Me and Jake

by Boo Riley

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You sit here and don’t you move.”

  “Why, where are you going?”

  “I ain’t going nowhere. You just listen. Don’t scratch your ears, touch your head, or pick your nose. Don’t move.”

  “Yes, sir.” My nose started to itch just because he’d said don’t touch it.

  A man dressed in a white shirt with a black string tie, black pants, and cowboy boots walked onto a small platform above the pens with a microphone. A gate opened at the far end of the arena and a group of pigs scurried in and milled about. One or two rooted in the sand and rolled. All of them had red letters and numbers on their backs.

  Speakers in the rafters blared and the auction began. The auctioneer had his own voice. He sang a song you could tap your foot to. Each bidder, like our music teacher at school with her stick, could change his tempo with a nod of their head or a short wave of their hand. “Who wants to give me seventy, now seventy, seventy, got seventy now seventy-five, eighty, where’s eighty-five, now ninety?” Then, with a sudden scream, “Sold!” Gates swung open, the pigs exited to the left, and another group entered from the right.

  The song began anew.

  I saw why I didn’t need to pick my nose. Dad didn’t want me to buy a pig by accident.

  The men who handled the sale were something to watch. Those who moved the pigs in and out of the arena carried sticks or short pieces of plywood. Pigs reacted well to the pressure of the stick, moving this way and that way about the arena, with just a push on the shoulder or jab in the hip.

  Miss Daniels might have been right about hogs being smart. They sure looked easy to train.

  I was going to get me and Cameron sticks to use. This looked too easy. I was trying to decide what tree I could cut on when Dad leaned over and elbowed me.

  He stared into the distance, toward the opposite wall. “Boy, I’m going to the truck. You sit here and watch for our pigs and listen to what they bring. Come tell me, you hear?”

  Stunned, words fled me.

  He stood up and left, disappearing around the corner before I thought to protest or ask for advice. What in the world was he thinking? All I knew about pigs could be summed up in their smell. I hadn’t even learned the auctioneer’s language yet, and he wanted me to listen and report. I’d been somewhat comfortable listening and learning. Now my nerves stood on edge.

  Pigs came and went, black on white or white on black? Hard to tell which. Red and white, all red, all black, flat noses, the oinks all the same.

  One of ours had a black snout and white body. The other had a black rump, white front but a split ear. Or was it the other way around? All white with a split ear, or black snout and white body with a split ear? The harder I concentrated the more confused I got and the more they looked alike.

  To add to my burden, I realized I was the only kid sitting among men. I looked around to see if they watched me, but the goings on in the arena had their attention. I shook myself and focused on the pigs. I didn’t want to mess up.

  Pig, after pig, after pig, then, finally, I thought I recognized one. I listened to the auctioneer as the numbers spewed from his lips. Now and then I recognized a word. Numbers, I needed numbers. There they were. I picked some and ran for the pickup.

  When I opened the door, Dad leaned over, turned the radio down, and looked at me. When I told him what I’d heard, he grinned. “That’s good, that’s a good price, boy.”

  Just before noon, he went into the sales office to get his check. I didn’t think much of it until he stomped back to the pickup and jerked the door open. “You give me the wrong figure. They sold for ninety-two cents, not ninety-five. You got to be the dumbest kid in Arkansas.”

  It was too good to be true, and I knew it. There’s no pleasing him. And what difference did it make anyway? Three cents a pound on a two-hundred-pound hog? Even with my limited ciphering skills I knew that wouldn’t buy a small burger at The Burger Stop.

  We drove to the hay pasture.

  Cameron had two-dozen round bales rolled, plenty for me to get started stacking.

  Before I got out of the truck, Dad stopped me. “Here, share with your brother.” He gave me a bottle of water and two cans of Vienna sausage.

  I wondered where the crackers were. Better than nothing.

  “Thanks, Dad. I will.”

  “Stack them bales where you always do. One on two on three, got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The hay spear was four feet long, two inches in diameter. A big skeeter’s beak mounted on the front of a worn-out tractor. I’d be able to spear the center of the round bales, carry them across the field and stack them.

  I cranked up and drove out to give Cameron his lunch.

  He stopped and got off. We met in the middle, between our tractors.

  “How was your hog sale?”

  “Hey, it wasn’t my choice to go with Dad. He picked me. You can be his favorite anytime you want. I’ll come out here.”

  I worried about Cameron. He and I were twins, but our hearts were as different as our looks. Cameron’s heart got harder by the day.

  “It wasn’t a big deal anyway. A million pigs for sale, that’s all. The auction guy confused me, talked too fast. He spoke English but sounded like he had rocks in his mouth. You know what’s crazy? Dad told me to listen to what our pigs sold for then walked out, left me sitting there alone. He sat in the pickup, listening to the radio.”

  Cameron thought on it a minute. “He felt uncomfortable. I’ll bet you. That’s why we live so far out in the woods. He don’t want folks around to witness his goings on. That’s why he left. He feels like everyone is watching him.”

  “I felt the same way, sitting there by myself. Oh, here.” I reached into the hip pockets of my britches and handed him a tin of sausage and the water bottle. “I ate mine and drank half the water.”

  “Where’d you get these?”

  I nodded toward the road.

  Cameron shook the water bottle like he couldn’t believe it had anything in it. “You’re joshing me.”

  “Nope. How’s your tooth?”

  He gave me his Scrooge look, but kept his tongue.

  “Cameron, you OK?”

  “No, I’m not OK. One of them pigs stepped in my mouth. You know what they wallow in, don’t you? And look at my tooth.” He pulled his lip up.

  “Cameron, you forget I got one, too, just like it? We’ve been hit before. A whack’s a whack.”

  “This is different.” He pulled the tab up, peeled back the lid, and dug out a sausage.

  “How do you figure?”

  “I used to think it was my fault ’cause I got the fire beat out of me then worked my tail off to please him.” He chewed and talked around the sausage, smacking. “Now, I know better. There’s no pleasing him. He’s evil and does it ’cause he likes it.”

  Cameron had a good point. I shrugged. “What do you do?”

  “I’m thinking I might find a way to free us myself.”

  20

  Cameron tossed and turned under the covers like a coon trussed up in a tote sack. The last time he kicked he got a toe into my calf and ended my sleep for the night.

  Dad hadn’t come for us in the hay field until after dark. Then there were chores to do. We went to bed with a half moon straight overhead, but now, it was out of sight and blacker outside than Momma Ray’s flame-burnt coffeepot. First light and the first day of school wasn’t too far off.

  The school bus stopped at the end of our road, a fifteen-minute walk, but I didn’t mind, at least not in nice weather. But when a sure enough storm roared through, it could be a bugger.

  A fly traveled the room, its buzz only interrupted when it hit a wall or bounced along the ceiling. It sounded sick, louder than most. Irritating, like one drop of water after the other, ker-plunk, dripping in a puddle outside the window after a rain. Every time it journeyed toward the corner where the sticky strip of yellow flypaper hung, I hoped it’d be i
ts last trip.

  Outside, Jake snored with steady, hard breaths in short puffs.

  I’d miss Jake come winter when he’d sleep in the barn on a pile of burlap sacks. It was nice to know he stood guard outside the window.

  Cameron kicked the tar out of me and screamed. He jumped straight up, and I jumped with him. His white body, easy to see in the dark, moved quicker than I could react. The next thing I know, he had me penned against the wall, gouging my belly with his fists.

  I wasn’t the one who needed holding. He’d gone crazy.

  “Cameron, Cameron, wake up.” I gave him a good whack on the side of his head with my open hand and ducked out from under him.

  Jake whined.

  I kept my hand on his back, held him against the wall, and shook him. “Cameron, you had a nightmare. You OK?”

  He whispered between breaths. “I thought, I thought that old sow got me down and was eatin’ on me. It was real as anything, T.” He wiped his face. “I’m soaking wet and my heart’s beating fast as a rabbit’s.” He sucked in a deep, long breath. “Did I scream?”

  “Like a girl.”

  “We ever get out of here, Brother, I’ll never own a hog. I hope I woke up Dad.”

  “You do? Well, we’ll know soon enough. I hope Momma Ray got us some new pants and shoes.”

  “Me too.”

  Jake shook himself. His ears flapped like a covey of quail taking flight.

  Cameron kind of laughed. “If she didn’t, my ankles will be cold this winter.”

  “You see light coming behind the oak yet?”

  “Yeah, won’t be long.”

  I bent and pulled on my britches. “Let’s get chores done. I’m ready to go to school. Maybe Dad will stay off his high horse. I’ll feed hogs this morning.”

  “You’re ready to see Cindy.”

  “Cameron, don’t be—”

  “I’m sorry. It jumped out ‘fore I could stop it. Thanks for tending the hogs. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Jake acted strange and didn’t appear to be his usual self, looking for hugs and scratches. He pulled away when I tried to hug him and pointed his nose down the road, smelling the air. “Jake, the sun ain’t even up all the way. No one’s coming. Come on, boy. How’s your head? Let me look at it.” He didn’t flinch when I rubbed the spot. “School starts today. Course you wouldn’t care about that, but I won’t be home until afternoon. You’ll be on your own.”

  The slop bucket didn’t have much in it, but we were two pigs fewer now. While the water trough filled, I got a bucket from the barn and filled it with some terrible smelling stuff Dad got in town to feed them. Never seen anything a pig wouldn’t eat and like. The nastier, the better.

  Jake padded off toward the barn. I shut off the water and followed him. Cameron had made it out to help.

  “Cameron, what are you doing?”

  He stood like a statue, feed can in one hand, head cocked to the side. Jake stood next to him, ears and tail up.

  “Cameron, what’s the matter?”

  “Shush, someone’s out there.”

  “Out where? In the woods? Who’d be out there this time of morning? There ain’t no one out there. Jake would be howling.”

  “Shush don’t mean ask a bunch of questions. Listen a minute, I felt someone looking at me.”

  “Cameron, you can’t feel a look.”

  He straightened and let his shoulders sag. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel Dad looking at you.”

  He was right. I felt Dad’s stare. It was like the first sniffles, when you knew a cold was coming on.

  “You sure it wasn’t Jake watching you?”

  Cameron turned huffy. “It wasn’t Jake. He’s right here looking the same direction. He feels it too. Come on, let’s go see.”

  I had my doubts now. Cameron might be hearing or feeling things, but not Jake. Something had his attention.

  “Maybe we should take a stick. Just in case. I’ll get the broken shovel handle.”

  “Come on, Ty. Don’t be a weenie. It’s probably just some coon hunters traipsing through the woods looking for the road. We’re looking for eggs as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Yeah, well, we need eggs. You got anymore hid you ain’t telling about?”

  Cameron grinned. “I ain’t telling.”

  We spread out, checking the usual places. The Bantam liked a thick, thorny bush growing at the corner of the barn. Two big, white hens liked each other’s company and roosted together inside an old tractor tire in the weeds, cackling back and forth.

  Cameron wandered farther away from the house than I felt comfortable going, now that the thought of someone lurking nearby had hold of my imagination. He had seven eggs in no time.

  “T, come over here and look at this.”

  “Look at what.” I trotted over, expecting to see real proof.

  Cameron kneeled and pointed to a mark in the dirt. “That’s a boot print.” He traced it out with his finger.

  “That don’t look like a boot print to me.”

  Cameron stood and placed his foot in it. “See? Almost the same.”

  “Yeah, now it looks like a shoe print.”

  Jake pointed his nose straight up, grabbed on with his toenails, and let a howl loose that stood all the hair up on me, plumb down to my ankles.

  My imagination ran away then. No one ever came around our house. Mr. Jordan was the first one to come around in I couldn’t remember when. Course we spent a lot of time in the hay field, away from home, but Dad and Momma Ray didn’t have folks come for dinner, and me and Cameron sure didn’t have friends over.

  It had to be coon hunters. Didn’t it?

  Dad screamed for us from the front porch.

  “Cameron, we going to tell Dad someone had been out here?”

  “Nah, I’m not. He’d think we’re crazy. You find some eggs? Eggs are a good excuse to be out in the woods.”

  I showed him the four I had.

  Momma Ray had a real treat ready—pancakes. I couldn’t remember the last time we had pancakes and honey.

  We found a new set of school duds on our bed.

  I peeled off what would be my chores clothes from then on, grabbed the first pair of pants I saw, and ripped off the tags.

  Cameron held up his. “Look at these. Who’d she think she was buying clothes for? It wasn’t for skinny hillbilly kids, that’s for sure.”

  He slipped them on, and I laughed long and hard. He pulled them as high as he could and still couldn’t get his toes out the ends of the pant legs.

  “And look at this,” he said, holding a shirt for me to see. “Two red, two red and white checkered, and two brown. Let me see, one checkered and one brown are mediums. What do you think is so funny? What am I going to do with these britches?”

  “You can trade me for these baggy things.” I held a pair to my waist. They were the right length, but made for someone with meat on their bones. “She bought for twins, but didn’t get the same sizes. What color shirt you wearing?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “You want to wear the same color?”

  “No, I don’t. Let’s draw straws.”

  “I ain’t drawing straws. Just pick a color. I’ll wear something different.”

  Cameron picked the checkered one and slipped it on.

  “Cameron, we’re going to have to treat these britches like riding next to Dad in the pickup.”

  Cameron grabbed a box and dumped out a pair of black tennis shoes. “How do you figure that?”

  I fed my belt through the pants and pulled it tight. Like the drawstring in the top of a sack of onions, the material folded around my waist between the belt loops. I turned a slow circle to show him. “I’m going to wear these today. Tomorrow, it’ll be your turn to look dumb.”

  21

  Cameron had something on his mind. We no more than left the house and he’d out walked me by twenty paces.

  Jake trotted between us, altering his course to sniff about
and mark a bush now and then.

  I always wondered how Jake knew where to piddle. What was he smelling? Another dog? I’d never seen dogs around, and Jake never howled like he smelled any close to the house.

  “Cameron, slow down. My feet are killing me. These shoes ‘bout got the end of my toes rubbed off already. I’ll have to cut the ends out of them before the year is over.”

  “Come on. We don’t want to be late for the bus the first day.”

  “You act like you got a girl you want to sit next to.”

  Cameron spun to walk backwards. “I can sit next to all of them. Don’t bother me none. Except that girl, Misty. She asks too many questions.”

  I didn’t mind questions when girls asked them. Unless it was a girl teacher looking for answers to school stuff. I didn’t like that much. “What kind of questions?”

  “You know. What’s your favorite color? Do you like dogs? What did you watch on television? Do you like me? Just dumb stuff girls always ask.”

  “We don’t watch television.”

  “That’s what I told her. She didn’t believe me.”

  “Do you like her?”

  Cameron shrugged and turned to walk forward. “I don’t dislike her.” He spun back around. “You think she meant it, like boyfriend stuff, when she asked if I like her?”

  “Could be, Cameron. No telling what a girl is thinking. I been pondering them lately and ain’t come to a decision. You could have gone for a soda pop.”

  “T, you are so funny, pondering girls. Yep, you’re real funny.” He spun again.

  I grinned at his back. It was nice to gig him for a change.

  “I wonder what’s for lunch today,” I said. “I’m sure glad Momma Ray stopped at the school and signed us up for the lunch program. Might as well eat sawdust when she makes our lunch.”

  Cameron skipped one time. “Don’t care what it is. I’m going to eat it.”

  Another kid waited at the bus stop when we got there. He stood a head taller than me and Cameron—big to be on the same bus with us. Earphones plugged his ears. Gray wires ran down to his bulging shirt pocket. The toe of his white tennis shoe tapped the gravel to a beat I couldn’t hear.