A Far Piece to Canaan

by Sam Halpern

  “You did right, Penny. I apologize for doubting you. When you get upstairs, tell your sister Candy to hang up the damn phone and go to bed!”

  Candy proved to be a handful. Boys again. Times changed, but I hadn’t. I didn’t have a problem with premarital sex (how could I?), but I did have problems with promiscuity.

  Candy was not promiscuous, but her sexuality was being . . . expressed . . . by her senior year of high school. She and I had always had a close relationship and we frequently trout-fished together in the summers, even during her years in college. One day when we were fishing a beautiful stream and had caught several nice trout, Candy waded out of the river and sat down on a large rock. It seemed odd to me that she would leave the water when fishing was hot, so I swam over and sat down beside her. I said nothing.

  “Dad, I’m pregnant.”

  That is not an easy thing for the father of an unwed daughter to hear. Not me, anyway. I tried to think what to say, then I remembered Ben’s technique. I didn’t say anything, choosing instead to nod and let her tell me.

  “You’re probably wondering how this happened. I’ve been dating a boy named Boyd Iversen for about four months. He’s a year ahead of me at Dartmouth . . . a senior. He’s really cute and we’ve been sleeping together. I ran short of money and didn’t buy my birth control one month, and, well, I’m pregnant.”

  It was obvious some shoes had yet to fall, so I nodded again.

  “When I told Boyd, he got really angry and said it was my fault. He’s starting law school and says he doesn’t want to be burdened with a child. He says I should have an abortion.”

  My gut reaction to this news was to ask for Boyd Iversen’s address and the whereabouts of the nearest sporting goods store that sold baseball bats. Instead, I nodded.

  “I don’t know what to do. I’m so miserable,” she confided as the tears and sobs came.

  We sat on the rock for a long time with our arms around each other. I decided her statement about not knowing what to do was a request for advice. “Have you thought over what you might do?”

  “I’ve barely thought about anything else the whole three weeks I’ve known. I don’t love Boyd and he doesn’t love me, so marriage is out. Everything comes down to having an abortion or a baby, then deciding whether to keep it or let it be adopted. I can’t make up my mind.”

  “Which way are you leaning?”

  Candy clutched my arm so hard it was painful and tears streamed down her face. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I had an abortion, Dad. I want to have the baby, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to give it up for adoption once it’s born. My insurance only pays for part of this. I’ll need help. I swear I’ll pay you back. There’s another thing, I’m going to be pregnant and hanging around the house. Your colleagues will know your daughter got knocked up.”

  It was time to be a man. “Candy, whatever you choose, I’ll support. As for my colleagues, they can go pound sand. If you decide to keep it, your baby will be my grandchild and I’ll treat him no differently than any of my other grandchildren. As for what it costs, don’t you worry. Half the money is going to come from young Mr. Iversen. You can tell him that from me. He either—in advance—pays half the calculated cost for the entire pregnancy and delivery, or I’ll write a letter to the dean of his law school concerning the issue. He has three weeks to get me that check before my letter goes out. Does your mother know?”

  “Yes. She thinks I should have the baby.”

  I chuckled. “I’d have bet th’ farm on that.”

  The hug I received from Candy nearly crushed my ribs.

  I grunted. “Tell Mr. Iversen one last thing. Tell him if we ever meet, he had better be wearing pillows over his cast-iron jockstrap.”

  Both of us laughed.

  A week later, Candy miscarried. Still, she had made a life decision. And I had been a real father. I remember thinking that Dad and Ben would have been proud of me.

  28

  We finished stripping just before New Year’s, and got on the first tobacco sale after the Christmas break. Dad and Alfred set Fred and me up on their worst baskets of burley so that the buyers would think it was given to us and maybe bring a better price. It was fun sitting on the baskets of burley. You could see the whole warehouse. The tobacco was in rows about four foot apart that stretched from one end of the building to the other and down these come the buyers. It was Fred’s and my job to sit on the baskets twice, once when the government man came around and put his government price on it and once for the buyers. The government man didn’t speak, he just grabbed a few hands of burley out of the stack, glanced at them, then threw them on top of the stack and wrote a number on a paper slip and walked on.

  Finally, the auctioneer came around going a mile a minute, saying things couldn’t nobody understand except the bidding price and who bought it. The buyers walked along behind, pulling tobacco from the stack, then bidding by making secret signs. The crowd was moving about half as fast as folks walk and it was hard to see how anybody made sense of the buying.

  Old Alfred stood behind the basket Fred was on and when the buyers got close he yelled, “Bid her up, boys—hit’s the young’uns.” The buyers eyed Fred, then me a little further down the row, and just kept moving.

  Both our crops sold good and when we headed home everybody was rich and happy. We had to stop at two filling stations on the way for Alfred to pee though, and he kept saying he felt weak and it was easy to see he’d been losing weight. Dad told him to start eating better now that he had money, and Alfred said he wondered if that was why he was getting puny. Dad said sure, that if a person didn’t eat, he’d get weak and lose weight and why didn’t he kill a hog. Alfred said he didn’t figure they needed any full hog and would just buy a few more salt butts.

  It was a good winter, but a rough one. Nights would go down to four, five above and warm up in the daytime to the high twenties. It was bright and clear though, and I spent as much time outside as possible on the new sled I got for my eleventh birthday.

  In February, the six gilts we saved from our last bunch of hogs found forty-six pigs. With the six sows we had fifty-two head of hogs. Alfred had great luck too. He was really happy, especially when the price of hogs jumped.

  Winter just didn’t seem to want to quit, though. In late March, when it was usually rainy, we had a cold spell that lasted until the second week of April. It was scary at the Mulligans’. Everybody was skinny and moved real slow. We caught a few rabbits, which helped, and Mamie cut the salt butts thin. They were ready to start eating the starved old hens when a miracle happened: spring! It come overnight. Birds sang, flowers bloomed, everything living felt happy. And Alfred bought his mules and equipment.

  The late spring picked folks up and flung them into a new crop year. Everybody was behind and working seven days a week, daylight ’til dark. I didn’t see a single neighbor until late May and the only reason I did then was because of heavy rain. I went over to the Mulligans’. It wudn’t I wanted to see Fred so much as I didn’t have anybody else to visit. I couldn’t go to Lonnie’s, Ben’s was further than I wanted to walk in the rain, and I only spoke to LD if I had to.

  It was a warm rain and smelled like spring rains always smell and trickled in little rivers two, three inches wide over the yellow dandelion and short young bluegrass fields. By the time I reached the Mulligans’ hog lot, I was soaked. From the top of the gate I could see secondhand equipment everywhere. Next to the yard fence on Cummings Hill, two young mules swished their tails. They were big, boy.

  I jumped down on the other side of the gate and knocked on the front door. Thelma Jean opened it about a foot.

  “Whatchawant, Sam?” she asked, looking at me, skinny, dumb, and ugly.

  “Samuel,” I said. “Is Fred home?”

  “Reckon. Whatchawant?”

  “T’ see Fred!”

  “Aw. Okay. Fred, hit’s Sam!” she yelled.

  “Samuel,” I muttered, and I could hear sto
mping around, then Fred come to the door. He was skinny like Thelma Jean but not quite as bad.

  “Hidey, Samuel,” he said, and stepped out and closed the door. “What you up to?”

  “Foolin’,” I answered. “Figured I’d see what you were doin’.”

  “Just kind of restin’,” he answered as we walked into the yard and picked our way through the farm tools. “Whata y’ think of our stuff?”

  “Looks pretty good.”

  “Yeah. Hit’s a lot for th’ money, Pa says. All we need now is a tobacco setter and mowin’ machine and we can crop anywheres.”

  “Looks that way,” I said. “Your mules are mighty pretty.”

  “Wanta go see ’em?”

  “Sure.”

  We started past the kitchen and Alfred come out to join us. He was terrible skinny, and he looked like he’d kept on losing weight since we sold the tobacco.

  “Hidey, Samuel,” he said. “What you think a them mules?”

  “They’re a pretty team, Mr. Mulligan.”

  “Yeah, them’s as purty a team a mules you’ll ever see. Look at them backs and chest. They can pull anything. What’s old Morse doin’ today?”

  “Restin’, mostly.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I been doin’ too. We needed that dry spell, y’ know. Weather broke just right to let us catch up some. You see my strawberries?”

  “They’re coming on fast, ain’t they,” I said, and they were white with blooms.

  “Hit’s gonna be ’nother great year,” Alfred said, not paying any attention to my answers. “See them pigs?” he half shouted. “Not a runt in th’ bunch. Hogs is at twenty-eight cents. Shit, them’ll be ready for market in a few months. Folks didn’t think we could make last winter with no more’n we had. Reckon I showed them.”

  After he said that, Alfred kind of half staggered back to the house. When he got to the door, he turned around and yelled for me to say hey to old Morse for him if I saw him. I thought that was an odd thing to say since Dad and me lived in the same house.

  Fred and I fooled around for the rest of the day. I had a good time until right in the middle of talking about making new slingshots I remembered the rabbits and something inside me just sagged. A little while later, I headed for home.

  We finished setting around the first of June and we were further behind than ever because all the other work, like corn planting, hay baling, sheep shearing, hadn’t been done. It wouldn’t have been so bad except Alfred just kept going slower and slower. Ervin was worse. One afternoon, while I was getting some stuff for Mom from the feed room, I heard the back barn door squeak and Dad and Alfred come in arguing. I looked through a crack and I could see Dad half dragging Alfred to a stall, where he set him down and leaned him against a beam. Alfred looked awful.

  “How long you goin’ before you see Doc Culbert?” asked Dad, resting on one knee in front of Alfred.

  “I ain’t seein’ no doctor, Morse. My daddy got puny and went to a doctor and he died. Ain’t none a them sonamabitches gonna get me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about doctors killin’ me if I were you, Alfred.” Dad said. “You’re dyin’ now th’ way you’re goin’. It’s just possible he could still do somethin’ for you, though.”

  Alfred shook his head. “Ain’t payin’ out my tobacco or strawberry money!”

  “Aw shit, Alfred, you could cut him some wood this winter. I’ll help you. Besides, what good’s your mules and equipment if you’re too sick t’ work ’em?”

  “Supposin’ I die before winter?”

  “Then I’ll cut th’ wood for you. You won’t be a charity case.”

  Alfred’s face squenched up. “What if somethin’ happens ’n’ you can’t do it?”

  I could see Dad was fed up. “Then Culbert’s outta luck! Goddammit, Alfred, I’m through talkin’. I’m takin’ you in and you can’t stop me because right now, I’m stronger than you. Sling an arm around my shoulder or I’ll carry you like a goddamn baby.”

  “I’m gonna die, Morse,” Alfred said, trying to push Dad away. “You take me t’ that doctor and I’m gonna die!”

  “Bullshit! You’ll be burying stiffs in no time. Mamie’ll have a smile from ear t’ ear.”

  “Huh, hit’ll have t’ improve, ’cause she ain’t had nothin’ t’ smile about recent.”

  Finally Alfred quit struggling and he put his arm around Dad’s shoulder. They stood up together and walked past the feed room, where Dad saw me and flushed red.

  “How long you been there?” he asked me.

  “Awhile,” I answered.

  He stared for a few seconds, then said Daisy and Gabe was hooked up to the cutting harrow and for me to disc until he got back, or near dark, then get in the cows and start milking because he was taking Mr. Mulligan to the doctor.

  It was real late when Dad got back, and Naomi, Mom, and me sat at the kitchen table with him while he ate. It turned out when he got to Culbert’s, the doctor just sent them on into Lexington and that’s what had taken so long.

  “How bad is it?” Mom asked.

  “They don’t know,” Dad answered. “They put him in the hospital and said they had to run tests and would know in a couple of days. Some organization’s payin’ for it.”

  “What did Culbert say?” asked Mom.

  “He said Alfred was a sick man.”

  Mom wouldn’t leave it alone. “Didn’t you ask what was wrong with him?”

  Dad gave a big sigh. “He said Alfred was in bad shape.”

  Mom kind of slumped in her seat. “How’ll we get everything done? What about the tobacco crop?”

  “I’ll have to do it with Samuel and Ervin. Fred will have to handle most of Alfred’s stuff. We’ll help him when we can.”

  “What about housing time?” said Mom. “What then?”

  Dad didn’t answer for a while, then said, “Maybe Alfred will be back by then.”

  It was a week before Alfred got home. The doctors told him he had the sugar diabetes and had to take imulin shots for the rest of his life. Alfred got mad and told the doctors he wudn’t taking imulin shots after he got home because he couldn’t afford it and even if he could he wudn’t going to let some sonamabitches stick him with needles and that they better come up with something else fast because he had to get back to work since work was his bidness. The hospital gave him a piece of paper telling him the things he could eat, but the Mulligans didn’t have anything on the list. Without the imulin and right victuals, Alfred started getting sick again. Finally, Dad talked to Doc Culbert, who said if Alfred would tell him what they had to eat, he’d try to write out a new list. That worked pretty well and before long, Alfred was back in the fields. He wudn’t the hand he had been though, and got down on himself something awful.

  It was July before the spring work was finished. Dad told me to just take off and do whatever I wanted until tobacco housing. I was all set to try making friends with Fred again so I could enjoy the rest of the summer, when Rosemary come over to see Naomi. She was all dressed up in a blue skirt and white blouse and a little heart cameo necklace. When she came inside there was this great smell of perfume.

  “I have something t’ show you,” she said to Naomi, then she stuck out her left hand. There was this big diamond ring on her finger, and Naomi screamed, “Rosemary! You’re engaged!” Then they both started jumping up and down and hugging each other and laughing and talking about who it was, and when she was going to get married, and where she was going to go on her honeymoon, and how happy she was and all.

  This feeling come over me. I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t move. When things got to where they halfway worked, I went to the tobacco barn and crawled up on the mowing machine seat and bawled until there wudn’t any tears left in me.

  29

  I awoke late the next morning and spent an hour in bed reading a novel that had won the Man Booker Prize. It was typically British, meaning that it moved at the speed of a crippled snail. Heresy, I know, for a professor o
f comparative English literature.

  After breakfast I started driving. I had no plans, but apparently my subconscious did, because when I reached the entrance to the old Shackelford place, I stopped. What sixty years before had been a rutted lane ending at a farmhouse in need of paint, was now a two-hundred-foot blacktop driveway to an antebellum-style mansion. This was sacred ground. Rosemary Shackelford, the first woman I ever loved, lived where that elegant home now stood.

  Until this moment I had never really considered the move from Kentucky to Indiana as a watershed event in my life. Once in Indiana, however, I found myself excluded from the mainstream community, especially when it came to girls. I had exactly two dates in high school. The girl’s name was Kendra and I had just gotten my driver’s license. We had fun, but when I asked her for a third date, she refused and said her father didn’t think it was right for her to go out with a boy who wasn’t Christian. That was a moment of real pain. Since I wasn’t a good athlete and was considered a hillbilly, I was pretty much at a loss for male companionship as well. I retreated into our farm and into reading, which I came to love because books afforded me a form of friendship and gave free rein to my imagination. During my senior year, one of my teachers insisted that I apply for a scholarship to an elite New England liberal arts college known as Collingwirth. How I got accepted is still a mystery to me.

  My luck with girls was no better in college than in Indiana. Collingwirth was populated by the children of the rich. There were five Jewish kids there, all rich except me. And all male. I didn’t have a date in two years and eventually quit trying. Then a miracle happened.

  Cheryl Marie Smith was a waitress at Tulley’s, my college town’s least favorite coffee shop. Tulley’s was perfect for me because it was devoid of Collingwirth students, whom I detested. It had four tables, twelve red plastic counter stools, two waitresses, one cook, and few customers. Cheryl was blonde, cute, divorced, a part-time student at a local college, and about twenty-three. I frequented the coffee shop as often as possible, sat at the counter chatting with her and trying to work up the nerve to ask her out on a date. One day she asked if I had seen the movie at the town’s only theater. I hadn’t, and she said, “If you’re free tonight, let’s go.” I had three papers due in two days. “Not doing a thing,” I answered, and a few hours later I indulged in the first non-self-administered sexual experience of my life. I almost didn’t. Apparently none of Cheryl’s previous lovers had been circumcised, and while guiding my clumsy attempts at penetration she squealed, “Oh my God, part of it’s gone!”