by Jan Tilley
Travis appeared happy with the offer and nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”
As the young man walked off, Malachi didn’t really know if he’d ever see him again. Maybe he had just given away a perfectly good carving knife. But, he had a funny feeling that Travis would be back.
Malachi opened the store and sat out front, continuing to work on his amulets. As wood shavings littered his old boots, he couldn’t get the kid out of his mind. Those big brown eyes seemed to hold a lifetime of experience and way too much pain.
With a deep sigh, he paused for a moment and stared off into the forest that had become his solitude. His heart grew heavy as he wondered, what would Lukas have looked like at that age?
Five
Late the following Friday afternoon, Malachi closed up shop and stepped outside to spend some time communing with Mother Nature. He gathered his toolbox, fired Rosie up and headed to the bridge to work on his cryptics. The air was becoming crisp and cool, and tourist visits were steadily increasing. He needed to be prepared for another big weekend.
Enjoying the sunshine that streamed through the window, he rounded a bend in the curvy country road and patted the dashboard, telling Rosie how great she was running. She had always been one friend that he could always count on.
As he turned a tight curve, he saw a scuffle up ahead, just beyond the bridge. One person was standing and two were down on the ground engaged in what appeared to be a fist fight. Malachi pulled Rosie up alongside them and parked. Looking over, he noticed the red-headed deviant that he’d seen before, the one who’d stolen from his store. As soon as he stepped out of his truck he was met with hostility by another boy. “Get outta here old man, if you know what’s good for you. Junior’s on a roll and he’s not afraid to take you down, too.”
Malachi nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.” He reached into the glove box and pulled out a small hand gun. Walking around to the other side of the truck, he found Junior pounding a kid’s head into the pavement. Slowly, he stepped up behind him and cocked the gun, letting him know that he meant business.
Junior’s hands flew into the air, as if he were surrendering.
“Get your miserable hands off him, you worthless thief.”
The kid slowly rose to his feet, leaving the victim writhing in pain on the ground.
Malachi pressed the cold metal into the back of Junior’s head and growled, “If I ever catch you here again, I won’t hesitate for a minute to use this on you.” Then he raised his voice and startled the kid. “Do you understand me, punk?”
Junior jumped and slowly nodded his head, terrified to move. He was tough with his mouth and fists, but he’d never encountered a pistol to his head before.
Malachi pulled the gun away and kicked him in the butt. “Now get the hell outta my hollow before you really tick me off!”
Junior and the other boy ran to their car and peeled out, without saying another word. Malachi knew that wasn’t the last he’d see of them. They’d be back with a vengeance. That’s how their kind was bred. This area was riddled with descendants of coal miners; these local kids came from a long line of rabble rousers. Malachi hated confrontation, but he just couldn’t stand idly by and watch injustice take place right before his eyes.
The car sped off down the road, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Malachi stashed the gun in the back of his jean’s waistband, kicked some beer and spray paint cans out of the way and went to help the kid up off the ground. As he extended his hand to help him, there was a hint of recognition in the face. It was tough to make out at first. But, through the cuts and blood, he realized that it was Travis.
“What the hell, son! Travis, is that you?”
Travis tried to nod as he spit out a mouthful of blood into the dirt.
“Dear Lord, come on. Let’s get you to the truck.”
Malachi got him settled into the passenger seat and drove quickly back to the old mill. Pulling directly up to the front door, he helped Travis inside and led him to his small kitchen in the back of the building. Travis grabbed some napkins and leaned his head back, trying to stop his nose from bleeding, while Malachi frantically searched for his first-aid kit.
He was no nurse, but living out here on his own had given him plenty of opportunity to practice his backwoods medical skills. Opening his homemade medical kit, he went straight to work. It was difficult to assess where to begin. Travis’s face was nothing short of a mess.
Travis winced as Malachi rubbed the wounds with disinfectant pads.
“I know it hurts, son. But, we’ve got to get you cleaned up. Hang in there.”
Malachi cleaned the wounds as best he could. Then it was time to inspect the damage thoroughly and see just how bad it really was. Malachi tugged gently at the skin to see how deep the gashes were. With every little movement they began to bleed profusely, forcing Malachi to hold pressure on them which made Travis squirm in his seat in pain.
Looking over the top of his glasses, Malachi apologized. “I’m sorry to hurt you, son. You definitely could use a few stitches. These cuts are pretty deep. I can butterfly the wounds, but it probably won’t hold. Or, I can stitch you up myself, but I’m not gonna lie to you, it will hurt.”
Travis nodded and said, “You do it.” Even though he was in an incredible amount of pain, he never once complained.
Malachi held ice on the skin around the cuts, trying to numb it the best he could. He knew that it wouldn’t kill all the pain, but it might take the edge off and make it tolerable. He’d never stitched anyone else up before and did his best to be as gentle as possible. With his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, he went to work. He didn’t try to talk to the teenager while he tended to him. The lacerations were fairly deep and gaping open. There was a hefty gash above his right eyebrow and his left cheek was sliced along the cheekbone.
It was a struggle for Malachi to force the edges of the swollen cuts together enough so that he could even attempt to stitch them. He ran the needle and thread under a stream of vodka for sterilization. Travis grimaced in pain and panted every time the needle pierced through his tender skin. Clutching the arms of his chair, he held on so tightly that his fingers went pale. The wounds bled profusely with every stitch that Malachi pulled through his flesh. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but that could only go so far.
Malachi dabbed a cotton ball saturated with vodka on the cuts to stop the bleeding and to keep it sterilized. The alcohol burned and an occasional tear trailed down Travis’s cheek. He was trying to be so brave, but it hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced.
Over the years, Malachi had been brave enough to stitch himself up a few times, when need be. He knew that it was torture. Usually he would down a couple shots of vodka first to take the edge off the pain. Travis was enduring this cold turkey. He really must have a high pain tolerance, or maybe he was just used to suffering.
After five carefully placed stitches, he knotted the last thread and proclaimed that he was finished. “Travis, you have to be careful for a while. If these don’t hold, you need to get a doctor to stitch you up properly. You’ve got quite a goose-egg on the back of your head. You might have a concussion, or even a fracture. You really should be checked out by a professional.”
Slowly shaking his head, Travis said, “We don’t have insurance. My mom would have a fit if I racked up a big medical bill.”
Malachi nodded, understanding full well what it felt like to have to watch your money. “What about your ribs, Travis? Did he get you in the ribs, or chest?”
“Not too much. He was mainly focused on smashing in my skull.”
“Yeah, he did mess up your pretty face. You’re going to have a scar on your cheek.” Trying to be reassuring, he continued, “But that’s okay. Girls find scars sexy.”
Travis attempted to smile, which caused him to wince in pain. “Ouch.”
Malachi went to the cupboard and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen. He handed Travis two of them, with a glass of water
and said, “Take these. It will help with the pain and inflammation.”
Travis swigged them down.
Malachi grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer. “Here, use these like an ice pack to keep the swelling down.”
“Seriously, thanks for everything. You probably saved my ass out there today. Then you bring me back here and fix me up like this. I owe you.”
“It’s all good, son.” Malachi said with a little nod. “I just hope that you’re okay.”
Travis brushed it off with a wave of his hand. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’ve endured Junior Barnett’s wrath many times. I’ll survive.”
Malachi scowled at him and let out a big sigh. He folded up his glasses and tucked them neatly away in the chest pocket of his faded flannel shirt. “What happened out there, Travis? Why was he so angry with you?”
He shrugged. “Jeremy was bored and headed out this way. I asked if I could tag along. As luck would have it, just as we were pulling out, Junior jumped in the backseat and Jeremy let him ride along. When we got to Cry Baby Bridge, they stopped to drink some beer. Junior wanted to drive. He said that he was responsible and would never drink and drive. He’d just stop and throw a few back and then drive around tipsy. That was his asinine idea of responsibility.”
Malachi laughed at how absurd that sounded.
Travis agreed, “I know, right? The guy’s a real douchebag and Jeremy is too afraid of him to tell him no.”
“So why was he wailing on you like that?”
“He got a little buzzed and then started with the spray paint. I told him to stop it and that royally pissed him off. He doesn’t like anyone telling him what to do. Junior has a real short fuse and I lit it and forgot to run. He had me on the ground slamming me before I even knew what hit me.”
“I can’t figure out how he cut you like that with his fists.”
“He’s just a lard ass. His punches alone don’t amount to a whole lot, but he likes to wear this old skull and crossbones ring on his middle finger. It’s got a raised edge on it and if he hits you just right it’ll rip through your flesh. Guess he hit me just right.”
Malachi shook his head. “The kid’s a real roughian. I always say that it’s better to be pissed off, than pissed on. But, in your case, I’m not sure that’s true.”
Travis tried to laugh and winced in pain. Once the tenderness subsided, he took a few shallow breaths and began to relax again. Slowly, he reached into his pockets and pulled something out. He extended his hand towards Malachi and opened it. Four amulets dropped into Malachi’s waiting palm. He looked at Travis, confused.
“I finished those. That’s why I bummed a ride from Jeremy, so I could bring them to you. Do they look okay?”
Malachi leaned back in his chair, dumbfounded. He put his reading glasses back on and inspected each one meticulously. He could see how hard the young man had worked on each one of them. Slowly removing his glasses, he laid them down on the small dining table and smiled at Travis. “No, they’re not okay. They’re nowhere near okay. They are exquisite.”
“Yeah, right.”
“One thing that I will never do is lie to you, Travis. You have my word on that. These are the finest specimens I’ve ever seen.” He took a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to him. “Thank you.”
“That’s too much, Malachi. And really, I don’t want any money for them at all. I just really enjoyed doing it. Can I carve some more?”
“Only if you’ll let me pay you for your hard work. You have quite a talent, Travis.”
He rolled his eyes but looked intently at Malachi, trying to decide if he was for real or not. His inquiring stare turned into a satisfied grin when he saw that Malachi was very serious about his praise. Travis sat up straight in his chair and pain once again grabbed hold of his soul.
“Take it easy, son. Do you feel sick to your stomach?”
Travis shook his head.
Malachi looked into each eye and questioned him about his vision, then stated, “I don’t think you have a concussion. Would you like to lie down and rest for a bit, and then I’ll drive you home?”
Slowly, he nodded, like he’d been defeated in battle.
“Come and lay down in the guest room. The bed’s all made up. You can rest here as long as you’d like.”
Malachi led him to a small bedroom just off the kitchen. He pulled back the blankets and Travis sat down. Without hesitation, Malachi knelt on his knees and helped Travis take his shoes off.
Gingerly, he lay back on the bed, groaning in pain with every move. When he was settled, Malachi pulled the covers up over him and asked, “Do you want me to call your mom?”
Travis shook his head. “No, she’s working a double today. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a bit, if that’s okay?”
Malachi turned off the light, and said, “That’s fine, son. I’m right out here if you need me.” He closed the door and left the young man to rest.
Six
While chicken noodle soup simmered on the stove, Malachi cleaned up the mess left behind. It looked like a make-shift operating room. When things were somewhat back to normal, he made himself a mug of hot tea and sat down at the kitchen table, emotionally exhausted. Carefully taking his glasses from his chest pocket, he inspected the amulets that Travis carved. They truly were magnificent. Each one was perfect and unique. The kid really was talented. Malachi put them on the windowsill, next to a small aloe vera plant that he used for minor burns. There was no way he could sell them to these ungrateful tourists. They meant too much and Travis had gone through so much to get them here.
His mind was overwhelmed with thoughts about all that Travis was forced to endure, both at school and at home. It didn’t seem fair that such a young man should have to face all of these obstacles, and do it basically alone. Malachi wondered where his dad was. His heart broke for the kid and he racked his brain; there must be something that he could do to help him.
It was almost midnight before Malachi finally went to bed. He’d checked on Travis several times, and he appeared to be resting comfortably. He hated to wake the kid up. Rest was the best thing for him. That’s when the body heals itself. Malachi was a firm believer in working with nature and not against it. Although he was worried and thought they should contact Travis’s mother, he felt it was best to let him sleep as long as possible. Malachi slept lightly, with his bedroom door open so he could hear if Travis got up or needed anything throughout the night.
Malachi was up before sunrise, before Roberta’s yackity yack rooster woke him up like it usually did. It had been a restless night’s sleep. Not only was his conscious mind worried about Travis, but his dreams drifted there as well. During his sleep, Junior Barnett beat Travis to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp while Malachi stood idly by and did absolutely nothing to help his young friend. Travis reached out a hand for Malachi to help him, but he didn’t move. He awoke in a cold sweat, grateful that it had only been a dream. No, not a dream, but a horrible nightmare. Shortly after he awoke, Malachi realized that he had to do something. He felt compelled to protect the kid and take him under his wing.
It was around ten in the morning when Travis finally drug himself out of bed. He moved slowly and was still in quite a bit of pain. The iron taste of dried blood in his mouth gagged him and his right eye was swollen so badly that he could barely see out of it. Making his way to the bathroom, he washed up a bit in the sink. What little wind there was left in his sails deflated when he looked at himself in the mirror. He stared into his own eyes and said, “You really are a fuck up, aren’t you?”
Malachi had done a pretty good job of cleaning him up. All that remained were the black eyes, bruises and stitched up cuts on his face. Travis felt like he’d been repeatedly body-slammed by Hulk Hogan, every muscle was sore. He winced in pain as he tried to run a wet comb through his shaggy, brown hair. It hurt so bad to raise his arm that he could barely stand it. He tried to pant through the pain but that hurt his ribs, so he held his breath
instead. After the initial burst of pain subsided, he looked at himself and said, “Does it really matter? Nothing can help this face.” The comb clinked against the porcelain as he dropped it into the sink, feeling defeated.
As Travis exited the bathroom, he was met by Malachi at the doorway. “How you feeling today, son?”
Travis shook his head. “Like shit. Thanks for asking. How long was I asleep?”
Looking down at his wristwatch, Malachi replied, “About thirteen hours.”
“Wow. That’s lame.” Travis grimaced as he sat down at the kitchen table.
Trying to reassure him, Malachi said, “No, you’re not lame, you’re injured. Or old, that’s about how I feel most every morning when I wake up. Could I interest you in some breakfast?”
He nodded slowly. “I could eat.”
Travis sat at the dining table drinking pulpy orange juice from an old Apollo Space Shuttle glass dated 1969, while Malachi cooked in a frenzy. He had a skillet with bacon sizzling, hash browns, and a boiling pot of water for poached eggs. Travis’s mouth watered in anticipation. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten yesterday at all. His stomach grumbled loudly with hunger pangs.
Malachi sat the heaping plate of food in front of the young man and watched as he appeared to inhale it. He’d never seen someone eat so fast in his life. After refilling the juice glasses, he reached up into the cupboard and grabbed two ibuprofen and handed them to Travis. Malachi’s stomach was a bit upset, so he just picked at his food and ate some toast while he watched Travis devour the entire plate.
With a full belly, Travis leaned back in the chair and wiped his mouth. “That was really good. Thanks.”
“Think nothing of it. So, do you think we should call your mom? Won’t she be worried about you?”
Travis shook his head. “Nah, she usually doesn’t even know if I’m there or not. Lots of nights, she comes home long enough to sleep and then she’s gone again before I even see her. Now she has this new boyfriend, so any extra time she does have off, she’ll spend at his place. Believe me, she won’t miss me.”