Fourmile

by Watt Key

  “Go stand by the hood while I pop it,” he said.

  I walked around to the front of the truck and waited while he stepped to the driver’s door. It creaked open and an image of exactly what lay scattered across the bench seat flashed through my head. Three red 12-gauge shotgun shells, a copy of Game & Fish magazine, a crescent wrench, and a manual to our portable generator. On the passenger-side floor were two empty Sunkist soda cans. I knew what Gary smelled inside. Diesel and wet rubber. Suddenly I heard a clunk and saw the hood pop up about an inch. I took another deep breath and made myself step forward. I slipped my fingers under the lip of the hood and lifted it. Gary appeared beside me and studied the engine. “Let’s check the fluids before we try to crank it. I doubt the battery’s good anyway.”

  I knew how to do it myself but stood back while Gary checked the oil and transmission fluid. He seemed satisfied with both. After a quick inspection of the belts he walked back to the cab. “See how she feels,” he said.

  I heard the ignition buzzing as he turned the key, then the engine began to drag. Gary leaned over and turned off the heater and the engine suddenly roared to life, white exhaust pouring from the rear. He stared at the instrument panel as he pumped the gas pedal and raced the motor. After a second he let off and looked at me through the glass. “I’d say that’s a pretty good start,” he said.

  I nodded.

  He left it running and got out. “We’ll let the battery charge for a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “The oil level’s good, but we better change it. Pretty old.”

  I heard him, but I was looking through the windshield at the empty cab.

  “You all right?” he asked me.

  I turned to him. “I’m all right,” I said.

  His eyes studied me like he knew everything. “What do you say we look at the tractor while we’re out here?” he said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  We weren’t as lucky with the tractor. I had to get the jumper cables from the barn and we hooked them to the truck and jumped it off. Once it cranked, a squealing sound came from beneath the cowling. I showed Gary where the spare belts were hanging on the barn wall and we replaced them and greased the fittings on the Bush Hog. When we were done he stood back and looked around.

  “That fence is still too wet to paint,” he said. “And I need to make a list of supplies before we go into town. What do you say we use what daylight we’ve got left to knock some of that grass down in the field? It’s probably dry enough now.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You know how to drive this thing?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve ridden on it before, but I never could reach the pedals.”

  “I imagine you’re a lot taller than you were a year ago. What would your mother say about you learning?”

  I felt a rush of excitement. “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Go ask her.”

  * * *

  I heard the tractor crank behind me as I barged into the kitchen, slamming the door against the stop. Mother wasn’t there, so I dashed into the living room and almost knocked her down.

  “What’s wrong, Foster!” she said.

  I caught my breath. “Gary wants to know if I can Bush Hog!”

  She looked over my shoulder and out the kitchen window. “Certainly not,” she said.

  “He said he’d teach me!”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Foster, the answer is no. That’s a dangerous piece of equipment.”

  “Who’s going to cut the grass when he’s gone?”

  “I don’t plan on being here long enough to worry about that. I just called the real estate agent and told him to lower the price again. I don’t care if we have to take a loss to get on with things.”

  I knew she wouldn’t budge. She had her jaw set with that same look of resolve I’d seen earlier. I sighed and turned to go.

  * * *

  I sat on the back fence and watched Gary driving the tractor from one end of the north pasture to the other, shaving perfect slices of cleanly cut field grass. The sun sat low in the sky, just over the far trees, and a buzzard circled high overhead. Something about the vision—about the sense of progress—loosed the knots inside me. It had been a long time since I’d felt the health of a blue sky and the pasture and the smells of the cut grass and insects. Then I turned and looked to the east, to the wall of trees that hid the creek bottom and the back sixty acres. I hadn’t meant to look, but maybe I had. Maybe I wanted to see if this new feeling was strong enough to overcome the sight of that dark place. But it wasn’t. A vision of what I’d seen that day flashed into my head, hot and searing. I jerked my eyes to Gary again and swallowed, but my chest was already tight and my throat dry. I took a deep breath and trained my eyes on Gary, watching him like you watch the horizon to make seasickness go away. I watched him and fought the memories and lied to myself about the man I saw on the tractor. I ran the lies through my head, over and over again, until I’d run off the nightmares.

  11

  I sat in the barn that evening with Joe and Kabo lying on either side of me. We watched Gary prepare his new living arrangements. Joe was still acting sluggish and sore so I rubbed his neck to let him know I was thinking about him. Gary had left his wet clothes from earlier in the day to dry in the sun and he changed shirts again, this time facing me so that I couldn’t see the tattoo.

  “Where’d you find him?” he asked me.

  He was talking about Joe. Maybe he guessed I’d not raised him from a puppy, but something told me it was just something else he knew. “He came out of the creek bottom. I don’t know how old he is. I’ve had him since I was eight.”

  Gary studied him. “I’d say he was about ten years old.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I checked his teeth earlier. And he’s got a little gray around his mouth.”

  I looked at Joe’s mouth. “How long do you think he’ll live?” I asked.

  Gary didn’t answer me right away. He stepped over to his pack and put away his Dopp kit. Then he dug around and pulled out a length of thin rope and began to tie it to one of the support columns. “He looks like he’s got plenty of life left in him,” he finally said.

  He walked the rope to another column and tied it like a clothesline. Then he draped his sweaty shirt over the middle.

  “What will we do tomorrow?” I asked.

  He came back to us and sat and leaned against his pack. “I figure it’ll take me two days to mow the rest of that pasture.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Why don’t you keep painting the fence? I’ll come join you after I’m finished with the field.”

  I looked away and frowned. I could feel him watching me.

  “Or we can both work on the fence tomorrow. I can finish mowing while you’re in school.”

  “Let’s do that,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said with his crooked smile. “You’re the boss.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  * * *

  It was hard to keep my mind on supper with Gary out in the barn. Mother kept glancing at me across the table. I didn’t know what she was thinking. I didn’t want to ask her anything because I was afraid she’d say no to it.

  “Dax told me not to let him stay,” she said.

  I looked at my glass of water and didn’t respond.

  “But Dax doesn’t have my problems,” she continued. “We can’t keep living like this. I’ve got to do what I can to get us out of here.”

  I couldn’t imagine her disagreeing with Dax. I looked up at her. “What’d you tell him?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything. It’s not his decision.”

  “Gary’s good at fixing stuff,” I said. “He can do anything.”

  She scooted her chair back and stood. “Gary’s all we’ve got right now,” she said. “Go fix a plate for him and take it out there. Tell him I know he hasn’t had time to get groceries.”

  I felt my
spirit surge again. I gulped down my water and stood.

  “Foster?” she said.

  I looked at her. “Ma’am?”

  “Give him the plate and come back.”

  * * *

  When I stepped into the barn, Gary and Kabo weren’t there. I heard the faucet running out back and Joe rose from his bed in the straw and came to me. I knelt and ran my hand along his back.

  “Doing okay, boy?” I said to him.

  Joe shuddered with excitement and rubbed against me. I looked over his back and saw the clothesline. Gary’s pants and the bandanna he wore on his head were now hanging on it. On the ground were his things, pulled from the pack and arranged neatly on a dark blue blanket. Several cans of food, a first-aid kit, three books, a bound sheaf of folders, separate stacks of pants, shirts, underwear, and a spare set of black high-top boots. But what interested me most was a large automatic pistol. I stood and walked closer and studied it. Daddy had a pistol, but it was a smaller-caliber revolver. He carried it under the truck seat to use on snakes. Now Mother kept it inside the house.

  “Looks like Joe’s feeling a little better,” I heard.

  I turned to see Gary standing in the opening at the opposite end of the barn with Kabo next to him. He rubbed his head with a towel, shirtless and barefoot with blue jeans on. When he pulled the towel away I saw the top of his head for the first time. Black hair close-shaved to within a quarter inch of his head.

  “I brought supper,” I said, holding out the plate.

  He walked to the clothesline and used both hands to neatly drape the towel over it. I got another glimpse of the sinister tattoo on his back.

  “Mother said you haven’t had time to get groceries,” I said.

  He glanced at his belongings on the blanket then turned to me. “Tell her thank you for me. Set it on top of those hay bales over there.”

  “It’s meat loaf.”

  “I see. It looks good.”

  I put the plate down while Gary pulled on a T-shirt. Then he knelt on the blue blanket and began putting his things back into the pack. There was a certain order to everything. The folders first, then the stacks of clothes.

  “What kind of pistol is it?” I asked.

  “M9 Beretta,” he replied.

  “Daddy had a pistol.”

  He kept packing and didn’t answer me.

  “Daddy’s was for snakes.”

  “Is this going to make your mother nervous?”

  I shook my head. “She doesn’t mind guns.”

  “She might mind somebody else’s … I usually keep it packed out of sight.”

  “I won’t tell her about it.”

  Gary didn’t answer me. He put two of the three books away and finally only the pistol and a rag were left. He picked up the handgun and dropped the clip and swiped back the action seemingly in one quick motion, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Then he took the rag and stood and stepped over to the wall where one of our old grease guns hung. He drew his finger across the tip of the grease gun and scraped the lubricant onto the barrel of the pistol. He came back to me, rubbing the handgun with the rag.

  “Have you ever shot a snake?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “But I’ve eaten one.”

  “Really?”

  He glanced at me and smiled. “Yeah. Doesn’t taste bad. All reptiles taste pretty much the same.”

  “I had frog legs once,” I said.

  “Then you know what a snake tastes like.”

  “What kind was it?”

  He picked up the clip and wiped it and shoved it back into the grip. “I don’t know,” he said, snapping the chamber closed. He wrapped the rag around it and placed it into the pack. Then he reached over and scratched Kabo behind the ears and looked at me. “You want me to feed Joe?”

  I realized I’d forgotten. It wasn’t like me to forget things like that. “I can do it,” I said. I turned and started for his bag of food I kept in a metal trash container against the wall. Joe followed behind me.

  “I don’t want to hurt your mother’s feelings, but Kabo and I already ate. You can give him what’s on that plate if you want.”

  “No,” I said. “He eats special dog food. It’s expensive.”

  “I see.”

  “It helps with his tricks. He can do a lot of tricks.”

  “Like what?”

  “He can fetch and climb ladders.”

  “Climb ladders?”

  “Yeah. He could’ve gotten on that roof with you today.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Serious,” I said.

  I scooped out some of the dry food and dumped it into Joe’s bowl at my feet. He lowered his head to it and began eating.

  “How’d you teach him to climb ladders?”

  “When I first found him, he’d try to do just about anything I wanted. One time I went up into a pecan tree to get the pecans and I saw him trying to come after me. He figured out how to stand on the rungs and pull himself up with his front legs. He’s real smart.”

  “Dogs have big hearts,” he said.

  I came back to Gary. He was sitting on his blanket, leaning against the pack with his hands behind his head. His face and eyes seemed free of the tension and alertness he’d been carrying all day.

  “He can catch armadillos too,” I said. “He’ll pin them to the ground and hold them there until I tell him to get off.”

  “How’d you teach him that?”

  “I didn’t. He just started doing it for me because I thought it was funny the first time.”

  Gary nodded, thinking to himself.

  “I better get inside,” I said.

  “Yeah. You going to be ready to go in the morning?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  He picked up the book and put it in his lap. I tried to read the cover but couldn’t see it well enough. “Good night, Foster,” he said.

  “Good night.”

  12

  I rose at daybreak, dressed, and went out into the damp morning to see if Gary was ready to work. The sun was just coming over the trees at the far edge of the pasture and a hawk soared overhead. Small birds and squirrels chattered in a way that told me it was going to be clear and sunny.

  I walked into the barn and found Gary and the dogs gone. The clothesline was empty and his blanket was neatly folded and draped over the top of his pack. I heard a banging sound past the barn and kept walking until I saw them in the pasture. Gary was leaning over the back of the tractor and Kabo was darting across the field. Joe lay near the fence, his head up, watching me.

  “Hey, boy,” I said.

  He got up and trotted to me and sidled against my leg.

  When we reached the tractor Gary stood, shoved a socket driver in his pocket, and wiped his hands on his pants. “Loose UV joint,” he said.

  “You get up pretty early,” I said.

  He looked past the house and toward the blacktop. “I don’t need as much sleep as I used to,” he said.

  “I used to get up early. But sometimes there’s not anything to do.”

  He looked down at me. “You ought to find plenty to do on a day like this. A boy your age.”

  “There’s nobody around to play with.”

  He started toward the barn and I fell in beside him.

  “Do you ever have friends over?” he asked.

  “I used to.”

  “What happened?”

  I didn’t answer him right away. “We’re moving,” I said. “I don’t want any friends from here.”

  “But you had some before?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about them?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Yes you do.”

  “I got in a fight with one of them.”

  “Over what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “He was bragging.”

  “About what?”

  “His dad.”

  “You w
ere jealous,” he said.

  I didn’t answer. I felt a pang of shame course through me. We came to the fence and I crawled through and Gary stepped over. We continued on.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “But you should get right with him.”

  “I know,” I said, relieved that he wasn’t upset with me.

  “You shouldn’t leave that kind of thing behind. It’s hard to imagine, but it all comes back to you one day.”

  It was strange the way he talked to me. Like he was talking to me and someone else at the same time. Maybe himself. But I thought about what he said, even though I didn’t fully comprehend it. I didn’t mind him lecturing me, if that was what he was doing. I wanted to know what he thought about everything. I could tell he knew about a lot of things. He was the first person I’d felt like talking to since Daddy died. And there was a lot I wanted to ask him, but I couldn’t do it. Not yet.

  We had just finished getting the painting supplies ready when Mother called me in to breakfast.

  “Go on,” Gary said. “We need to wait a little bit for the sun to dry off this dew.”

  For some reason Mother was in a good mood. She leaned against the counter and watched me hurry through a breakfast of bacon and eggs and toast. It had been a while since we’d had anything but cereal. After I was done she fixed Gary another plate and sent me out with it.

  This time Gary took the plate and ate standing up. The dogs and I watched him and waited patiently until he had scraped the last of it clean. Then he gave the plate back to me and picked up the gallon of paint in one hand and the empty bucket with our supplies in the other.

  “Run this back inside and tell her it was the best I’ve had in weeks. Then grab another bucket to sit on and meet me out front.”

  13

  The blacktop was still cool and wet and empty. Cicadas buzzed in the weeds of the ditch and a flock of crows made steady noise from the pecan orchard. Gary was already painting as I made my way down the fence with my bucket. Joe trotted up beside me and I reached down and stroked him behind his ears. I glanced at Gary and saw him watching us.

  “I think he’s better now,” I called to him. “Watch this.”

  I set down my supplies and picked up a stick. I placed the stick on top of a fence post and Joe eyed it and whined.