“I can’t make it,” she said through her tears.
“Come on, Ma.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go home.”
McCoy and the other white man were out of the car and beside us. “Well, I guess the Lord wasn’t with you this time, Mrs. Suder,” said McCoy. He smiled at the other man and they turned away. “Crazy nigger-woman,” McCoy said to the man and laughed.
I looked at Ma and I could tell that she had also heard what McCoy had said. I stood up and helped my mother to her feet. We watched the big white car pull away. “Let’s go,” I said.
Ma took a few steps and then she looked back. She stared angrily at the white car, which was small in the distance.
“Ma?”
“I’m coming,” she said softly.
When Ma and I got home, Daddy was standing at the screen door, looking out. He opened the door and Ma walked past him to the sofa. Daddy looked at me and questioned me with his eyes. I told Daddy about what McCoy had said, that he had called Ma a crazy nigger-woman. Daddy scratched his chin and made a face. He walked over to Ma and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Part of your problem is you don’t know to pace yourself. I saw the way you went tearing off. You’ve got to take it slow, slow and steady.” Tears were rolling down Ma’s cheeks. Daddy looked at me. “Come on, Craig,” he said, walking to the door.
“Where’re we going?” I asked.
“The store.”
“For what?”
“Sneakers.” He looked back at Ma. “Sneakers.”
It is not raining in the morning and I’m outside with the chain saw, cutting up wood for cooking, and this car pulls up the drive. I turn off the saw and step toward the car and it’s Lou Tyler.
“Howdy, there,” Lou yells through the window and he opens the door and gets out.
“Hey,” I says.
And he’s walking toward me. “Just thought I’d come and see how you’re doing. Feeling any better?”
“Some.” I take his hand and shake it.
“Well, you’re looking better.” He gazes past me at the cabin. “How do you like the place?”
“I like it.”
He walks past me toward the cabin. “Season’s going okay,” he says without looking at me and then Renoir steps from around the side of the house. Lou freezes and stares at the elephant and I step up beside him. He turns to me.
“That’s Renoir,” I says.
He looks again at Renoir. “An elephant,” he says more to himself than to me and he looks at me and a smile comes across his face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He steps toward Renoir. “A dream come true.”
“What?”
“I can’t wait to stuff this sucker.”
I step in between Lou and Renoir. “Renoir ain’t for stuffing.”
“You mean he ain’t for me?”
I shake my head.
Lou looks down at the ground and scratches his forehead and kicks some dirt. He’s looking back at me and he says, “If he dies, you’ll let me know?”
I’m silent.
“You’re pretty attached to this animal, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Lou looks at the elephant again. “You … you mind telling me how you happen to have this thing?”
“I won him in a bet.”
“A bet.” He looks up at the sky and then around at the woods. “It must cost you a fortune to feed this thing.”
“No.”
“Oh.” He looks at Renoir. “Well, if he does—”
“I’ll let you know.” I stroke Renoir’s trunk. “You want to come inside?”
“Yeah.” He stops. “I forgot something. Come and give me a hand.” He walks back to the car and I’m following him. “I don’t want to leave these in the trunk; they might stink the car up.”
“What is it?” I ask.
He opens the trunk. “Road kills.”
I stop and I turn around and walk back to the cabin. I watch him from the porch as he pulls a few dead dogs and cats out and puts them on the ground by a tree. He’s slapping his hands clean as he walks toward the cabin.
“That’s got it,” he says. “You got any coffee?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” He steps up onto the porch.
“What about some bacon and eggs?” I open the door and hold it for Lou.
He steps inside and there’s Jincy putting wood in the fire to cook lunch—eggs and bacon. Lou is still.
“This is Jincy,” I says. “Jincy, this here is Lou.”
Lou smiles at Jincy and turns to me with a questioning expression. He’s looking around the cabin. “So, you like it here pretty much, do you?”
I nod.
“Where’s your mother, little girl?” Lou asks.
“Dead.”
“Where’s your daddy?”
“Jail.”
Lou looks at me. “Who is she?”
I look at Jincy and then at Lou. “My daughter.” Lou is real puzzled. “I adopted her,” I tell him.
Lou frowns and then he looks at the stuffed animals about the cabin. “Thelma asked me if I knew where you were. I told her you were scouting the farm teams. I told her I’d tell you to call her.” He pauses. “Peter misses you.”
“Yeah, well, I miss him.”
Jincy is staring at me.
“What about them eggs?” I ask and pull the skillet down and drop it on the stove.
Lou walks to the window and looks out at Renoir and then he turns back to Jincy. “Your mama’s dead?”
“As a doornail.”
Lou straightens up and tilts his head. “And your old man’s in the slammer?”
“Last I heard.”
Lou looks back out the window. “I don’t believe you’ve got an elephant.” He sighs.
Lou’s in the cabin taking a nap and Jincy is outside with a stick, pulling mud from between Renoir’s toes, and I’m heading out for a walk. The late-afternoon sun is hot, but I can’t really feel it until I’m by the lake. I’m standing by the water and there’s that osprey flying real high and then he takes his wings in and plunges down into the water and comes out with a fish.
“Pandion haliaetus,” comes a voice from behind me. I turn to the voice and it’s a short man, stocky, with glasses. He steps toward me. “Hello there.”
“Hey,” I says.
He points to the osprey. “Pandion haliaetus.”
I frown. “Osprey,” I says, and just like that, there’s that bald eagle screaming and scaring the osprey and stealing the fish.
“Haliaeetus leucocephalus,” he says, pointing at the eagle.
“Bald eagle,” I says.
“I’m Richard Beckwith.” He shoves his hand out.
“Craig Suder.” I’m shaking his hand and noticing that his glasses seem to be a quarter-inch thick.
He tilts his head. “Craig Suder, the ballplayer?”
I look out over the water. “This sure is a pretty place. This lake got a name?”
“Yeah, this is Ezra Pond.”
“Hmmmmm.”
“I’m from Oregon State.” He smiles. “I teach zoology. You are the ballplayer, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” I look at his eyes and he nods and I says, “I’m on vacation.”
“Me, too.”
Well, this guy takes to walking with me and he’s talking about the weather and wildflowers and just generally making noise. And I figure I’ve got to shake him if I’m going to see any birds that ain’t flying away. And this fella insists on calling everything by its Latin name, which annoys me to no small degree, and I’m making a point of correcting him.
“Lepus sylvilagus,” he says.
And I says, “Rabbit.”
“Perisoreus canadensis.”
“Gray jay.”
Finally, we come to a fork in the trail and he tells me he’s got to go left and I tell him I’ve got to go right. There’s a grouse waddling along in front of us and I’
m waiting and Beckwith says, “Bonasa umbellus.”
“Grouse.”
“How do you know it was this dog?” Bud asked Mr. Simpson, the next-door neighbor.
“I saw him,” said Mr. Simpson. “I saw that mutt digging in my garden.” He pointed at Django.
“I’m sorry,” Bud said, “but you should have a fence around your garden.”
“You’re telling me what I should have in my own yard?” Mr. Simpson was really mad. “You’d better keep that dog out of my garden.” He paused. “Who are you?”
I got down on my knees and stroked Django’s head. “We’re sorry, Mr. Simpson,” I said.
“Look, you’ve upset the boy,” Bud said.
Mr. Simpson pointed again at the dog. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’d better keep that dog out of my garden. If I catch him in there again, I’ll shoot him, so help me God.” He turned and marched away.
Bud looked down at me. “I guess we’re going to have to tie Django up.”
“Tie him up?”
“I’m sorry, Bird.”
We found some rope and tied Django to a tree in the backyard. Django barked and ran several times to the rope’s limit and was snatched back violently.
“He won’t hurt himself, will he?” I asked.
“No, but he’s going to be upset for a while.” Bud looked at the ground by his feet and kicked some grass. “Damn.”
“It’s not fair,” I said.
“What’s not?”
“Why does he have to be tied up? Why can’t we just let him run around?”
Bud didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked into the house. Django barked and pulled at the rope.
I walk on back to the cabin and as I get close I hear screaming. I run and there’s Jincy standing between Lou and Renoir, screaming. Lou’s got the chain saw in his hands and he’s trying to get around the girl to the elephant.
“Lou!” I shout, running to him.
He turns the saw off. “Shit.”
Jincy runs to me. “He was going to kill Renoir.”
I’m looking at Lou.
“You don’t understand,” Lou says. “I have to have that animal. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I need this animal.”
“Give me the saw,” I says.
“You’re really fond of him.” He looks at Renoir.
“The saw,” I repeat.
He hands it over and rubs his hands together nervously. He looks at me with wet eyes.
“Let’s eat dinner,” I says.
Eggs and bacon.
Night comes and we all go to bed, but I don’t sleep. I’m lying there watching Lou and he’s lying there watching me watch him. Every time Lou sits up, I sit up.
In the morning Lou is in his car. “I just can’t be trusted around that elephant. Hurry up and get better.”
“Okay,” I says.
He’s looking at Renoir and then he turns his eyes to me. “See ya.”
“I’ll call you if he dies.”
Chapter 19
So, a couple of days later I’m in Parkdale and I’m in the little store buying eggs and bacon. There are some fellas standing around and I hear their conversation.
“I tell you,” says a large man in overalls, “the shit I found in the woods wasn’t dropped by no horse.” He pauses. “Nor cow.”
Another man chuckles. “What do you think it was, Justin? Bigfoot?”
Then the clerk says, “Some people was in here a week or so ago claiming they seen an elephant by the lake.”
“An elephant?” The second man laughs and pushes the brim of his tractor cap up.
“An elephant, huh?” questions the large man and he hooks his thumbs around the straps of his overalls and rocks back and forth on his heels. “This might have been elephant shit.”
“An elephant would have left tracks,” the second man says.
The large man tilts his head. “Yeah, but I wasn’t looking for elephant tracks.”
“This is it?” the clerk asks me, pulling the things on the counter toward him. “Looks like five bucks to me.” I pay him and he’s putting the things in a bag. He turns to the two men. “So, what’re you going to do, Justin?”
“I’m going to hunt down whatever it is and shoot it,” says the large man.
I pick up the bag and as I’m passing through the doorway I bump into a real thin fella with dark glasses and a badge. He gives me a real hard look and I head on outside. I glance back in and see the badged man talking to the clerk and I can tell they’re discussing me. I walk to the truck and I put the groceries on the seat beside me and, as I’m turning the key, a long thin hand slaps over the lowered window.
“Wanna turn off the motor?” asks the thin man with the badge. I shut down the engine. “I’m Sheriff—” He stops as the engine coughs. “I’m Sheriff Prager.”
I nod. “I’m Craig Suder.”
“You’re black.”
I don’t know what to say to him.
He smiles. “We don’t get many blacks around these parts.”
“Well, I’m staying at the Tyler place.” I look ahead through the windshield.
Prager thumbs his dark glasses up his nose and spits on the ground. “Gerald Sims tells me you were asking him about some hay.”
“I was thinking of getting a couple of horses, but I decided against it.”
“Hmmmmm.” He looks at me. “The reason I ask is because somebody’s been stealing hay from Michael Dobbs.”
“Oh.”
“Just asking.” He looks up at the sun. “I might just come up and pay you a little visit one day.” He smiles.
I nod and I reach to turn the key.
“One more thing,” says Prager.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a little girl lost around here.”
“Is she black?”
Prager looks at me. “Why, no.” He scratches his head. “You might keep an eye out.”
“Sure.”
He slaps the truck and walks away.
I pull the cord and the chain saw revs up and I push the blade against the north wall of the cabin. This wall is without windows and the saw churns through. I hear Jincy screaming and she runs out of the cabin and stares at me, panting.
“What are you doing?” she asks above the sound of the saw.
I stop the saw.
“What are you doing?” she repeats.
“Cutting.”
“What?”
“The wall.”
“Why?”
“So Renoir can get into the house.”
Jincy’s eyes light up. “Really?”
I nod and then I start the saw up again. She says something and I turn the machine off once more.
“Why?”
“I heard some people in town say they’re going to shoot him.”
Jincy is silent. I look at her for a while and I pull the cord again and start cutting. As I’m cutting I look over and see Jincy stroking Renoir’s trunk. I cut out a large section of wall and rig up some hinges at the bottom and with a couple of pulleys we’ve a drawbridge-type door for the elephant.
Inside, Jincy and I move all of our things to the south side of the cabin. I pile hay in the front corner of the elephant’s side and we bring Renoir inside. Jincy is just as excited as she can be, but I’m having second thoughts because this animal has a smell to suit his size.
“I don’t know,” I says, “he may have to stay outside.”
“Why?”
“He smells pretty strong, don’t you think?”
“Well, yeah, but we can’t let him stay out there. They’ll shoot him.” She runs over to Renoir and hugs his trunk.
“He stinks something fierce.”
“I’ll wash him three times a day.”
I look at her for a second. I don’t know that three baths won’t keep the smell away. “Okay.”
Daddy went running with Ma in the evening. It was cooler then. Bud and I were sitting on the porch and Martin
came out.
“Sure is close out here,” Martin said, pulling the front of his shirt away from his body.
“Yeah, it’s a hot one,” Bud agreed.
Martin looked at me. “I think that dog needs some water.”
Bud was up and to the door. “I’ll take care of it,” he said and entered the house.
“How do you like Django?” I asked Martin.
“Stupid name.” Martin looked up and down the street. “Is Daddy really out there running with her?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “It’s not a stupid name.”
“Out there running. I don’t believe it. This is crazy.”
Daddy and Ma came into sight walking up the street and then they broke into a trot the rest of the way to the porch. Ma fell up the stairs and through the front door and Daddy sat on the steps. He was wet and breathing hard. “Man, is it hot,” Daddy said, wiping his face with his shirt.
Bud came through the screen door. “Doc! How you making it?”
“I’m making it,” Daddy answered.
“I think you’re crazy to be running in this heat,” Bud said.
“Me, too,” Martin said.
“Maybe,” Daddy said.
Bud sat in the rocker. “How’s she coming?”
“She’s coming. She may have to walk some of the way. She ran about seven miles.”
“She’s crazy,” Martin snapped.
Daddy looked at Martin and gave him a pat on the leg.
“By the way, Doc,” Bud began, “I’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’ve booked passage on a freighter to England.”
Daddy looked up at Bud. “Well, good for you.”
Bud looked at me and smiled. “How about that, Bird? From there I’ll go to France.”
I didn’t say anything. I scratched my arm where a mosquito had bitten me and then Django came running onto the porch. “Hey,” I said, “how did you get loose?” I looked at Bud.
“Better go tie him up,” Daddy said, “or Mr. Simpson will shoot him.”
I got up and walked Django around to the backyard. I grabbed the rope and looked at the end of it. It hadn’t been gnawed through. I looked at Django and wondered how he’d got loose. I didn’t want to tie him up, but I did. I walked back to the front wondering just how the dog had got free.
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