The Secret Wisdom of the Earth

by Christopher Scotton

  “He’ll come,” Pops assured me.

  “Maybe his grandfather has work for him or something.” After years of my father’s no-shows, expectation management had become second nature for me.

  “He’ll come… it’s no small walk from his hollow, you know.”

  The worry in my stomach that Buzzy wouldn’t show for the campout reached a boiling point. “He probably had to stay home and do extra chores,” I said to no one in particular.

  “He’ll—”

  “Dr. Peebles!” a voice yelled from the dark street. I recognized it as Buzzy’s. We both stood and turned to it.

  He was bolting down Chisold empty-handed. Running as if chased by a pack of pit bulls. Pops was on the bottom step as Buzzy threw the front gate open.

  “He’s hurt real bad, Dr. Peebles. You gotta get someone quick.”

  “Who, son?”

  Buzzy was bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He threw up.

  Audy Rae came out from the kitchen.

  “Who’s hurt, son?” Pops asked urgently.

  “Mr. Paul… out backa… his place.” He panted. He leaned over and heaved again.

  Pops looked up to Audy Rae, who immediately disappeared into the house.

  “You boys wait right here,” he said and took off running toward downtown. Buzzy stood up and looked at me; we both ran after Pops. He was thirty steps ahead of us as we chased him past the stop sign at Chisold and Watford, past the spray of double-wides on Madison, past the bank on Main. In a flash we were at the row of shops—Hivey’s, Smith’s, and Ms. Janey’s on the end. Pops dashed down Green Street, paused, then disappeared into the alley behind the shops.

  Mr. Paul was lying on his side, curled into the fetal position, a spreading pool of blood at his head—white fluid oozing out of his ear. His head had an abnormal shape to it, like a reject melon. His slight breathing came out as a gurgle, and his face was a mass of blood and cartilage. A piece of bone stuck out of his nose. One eye socket was smashed in. His other eye was staring off at an odd angle.

  Pops worked furiously, checking his pulse, clearing blood and matter from his mouth so he could breathe. On the concrete, in the bloody pool, were seven small white stones; it took me several seconds to realize that they were Mr. Paul’s teeth. At his head were Buzzy’s bedroll and a cloth bag of belongings. I moved around and picked them up to get them out of the way.

  “Go out to the front to wait on the ambulance.” The tone in Pops’ voice left no room for argument.

  We backed out of the alley to the corner. I handed Buzzy his blanket and bag. He was silent and fidgety, looking every which way for the ambulance. “Man, where the fuck is they?”

  “They’re coming. I know Audy Rae called them.”

  “He can’t die… he jus can’t die.”

  “Buzz, what happened, man? How did he get like that?”

  Buzzy just shook his head and looked down the road again for the ambulance.

  “I mean, he was beat up or something. Had to have been beat up. Don’t you think so?”

  Buzzy wrapped his arms around his chest and jockeyed foot to foot. The night was still and we heard the low wail of the ambulance from far off. “Bout fuckin time,” he said and started running in the general direction of the sound.

  “They’re coming right here, Buzz. Let’s just wait like Pops said.” The sound grew and the red and white lights of the ambulance reflected off Biddle’s as it turned the corner onto Green. Buzzy ran out to the middle of the road, waving his arms wildly. The ambulance approached and he directed it to the alley opening. Soon after, Sheriff Binner arrived, trailed by two state police cars. The front porches on Green Street were filling up. People began walking down to the alley. Two state policemen established a perimeter across the road; one of them said to us, “Hey, you kids, get back over here.” We obeyed and joined the thickening crowd on the other side of Green.

  “They ain’t gonna bring out the amblance for a break-in, Bernice,” someone said.

  “Dorlees says it’s a suicide. Ain’t that what you said, Dorlees?”

  “Yes’um. The state boys only come for the suicides.”

  “That’s what I know.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, which made me jump. I turned and relaxed when I saw it was Audy Rae.

  “He’s real bad, Audy Rae.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “Been praying.”

  A fat lady looked over at me. “Who’s real bad? You know who kilt themselves in there?”

  “No one’s killed themselves, Ms. Bandy,” Audy Rae answered patiently.

  Ms. Bandy looked at her as if she had told her that the sun wasn’t going to make the sky in the morning. “How the hell you know? Dorlees says it’s a suicide.” Audy Rae ignored her and gently moved us out of the crowd to the corner of Green and Main.

  She stood between us with a hand on each of our shoulders; as the ambulance gurney came out of the alley, the hands rushed to her mouth. “Oh my Lord.”

  Two technicians were working furiously on Mr. Paul, one forcing air into his lungs with a ball attached to a mask. A sheriff’s deputy pushed the stretcher. Another held an IV bottle. Two more police came out of the alley, then Pops. They hoisted Mr. Paul into the back of the ambulance and it pulled away silently. Once it was out of town we heard the wail of the siren. Pops was standing just outside the alley talking with the sheriff, who nodded his head and looked over to Buzzy. Pops walked out to the front of the shops, then crossed toward us. There were creases in his forehead that I’d never seen before, and his lips were a straight white line. “Audy Rae, take these boys home, immediately. I’m going over to Paitsel’s.”

  Chapter 14

  HOW BAD DREAMS HAPPEN

  What the fuck is going on? I’m serious. Someone tried to kill him. I mean, they knocked out all his teeth. Did you see that? Did you see all the teeth on the sidewalk in all that blood? Those were teeth… teeth! What is the deal?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Did you see who did it? I mean, they beat the living shit out of him.”

  “Dint see nuthin.”

  “No one running out of the alley or anything like that?”

  “Nope.”

  We were lying half out of the tent in the backyard. He rolled over and put his back to me and closed his eyes. Soon he was breathing long, slow breaths. I couldn’t believe he was able to sleep after what we saw. I had absolutely no hope of sleep anytime soon, with my mind reeling from the alley scene. I sat up and peeked over his shoulder, watching him for a minute. One eye opened and peered up at me.

  “Don’t be starin at people when theys sleepin. It’s how bad dreams happen.”

  “You’re not sleeping.”

  “You dint know that.”

  “Whatever. Buzzy, I gotta talk to you about this. I mean, he had a bone coming out of his nose, white stuff coming out of his ears. I think they killed him and you’re all ready to go to sleep.”

  “He ain’t gonna die.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  Buzzy flipped over on his back. “He just ain’t is all.”

  I was sitting up now. “All right, tell me everything that happened.”

  He exhaled an annoyed sigh. “I came down over Kinder Mountain an was walkin up Green Street by the alley an heard a moan, saw Mr. Paul all hurt, an then ran here to get your Pops. That’s all I know.”

  “And you didn’t see anybody around in the alley or on the street?”

  “No, man, it was deserted.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I can’t even take a guess on it.”

  “I think it was that Budget man.”

  He looked down. “Dunno.”

  I told him about the meeting at Hivey’s. “… and I saw one of the Budgets shoot their own mule last week. Killed it right there in front of his whole family. At the meeting he was talking about running Mr. Paul out of town. Do you think he did it?”

  “I got no earthly
idea.”

  I started to catalog all the reasons why the Budgets were guilty when Buzzy cut me off. “Look, man, I really don’t want to talk bout this. Let’s jus lay here an go to sleep. I been pullin hay all afternoon an I’m beat.”

  “Sure, Buzz.”

  He turned his back to me again and soon his breaths were slow and even. I lay there and looked up at the stars. All the blood and teeth and bone that were the wreckage of Mr. Paul carried the memories of Joshua forward. Memories I had pushed so far into the shadows that when I drew them out again, they were still as raw and unprocessed as before. The numbness I had felt for so long after he died began to creep back into my legs and arms and lungs on Mr. Paul’s blood and broken teeth.

  Buzzy’s breathing became rhythmic, and I could tell this time he really was asleep. But for me, any hope of reasonable slumber was gone. I stayed half out of the tent that night, watching the travel of the stars and thinking about Josh, replaying everything I did and failed to do on April 11 over and over and over until the east began to muddle the night sky with purple and light blue.

  I didn’t remember Pops coming home that night, but he was at the kitchen table drinking black coffee, talking in low tones with Audy Rae, when Buzzy and I opened the back screen door. “Morning, boys,” he said quietly.

  “Hey,” I said as barely a whisper. Buzzy nodded to them, then went over to the refrigerator, examining the cluster of family pictures magnetized to the door: my mom, my cousins and uncles, a spread of me.

  “How is Mr. Paul?”

  “Not good, Kevin.”

  “Is he gonna die?”

  “They don’t know yet,” Pops replied grimly. Buzzy acted as if he hadn’t heard the report. Audy Rae was busy at the stove, pouring pancakes.

  “Can I have a cup of coffee?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Buzzy?”

  “Sure,” Buzzy replied, not taking his eyes off the photos.

  Audy Rae brought over two cups overloaded with cream. It tasted bitter, tasted appropriate.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s upstairs in her room. Probably going to sleep in today.”

  I smirked. Mom had slept in past noon just about every single day since Josh’s funeral. By now Pops had perfected the art of casual understatement whenever anyone asked about her condition.

  “Did you tell her about Mr. Paul?”

  “No, and I’ll likely hold off on that for a while. I think she’s got enough on her mind right now.”

  Audy Rae delivered the pancakes. Buzzy dug in as if it was a last meal, but I couldn’t eat.

  After a while Pops spoke. “Buzzy, Sheriff Binner is going to come by after breakfast to talk to you about what you saw last night. I called your mom and she said it was fine as long as I was there with you.”

  Buzzy looked up from his pancakes, nodded, then went back to stuffing a three-stack triangle into his mouth.

  “He told me he didn’t see anything, Pops,” I said, although I wasn’t sure why.

  “Then he can tell that to Sherriff Binner. It’s what sheriffs do after things like this.”

  I pushed the pancakes around on my plate.

  Sheriff Binner pulled up at ten o’clock. Zebulon Binner was a large man, even by Missiwatchiwie County standards. His arms hung from his body at forty-five degree angles; the fat on his biceps pushed out the edges of his tight short shirtsleeves like a hand-squeezed balloon. Wrists the size of my thighs, head like an overinflated beach ball. His most impressive feature, however, was his belly, which hung long and low and looked as if an undigested boulder had lodged in his gizzard. His colossal thighs forced a duck-like gait that made his arms and belly swing in opposition.

  “Zeb, how are you this morning?” Pops asked.

  “Same as last night. Dang hip jus creaks when it gets humid like this.”

  “You’ll be creaking all week, then. They say weather’s not gonna break until Friday.”

  Sheriff Binner grunted.

  “How’re Floreese and the kids?”

  “Floreese’s runnin things in the bridge club now, so she pretty much leaves me alone,” he said with a chuckle. “Boys are great, cuttin wood all summer for walkin money.”

  “You can put me down for a half cord,” Pops said, then turned to Buzzy. “Zeb, I don’t believe you’ve met Elrod Fink.” Buzzy visibly flinched at the sound of his real name. “He goes by Buzzy, though.”

  Zeb Binner stuck out a meaty hand and Buzzy shook it. “How are you, son? I’ve known your daddy an grandaddy for years.” He paused to catch his breath and mop his brow with a handkerchief. “My boy Jake blocks for your brother.”

  Buzzy nodded and tried to smile. Sheriff Binner pulled up a wicker chair, sat, and put both his elbows on his knees. “Can you tell me what you saw last night, Buzzy? Start from the beginnin.”

  Buzzy shifted in his chair. “Well, I was walkin from home to Kevin’s house for a campout. He an his grandaddy was helpin out my grandaddy an he asked if I wanted to camp out so I said yeah. I walked over Kinder Mountain and down into town cause it’s quicker than the highway. I came out down by the old railroad wayside, then came up Green Street. So I’m walkin up Green when I hear this moan come out the alley. I thought it was a cat or somethin, so I kept walkin; then I heard someone say, ‘Help me,’ an I turned back an saw him there on the ground.”

  “What did you do next, son?”

  “I jus ran to Dr. Peebles to get help.”

  “Did you go in the alley at all?”

  Buzzy paused and looked Sheriff Binner straight in his eyes. “No, sir.”

  My head shot up. Pops noticed my reaction, but said nothing.

  “That alley was awful dark, son. How could you know it was Mr. Paul, as bad as he was beat up?”

  “Maybe I went in a little bit, but I was scared whoever done it to him would still be there.”

  “So you went in just enough to see who it was an then ran to Dr. Peebles?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay… was there anyone in or around the alley? Anyone on the street that you saw?”

  “No, sir, there warn’t nobody nowhere.”

  “And you’re sure bout that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zeb Binner sat back in his chair with his hands on his knees, paused for a few seconds as he appraised Buzzy, then said, “That’s all I need, son. Thanks for your help.” He patted Buzzy’s shoulder.

  “Why don’t you boys go out back and take the tent down,” Pops said.

  Buzzy got up quickly and opened the screen door. I followed deliberately. We went through the house and out the kitchen door. “Come on,” I said and started to run to the front of the house to eavesdrop.

  Buzzy didn’t move. “No, man, let’s jus get the tent,” he said.

  “Buzzy, we gotta hear what he’s saying.” I continued on and he tailed me reluctantly. We plastered ourselves against the wall of the house and inched our way toward the front of the porch. Near the porch edge we got on our stomachs and made like marine recruits crawling under barbed wire. We lay flat on our backs, looking up at the clouds and listening. The sky was summer blue and empty except for a few crisscrosses of jet stream and an errant cloud wisp.

  “… gotta drain in his head tryin to relieve the pressure—that’s the most important thing—brain’s so swelled up. They gonna take him to Louisville tomorrow night. Got some Indian surgeon guy who’s best in the world at this kinda stuff. Beside the skull, he’s got a broken nose, five broken ribs, one punctured lung, a busted eye socket, and not a lot a teeth left. With all that, bein in a coma probably ain’t a bad thing right now.”

  There was silence for a while; then Pops said, “Paitsel’s a mess. I was up with him til don’t know when last night. What did you get from the scene?”

  “Not a damn thing, not even a bloody footprint or anythin.”

  “You been out to the Budgets? This has Budget written all over it.”

  “I’m headin out there right n
ow. We’ll see what comes of it.”

  “I’m going with you, Zeb.”

  “Now, Art, you know that ain’t gonna be helpful. Let me do my job an see where things lay.”

  “You heard about that meeting the other night.”

  “I did… don’t mean nuthin other than a motive.”

  “I’m telling you, Gov Budget’s got his hands in this.”

  “That may be… it’s jus too early to say what’s what. You look like a rabid dog pissed on your head… go on an get some sleep. I’ll come by tonight and let you know what we got.”

  We heard him walk down the stairs, then the sound of a car door closing, an engine starting, and tires pulling away—then footsteps on the porch. Suddenly the streaky clouds were obscured by Pops’ face looking down at us.

  “How’s the tent coming?” he asked without a hint of amusement.

  “Not too good,” I replied.

  “I can see that.”

  “Umm, we’ll just do that right now,” I said and started digging my heels in the dirt, slinking away on my back.

  “I imagine you’ll make better progress if you get up and run.”

  And that’s exactly what we did.

  We folded up the tent in silence. I kept staring at Buzzy, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. Finally, I couldn’t hold my thoughts in any longer. “Buzzy, why did you lie to the sheriff? You didn’t do anything. It just makes you look guilty or something.”

  “I dint lie an I dint do nuthin.”

  Anger that I didn’t quite understand boiled up in me, and I threw down the tent. “Bullshit. I found all your stuff right up by Mr. Paul’s head and you told the sheriff that you didn’t go into the alley.”

  “I tole him I went in a little.”

  “But you went in all the way. Why did you lie?”