by Leah Pileggi
Mr. Criswell was just leaning back, staring at me with them blue eyes, looking kinda sad.
I finished up. “Something in me musta known Mr. Bennett was going for his own gun.”
Mr. Criswell asked me, “Didn’t the judge hear what happened, son?”
“Well, there was a judge and there was a jury of men. When the lawyer asked did I mean to shoot Mr. Bennett, I told him what I thought I was supposed to say. I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ But that was all the words he let me say.”
I stopped talking then, my head feeling kinda dizzy.
“You sit down here for a minute, Jake,” said Mr. Criswell. He went and fetched me a dipper of water, and I gulped it down.
“I think my hand just knew that I had to shoot him, Mr. Criswell, or he woulda shot my pa.”
Then Mr. Criswell was nodding, but it was a on-purpose nod. “Did you have a lawyer, Jake?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t say nothing to the judge. Told me it was the first time he ever did any real lawyering.”
Mr. Criswell took a dipper of water for hisself.
“They knew how old you were,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “The jury had to decide did I know good from evil when I shot that gun. The judge said it didn’t make no difference ‘bout my age. My lawyer thought they was gonna convict me, so he told me to plead guilty. Manslaughter. Better than murder, he said.”
We three just kinda stood and breathed for a minute.
Finally Charles asked, “You ever shoot a gun before that?”
“Well, sure, but not at anything living. I don’t like hurting things, even when they’s food.”
Mr. Criswell give me a pat on my back. Charles handed me my rake.
Then we went ahead at our work, and that pig pen weren’t never that clean before or again.
Later, me and Charles was roughhousing some, being done with our work and me just waiting for Henry. I jumped on a fence rail to show Charles the way Cat pounced. A board let go, and a sticking-out nail cut right through my trousers and across my leg just above my knee. Blood shot out and then seeped on down my pant leg. It looked like it musta been somebody else’s leg standing there bleeding, but then the burning pain started.
Charles run and grabbed my shirt hanging in the shed. He quick wrapped it around my leg above the cut and pulled it into a tight knot.
“Get on,” Charles said, and I climbed onto his back. He took off fast as he could to find his pa. My mouth was so dry, and I was trying to think of anything but my leg. I rode past a garden, potatoes, sugar beets, fat yellow sunflowers at the end of each row, soaked up with sun, staring at me with their big seed faces.
I kept thinking, Not my leg! Not my leg! Then I seen a white house and a lady on the porch. She shouted, “Charles! What happened?”
She run over to us, and Charles dropped me to the ground.
“A nail did it,” he said, and untied the blood-soaked shirt. The cut weren’t as big as it felt, and it had quit seeping. But most of my whole pant leg was red.
“Margaret, get a wet cloth.”
Who was Margaret? And then I caught a glimpse. Light brown dress, blue ribbon tied at the bottom of a darker brown braid, taller than Charles but not much. And not ugly like Charles. Not at all. She was gone, into the house. And then I started seeing double.
“I need water,” I said. “I’m seeing two of things.”
Margaret was back on the porch with a wet cloth that she handed to her ma. Margaret heard me and laughed right out loud. “You’re not seeing double. They are double. They’re twins.” Her ma wiped at my cut.
“Ouch! I’ll do it,” I said, looking back and forth at the twins.
Margaret said, “Lily and Annie, meet Jake.”
“We’re five,” said Lily or Annie.
“Margaret is ford-teen,” said the other one.
“How old are you?” asked the first one.
“Inside, girls,” said Mrs. Criswell.
The twins stood looking for a second, then the first one said, “This is more fun than inside.”
Mrs. Criswell and Margaret laughed. And then here come Mr. Criswell carrying a tiny little baby, its arms waving at me or maybe at the sky. The two stopped right in front of me. “Jake. I thought I could trust you.”
“I’ll fix the fence.”
“Yes, you will,” he said, rocking that baby side to side. “Seems you’ve met everyone else. This here is Emma.”
Well, I woulda fell over ‘cept I was already on the ground.
“I like that name Emma,” I said.
“It’s a good name,” said Mr. Criswell. He looked through the rip in my trousers at my cleaned-off leg. “Rusty nail or clean?”
“Clean,” I told him.
“Needs a stitch or two, Leandra, don’t you think?”
“What? No. It’s fine,” I said. I stood up quick. “I gotta go fix that fence board.”
Charles stood watching while I pounded a nail into a new place on that rail. “Nice and solid,” I said. Then I couldn’t help myself. “You got a whole mess of sisters.”
“Yeah, so what,” said Charles. “You’re gonna have an ugly scar on that leg, and you’ve already got a face to match it.”
I tossed some straw his way, but mostly I just laughed.
My leg healed up nice in ‘bout a week. Left just enough scar to look tough.
Another batch of piggies come to be a few weeks later. Nine of them that time, and we didn’t lose a one, even with the cooler weather. They come in the middle of the night again. Somebody ought to tell them sows about time.
Charles was there, too. “That one isn’t moving, Pa.”
One of the piggies was still. Mr. Criswell said, “Rub it with this rag, Jake. Help get it going.”
So I picked it up and rubbed and rubbed, and that piggy started squirming. “He’s trying to get away already.”
“Well, sure he is,” said Charles. “He needs his mama. Unless you’ve got some milk coming out of you somewhere.” We all laughed.
Got to have my breakfast with the Criswells that morning. Mrs. Criswell didn’t make anything like that slop I usually ate. We had us corn bread and bacon and eggs and milk right from a cow.
“Are you my brother?” asked Lily or Annie.
Mrs. Criswell said, “Now, Annie, you know Jake is just a guest.”
It felt right nice to be a brother, even if it only lasted for a second.
TWENTY
December 19, 1885
We men was in the yard like usual, moving around to stay warm as the day was right crisp. Me and Cat played chase or pounce, or he just set on my shoulder.
Christmas was coming up, but with no presents coming with it, it didn’t seem much more than another nice big meal to look forward to. Good enough for me.
When the bad time started, I was standing near the last piece of wood fence. Me and Cat, with him setting on my shoulder, was talking ‘bout nothing in particular when I seen a shadow moving over me. I turned quick.
“Move it.” John Harrow, a man in for robbing a train, threw a loud whisper my way.
“What you say?”
“Shut up, you stupid kid. You and your cat. Move it.”
“We ain’t doin’ nothin’,” I said. And then I seen him look on over toward Martin Winn, a man in for beating a guy so bad the guy didn’t never walk right again.
John Harrow showed a stick of dynamite inside his shirt, and I knew. He bared his teeth and growled at me.
My legs wouldn’t work, but my mouth did. “Henry!”
Before I knew anything else, John Harrow grabbed Cat from my neck. Cat tried to dig in but didn’t hardly get a scratch at me, he was grabbed so quick. Then John Harrow threw Cat right at the stone wall. Crack. Cat laid in a heap.
“That’s what you get for your big mouth, kid.” A pistol in Harrow’s hand pointed my way.
Henry come running over with his Winchester at his shoulder, yelling, “Pull the wire!” Mil
es run and pulled at the wire. It come slipping out of the wall, cut in two. The guards inside wasn’t gonna help us.
I was too angry to care. I went for John Harrow like I was a wild animal, jumped on him, scraping at his eyes and clawing at anything on him I could reach. Harrow got his knee on my chest, pinning me to the ground.
Martin come running and grabbed the dynamite stick, stuffing it in at the base of the wood fence. “We’re gettin’ out!” he yelled. And then he pulled a pistol outta his shirt, waving it back and forth at Henry and Miles. The other men in the yard was hanging way back or trying to hide, but no more guards was coming. I scraped Harrow’s face, broke free, and took off for the Warden’s Building. Harrow took a shot, but I kept running. I grabbed off my boot and threw it at the window. The glass behind the bars shattered. In a few seconds the door swung open.
“What the …?” Len run out and seen what was going on. He shouted inside to the other guards, who come charging out, armed with everything they had.
I run back to Cat. He was laying there in a heap. I fell on my knees and covered over him.
The guards was all out. Everybody was shouting, guns drawn, shots fired in the air. John Harrow bent down at the wall, trying to light the fuse on the dynamite. He didn’t see me coming. I run fast like a train on a track right at him and knocked him over. We rolled around and over, and I hit him with my fist and kicked at him. He pounded me on the side of my head with his pistol.
BOOM! The dynamite exploded, sending wood pieces over John Harrow and Martin and Henry and me. My ears felt like they blew up, too, and then they filled with a hissing sound.
John Harrow stood up. “You damn kid. You ruined it.” He raised his pistol. I seen it clear as day, aimed right between my eyes. Then everything slowed way down, like time was trying to stop. I watched his finger pull at the trigger. And then I seen a crazy thing. I seen some big wild thing attacking him from the side. I heard bang! Then everything went black.
A lantern on a table glowed low beside me. I tried setting up but fell back, my head heavy, like it was filled with rocks. But I’d seen enough to know I was laying on a white bed with white sheets surrounded by white walls. And all of a sudden I couldn’t stop shaking. Felt like I was in a winter room, freezing cold. The side of my head hurt, and I couldn’t grab ahold of any real thoughts.
I squeezed my eyes tight as I could. I seen stars, and then I seen things that didn’t make no sense at all. There was Cat’s gold face, his whiskers moving as he told me to look them sunflowers in the face. Mr. Wu’s banjo played music by itself, and trays of food flew past me, smashing into stone walls. I hugged at my shoulders, shivering, calling out to Pa and to White Beard and even to Margaret. “Make it go away,” I heard myself shouting. “Make it stop.”
And then someone was holding on to my arms. It was Miles. I struggled against him, got my hand free, and slapped his face.
He shook me by my shoulders and held on.
His face looked all blurry to me. “Cat says it’s the sunflowers,” I heard myself mumbling.
Miles said, “You ain’t makin’ sense.”
My eyes cleared some, and I spit out, “Get your hands off me!” Miles let go, and I fell onto my side.
I musta slept some, ‘cause I woke wrapped and struggling in a blanket. I smelled food and for a second I thought I was back in my cage. But I was still in that white room on that white bed, a tray of beef and beans setting on a chair just inside the door.
I knew that chair and that bed. They was where I seen Mr. Nance for the last time. Him in the same bed, trying to heal. So I was supposed to be healing, too. Cat really was dead, and so was some men, I reckoned, and I was so hungry I’da ate anything. I got off the bed, steadied myself, and then picked up the tray. Didn’t taste nothing, but it all went down. The shaking slowed some then.
Miles come in. He took the empty tray from me and turned to leave.
I asked, “Mr. Harrow get out?”
Miles shook his head. “Norton shot him dead.”
“I thought I seen a wild animal,” I said. “Musta been the Mountain instead.” Miles didn’t say nothing else, but I had the feeling he knew more. “What happened?” I asked.
Miles said, “Martin’s in the Hole. Got a bullet in his behind.”
I mighta laughed at that before, but not now. “I heard a lot of shooting. What else happened?”
“Norton,” said Miles. “Jumped in front of you.”
“What?” I searched through my brain, trying to remember.
“He took a bullet was meant for you.”
A bullet. Meant for me.
“Is he all right?”
Miles didn’t answer.
The Mountain saved me, and now he was dead. That shivering started up again. I took up that blanket, and then I crawled under the bed.
TWENTY-ONE
Next morning, Miles come and got me. I held firm to the underneath of that bed frame, but he pulled me out like I was nothing.
“You ain’t sick. You gotta go back to your cell,” he said, holding on to my arm, and we started down the hall. I heard moaning when we passed the next room. Miles said, “Slim got hit in the leg. Might lose it.”
We got to the door leading out to the yard. I couldn’t face the men. I tried to hold tight to the knob, but Miles pushed that door open and I stumbled outside. I reached to pull my shirt up over my head, but all was quiet, the men being at work, I figured.
We walked across the yard. Two men I didn’t know was unloading stone from a cart, filling in temporary where the dynamite blew that last section of wood away. Miles unlocked the cellblock door. I walked in, just wanting to get on up to my cage and hide.
The men weren’t out working. Every one of them was in his cell. When they seen me, they started throwing words.
“Troublemaker.”
“Sissy.”
“Why you here, boy?”
“Stupid kid.”
“Nothin’ but trouble.”
“Jackass.”
“Messed up their escape.”
And they flicked stones and threw pieces of food and anything else they could shoot out at me through their food slots or them flat bars.
Henry was on duty, and he seen me come in but looked away. He picked up a wood club laying at his feet. He walked over and slammed it into the bars of the closest cell. That metal sound echoed off the walls, and his voice, angry like I never heard, followed along. “Next man throws something will join Martin in the Hole.”
It got quiet right quick.
I followed Miles over to the stairs and up to my cage, not looking at nothing or nobody on the way. Nothing mattered. I was just heading to my cage to disappear. I would not work the hogs. I would not speak to no one. And I would not eat again.
Just after I got locked in, the guards come and got most of the men, taking them to Mr. Norton’s funeral. I heard them talking. They was burying him just outside the wall, in the cemetery where a couple of inmates was laid to rest after they was hanged. The Mountain was to have his own separate place. Nobody asked was I going.
When they was gone, I took off my boots and threw them hard as I could at the wall. Anything I could reach, which weren’t much, I threw it, too. The primer, my carved wood pig. And then I walked back and forth ‘til the men come back. Later, when Mrs. Ayres brung my dinner tray, I stood facing the wall ‘til she walked away.
On my bunk in the middle of the night, I closed my eyes tight and tried to visit Emma one last time, but she was gone. In her place was something like the Hole. Nothing but black dirt all around. Musta fell asleep ‘cause I woke like I was digging at dirt, my fingers scraping at the wall, trying to get some air. I stayed awake the rest of the night.
I heard the men leaving for breakfast. I would not join them. Miles had the keys, but I just shook my head when he come near my cell. Nobody said one word to me. Didn’t see Henry. Didn’t go to work. Didn’t get no order to see the warden. ‘Cept for a silent visit to the h
oney bucket, I laid on my bunk the whole day, looking at exactly nothing. When the dinner bell rang, my mouth started to water. Mrs. Ayres brung my tray, but I would not eat.
“You’ve gotta eat, Jake,” she said. “The warden says you at least gotta drink.” She stood with that tray for maybe a whole minute, but I laid on my bunk with my back to her and she went away.
Two more days I didn’t eat. Didn’t know if I wanted to live.
In the night, flying creatures come to me in my dreams. It was hot like I was in a stew pot, and the birds’ claws reached for me. But I had claws, too, and attacked them and scraped at feathers and skin. I lapped at their blood, more thirsty than I thought possible. And then I seen a sea of hogs. And there stood Egg looking at me, looking at a spot right between my eyes. In his pig voice, Egg said, “Didn’t have no choice.” And Shin Han was there, and he had a paper with song words on it, but I couldn’t read them. And then Pa was there, handing me a letter. I seen that letter before. I struggled to look closer, and then my sleeping self knew where I seen that letter. The lawyer, Mr. Bradshaw. The letter with scratchy handwriting on it. It was a letter for me from Pa.
I woke in a sweat. I wanted my letter. And since I couldn’t rely on nobody else for nothing, I would have to read it myself.
I felt around in the pitch dark ‘til I found the primer. It was bent-up some, laying in the corner, but the pages was all still there. It was too dark to see, so I set on the edge of my bunk ‘til the sun come up with just enough light to read.
My hands was shaking. What could I read for real? I tried the alphabet. The letters wouldn’t stand still. I tried the page ‘bout foolish sons, but I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t make sense of none of it. I thought of Mr. Nance, but then I remembered Mr. Hawkes.
I heard jangling keys, and the men was rustling around, readying to go to breakfast. Got on my boots and stood at the door. Howard, usually an afternoon guard, come up the steps to unlock cells that morning. I joined the other men and headed down to breakfast. My boots felt way heavy, but I kept moving.
Henry was working breakfast. He didn’t look at me, but he set a heaping bowl of slop in front of me. I shoveled it in and drank down that tin cup of water so fast I ‘bout drowned. The men got up to leave. I didn’t look at Henry when I said, “I’m goin’ to the hogs today.” I stood up, but my legs folded. Henry grabbed me under my arms before I hit the floor.