Blood Brothers

by Kate Merrill

  Juan glanced at his friend and saw a reflection of his own terror. “I’m not scared,” he lied, jabbing the blade of his knife in the dirt.

  “Can I see your knife?”

  Juan hesitated, but then handed the knife to Johnny. “When Daddy gave me this knife, he told me never be afraid, not ever. Long as I have this knife, the Indian spirits will protect me.”

  “Honest?” Johnny’s tone was heavy with respect. “What else did he say about the Indians?”

  The boys crawled deeper into the shade as Juan whispered, “He told me the legend of the blood brothers…”

  With heads close together, Johnny listened in silence as the tale unfolded. Juan knew every word by heart… the story of the Braves in battle, of honor and death, and of the ancient pact between warriors who were kindred spirits.

  “And so they cut each other, pressed the wounds together, and their blood flowed as one. From that moment on they were brothers. They were bound and responsible to one another until death.”

  “Awesome!” The knife in Johnny’s hand assumed a life of its own. “Will you be my blood brother, Juan?”

  Hair pricked the back of Juan’s neck. He wanted to be Johnny’s brother more than anything in the world, but his daddy said never use the knife on another human being.

  “C’mon, give me your finger, chicken!” Johnny pleaded. “Please?”

  Juan squeezed his eyes, and then looked at the sky. In the distance he saw Johnny’s mama and Aunt Nita coming for them, but he extended his hand, gripped his wrist, and held out his finger. He hardly felt the sharp blade pierce his flesh, so when he looked, the bead of red was a complete surprise.

  “Good, now cut me…” Johnny passed the knife. “Hurry up, before Mom sees us.”

  Juan held his breath and did it. Then Johnny had a red bead, too. “Okay, now press them together and squeeze real hard…”

  They locked fingers and pressed, chanting the blood brother’s oath, making it up as they went along. The grownups started to run, and Juan knew there’d be hell to pay. But the sky was blue, his heart was pounding with joy, and he had never been so happy.  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  FIFTEEN

   

   

  Nothing for free…

   

  Leona Clontz helped her husband set up their wares at a pull-off on River Highway, across from the convenience store where Darryl liked to buy his favorite chewing tobacco off a pretty high school girl who’d caught his eye. Leona paid no mind to her husband’s harmless flirtations. Lord knew, she had not been tending to his male needs of late, not like she used to.

  Darryl stood up in the bed of the rig. “Come ’round to the back, Leona, so I can pass the stuff down to you.”

  She limped over and dropped the tailgate. Darryl was stripped to the waist, sweating like a prize bull at the county fair. At twenty-three he was still a fine specimen, and just looking at him made her proud.

  They didn’t need no permit to sell off their truck here. Others did it all the time and never got in trouble, so why not? Maybe it was a waste of time, though, because all they had to sell was a couple of rough wood rockers and some reindeer.

  “Line ’em up under that tree,” Darryl said. “And I’ll put the sign out near the road.”

  She dragged two rockers into the shade. God knew they need the money. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Floyd all week, not since he took off half-cocked for the bank to get a truck loan last Friday. Darryl said no news is good news, but far as Leona was concerned, any news about Uncle Floyd was always bad.

  Darryl had been sound asleep last Friday night when Leona heard Floyd drive into the trailer park. Floyd never came inside, though, and the next morning he was gone. They found the van he’d borrowed off a neighbor all trashed up and smelling like a brewery, so everyone figured Floyd took off again with his drinking buddies.

  Leona prayed to high heaven that Floyd drove himself off a high cliff to nowhere, so she’d never see his ugly face again. But that wouldn’t help Darryl, who was both nervous and broke. Darryl couldn’t take on no lumber jobs alone. Couldn’t take no job at all unless they got a new rig, and that wouldn’t happen in this lifetime.

  Darryl jumped off the truck and flopped into the rocker beside her. “Hey, darlin’, you reckon the weekend crowd will buy?”

  She smiled at how his blond hair fell across his wide brown eyes. His eyes were his best feature. He looked like a frightened deer. Next she looked out to where the little herd of wooden reindeer waited to be sold. Darryl created each one with love, by hand, like a real artist. He made them from barky scraps trimmed off the logs, and each one had a short, sawed-off body with four stick legs. Darryl carved little round heads, sanded them smooth, and then attached them with stick necks. He drilled holes in the heads for twig antlers, holes in the butt for a tail, and two half-holes for the eyes. It was Leona’s job to glue plastic eyes into the sockets. Each eye had a black pupil inside that rolled around when you twisted the deer’s head from side to side---google eyes.

  “I’m afraid your reindeer are more of a Christmas item,” she answered slowly. “You can’t rightly expect folks to buy reindeer in the heat of summer.”

  Darryl frowned. “Don’t be saying that, now. Up in Boone the tourists bought ʼem fast as I could make ʼem, regardless of the season.”

  His mention of Boone made Lenora think back on the best time of her life, when Darryl and her got loose of the Clontz clan and returned home to Mother Mattie. Darryl’s kin had chucked Leona out when she lost the baby. She was sixteen and Darryl was eighteen, but their love was so strong, he left his own folk to live with hers.

  Those were the quiet days. Even Mother Mattie, who was stingy with praise, bragged on Leona’s young husband who worked magic with the wood. When Mattie gathered up her eggs and vegetables and took them to sell in town, she told all her rich customers to come ʼround and buy Darryl’s creations. They earned enough to make ends meet and lived in peace--- until Floyd showed up.

  Floyd had arrived like a bad penny, with money in his pocket and mean tricks up his sleeve. He claimed the money come from his honorable discharge from the army, but Leona knew better now. Floyd told her the real truth later, when he got her alone and hurt her so bad. Today she couldn’t hardly think on that truth, it scared her so bad.

  “Leona, did we make a mistake moving away from the mountains?” Darryl read her mind.

  And her heart soared with hope. He had never asked any such thing before. “We was better off in Boone. Maybe we can go back real soon?”

  But Darryl shook his head and took out his knife. He picked up a stick and commenced to whittle. “We ain’t heard from Floyd yet. I figure we should wait a spell.”

  Her heart dropped like a lump of coal to the bottom of an empty bin. When it came to his uncle Floyd, Darryl would wait until the last can of hash was cooked and the last egg fried.

  “We don’t need Floyd,” she told him.

  He looked up from his carving, a cold shadow darkening his warm eyes. “I figure we should wait for Floyd.”

  Leona shrank up inside and held her tongue. She looked out to the highway, where evening was coming
on. The road was jammed with expensive cars dragging big boats, but nobody stopped to buy. She watched a tall man come out from the store across the street and weave through the traffic to reach them.

  “Howdy, folks.” He smiled. “I’ve been watching you all day. Business is slow, right? I thought you might enjoy a bite to eat and something to wet your whistle…” He held out a brown paper bag.

  “We don’t take charity, Mister,” Darryl said through slit eyes. “If we want to eat, we’ll cross the street and pay, like everyone else.”

  Leona smelled the pungent aroma of barbeque through the bag, and her stomach constricted with hunger. “We’ll trade you, Mister. See anything you want?”

  The stranger folded his arms and leaned against the truck. “Matter of fact, I’ve had my eye on those reindeer. Do I get a discount if I buy two?”

  “They cost twenty-five each,” Darryl said. “But I’ll let a pair go for forty.”

  “You got yourself a deal…” The man removed two twenties from his pocket and handed them to Darryl. He gave the food to Leona.

  Before she could thank him proper, he tucked two reindeer under his arms and jogged back across the street. “What a nice man!” She dug into the bag and screwed the cap off a bottle of Cheerwinesoda. “Who is he?”

  “That’s Mr. Trout, the boss man. I’ve seen him at the store lots of times. If he’sso nice, how come he didn’t buy a rocker, too?”

  Leona stuck out her tongue at her grumpy husband, but she knew Darryl was only fooling as he wrapped his mouth around a barbeque sandwich. Still, Darryl should work on his attitude. Both him and Floyd thought rich folks owed them something for nothing. The family could get along just fine without handouts, but Floyd had warped Darryl’s mind. He thought Floyd’s word was gospel and clung to his uncle’s wrong-headed notions like a drowning man to a lifeboat. Leona firmly believed that when Darryl was a baby, Floyd cast an evil spell on the child, and even as a man, Darryl couldn’t shake the poison.

  She finished her meal, wiped her lips with the napkin, then watched as cars began turning on their headlights. After a time, Darryl showed her the tiny carving he had done. It was a blue heron, like the one they once seen on the lake. The workmanship was truly beautiful--- delicate and real, with all the feathers in place.

  But then a shiny white vehicle swerved off the road, throwing gravel as it came. It scared them so bad, Darryl’s knife slipped and he chopped off the heron’s head.

  “Shit! Look what that asshole made me do!” he howled.

  Leona lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding light as the car stopped just shy of their display. A sick taste rose in the back of her throat, and she wanted to run even before the man slammed the door and staggered into the headlights. He wobbled on his feet and pointed a bony finger at them.

  Bring forth the best robe and put it on me; put a ring on my hand and shoes on my feet: and bring me the fatted calf…

  “Jesus, Floyd, where you been?” Darryl embraced him.

  I once was lost, but now I’m found…was blind, but now I see.

  Leona retreated into the shadows, but there was no place to hide. She knew Floyd was drunk by the way he was quoting the Bible. He always bragged on how he memorized the Good Book in prison, and he fancied he was a preacher.

  “What’s wrong, missy? Ain’t you glad to see me?” Floyd said to her.

  His breath stank of whiskey. His coal black hair had pulled loose from his ponytail, and he was still wearing the same shirt she ironed for him last week. Floyd’s beady eyes were rimmed with red, and black stubble hid the scar across his lips.

  “Wow, man, where’d you get this car?” Darryl stroked the waxed hood.

  Ask and ye shall be given.

  “Yeah right,” Leona snarled. “You stole it, Floyd. Did you kill somebody to get it?”

  A little pulse in Floyd’s forehead started to throb, like it always done just before he hit her. His fingers twitched, but Leona knew he wouldn’t do nothing hurtful with Darryl standing near.

  Floyd chuckled and licked his lips. “Tell you what, missy. I come real close to killing somebody. I drew a bead right between his eyes, but then God reached down and stayed my hand…”

  “Did you have the shakes, Uncle Floyd?” Darryl teased.

  “No such thing. God told me to bide my time and reap my reward at a later date.”

  Bullshit. Darryl thought Floyd’s talk was a game, but Leona knew better. She knew Floyd once shot a man, but she kept her mouth buttoned. One wrong word, and the Lord Himself couldn’t save her from Floyd’s wrath.

  “What are you two staring at?” Floyd hissed. “Pack up your junk and follow me. We got work to do.”

  “Where are we going, Floyd?” Darryl’s mouth fell open. “I hope it ain’t too far, because our old truck ain’t running so good. I doubt it’ll make it past the edge of town.”

  “That old truck ain’t going past the edge of town. Remember that gully out beyond the dump, the one with all them scrub pines down at the bottom? If you can drive it that far, we’ll push it over the edge.”

  Leona snatched her husband’s hand and hung on tight. “What about Darryl’s chairs and reindeer?”

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… May they rest in peace.

  Even Darryl understood this wasn’t a game. He squeezed her fingers and swallowed his loss as he pictured all his wooden creations consigned to oblivion. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he watched without protest as Floyd removed the license tag from their old truck.

  He shoved the tag into Leona’s hand. “Make yourself useful, girl. Drop this in the dumpster across the street, you hear?”

  She did as she was told and limped over, dodging traffic. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Floyd waving his arms like a madman while Darryl just stood there, nodding and hanging his head. By the way Darryl’s arms dangled useless at his sides, Leona realized her husband was scared shitless.

  By the time they loaded up, sitting side by side in the cab, the fear had turned Darryl to stone.

  “What’s Floyd up to?” Leona demanded. “Do we have a new truck, or what?”

  “Reckon not,” Darryl muttered. “He didn’t get the loan.”

  “Then why are we ditching the old rig? Even if we drop it in the dump, somebody’s gonna find it.”

  “Don’t matter. By that time, it’ll be too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Darryl shrugged. His eyes were glued to Floyd’s taillights as they followed him through the night. His fear chilled Leona’s heart like ice water. “Take me home to the trailer right now!” she begged.

  “Sorry, darling, we ain’t never going back to that ratty old trailer again.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  SIXTEEN

   

   

  A circus finale…

   

  Sunday was so hot that Tom dug a cat-sized pit under the hydrangea bushes on the shady side of the Sorvino’s patio. He raked the earth and kicked it onto the tiles with his hind legs. This minor mishap sent Brenda, who was already nervous about the Open House, right over the edge, so Diana decided it was time for her to leave.

  “Believe me, Brenda, it is best when the owner’s not around. Then potential buyers can relax and speak their minds.”

  “But you need help with all this food, Diana,” Brenda fretted. “What if you run out?”

  “Don’t worry, I can handle it. Please take the boys to the Pen
insula Club, so they won’t be underfoot.

  “But they won’t go. They claim they want to spy on all the people who come. Frankly, I think they like you better than they like me.”

  Diana was tired of arguing. Truth was, Juan and Johnny were double trouble, a united front of resistance to all adult authority. They behaved no better for Diana than for Brenda, but it was clear Brenda didn’t want them tagging along with her. “You win, Brenda. They can stay, but they have to play outside.”

  “No problem, but they can’t leave the yard.” Brenda agreed.

  “But we can go swimming down at the lake!”  Johnny materialized out of nowhere, with Juan close behind.

  “No way, young man.” Brenda frowned. “You may take your toys to the patio, but that’s as far as you go.”

  “Aw, mom…” Johnny whined.

  “And as for you, Juan McCord---no knives allowed. Comprende?”

  Juan blushed and stared at his sneakers. “Aunt Nita took my knife away. She’s keeping it safe until I’m older.”

  Good call, Juanita. Diana had never expected to see Juan and Johnny together again after the pocketknife incident. By the time she came on the scene last week, Brenda Sorvino was shaking Juan until his teeth rattled and accusing him of cutting her son. Juanita Cruz was screaming at Brenda and hitting her with her purse. When Diana intervened, both boys were crying their lungs out. In the end, Johnny confessed that the blood brothers ceremony had been his idea. Brenda apologized, which she seldom does, and Juan declared that his aunt’s attack on his behalf was awesome.

  “Okay, we’ll stay in the yard…” Johnny conceded. “But only if Miss Diana makes us another picnic lunch.”

  “It’s a deal.” Diana smiled.

  * * *

  Most Open Houses were so boring that even a suspenseful mystery novel couldn’t keep Diana awake, but today was a major exception to the rule. So many people showed up, she couldn’t keep accurate count as the guests staggered into the air conditioning, all of them vaguely dazed and disoriented.

  Because it was a high-end listing, the Sorvino property attracted more window shoppers than serious buyers, but Diana was determined to sort out the viable clients. She tried to approach each visitor and had placed a guest registry in the foyer to collect names and email addresses. If push came to shove, she’d contact the potential buyers later.