The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle

by Leslie Connor

  Then finally, he says, “There. I think we’re done.”

  I pull my arm out of the tube. Feels like pulling my whole self out. Got a cramp in my shoulder. I use my shirt to wipe my face. I say, “Phew! What a job.”

  Calvin says, “Okay, so much for the easy part.”

  I make some wide eyes at Calvin. I wonder what’s coming next.

  chapter 30

  BAD TIMING

  Sunday morning, I cannot wait to get into the root cellar again. Got to see how the paint dried. But I won’t go down there without Calvin.

  I come out of the crumbledown with four pieces of toast in my hand. I wait by the edge of Swaggertown Road. Take a few bites. Watch for Calvin to come down Jonagold Path. Then I think this: Might as well go up and meet him. I take a look to my left. Then right. Check for cars. Don’t you know it. There is one coming. Not too fast, I think. But I step back anyway. Then I see. It is a Merrimack Pee Dee cruiser. Another look and I see it: number 003. That’s Lieutenant Baird. And now he is slowing down. Way down.

  Sure thing. He pulls off Swaggertown. Tires crackle over the gravel right next to my feet. I hear the swoosh. The lieutenant’s window going down. He hangs one arm out. Waves with two fingers.

  I swallow hard. Toast crumbs in my throat.

  The lieutenant says, “Good morning, Mason.”

  I say, “Good morning.” In my head I think this: It was a good morning. Not so sure now.

  He says, “Having a little breakfast, are you?”

  I scuff my foot. I say, “Toast.” Then I say, “And I’m waiting for someone.”

  He says, “Oh yeah? Who’s that?” He turns his head. Looks up Jonagold Path. Just quick.

  I say, “A friend. Calvin. Chumsky.”

  He says, “What are you planning?”

  I think about that. We are planning plenty. But I will not give up the root cellar.

  I say, “We just hang out.” That is true enough.

  I think this: The lieutenant does not usually visit on a Sunday morning. And maybe this is not a real visit. Maybe it is more like bad timing. Like, he was just coming along Swaggertown and saw me. But now he is here. I worry he will say he wants to go inside the crumbledown. Take a look at that notebook he gave me. I know I have not been good about putting anything into that for him. The feeling of pressure comes. I see the ugly green. Starts up in spots this time. They turn splotchy. I blink.

  The lieutenant says, “Well, enjoy your breakfast. And your Sunday. Stay out of trouble. I’ll see you soon.”

  I nod. His window goes up with a snap. Tell you what. I cannot believe that is all. I breathe. The green stuff goes away. The cruiser rolls onto Swaggertown Road. Gone.

  Funny thing. I’m looking at Calvin Chumsky. He is standing at the bottom of Jonagold Path. I think he has been waiting to cross. He’s got a granola bar in one hand and a garden trowel in the other.

  I shrug. Show him that I have toast. Two pieces still. Both a little broken from me holding them too hard. And soggy from my sweaty hands.

  Calvin crosses. We do not talk about the 003 cruiser. We have something else to do.

  chapter 31

  THE BIG DIG

  Things are Sunday-morning quiet down in the Drinker yard. Just Moonie. Small black-and-white curl on a patio chair. Timing is good. Calvin and I slip behind the tractor. In through the bramble door. We sit inside the cellar and finish our breakfasts. Peaceful.

  We look at our good work. The paint is dry. Mostly. Smell is gone. Mostly. Got Uncle Drum’s flashlight propped in a recess on the back wall. Seems like more light in here than before. This is because of the pale walls. Reflective is what this is. Calvin promises there is even more light coming. He clicks on his tablet. Finds that light-shaft picture again.

  What we have to do is this: First we have to go up on top. Like we are standing on the outside roof of this root cellar. Second, dig a perfect circle hole all the way down to the wooden ceiling here on the inside of the root cellar. He points up.

  Calvin says, “I think we’ll hit the ceiling boards about five feet down. Maybe six. We have to keep the hole super perfect, Mason. We want the Sonotube to fit tight.”

  I tell Calvin, “We have to go down six feet? And wide as the tube? And you brought that little-bitty trowel?”

  He says, “Yeah. I know. That’s all we had at my house.”

  I tell him, “You can put that away. I got something else.”

  I fold my last piece of my toast into my mouth. Wipe my hands on my pants. Then I go search the shed. Lucky thing. I find the post-hole digger in that mess of tools all leaned up against the wall. I grab it. Then I go stand where Calvin tells me. In the brambles. All the way up to my shins. I take one look to check the Drinker yard. I am up high here. Anyone coming out that back door could sure see me. But it’s just Moonie down there. I watch him stretch then curl up again. Then I look down between my feet. I plunge the digger in. Break ground.

  Tell you what. It goes slow. But I dig clean. Keep the sides straight. Keep that hole wide enough for the tube. I lift the plugs of dirt out of the hole. One at a time. That’s how it goes with the post-hole digger.

  Calvin helps. Drags the pricker canes out of my way. I dig down about two feet. Then I rest my sweaty cheek on my sweaty hands on the handles of the digger. Calvin thunks the tube into the hole. Never mind that the tube is taller than he is. He puts his arms around it. Big lift. Mighty Calvin. He twists it around in the hole. Hauls it out again. The tube makes a circle-mark down in the dirt. I know to follow that. Calvin talks about precision. I talk about this being the deepest hole I have ever dug.

  We spend a long morning. Then take a lunch break. I’m a soaking wet gross-out. I change my T-shirt. I eat two sandwiches. Drink two glasses of milk. Calvin has one of each. We battle Shayleen for the last six vanilla wafers. We win all of those. Thanks to Grandma.

  Back outside, the hole is deep. The digging gets crazy hard. Last eighteen inches takes the longest. I drop the digger into that hole. Bend my knees—full squat—and lift it out again. I pluck about a cup of dirt at a time. Slow go. Calvin’s part gets harder too. The tube gets stuck lots. On the way in. On the way out. So I help. Finally, finally, I thump the digger into the hole—way down deep—and there is a sound. Like wood.

  Calvin shouts into the air. He says, “That’s it! You are there, Mason!” Then he is quieter to say, “You hit the ceiling of the root cellar! Sweet!”

  We sink that tube one last time. Push down hard on it. It sticks up out of the ground just about one foot. Calvin says it’s all good. We can leave it in place now. Then he sits his butt down on it. Looks like a baby on a potty. He wiggles his feet. The tan-sandy shoes. Gets me laughing.

  But then he hops up again. Back to business.

  We go down inside the cellar. We look up. He says, “One circle cut to go, Mason.”

  I tell Calvin, I get it. I know what to do. I know because of Benny Kilmartin’s dad. Andy. Helped him cut the hole for their dryer vent. We had to match up the hole in the Sheetrock to the hole in the house siding. Indoors to outdoors. This light shaft is way bigger and deeper. But same kind of job. You drill, is what you do.

  Lucky thing. The drill is charged up. Cordless. I stand on a bucket and reach up. I try to find the center. That’s a little bit of hit or miss. Prayers and wishes, is what Andy Kilmartin said. I remember. Benny closed his eyes for a few seconds like he was doing both. Praying and wishing.

  But Calvin keeps eyes open. To measure. He tells me where to try. I pray and wish. I drill. Then I stick a piece of coat hanger wire up the hole. Calvin runs up top. Looks down the tube to see where it comes out.

  He calls down to me. And I hear him! Amazing! It’s Calvin’s voice coming down through the earth. And then I know. It is like we built a laundry chute. All I have to do is get this piece of wood out of the way.

  Calvin says, “So close! Drill another hole just one inch to your right. Okay, Mason? To your right.”

  I hois
t the drill up. Squint my eyes. Make the new hole. I stick the wire in. Calvin shouts, “Yes! That’s the middle! Perfect!”

  Inside the cellar I boost him up. He draws a circle on the wood. Measures with his eyes and an old school ruler from our toolbox.

  I say, “Hey. Looks a little small. Isn’t our tube bigger?”

  He says, “Precisely. This is smaller, so the wood will support the Sonotube. Like a lip for it to sit on. Otherwise, the tube could come falling straight into the root cellar. We’ve worked too hard for that.”

  I say, “Right.”

  Wish like crazy I had a hole saw. Even a small one to start punching this thing open. We had one. Once. Probably still have that somewhere. But the toolbox is not so in order. Can’t even ask Uncle Drum. He’s not home. Sunday is his longest day at the diner. He stays on for Stewart’s turkey and gravy dinner.

  So I go mad-wild drilling with the same little drill bit.

  Calvin says, “Go, Mason! Swiss cheese that thing!”

  I go around the circle Calvin drew. I put holes like where clock numbers go. Then more holes in between. Hard thing is drilling upward. Takes a lot of grunts. Dirt falls through the little holes. Hits me in the face. But I get all the way around. And then I drill a bunch of holes tight together. Make a slot.

  I tell Calvin, “That should be big enough to fit the blade of the handsaw. All I have to do is saw along. Connecting those dots until it’s all cut open.” Soon as I say it, I remember. I don’t have that handsaw! I let out a squawk.

  Calvin remembers too. We both say, “No handsaw!”

  Calvin paws through the toolbox. Holds up a chisel. And a hammer.

  Well. Tell you what. It is another big job. I drill more holes. Then I go all along the circle with the hammer and chisel. I blink my eyes to keep dirt and splinters out. Finally, finally, that circle of wood drops out. Hits me right in the lip. Down comes a shower of dirt.

  Well. That lip smarts. Makes my eyes tear. I blink like crazy. Then I look. I see Calvin. He is standing right below the hole. And tell you what. There is light!

  Holy cow.

  chapter 32

  END OF A DAY

  You can guess it. Calvin and I are dirty after all our work. We have bramble scratches all up our legs and arms. But we stay. We take turns looking up through the shaft to the sky. It is all good.

  Then Calvin says, “The dead man!”

  I say, “What?”

  He says, “The Shaft of the Dead Man! From the Caves of Lascaux. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! Remember that drawing of the stick man with a bird head on him? He was half lying down. With another bird nearby?”

  I say, “Oh. Yeah.”

  Calvin says, “We should paint our own version of him here. Maybe right on the floor where the light hits. It will shine right on him. Yes! The Shaft of the Dead Man! It’s meant to be!”

  Well, he might be right. But we cannot do that today. Sun is low. Calvin has to go home. Before dark. That’s the rule. We take a five-gallon bucket. Turn it upside down over the opening at the top of the new shaft. Gotta have a cover. Keep out the rain. It sticks up some. But it doesn’t look like much. We kick the loose brambles back over.

  I say, “Guess we turned out the light. Down in the root cellar.”

  Calvin says, “Yeah. For now. We need one more thing to finish the light shaft off just right. I don’t know what yet. We need a clear cover for the tube.”

  I say, “Like a five-gallon bucket with a glass bottom in it?” It is a joke. But Calvin doesn’t laugh. He is thinking. Hard.

  He says, “Hmm. Something. A bubble or a dome to cap it. Yeah, it really should be a dome. Because in theory, a curve will collect more light to send down the shaft.”

  I am thinking that sounds amazing. I am also thinking good luck to us finding one. We have looked inside the construction dumpsters plenty. Nothing like that in there. I start to think. What is in the shed? Then I think my way along the rows inside of Bishell’s Hardware. And in Grandma’s kitchen. Nothing.

  Calvin and I soap up our scrapes and scratches at the spigot. Stings like crazy! It is a whole day of good dirt running off us. Making a puddle. Then don’t you know it. Up comes Moonie. All by surprise! He wags and crouches. Pushes between Calvin and me. About knocks us on our butts. We get tail slapped. He dances in the puddle. His pink tongue laps at the trickle from spigot. Calvin laughs. He says, “Drink! Drink! Drink! Moonie Drinker!” And Moonie does.

  I say, “Moonie boy! What are you doing here? How did you get out? Is your gate open? Huh, buddy? Huh?” And that dog licks me like I am a steak bone. We give him chest scratches. Four hands on. It is nice that Calvin likes this dog. Pretty well.

  Then I walk with Calvin—and Moonie—out to the road. I hook my finger under Moonie’s collar. Just gentle. Just safe. I watch Calvin start up on Jonagold Path. I like to see that he is on his way. Going home for supper. Helps me feel all right.

  I think this: Monday is coming. Another day at the cluster stop. Won’t be bad. Calvin and I have a place. The root cellar. Keeps getting better in there. And Calvin has more plans. I like it. I still miss the limbs and branches in the tree fort. Maybe not as much now.

  I take Moonie home. I wander the long way. Go through the Buttle orchard. I come to the tree fort. Still hard to look at that spot. The missing ladder. And to remember Benny at the bottom. And to wonder all over again how that happened. He was supposed to go home for supper, is all.

  Funny thing the way Moonie stops. Sniffs the ground below the fort. I remember how Matt and Lance snuck up on Benny and me. Plenty of times. Creamed us in apples. It’s one of those things. Seems long ago. But not long ago. But it was before Uncle Drum sold that last parcel. Boy. Benny Kilmartin would be surprised to know that so many new people moved into Merrimack. I think this: I wish Benny could be here to know Calvin. Wish that a lot.

  I call to Moonie. He hops right to me. I say, “Good dog.” Then I reach up to a limb. Pick two nice fat McIntoshes from the tree. I bite into one. Roll the other up ahead of us for Moonie. He chases. Tail high. Dives on the apple and brings it back to me. I throw it again. We do that all the way down to the Drinkers’ house. No lacrosse players today. If I see Matt now, he will behave. He will be that other side of himself. No worries this time of day. When I am putting Moonie inside the fence, Mrs. Drinker opens the back door.

  She says, “Oh, Mason!” She is glad to see me. She says, “I see that our Moonie Monster was out again. Hmm. Thank you for bringing him home.” Then she says, “While you are here, can I count on you for Columbus Day weekend? We’ll need a dog-sitter. Matty and I are going to see his dad.”

  I say, “Sure!” She knows it anyway. I will always say yes to taking care of that dog. The glass door closes. I raise one hand. A good-bye.

  Moonie looks after me. Me after him. Mrs. Drinker sets a bowl down for him. I turn to go. Glad I got Moonie home in time for his supper.

  Then I notice that I am mad-hungry too. Wild-hungry! I pick up the pace. I want my supper too.

  chapter 33

  EXTINCT

  On Monday in the SWOOF, Calvin is on the big couch. Or in it. Folded. He leans over his own legs. Looks at the Caves of Lascaux on his tablet. He shows me the pictures. Animals. I see the Black Horse. The Felines. Then something else. Very big.

  I say, “Whoa! Whoa! Holy cow! What is that?”

  Calvin says, “Well, it is a holy cow. Sort of. It’s called an aurochs. It’s like an ox. Or the ancestor to our cattle. But the aurochs is extinct now. You know. Gone forever.”

  I get that. I tell Calvin, “Same thing happened to apples. Did you know? Some varieties are gone for good.”

  Calvin says, “Really?” He thinks. Then he says, “That’s a crying shame.” I think it is nice how Calvin cares about apples.

  I say, “But you know what? There’s some they thought were gone. But turns out they are still around. Like in really old orchards. And there’s people trying to find them ag
ain. Maybe bring them back again.”

  Calvin says, “Well, good. They should.”

  We look at the pictures of the aurochs. Starts me wondering if there could still be one last one. Somewhere. Anywhere. Calvin tells me how to spell it. Thought it might end with X. I hear one. But it does not.

  I say, “That’s my favorite. Of all the cave animals. Right there.” I touch my sweaty finger on the tablet. Leave a smear on the aurochs. Calvin doesn’t care.

  I don’t know why I get such a feeling about that animal but it is like he is me. Like if he had to come to school he would be the biggest thing in the hallway. Like me. And I feel I am like him too. I feel just as huge. I even feel all red and brown. Not sure if someone could understand what I mean by that. It is from the inside to the outside. It is the strong part of me. Like I am full of heat and power. If I could meet the aurochs and touch him I bet he would feel warm too.

  Calvin is making a plan about the root cellar. Knows what he wants to put on the pale walls. And on the floor below our light shaft. I lean down. Talk quiet to Calvin. I say, “Hey, can there be an aurochs? Can it be me who paints it?”

  Calvin says, “Of course!” He makes the big eyes. Round nose holes. Then he nods. Head and shoulders. Like he is the big giant body of that aurochs. Even though he is tiny Calvin Chumsky.

  I am thinking of something to write. No one is using the Dragon. So I move to the squatty desk and set up. Tissue ears and potato fists. I rest my head. Close my eyes.

  I talk to the Dragon:

  So. Umm. I went by there again. The tree fort. Just walking Moonie Drinker home. Seeing it does not get better. I pretty much know that now. But umm there is something that does feel a little bit better. About the rest of my life. It feels like there might be not as much bad luck. All around me. Feels like it is turning. Changing. Or pushed back. Like there might be some cave where that stays now. Things probably don’t work like that. But my mind shows me it like a picture. The best is being busy doing work. Umm. I mean with a friend. I think it is why I like being—