Jack said, "Mama's sure been gone a long time." He told me to stay put and disappeared around the side of the house.
“Jack wasn’t one to say things he didn’t mean, so I listened to him. I stayed right there until I heard the scream.”
My eyes grew wide. “Who screamed Uncle Cat?”
He had been so lost in the story that I think he forgot I was there. At the sound of my voice he flinched, followed by several quick breaths.
“I knew the second I heard it, it was my mother.
“As I’m sure you’ll discover some day, there are some things a person just knows. The sound of a loved one in trouble is one of them.
“I jumped to my feet and sprinted as hard as I could around the house. I heard her again from somewhere inside and threw myself through the back screen door. The wooden floor pounded loud beneath my feet as I ran through the house checking rooms and finally found them in the kitchen. It was a scene I still remember with as much detail as the day it happened.
“My mother was pressed against the sink, her dress torn and the skin of her shoulder shining bright from the heat. A large red welt crossed her left cheek and her eyes were puffy from crying.
“My brother had his back to the wall, his hair mussed and his face covered in sweat. Standing in front of him with his back to me was old man Albon. His shirt was off and suspenders held his unbuttoned trousers up around his waist. In his hand he held a rolling pin, slashing it back and forth through the air like a sword.
“You just had to go meddling didn’t you boy?” he said as he stood holding the pin in front of him.
“You’re not hurting my mother anymore,” Jack said, his voice low and throaty."
As he told the story, Uncle Cat rubbed the palms of his hands together, his eyes narrowing further with each passing second.
“You’re right,” Albon said, “I’m hurting you first!” and took two hard steps towards my brother. Without waiting, without even thinking, I grabbed a paring knife from the counter and ran at Albon.
“I crossed the floor faster than I had ever run in my life and just before he got to Jack, I got to him. I plunged that knife into his leg with everything I had. In an instant I heard the rolling pin hit the floor and felt warm blood run over my hand.
“Albon screamed out in pain and backhanded me across the mouth with a vicious swipe. I had never been hit before and the pain was tremendous. I could taste blood in my mouth and before I knew it I was lying on my back in the middle of the kitchen.
“My head hit the floor hard and brilliant colors flashed before my eyes. I lay there helpless, unable to move, and I could hear him say, “You little son of a bitch, you're going to pay for this.”
“I raised my head to see Albon coming towards me, but I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was at his mercy, unable to stop anything he might do.
"Two steps before he got there, Jack picked up the rolling pin and hit him across the back of the knee. Albon’s leg folded in half and he stumbled forward onto all fours, his body just inches away from mine. Our eyes locked for a moment, both sets flashing with fear, before Jack whacked him hard across the back of the skull.”
Uncle Cat wrung his hands for the last time and ran them down the front of his pants.
“Old man Albon was out cold. His eyes rolled up into his head and flopped down on the floor beside me, his entire body limp.
"Mama waited only a second before she helped me off my back. She took a birthday napkin from the counter and wiped my face clean as we all stood and looked at each other.
"After a minute or two, Mama fixed her dress and the three of us walked right out the front door. People were crowded around the front porch to see what happened, but we walked past them without turning our heads or even acknowledging their presence. The minute we got home we packed everything we could and walked two days back to Birch Grove.”
Uncle Cat fell silent, though by the end of the tale his voice was just a whisper.
“So that’s the napkin Grandma gave you that day?” I asked.
Uncle Cat nodded. “The reason the napkin is in here isn't because of what it is, but what it symbolizes. The day Jack and I really became brothers.”
“But weren’t you always-” I began to ask, but he raised his hand to stop me.
“That night as we packed our things Jack pulled me out on the balcony of our apartment. He made sure Mama couldn’t hear him and told me how he had walked in on Albon...”
My uncle paused for a moment. “Well, a boy your age shouldn’t hear such things.
“Jack told me he suspected Albon had been mistreating Mama for some time but he wasn't able to do anything about it. He also told me that I shouldn’t be ashamed for what I did. A man has a right to stick up for his family and I should be proud of the stand I made.”
My uncle swallowed hard and blinked a few times. “Then he thanked me and told me he was proud of me. Said that if there was ever anything I needed, I only had to look as far as my brother.”
Chapter Eight
After he muttered that last line, my uncle stared at the napkin for a long time. I’m pretty sure there was more he wanted to say, but I don’t think he trusted himself to say it. His voice didn't crack, but it had lowered so far I could barely hear it.
No tears filled his eyes, but they were closed tight.
I watched him for just a second, then sat back in my chair and stared out over the lake. The glorious afternoon sun played across the water and I was content to sit and watch it.
If my uncle needed time, I would give him all he needed.
I was so content in doing so, I didn’t see h
im open his eyes or raise his head. The faint sound of thick cotton paper rubbing along metal made me look in time to see him turning the page in the old album. The napkin disappeared from sight and in its place was a piece of paper.
I was only in the beginning of my first grade year and while I was well ahead of the curve for reading, I couldn’t yet decipher a word of cursive. Not that it mattered anyway, the writing on the paper was faded so much that in many places it was gone.
I looked from the paper to my uncle and back a couple of times, then focused on my uncle’s face as he stared at the note with an expression that resembled a smirk. When he spoke, the sadness and strain from before was gone.
Pointing to the date along the side of the page he said, “1943. America had entered World War II and the country was in a state of patriotic upheaval unlike anything since the Civil War. Of course, we can thank our allies the Japanese for that.”
I had no idea what World War II, the Civil War or the Japanese even were, but could tell by the venom dripping from the word ‘allies’ that he didn’t at all like them.
“Most of the able bodied men in the country were called to war, and by most I mean any healthy male between the ages of 16 and 40. Many did the right thing and volunteered to go, and after Pearl Harbor who could blame them?
“The rest? Well, they waited for Uncle Sam to tell them they had to go.
“By the fall of 1943 Birch Grove was a ghost town. Most of the men were off to war, many to never return. It made for bad times around here, with folks crying and praying and carrying around the burden of things left unsaid. No way to live, that’s for damn sure."
He paused for a second with his gaze locked on the horizon before giving his head a twist to clear it. “Six years had passed since the incident up at Burbank. Not one time in those six years had any of us mentioned it, though my brother had lived true to his word. With each passing day he and I grew closer, forging a bond that would prove invaluable over the years.
“We’d go fishing, hunting, swimming. We’d walk with Mama to church and help her with chores. We’d work at the mill together or chop wood for folks for extra money.
“Now don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as if Jack and I suddenly became the best of friends and walked around arm in arm. Jack was still Jack and there would be times we’d go days without as much as ten words being said between us. He was still the same person as before, it was just that he let me tag along with him.
“In the fall of ’43, Jack and I were in the sixth and fourth grades. Jack had emerged as one of the smartest people in Birch Grove, not just in the school, but in the town. Me, I hated being cooped up every day and would spend hours staring at the clock trying to make the hands on it move.
“The only thing I watched with more intensity was Mae Rife, but that’s a whole other story."
The folds of skin around his eyes and mouth crinkled a bit, but he didn’t elaborate further.
He tapped the note with his index finger and said, “One day while at lunch Jack overheard a group of boys complaining that their fathers had been forced off to war. Jack listened for a moment before turning to leave, never saying a word.
“As he walked across the grassy lot behind the school one of the Lewis boys said in overly loud voice, “Yeah, one good thing about not having a father is at least you don’t have to see him sent off to war.”
He turned his head to me and said, “Mama taught us from a very young age nothing in the world was worth hating. There may be things we don’t like or people that make our skin crawl, but nothing was worth the energy of hatred.
“I tell you though, the Lewis boys gave Mama a run for her money.
“The Lewis clan lived up on the north end of town in a small clapboard house. By all accounts the father was a pretty good guy, worked at the post office for years.
“His boys on the other hand, were the spawn of Satan himself. It took everything my brother had not to turn around and go after him right then, but to his credit he didn’t. Lord knows I would have flown at him the second a word was uttered in my direction.
“Stronger than I ever was, Jack set his jaw and continued across the open lot. As he walked though, the Lewis boys began to follow. With each step, they lobbed a torrent of insults at him, each one a little more vile than the one before.
“One of them said, “Hey we didn’t mean you Roberts, we meant the other guy whose old man hung himself.”
"Another fired, “It’s probably better anyway, we’ve got no use for pussies over there.”
The old wrinkled hand holding the album clenched itself into a fist. It was obvious the story was having an effect on my uncle, even all those years later.
“On the first day of school every year I made it a point to arrive early. It was the only day of the year I arrived early or even on time. Do you know why?”
The direct question caught me off guard and it took a moment for me to stammer, “N-no. Why?”
“Because seating was always done on a first come, first served basis. The earlier you showed up, the better seat you got for the year. Every year I would go extra early on the first day to claim my seat next to the window.
“Most days I’d stare with longing out at the late autumn and early spring sun and watch for any signs of wildlife that might indicate the fish were biting.
“That day it gave me the perfect vantage to see everything out in the yard as it unfolded.”
He opened his mouth to speak twice, each time closing it without saying anything. On the third attempt, he found the words.
“Jack held his gaze and continued on his trek until finally Scot Lewis, the oldest, crossed the line. Jack was just about to the front door when Scot said, “Hell, ain’t no way of knowing if that old bird was his father anyway, his mother being a whore like she is.”
“The comment stopped Jack cold. He pulled up just short of the door and placed his book and lunch sack on the ground against the building. In slow, deliberate movements, he turned to face the crowd.
“Sitting against the window, I could tell something huge was brewing and started waving my hand like crazy. I asked Miss Tilton if I could go to the bathroom twice, only to be told both times that I could wait until recess like everybody else.
“Outside Jack turned and stared at the three Lewis boys in turn, pointed at Scot and said, “You just messed up.”
“Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it?” Scot sneered.
“I’m going to kick your ass and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.”
“And what about them?” Scot asked, gesturing to his brothers on either side of him.
“Unless they want their ass kicked too, I suggest they stand down,” Jack said. “Nobody calls my mother a whore.”
“I sat and watched as Scot laughed nervously and turned to say something to his brother on the right. The words never got out though, Jack was too fast for him.
“He tackled Scot before he had a chance to move, burying a shoulder into his ribs and driving him to the ground.
“The crowd around them stood frozen in shock as Jack sprung to a knee and snapped a hard right to the nose of Scot Lewis. Scot was already coughing from the tackle and when Jack hit him he coughed harder and covered his face as blood oozed between his fingers.
“Jack cocked to fire a second punch at him but before he could Burt and Terry Lewis grabbed him from behind. The second I saw them enter the fray I jumped from my seat and sprinted from the classroom. Miss Tilton hollered and yelled at me as I passed but I ran right by her, down the hallway, and out the front doors.
“Burt had Jack by the waist from behind, trying to control him as Jack flailed about. Terry stood in front of them trying to land punches when I slammed headlong into him from behind. The force sent him sprawling forward onto his stomach and as he attempted to rise from the grass, I stepped forward and swung a kick clean across the bridge of his nose."
Uncle Cat turned his head and looked at me. “That kick hur
t my foot like hell. I can only imagine what it must have felt like for him. A plume of blood exploded down onto the grass and Terry fell flat and didn’t move.
“Scot regained his feet and tried to come after me, but his eyes were teary and puffy from the punch Jack had landed. He stumbled forward and tried to throw a roundhouse, but I sidestepped him and tripped him to the ground.
“I fell to a knee beside him to finish the job but before I could, Burt flew into me and we both toppled over. We rolled twice on the grass and he came up on top before Jack hit him with a vicious knee to the side of the head.
“Grabbing me by the back of my shirt, Jack hauled me to my feet and the two of us stood back to back with our fists raised, facing off against the crowd.
“Anybody else?” Jack demanded, one of the few times I’ve ever heard him looking for a fight. The wild look in his eyes was one I usually wore, not him.
“Nobody said a word as we lowered our fists and our breathing slowed to normal. The world was silent except for the sound of slow clapping from inside the school. It grew louder until eventually the principal, Harold Marcus, sauntered out the front door and onto the lawn.”
Uncle Cat turned an eye towards me, then looked back at the book and continued, “Harold Marcus was a real sanctimonious bastard. As a child he lost a bout with polio and walked with a cane and a limp. It left him ineligible for the draft and made him about the only man left in Birch Grove older than us. Guy had a real problem with it too, kind of like he was less of a man because he couldn’t go to war. Spent every free second he had trying to prove otherwise.
“The clapping continued as he walked up and without a word handed us a piece of paper, this piece of paper. He looked at the Lewis boys lying on the ground, handed a second piece of paper to a boy nearby and said, “Give this to them when they wake up.”
“He gave each of us one last look, turned and walked back into the building. Inside, I heard Miss Tilton call the class back from the window and watched as faces disappeared from behind the glass.
Scars and Stars Page 3