A Yellow Watermelon

by Ted M. Dunagan

  “No, we’ll watch from across the road.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah, I’m real hongry.”

  “Let’s go on up the creek to the big sweet gum tree, then go up through the woods, past the sawmill to the store.”

  “You think de sto be open?”

  “Yeah, Miss Lena usually opens about one o’clock on Sunday after church. Let’s go get us an ice cream sandwich and a Nehi.”

  “Ice cream sandwich costs a dime.”

  An ice cream sandwich was a special treat because it was so good and cost so much, but today was a special day and we surely had the funds, so I told Poudlum, “We got plenty of money. In fact, I think we ought to each keep ourselves five dollars and eat ice cream sandwiches the rest of the summer.”

  “Let’s keep ten and eat ’em all next summer, too,” he grinned.

  There was an eeriness about the sawmill when we passed through it. I wanted to tell Poudlum about the sawdust pile and how much fun it was to slide down it, but it just didn’t seem like the place I had always been so infatuated by. The pile of logs was down to just a few dozen and there were only a few stacks of fresh-sawn lumber. At Jake’s shack, where he would have had a hot bed of coals to heat his coffee, there were only cold, gray ashes. It was as if the place was slowly dying.

  I quickened my step and said, “Come on, Poudlum, let’s hurry.”

  “Hey, ain’t dat yo’ brother, Fred, up at de sto?”

  Sure enough, Fred was sitting on the ground, his back to an oak tree, nursing a Nehi. When we got close he looked up at Poudlum and said, “Hey, Poudlum.”

  Then he turned his head toward me and asked, “Your belly feeling better?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right back. Poudlum, just wait here.”

  Miss Lena was busy with a customer and didn’t have time to talk. She just took my dollar, smiled, and gave me my change. Back outside, I handed Poudlum a drink, and him and Fred both an ice cream sandwich.

  Fred took his, looked startled and said, “You just spent most of what you made yesterday.”

  “I been saving,” I said. “How was church today?”

  “Wasn’t no church.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well it got started, but it didn’t last long.”

  “What happened?”

  “After all the singing and praying, Brother Benny started his usual crazy jabbering, but I knew right off that something was wrong when he fell off the pulpit.”

  “What in the world caused him to do that?”

  “He was drunk.”

  “He was drunk in church? How you know that?”

  “’Cause he landed right on his face and busted a bottle of whiskey he had in his coat pocket. You could smell it all over the church.”

  The first time I could remember missing church and all this had to happen today. I sure was sorry I had missed it and couldn’t wait to hear more. “What did everybody do?”

  “Nothing at first. He was out cold. Everybody just sat there until that whiskey smell started spreading, then Aunt Cleo yelled out from the front pew, ‘My God, the man’s drunk!’”

  “And then?”

  “Everybody got up and went outside. When I was leaving they was having a meeting around the dinner tables.”

  “What happened to the preacher?”

  “Last thing I saw was Old Man Cliff Creel loading him into his station wagon.”

  Hearing that old man’s name reminded me why we were here. “How long you been here?”

  “’Bout half an hour. I left mother at Uncle Curtis’s and went home, but Daddy and Ned hadn’t come back out of the woods, so I ate some leftover breakfast then walked over here.”

  “You ain’t seen him ride by here, have you?”

  “Who?”

  “Old Man Cliff Creel.”

  “Naw, but that’s the third time I’ve seen that car there go by.”

  I looked up and saw a large black four-door car. It was moving slow and I could see two men inside it, both wearing hats, white shirts, and neckties.

  “That’s a brand-new 1948 Hudson Commodore,” Fred said.

  It was coming from towards Coffeeville.

  When the car passed us it turned left onto Friendship Road so that the rear of it was towards us.

  “See that license plate? That car is from Montgomery County and it says it’s a state government vehicle. I wonder who they are and what they’re doing down here.”

  I looked over toward Poudlum. He was already on his feet. We both knew who they were.

  21

  The Miracle

  Just a few seconds after the state agent’s car disappeared, Old Man Cliff Creel’s station wagon topped the hill heading west toward his house.

  “Hey, where y’all going?” Fred called out, but we were already running down the road and didn’t stop to answer him.

  We were about halfway to the old man’s house when the big black Hudson passed us. We had to move off the road and walk in the ditch to avoid the swirling tunnel of dust the car left behind.

  “We gon’ miss de fireworks,” Poudlum said.

  “Yeah, I know. We should have waited on those ice cream sandwiches and gone straight to the woods across from the old man’s house.”

  “What you thinks dey gonna do wid ’im?

  “I don’t know. Haul him off to jail I reckon.”

  “Who gonna feed and water his cows?”

  “Shoot, I don’t know, Poudlum. I suppose he’s got some family nearby who’ll get word of it and come take care of ’em.”

  “What ifen he ain’t?”

  “Ain’t what?”

  “Got no family hereabouts?”

  “Don’t worry. By tomorrow everybody will know about it and somebody’ll take care of ’em.”

  The dust had settled and we moved back onto the road and resumed a brisk jog when I heard Fred yell from behind us, “Hey, y’all wait up.”

  We slowed a little and before Fred was within hearing Poudlum said, “Might as well tell him, ’cause like you says, everybody gonna know about it tomorrow.”

  “Okay, we’ll tell him everything, except nothing about Jake or the money.”

  “Course not. We promised on dat.”

  “Promised what?” Fred asked through heavy breathing as he caught up.

  “Uh—that we were gonna be at Old Man Cliff Creel’s to see this happen.”

  “See what happen? Y’all better tell me what the heck’s going on.”

  “I will, but let’s keep running. You know that car you said had a state government tag on it?”

  “Yeah, it came back out from Friendship Road and headed this way right after y’all took off.”

  “We think they are from the—” I struggled to remember what Jake had called them. “I think they’re the Alabama Alcohol something.”

  “Whiskey Police,” Poudlum said.

  “Well, if they are, what makes y’all think they’re going to Old Man Cliff Creel’s house?”

  “’Cause he’s got a load of bootleg whiskey in his station wagon.”

  “Naw, he ain’t got no such thing!” Fred said in disbelief.

  “Does too,” Poudlum said. “We seed him load it up.”

  Between breaths, still jogging, Fred exclaimed, “If what y’all are saying is true, then Old Man Cliff Creel is the bootlegger.”

  “Dat’s right,” Poudlum said. “And dey is fixing to take him away.”

  Poudlum was right. We were too late for the fireworks. When the house came into sight we saw the men in white shirts and ties escorting the old man into the back seat of the big Hudson. He didn’t look happy, and there I went again, feeling sorry for someone who didn’t deserve my sympathy. While we watched the big car drive away towards Coffeeville, Fred declared, �
��Well I’ll be, they had handcuffs on him.”

  We all three just stood there in the road for a while. Poudlum finally broke the silence when he said, “We probably oughts to close dat gate so de rest of dem cows won’t get out.”

  “What gate?” Fred asked.

  I pointed down the fence line across the road and said, “Down there, where we stole Poudlum’s cow this morning.”

  “Y’all stole a cow?”

  “A chicken, too,” Poudlum said.

  “What in the world is he talking about?” Fred asked.

  I motioned for them to follow and started walking across the road. They quickly caught up with me and I said, “We sneaked Poudlum’s cow out while everybody was at church this morning. We didn’t have time to get the gate closed ’cause that big bulldog came after us.”

  Fred stopped in his tracks and exclaimed, “I know that dog! It’s a wonder y’all got away without being mauled.”

  “’Bout didn’t get away,” Poudlum said.

  “What happened?” Fred asked him.

  Poudlum pointed off to our right and said, “He chased us up dat big pine over yonder. Kept us treed for a good while; dat’s until he got his bad self popped in de nuts by a rock from a slingshot, den he finally went on off.”

  Fred turned to me and said, “Good shot!”

  I looked at Poudlum and he mutely looked back at me. I didn’t want to take undue credit, but on the other hand, I couldn’t tell that Jake had fired the shot, so I mumbled, “Thanks,” and kept walking.

  We were almost to the gate. “What if dat dog done got back to being his nasty, mean self?” Poudlum asked.

  Fred extended his hand toward me and said, “Give me your stick. That dog’s been chasing me for years. I’ll bust his head if he so much as sticks it around that gatepost.”

  When I handed it over he said, “Now, y’all go ahead and close the gate.”

  Poudlum and I lifted and pushed, then I slid the latch and it was done. There was no sound or sight of the dog.

  We walked with Poudlum to the road leading toward his house, where just before we said good-bye he said, “Mr. Curvin probably gon’ be taking de last of our cotton to de gin come Tuesday. Does you wants to go?”

  “Yeah. If I don’t see him before, tell him to pick me up at Miss Lena’s.”

  While we walked home Fred listened intently after I promised to tell him everything; that is, everything except what I had already promised not to tell. I was careful not to mention Jake and the money. When I finished I thought I had done a real good job, but I hadn’t thought about one thing.

  “Wait a minute,” Fred said, “how come you and Poudlum knew who those men in the new Hudson was, and why they were here?”

  “Well, I can tell you about that,” I said. But I couldn’t. I was just stalling for time until I could think of something. I didn’t like not telling my brother the truth, but it was for the best. It came to me, but I hated the thought of using someone who had been generous and kind to me; however she was gone and I had no other choice.

  “It was Mrs. Blossom.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, I think she knew about the old man and wrote a letter to the state people in Montgomery.”

  “How in the world would she know?”

  I was saved from any further lying by the rattling of Uncle Curvin’s truck coming up behind us. He slowed to a crawl and stuck his toothless head out the window. “Y’all jump on and I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Just before we turned off Friendship Road towards our house we met my cousin Robert on his way back home after dropping my mother off. He stopped beside us and said, “Hey, Uncle Curvin, you hear about the preacher being drunk today?”

  Uncle Curvin wasn’t much of a churchgoer either.

  “Yeah, I heard. Shore do wish I had been there.”

  “Where you coming from?” Robert asked.

  “Coffeeville.”

  “Anything going on there!”

  I was straddling the side of the truck and could see Uncle Curvin’s gums when he grinned and said, “Saw a couple of fellas from the state beverage control gassing up their car.”

  “What they doing round here?”

  “They had Old Man Cliff Creel handcuffed in the back seat.”

  “What—how come?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Naw, but I did talk to the fella driving the car.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Said the old man wanted me to take care of his livestock till he gets back.”

  “I wonder why—”

  Fred chimed in. “I know why they got ’im, ’cause he’s the bootlegger, that’s why.”

  Robert and Uncle Curvin both looked towards us on the back of the truck, staring in disbelief. After a moment Robert asked, “How you know something like that?”

  “’Cause we was walking by his house, me, Ted, and Poudlum. We seen ’em when they put him in the back of their car.”

  “That don’t mean he’s the bootlegger,” Robert said.

  All eyes turned to me when Fred said, “He is though. You tell ’em, Ted.”

  I was kicking Fred with the foot I had inside the truck body because I didn’t want everybody else to know everything I knew. I knew I could trust Uncle Curvin, but I also knew cousin Robert would be taking the news on down the road and that within two days it would be common knowledge within ten square miles. However, I knew I had to tell something now that Fred had implicated me, so I told them about the two times I had spied on him: the time I saw him and the preacher drinking whiskey in his back yard and the time I saw him transferring the boxes of whiskey from his station wagon to his smokehouse, using the excuse that I was taking a short cut through the woods.

  When I finished Robert said, “But you don’t know it was whiskey in those boxes.”

  “I saw him pull a bottle of whiskey out of a box and give it to Brother Benny. That box was just like all the others.”

  That was enough for Robert. He shoved the truck into gear and said, “I got to go tell Daddy. See y’all later.”

  I knew Uncle Curvin couldn’t hear me as we rumbled on towards our house.

  “Fred—”

  “I know, I shouldn’t have said nothing.”

  “Promise me you won’t never tell about me and Poudlum ever knowing about or being at that still. What if Old Man Cliff Creel busted out of prison and found out. He would probably think we told on him. Now, you promise.”

  “All right, I won’t never tell nobody.”

  Uncle Curvin lingered in the yard with me when we got home. Fred immediately took off for the back yard where we could see daddy and Ned dressing a turkey.

  “You think my cotton house is empty? I’ll be gathering my corn crop pretty soon and be needing a place to store it.”

  “Yes sir, I believe it’s empty as of today. If anybody had been in it, then they probably would be floating down the Satilfa right now planning to cross the Tombigbee at first dark. If you drive over the bridge early tomorrow morning you could probably find yourself a good boat laying around the bank somewhere.”

  Uncle Curvin started snickering, then he said, “Miss Lena told me what that sorry polecat of a sheriff said to you.”

  “You think he’ll bother us anymore?”

  “Nope. I think he’s got bigger things to worry about now, what with the old man being arrested. Looks like J. D. got himself a turkey. ’Spect I might just stay for supper. I can eat the dressing and the gravy.”

  I found that big gobbler’s long black beard lying across the latch to our bedroom door. I would let it dry out a few days before adding it to my collection in the cigar box.

  Before long the wonderful aroma of roast turkey was drifting through the house. That night, when we w
ere all gathered around the table enjoying the meal, my mother couldn’t stop talking about the preacher being drunk at church and my father couldn’t stop laughing about it.

  “It’s not funny, J. D.,” she said. “And I can tell you this—he won’t be back. The congregation had a meeting outside the church and the deacons voted to fire him. Now we got to find us a new preacher. I can’t get over it, a preacher, drunk in church trying to deliver a sermon!”

  Well, she got over it real quick when Uncle Curvin told the news about Old Man Cliff Creel. It was just too much for one day. I thought she was going to faint. For some reason it didn’t seem to surprise my father.

  Uncle Curvin promised to pick me up Tuesday morning and I went to sleep listening to the grownups’ voices drone on and on about the events of the day.

  Sometime during the middle of the night I woke up and remembered that all that money was still in the pocket of my jeans, lying on the floor. I picked them up after I slid out of bed and made sure my brothers were sound asleep, then I slipped them on and went out of the open window. Outside, the sky was lit up by the moon and a million bright stars so that I had no trouble seeing to skim off my nine dollars and some change. I quickly scooted underneath the house and deposited it in my jar, then I walked around the house to the back door leading into the kitchen. I was thankful to see it was slightly open, just enough so that I could slide through without making a noise. I tiptoed across the floor until I was exactly where I knew my mother’s big wooden bowl was, the one where she kept her flour for biscuit making. I gently lifted the lid, deposited $182 in the center of the bowl, and raked a handful of flour over the pile of money.

  I was halfway out of the room when I reached out towards the kitchen table to steady myself. My hand hit the globe of the kerosene lamp, knocking it off its base. It hit the floor, shattering itself and the silence.

  My first instinct was to run, but then I thought about my bare feet and all the sharp pieces of glass on the floor; also I didn’t want to cause any further fright to my parents, so I just froze.

  “Who’s in there!” Mother shouted.

  “It’s me, Mother. It’s okay,” I weakly responded.

  I heard the sound as she scraped the tip of a big wooden match across the side of the match box, then I saw the glow of the lamp after she lit it. When she appeared at the door I said, “Wait, there’s glass all over the floor.”