Chapter 4
It was an early April morning two years later. School was out for the Easter holiday. I always loved spring break when the winter cold had finally broke and the trees and flowers began to bloom. All except for Phoebe’s flowers, that is.
Last October Phoebe, as usual, used her money to buy another huge sack of wildflower seed. As always, she was like a mad gopher in the back of the truck, throwing out shovelfuls of seed on either side of the dirt road as we slowly drove home. I had to hand it to her, she never gave up. She was determined to get those wildflowers to grow.
Every morning she would beg me to drive her down the dirt road so she could check on the wildflowers. That April morning was no exception.
“Nicky!” Phoebe hissed harshly. “Nicky wake up!” I was half asleep, but I figured it must have been before five in the morning. It was still dark out and I hadn’t heard the alarm clock from hell yet. She started to shake my shoulder. “Hey, are you awake?”
I rolled over, half annoyed, knowing her insane April routine. I looked at her like a madman. “Well, I am now! What are you doing, Phoebs? Get out of here. I wanta sleep a little more if ya don’t mind. Let me die in peace.”
“I want to go see if they’ve started to come up,” she whispered. She was practically kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Can you take me down there, please? It won’t take long.”
“It’s still dark out, Phoebs,” I groaned. “You can’t see a dang thing. Now go back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, I can. Now get!” I rubbed my eyes, knowing it was pointless to even try to go back to sleep now. I knew she wouldn’t let me be until she got what she wanted. But, I still tried to delay the inevitable. “Why don’t you go draw something if you can’t sleep.”
“I already did. I…I finished drawing,” she said in a guilty tone.
I opened my eyes and looked at her. “On the wall again? Geez Phoebe. Mom’s gonna auction you off to the highest bidder. Just like one of them ol’ prize pigs. Then she’ll turn your room into a Beatles museum.”
She slapped my shoulder. “No, she’s not. And, I didn’t draw the Beatles this time. I drew a picture of our house and the barn. I figured if I drew something nice, she wouldn’t make me paint it over this time.”
“Uh-huh. She’ll like it alright. Then, she’ll skin you alive and then make you paint over it again.”
“Well, you’re awake now,” she said smartly. “Now get up and drive me down the dirt road.”
I moaned again fruitlessly. “Phoebs! It’s the middle of the night!”
Right at that moment, Dad’s alarm clock starting clanging louder than ever. Phoebe smiled triumphantly. She knew I had no choice now.
“Alright, I’m awake!” I said, giving up. “Now get out of here, will ya?”
Phoebe stepped into the hallway to face Mom standing there with her arms folded. “I see you were busy again last night, young lady,” I heard Mom say. “What am I going to do with you?”
I peered over the covers to see what was going on. I knew Mom must have already seen Phoebe’s latest creation.
Phoebe smiled sheepishly. “It looks good though, doesn’t it? Kinda brightens up the room a bit, right?”
“I don’t want you drawing all over the walls, Phoebe. You know that. You’re a big girl now. You know I don’t mind if you draw in your tablets. That’s why I got them for you.”
“But, they’re so small, Mom,” she pleaded. “I always run out of room.” She tried to deflect Mom’s disappointment. “But you like it, don’t you?”
Mom looked her straight in the eye. “Phoebe, we’ve been over this time and time again. You draw very well. But I won’t allow it on this wall or any other wall in this house. You understand me? Now, I want that off your bedroom wall today.”
“Okay, Mom. But, can I at least go see if my wildflowers are growing yet? Nick said he wanted to take me down there first thing.”
“Liar!” I yelled from my room.
“Not until you’re done, young lady,” Mom said firmly. “And,” she said, turning to me, “you don’t call your sister names, young man.” Mom whirled around and headed downstairs.
Pouting, Phoebe sat on the edge of her bed staring at her latest creation. On my way downstairs I stopped in the doorway. The drawing on the wall was an excellent image of our house and the yard with the barn in the background. It didn’t look half bad. She really had a knack for perception and imagination.
I nodded approvingly. “Not bad, Phoebs. Much better than those mophead Beatles you used to draw. You just need to find another medium.”
“What do you mean?” she said, choking up. I could tell that she hated that she had to keep painting over her creations.
“You know some poster board or something. Or a canvas like real painters,” I said, trying to be helpful.
“I am a real painter!” she protested.
“Hey! Call off your dogs, will ya? I told you it was good, didn’t I? You just gotta stop drawing on these walls. Or you’re not gonna live past twelve.”
I felt bad for her. It probably took her hours to paint such a nice scene, only to have to erase it. Poor kid. I knew she couldn’t rest until she fulfilled her creative instincts. I admired her passion in a way though I didn’t admire how she got jumped on all the time.
Remembering the flowers, I said “Hey, cheer up, Picasso. I’ll drive you down there as soon as you get done,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “I don’t think Dad needs the truck until this afternoon.”
She looked at me as if she had just lost her best friend. But, she managed to answer me with a simple “Okay, thanks.”
I walked outside after breakfast to go and feed old Gray. He gave me a mischievous grin as I approached the gate to his pen.
“You ain’t gonna kick the hand that feeds you now are ya old Gray?” I said, gingerly opening the gate. Gray just stared at me with his head turned all the way back. He had that look in his eye. “Don’t even think about you stupid mule.”
Keeping one eye on him I threw a fresh square of hay on the ground and put some fresh water in the trough. As soon as I put the metal bucket on the ground to fill it, Gray did a quick whip-kick with his hind legs, kicking the old metal bucket across the pen. I instinctively jumped away, the bucket barely missing me. Even though I was always on the lookout for those darn hind legs, I was still surprised whenever he let those feet fly.
“Dang it!” I shouted out loud. “You want some water or not? Ya darn old flea bag! Tryin’ to kick me are ya?” Gray let out a boisterous neigh, as if he were having great fun with me.
I dragged the water hose to the beaten up water bucket and filled it. Instead of taking another chance, I jumped the fence and walked the bucket to his trough, pouring it from the other side.
“You ain’t gettin’ a second shot me you darn old mule,” I said, filling the trough with water. “Lucky I still come in here. You’d go thirsty, that’s for sure.” Old Gray seemed somewhat disappointed that I didn’t give him another shot at kicking me. It was a fun game to him.
I walked over to where Gray was standing, staring at one another quietly. I shook my head. “Stubborn mule,” I said. “I guess you wouldn’t have any fun if it weren’t for me, huh?” I patted his head. “Time to play another game, pal.”
I ran over to the chicken coop, found my trusty swinging stick and looked around for some good rocks.
“Let’s see if today’s the day I get one over the barn!” I shouted towards old Gray. I found a couple good rocks to hit. Gray fixed his eyes on me. After all those years, he knew what I was up to. “Let’s see now. Will it be a home run over the barn, or will it be a foul ball right into the old mule pen?”
I tossed a rock in the air and took a mighty swing. The rock landed with a thud as I swung fruitlessly at the air. I tossed the rock again and took another swing, again swinging at air. Growing impatien
t, I kept trying but still I couldn’t hit those darn rocks.
Gray started bobbing his head up and down, neighing so much, it sounded like he was laughing at me.
“Yeah, you keep laughin’ mule!” I shouted angrily at him.
I took one last pitiful swing and watched sullenly as the rock hit the ground in front of me. I was plumb worn out from swinging that stick so much. I tossed it against the coop back into its place, shaking my head at Gray as I walked off discouraged.
I saw Grandpa sitting across the way on his bench, staring at the martin house. He had a curious look on his face and was clearly not just staring out into space. I sat on the bench next to him. “I struck out again, Grandpa. Gray gets to live another day it looks like. What are you starin’ at?”
“Shush!” Grandpa hissed under his breath. “Keep still now. Look.” He pointed towards the martin house. One lone purple martin sat on the lower porch of the house investigating the tiny compartments. She sat directly in front of one of the entrance holes.
Suddenly another martin came gliding to the house and sat next to her. The two birds took turns flying back and forth from the ground, carrying small twigs and pieces of grass.
“She’s building a nest,” Grandpa whispered. “They’ve finally arrived!” He was beaming. It was as if his children had just come home after being away for a very long time. I realized that all his effort had paid off. He kept the house safe from the mockingbirds and squirrels until the martins came back.
I had to admit, it was fascinating to watch the martins build their nest. Before long another pair of martins arrived at the house and began inspecting the compartments to see which one suited them. In a month’s time, almost every compartment would be occupied and the colony would feverishly prepare for their new arrivals. It was the springtime event Grandpa always looked forward too.
All day long, the purple martins flew around the farm, high in the air, catching bugs to eat, and sailing back down to the birdhouse to rest or bring a morsel of food for the female sitting on her eggs. It was quite an entertaining display.
“Don’t they sound wonderful?” Grandpa exclaimed proudly. They did. Some of my fondest memories were of the spring and the martins singing outside. You knew it was springtime when you heard that wonderful sound.
“Good job, Grandpa,” I said. “They made it back again.” Grandpa nodded grinning broadly.
Just then, Phoebe came barreling through the door. Her refinishing job must have been completed to Mom’s satisfaction. She ran over to the bench and I could tell she was excited.
Grandpa lifted his cane and motioned for her to slow down. “Not so loud!” he insisted.
Phoebe finally realized what was going on and instinctively lowered her voice as she stood behind us. “Oh wow! They’re here, Grandpa! How many are there?”
“Looks like four so far,” Grandpa answered. “Now keep quiet.”
“Come on, Nicky. Let’s go,” Phoebe whispered. She held out the keys to the truck. “Dad said I could drive down there this time.”
“Not a chance. Gimme those!” I snapped, grabbing the keys from her.
“Shh!” Grandpa hissed again. He was growing impatient with us. He leaned over to look at Phoebe, “You take care of my wildflowers for me?”
“I’m about to go check, Grandpa,” she said excitedly.
“Keep an eye on ‘em Grandpa,” I said as I stood up. “We’ll be back.”
Phoebe practically dragged me to the truck. I swung myself in and started the engine. “Come on, let’s go!” she insisted again.
“Calm down. We’re going, we’re going.”
“This has got to be the day,” she said hopefully. “If Grandpa’s martins showed up today, then maybe my wildflowers will be blooming.”
“Could be,” I said.
I put the truck in gear, sitting close to the wheel so I could reach the pedals. We slowly rolled down the dirt road past the lane and the pecan orchard. As we drove closer to the stretch of road where Phoebe threw her seeds, she craned her neck out the window.
I slowed the truck down to a crawl and Phoebe frantically looked from one side to the other. To her dismay, there was nothing. As far as you could see on either side of the road, there was nothing but dry dirt.
Phoebe’s mood dropped from excited and hopeful to sad and disappointed. She had been throwing those seeds for over three years now and still none of them would sprout.
We drove to the crossroads where she would always begin her seed throwing, not seeing one bloom the whole way. Phoebe sat dejected in her seat. She looked as if she would cry at any minute.
“Sorry Phoebs,” I said. “Maybe it’s just early yet.”
She shook her head sadly. “They would have been growing by now,” she said softly. “They didn’t come up again.”
Her mind raced as she tried to figure out where she went wrong. “Maybe I spread them too early. Or maybe we didn’t get enough rain. I must have done something wrong.” She said, beginning to sulk and pouting a little.
“It’s alright, Phoebs. You’ll figure it out. You’re right. It is a little dry out. Maybe that’s it. They just didn’t get enough rain.” I tried my best to cheer her up. “You did everything right. It just needs to rain a little more, that’s all.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the obvious solution would be to plant them in the soil. I knew she didn’t need to hear that.
I drove home slowly so she could get another look just in case she may have missed any. She sat with her head close to the window looking hopefully, but I knew that she probably wouldn’t see anything.
I felt bad for her. I knew she really wanted those flowers to grow. After three years of disappointment, you had to feel just a little sad for her.
“Hey. After I get done helping Dad this afternoon, what do you say we go check out the swimming pond?” I asked her, trying to cheer her up. “Maybe it’s warm enough to get in now.”
She folded her arms in front of her and stared sadly at the floor of the truck, kicking her feet on the mat. Nodding just a bit, she answered, “Yeah, maybe.”
As the days went by, we planted the cotton and the spring rain helped it grow. The hardest part of growing cotton was keeping the weeds down between the rows. Dad decided he wanted to try a new technique that year.
“I know a man up in Tennessee that raises cotton patch geese,” Dad announced one evening at the table. “We’re going to try them out this year and see what they can do.”
Mom quietly ate her dinner, obviously having heard the new plan already. Grandpa stared out the window and ignored his food.
The plan got mine and Phoebe’s attention. Looking at Dad curiously, we asked at the same time, “Cotton patch what?”
“Geese,” Dad answered. “Birds. You know. The big ones that waddle around?”
“Really?” Phoebe asked excitedly. “We’re going to get pet geese? That’s so neat!”
Dad took a bite from his fork. “They won’t be pets. We’re going to put them to work in the fields.”
I stopped eating altogether and began asking my usual ton of questions. “What’s a goose gonna do out in the cotton fields, Dad? Are they mean or something? They gonna scare people off or something?”
Grandpa piped up. “No. You see, geese are good cotton pickers. They’ll eat all our crops, see. Then, when we ain’t got nothin’ left to sell, we eat the geese to keep from starvin’.” I started laughing at him, as did Phoebe.
“Dad, you know that’s not what they do,” Mom protested.
I was still curious. “Then, what do they do?”
“Well, they eat the weeds, naturally,” he answered. “It’s a problem every year. The weeds and grass come up between the rows and just get in the way when it comes time for picking. We pen in the fields with some low chicken wire and then we put the geese in the fields. They’ll live out there.” I was intrigued and curious to see this f
or sure.
“Don’t they need water though?” Phoebe asked. “I know geese like to swim. Maybe I can walk them down to the swimming pond so they can get in the water.”
Dad chuckled to himself. “No. Sorry Phoebe. You can’t let them out. But, we’ll keep water out there in troughs for them to drink. When they’re thirsty, they’ll find it.” Phoebe pouted but Dad ignored her.
“You won’t need to let them out,” Grandpa said smartly. “Them geese will fly out of that field the first chance they get. I know I would.”
Dad shook his head. “No. This kind of goose won’t fly away. They just waddle around and eat.”
“Kind of like you, Grandpa,” I said with a smirk.
“Alright, that’s forty lashes for you!” Grandpa said, laughing. After thinking for a moment he started laughing some more. “On second thought, maybe you’re right.” We all laughed at that one.
After dinner, Mom started clearing off the table and Phoebe and I helped. After we got all the dishes to the kitchen she shooed us out. That night I stayed at the table, still curious about the geese, knowing it meant more work for me.
“Dad, what do you do when it’s time to pick the cotton?”
“Well, I have a deal with the farmer in Tennessee. He brings the geese in the spring and we keep them in the fields so they can keep down the weeds. At the same time, we collect their eggs so he can keep his goose farm running. We keep the geese but the eggs they produce go back to him.”
Just as I had suspected. More work for me. By then, I was pouting too. I was interested in seeing the geese, but I was not interested in the extra work.
Dad continued. “I’ll need you and Phoebe to help me. The geese will be there in a couple days, but first we’ll need to get those pens up around the fields. Now, when they start laying eggs, I want you and Phoebe to keep them picked up. We’ll have to store them in the barn away from the critters.”
“Aw Dad,” I moaned. “It’s gonna take forever to pen in those fields. Now that the cotton is planted, Phoebe and I were hoping to get down to the swimming pond in the afternoons.”Phoebe came back to the table when she heard me ask about the swimming and listened in earnest.
“You can go swimming when your chores are done,” Dad said firmly. “It won’t take you long to put down that wire. It’ll only be a foot or so high. Besides, I’ll get some workers to help you. But, it needs to be done right away.” Dad took one last drink from his glass. “You two can go swimming when the chores are finished, you hear?”
“Yes sir,” we answered quietly. Then, I thought of yet another question.
“We get to keep the geese?” I asked curiously. “What do you do with them once the cotton is picked?”
Grandpa couldn’t resist. “What do you think we do with ‘em? We eat ‘em!”
“What?” Phoebe gasped.
“Oh yeah,” Grandpa exclaimed. “Geese are good eatin’. We’ll have geese comin’ out of our ears.”
“We can’t eat our pet geese!” Phoebe protested.
“They won’t be pets, Phoebe,” Dad said again. “They’ll be here to help us out. When the time comes, we’ll have to give them away. They’ll make good Thanksgiving and Christmas gifts for our friends. They’ll be good and fattened up by then, too.”
“We’re going to eat them?” Phoebe shouted, beside herself.
“Mmm, sounds good to me, Dad,” I said, trying to get on Phoebe’s nerves. “Nothin’ like a good Christmas goose.”
“With lots of gravy!” Grandpa concurred.
“And mashed potatoes!” I added.
“Oh, this is awful!” Phoebe complained. “You two are awful!”
“That’s enough, Phoebe,” Dad said. “It won’t be any different than the chickens we have out in the coop. So, don’t worry about it. Now, go help your mother finish cleaning the table.”
Phoebe folded her arms in protest, but soon got over it in a few seconds. She grabbed a couple of glasses and walked them into the kitchen.
“And, you two quit having fun with her,” Dad told me and Grandpa, wide grins still on our faces.
After dinner I sat in my room listening to the radio. I always liked to listen to the Friday night serials. My favorite was Mason Steele. It was kind of old fashioned since you could watch any old show on TV, but it was fun to use your imagination and picture what was going on in the story.
Mason Steele was one of the few weekly radio serials left. The main character was this crackerjack private investigator who could solve the mystery and get the girl every week. He was my favorite character by far and I loved to imitate him, trying to use the same street-wise accent.
The show ended the same way every time.
“Looks like my job is finished here.
Your time is up pal. You’re finished.
You want to know who I am? I’ll tell you who I am.
Steele’s the name. Mason Steele.
And, I’m taking you down!”
Classic. Simply classic. I always loved that last line. I could do it perfectly too. I climbed off the bed and stood in front of the mirror with one of Dad’s business hats on, tipping it to one side, just like ol’ Mason would have. I picked up a deck of cards and pretended it was a pack of cigarettes.
“So, Tiboli, you didn’t think I’d catch you, did ya?” I acted in my best Mason Steele voice. I pulled out an imaginary cigarette from my deck of cards. Then I coolly struck an imaginary match on my bedpost. I held it close to my cigarette but stopped short of lighting it.
“Wrong again, my friend.” I walked over to my desk in the corner, staring coldly at my imaginary perpetrator.
“Your time’s up, it’s fading away, just like the flame on this match.” I turned my back on the imaginary perp and I lit my imaginary cigarette, and took a long drag from it. I savored the flavor with a satisfying, cocky nod.
“Who am I, you ask? I’ll tell you who I am!” I spun around to face the desk and said, perfectly on cue, “Steele’s the name. Mason Steele!” Slipping the cigarette from my lips, I leaned over the desk to stare the dirty crook in the eyes. “And, I’m taking you down!” Standing straight, I savored the triumphant victory.
All of a sudden, I heard behind me an all too familiar voice mocking my very own words.
“And, I’m taking you down!” Phoebe chattered, in a high-pitched girly voice. I spun around and glared at her in embarrassment as she giggled in delight.
“Out, troll!” I yelled at her.
“Oh, how adorable you look in your little hat,” she mused. “Can I bum one of your cigarettes?”
“Out!”
“Okay!” she muttered, beginning to leave. She got in one last look before making a hasty exit, laughing out loud. I threw my hat at her as she ducked out the door and shut it quickly. The hat bounced off the wall and flopped to the floor.
“Geez. Not a minute’s peace around here,” I muttered to myself.
I sat in Mrs. Gillman’s English class, staring out the window, thinking about what awaited me after school. Dad was getting his geese delivered and he needed me to help in keeping them corralled.
I was barely paying attention to the lesson. It was something about nouns and pronouns. Whatever it was, I wasn’t in the mood to listen. I always tended to daydream quite a bit in class and that day was no exception. I just sat there staring out the window, thinking about the geese and what the hell we were going to do with them.
Suddenly, a pencil bounced off my head, hitting the floor and breaking in half. Mrs. Gillman was writing on the board so she didn’t see it, but a few kids chuckled quietly. I was very perturbed and I didn’t even lean over to pick up the pieces. I just left them there. I knew who had thrown it too. I turned around and stared directly at Billy, sitting a couple of chairs back in the next row.
“Pay attention, ya dork,” he whispered, sarcastically. “This stuff’s important!” I ignored him though, t
urning back and staring forward.
Of course, since Billy was just as bored as I was, that only worked for a few seconds. He clearly decided he wanted to entertain himself by pestering me.
“Psst! Hey, Havens!” he whispered. “Gimme back my pencil, will ya?”
“No, get it yourself, punk,” I whispered back.
“Come on, man. I can’t get out of my seat.”
“That’s your tough luck.”
Two girls, Sally and Mindy, watched as we whispered back and forth, finding a way to pass the time as well. As did Asa, who was sitting right behind me.
Billy slapped the back of Asa’s shirt. “Hey kid, gimme my pencil will ya? Come on, be a pal.”
Asa cowered in his seat quietly and shakily said, “I can’t get out of my seat.” Sally and Mindy giggled.
“Come on, Havens. I need to write something down,” Billy persisted.
“You need to get lost.”
“Billy and Nicholas, stop talking this instant and pay attention!” Mrs. Gillman said sternly.
“He won’t give me back my pencil, Ma’am,” Billy said innocently.
“Give him back his pencil, Nicholas,” she insisted. Billy smiled triumphantly. I shook my head, leaning over to pick up his broken pencil pieces.
I clumsily chucked them at Billy, “Here, you blockhead.” Billy couldn’t catch either piece and they fell to the floor at his feet. “What a klutz,” I said with a smile and turned around. Sally and Mindy and the rest of the class laughed.
“That’s enough Mr. Havens. Class quiet down,” Mrs. Gillman commanded. “Your next assignment is on the board. It will be due on Friday.”
Right on cue, the bell rang to dismiss the school for the day. Billy tailed me out in the hallway and down towards the lockers, with Asa following close behind as usual.
“That’s it, Havens!” Billy snarled, shoving me from behind, almost into the lousy lockers. “Nobody makes a fool out of me like that.”
I turned on the sarcasm, once again. “Hey, no argument there, man. You seem to handle it just fine on your own.”
Billy poked his dirty finger at me. “You’ve got it coming, kid. You and me after school, pal. Behind the building. And, you’d better be there! You and me are gonna have it out.”
Asa had seen all this before, but stood with his eyes glued on us as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Unfortunately, I had seen it all before too.
“Listen, Colquitt. I’m not going to participate in your queer behind-the-building shenanigans,” I said nonchalantly.
“Call me queer one more time, Havens, and I’m gonna flatten ya. I’ll give ya a knuckle sandwich right here and now!” Billy’s face was really turning red. He really could get mad and for no particular reason, it seemed. All he needed was someone to push his buttons.
As a final show of bravado he grasped my shirt collar in both hands and threw me against the lockers. “I’m not kiddin’, Havens. In forty-five minutes, you better be out there.”
I couldn’t understand it. The look of rage in his face was plain to see. But, why was it there? I just didn’t get why he was always riding my back the way he did.
“Geez, Billy!” I said out loud, nervously. “What the hell is your problem? I’ll be there for crimes sake. Don’t start cryin’ on me now. I’ll be there!”
He looked like he was about to blow a fuse, I was sure of it. Putting me down and letting go of my crumpled shirt, he just glared at me. “You better be,” he mumbled, turning and barreling down the hallway.
“You really gonna go back there?” Asa asked with some concern in his voice.
“You darn right I am,” I snapped. I’d had enough of old Billy. I slammed my books inside my locker and flung the door shut. I’m sure I had homework to bring home, but I decided to skip it. I wanted to get this thing with Billy over with and Asa was not helping.
“Man, he seemed really ticked. All because of a lousy pencil,” Asa said, shaking his head. “I wonder why he’s so mad all the time.”
“I don’t care why,” I answered firmly. “All I know is that he makes me miserable and I’ve had it.” I gave Asa a serious look. “Don’t come out there, Asa. Just do me a favor and go home. This is the last time I’m gonna meet this jerk behind the building. I’m going to make sure of it.”
“Oh come on, Nick,” he begged. “If you’re gonna pound this guy, I wanta see it.”
“No! No more audiences. Just go home when the bell rings, will ya? I mean it.”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“Okay, but whatever happens, I wanta hear everything.”
Asa stumbled his way to the last period. The hallway finally cleared as the rest of the students made it to their last class as well. All except for me. I stood in the hallway next to my locker, staring blankly into space. I didn’t want to go to my last class anyway. I’m sure the teacher would give me another zero for skipping, but I just couldn’t muster up the energy. I was all alone in the hallway but I felt like a mouse trapped in a corner.
It was a few minutes past three o’clock. The bell had rung and kids were hurrying to get out of the building and head home. I could hear the sound of kids screaming and laughing on the other side of the school, probably relieved to be done for the day. My day wasn’t done yet however. Matter of fact, I wasn’t relieved at all that school had just let out. I was determined though. I spent the last part of the hour gathering the courage to fight Billy. This would be the last time that I’d meet him behind the school. Things were going to be different after that day. I didn’t know how, but I just knew it.
I sat on an old rickety wooden chair and leaned it back on two legs. The wood cracked under my weight, as if I weighed a ton. I knew it wasn’t because of me though. It was the old chair that Coach Sims would sit on while he watched us run silly during P.E. He was too big and fat to stand up while he ran us to death. So, he left this old beat-up chair behind the school all the time near the playing field so he could sit his lazy butt down while barking orders at us.
I sat and waited, staring at the bright blue sky, remembering that my dad was waiting for me to get home and help with those darn geese. I had to make this little meeting quick. I went over the plan in my head over and over again.
Finally, Billy came striding around the corner with his ball cap on. He always wore that stupid baseball cap for his afternoon fights. He saw me leaning back in the chair against the wall and I tried to look as calm and cool as possible, sitting there glaring at him.
He looked at me curiously. I figured that he didn’t expect me to be so calm. Usually I would stand nervously in the grass, obviously not wanting to be there, clumsily holding up my fists. Not this time.
He stood with the sun at his back so that when I looked up at him, the sun blinded me. I pretended that it didn’t bother me.
“Well, don’t we look comfortable,” he drawled pathetically. “Don’t try to play cool with me, Havens. It ain’t gonna work.”
I knew that, but it clearly did catch him off guard. He turned his ball cap around, wearing it backwards like he always did when he was ready to pound the daylights out of me.
“Gonna have to make this quick, Colquitt. So, I’m gonna have to teach ya a lesson without any guff,” I said bravely.
“Ha!” Billy laughed heartily. “You really are full of it today, Havens. You know that?” He continued to laugh. “Your little act isn’t foolin’ me. I know you’re still just a scared little sissy. Just like ya always are. Aint that right, Smedley?”
That did it. That was all I needed to hear. “Oh yeah?” I said, springing from the chair. With cat-like quickness, that surprised even me, I bounced towards Billy and swung with all my might, landing a nice clean blow to his jaw.
Billy stumbled backwards in shock, holding his jaw and staring at the ground, trying to figure out what had just happened. Straightening himself, he looked at me with a confused expression. I
guessed that he couldn’t believe I’d hit him so hard.
I couldn’t believe it either. I’d never gotten a punch in like that before. Our fights usually lasted only a minute or two, with Billy socking me in the eye and me going down. He would stand over me saying something moronic and then leave me on the ground.
Not this time. I bounced on my toes like a prizefighter with my fists still ready to go. “Not laughin’ anymore, are ya now?” I said, thuggishly.
At that, Billy came back to his senses and came lunging at me. “Now you’re gonna get it, Nick!” It was the first time he had ever called me by my first name. I didn’t even realize he knew my first name. He knew my middle name alright, half the county did. But, he had never called me by my first name until that moment. Now I was caught off guard.
He punched me in the eye once, then again in the gut. I tried my best to fend off his punches, but by then arms and fists were everywhere. If he wasn’t mad before, he was good and ticked off now. I may have been the first person to ever sock him like that. And, he let me know it too.
My adrenaline was flowing so I didn’t even notice the pain from Billy’s punches. I finally managed to get the upper hand again, blocking every punch he threw. I had no idea I was able to move like that. Soon, I found an opening. Throwing two quick punches, I landed one on his filthy chest and soon landed another, an upper-cut to his chin. Billy stumbled backwards, his lip clearly bleeding. My lip felt numb and it throbbed. It was bleeding too, as I could taste the blood on my lip.
At that moment I realized how much pain I was in and started to lose my concentration.
What am I doing? I thought to myself. I had become a raging animal. I had no idea I’d had so much pent-up anger.
Billy leaned over and panted for a few seconds, trying to gather himself. For the first time he actually had a fight on his hands. He wiped the blood from his lip and snarled like a rabid beast. Jumping in front of me, he reared back with his fist, about to wail on me again.
“Billy!” a voice shouted. “What are you doing?”
We both spun around to see where the voice was coming from. The voice sounded very familiar.
“You told me you weren’t going to fight him anymore!” Phoebe said, sounding betrayed. Billy lowered his fist and stepped away from me.
I was dumbfounded, unable to believe what I had just heard. “What?” I asked blankly.
“I can’t trust you, Billy. You told me you would leave him alone,” Phoebe said.
“What the heck is going on here?” I shouted. I glared at Phoebe like a madman. I turned my anger and confusion toward Billy. “What are you doing with my sister? You tryin’ to make time with her?” I didn’t let Billy answer, shaking my fist in his dirty face. “She’s just a kid, for cryin’ out loud!”
“Hey, it ain’t nothin’ like that,” Billy said fnally. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
“Phoebs, tell me you’re not gettin’ chummy with this creep,” I pleaded.
She ignored me, clearly upset with Billy. “You told me you were going to leave Nick alone. You told me you would do it for me.”
“What???” I yelled even louder, walking around in circles in a daze. “Oh, this is not happening,” I said over and over.
I glared at Billy, wanting to punch his lights out. “I think we’re done here, Colquitt. Will you excuse us now? Forever!”
“I’m outta here,” Billy said, grabbing his jacket and running off like a scared chicken.
I turned my stare towards Phoebe. “What are you doing? What are doing back here?”
“I was waiting for you to go home,” she replied. “When you didn’t show up, I figured you were back here with Billy.”
“I don’t need you fighting my battles, Phoebs. And, what were you doing talking to him anyway? He’s nothing but bad news! You know that!”
“You just don’t know him. I didn’t want you to get beat up anymore, is all.”
“I don’t know him? Geez, what are you talking about? I know all his knuckles by name!”
Phoebe side-stepped a bit, trying not to look me in the eye. I began to see what was going on here.
“Phoebe, you don’t like this guy, do you?” I asked. “You can’t like this guy!”
“I don’t know,” she said, shyly. “When I talk to him, he seems kinda nice.”
“I don’t believe my ears! ‘Kinda’ nice? Phoebs, the guy is a moron. A first class moron! There’s not a nice bone in his body. I’d like to give him a few broken ones, but trust me none of them are nice! Plus, don’t you think you’re kinda young to be likin’ guys? I wouldn’t tell Mom about this if I were you, she’d flip out for sure. Come on, we need to start walkin’ home.”
Phoebe straightened herself and followed me down the dirt road. “I don’t like him, like him. I just….like him,” she said finally. “You know what I mean?”
“No, I don’t,” I said wiping the sweat from my forehead and nursing my throbbing lip. I could feel a welt forming next to my eye.
“I just think he needs a friend to give him some attention,” Phoebe said, trying to put it all to rest.
“He needs a shrink, is what he needs,” I quipped. “Listen, I appreciate you being concerned for my well-being and all, but I can handle him myself. I don’t need you softening him up for me. Besides, you go trustin’ people like that, they just end up turnin’ on ya. Just like he did back there.”
“Yeah, well maybe,” Phoebe said.
“Maybe, nothin’. You said so yourself back there you can’t trust him. He fed you some line and you believed him. Just forget about it.”
Phoebe looked sad. I could tell she might cry. We stopped walking for a moment. She kept staring at the ground.
“Hey, Phoebs, look at me.” She slowly raised her eyes towards me. “Thanks for coming back there. It was gettin’ kinda out of hand. I was actually glad you came when you did. I’m sorry I barked at ya. You just kinda threw me with this ‘likin’ Billy Coquitt’ stuff.” She kicked her feet in the dust on the road. “Hey, it’s okay by me. Just be careful from now on. I don’t wanta see you get hurt. You gotta make friends a little slower than that, is all. You understand?”
“Yeah,” she answered, still staring at ground.
“Anyway, thanks for coming to my rescue. Okay?”
She finally smiled and gave me a playful slap on the shoulder. “Anytime, scrapper.”
“Hey, not so hard!” I said, kidding her. “Nice left you got there.”
We started walking again towards the house. Another ten minutes and we’d be home.
“Hey, do you think I should tell Mom about my first boyfriend and how I dumped him already?” Phoebe said, smirking.
“I’d wait about ten years or so,” I said. “You might give her a coronary.”
Nearing the house, we heard the strangest sound coming from the cotton fields. It sounded like an outdoor party of squabbling, cackling things. My first thought was that it was a pen full of snorting pigs. As we drew closer, it dawned on both of us where the terrible noise was coming from.
“What on Earth could be making that gosh-awful noise?” I said loudly. “Don’t tell me. It can’t be!”
“Hey, I see them!” Phoebe squealed with delight. “The geese are here!”
“Oh no, it is them!” I groaned.
Phoebe ran off in their direction, dropping her book bag on the porch as she raced past Grandpa, who was standing under the tree near his martin house.
“Slow down there! You’re scarin’ the martins!” Grandpa scolded. She raced past the house and out towards the cotton fields.
The martins were definitely stirred up by all the noise nearby. Very few were on the house and most of them soared high in the sky above, keeping their distance. Grandpa seemed very put out.
“Grandpa, tell me those geese aren’t making that awful noise,” I said, finally reaching the yard.
“I assure you. They are making that awful racket,” Grandpa r
esponded with irritation. “And, they’re really stirrin’ up my poor martins, too. Not to mention me. I’ve had about enough of that darn noise.”
I looked over the small hill into the fields, shaking my head thinking about the whole situation. Even old Gray was uneasy in his pen.
“Good Lord, Grandpa. Ain’t none of us is gonna get any sleep now. Not with them geese out there.”
“Get out there and help your pa,” Grandpa insisted. “He’s gonna need all the help he can get.”
I dropped my bag on the porch next to Phoebe’s, but before I could head to the fields, Grandpa grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.
“Wait,” he said. “Who gave you that shiner?” I tried to hide my face from him, but he turned my chin towards him. “Your lip looks a little swollen too. You been fightin’ behind the school again?”
“It’s alright, Grandpa. It don’t hurt.” I was lying though. My upper lip still stung and my eye was pretty sore too. “Just this idiot from school. But, I think I finally put an end to it today. He looks worse than I do.”
Grandpa look concerned but seemed satisfied with my answer. Cracking a thin smile he nodded gently.
“If you got him good, he’ll leave ya alone,” Grandpa assured me. “Once a man takes a lickin’ like that, he doesn’t forget who did it to him. He’ll probably steer clear of you from now on.”
“Yeah, maybe so,” I responded.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Phoebe stopped the fight. I figured I had whipped ol’ Billy pretty good before she showed up. All I knew is that I never wanted to fight him again. I had the feeling Billy didn’t either. Thank God for ol’ Phoebe.
I reached the cotton fields to discover complete pandemonium. Geese were running everywhere and squabbling loud as ever. Feathers were flying all over the place as the workers scrambled to keep them corralled.
“Afternoon, Mr. Nick!” Sooter yelled out to me.
“Holy cow!” were the only words I could force out of my mouth.
It was an incredible sight for sure. I had no idea how many geese there were but they were everywhere. I spotted my dad near the edge of one of the fields, checking the wire barrier. He spotted me too.
“Son, help those men lead ‘em through that opening there!” he called out.
Sooter and several other men, including Bouriette and Timmons, were doing their best to gather the birds and lead them into the cotton fields but you could tell that the geese were getting the best of them.
“They sure are feisty, aren’t they Sooter?” I asked. “Why are these things so hard to handle.”
Sooter looked tired and frustrated. “I don’t know. I reckon they tired from that long trip down here and now they don’t wanta go in this pen! They givin’ me an awful pain in the neck, though, I tell ya!”
It was a circus. The geese were clearly unhappy with their new surroundings and wouldn’t calm themselves. We didn’t know anything about geese either, and that didn’t help. We chased them around trying to lead them in one direction, but they just went where they wanted to. If you got too close to one, it would hiss and charge at you with their neck stretched out. Sooter wasn’t too fond of that reaction and he did his best to keep his distance from their charging bills.
Sooter noticed my black eye and my beat up lip, inching his way closer to me as we struggled with the geese.
“That’s quite a shiner you got there, Mr. Nick,” he said in a low voice. “The one you told me about. He the one who gave you that?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s nothin’,” I mumbled.
“Oh yeah? You tell yo pa?”
“No. I don’t need to. I ain’t gonna have that problem no more anyway.”
Sooter shuffled his feet to keep a couple birds in front of him. “You wanta talk about it?”
“No, that’s okay.”
He could tell I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but he still seemed concerned. His mind was working overtime, I could see that. We didn’t say much more after that. I was hoping he had forgotten the topic altogether.
Soon, he spoke up again. “You got him good this time, didn’t you?”
I chuckled to myself. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, I suppose he had it comin’,” Sooter replied. “Sometimes every man has to learn a lesson or two. I bet that boy learned his today.” I smiled again. “But, you have to be the man about it now, Mr. Nick. If things is settled between you and him, you gots to leave it that way. Don’t go stirrin’ things up again. That’s what makes you a man, is knowin’ when things is done and over with.”
He was right. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I was sure glad to have Sooter to talk to, even with my bruised pride and ego to boot. I wanted to thank him but I just let it go, figuring that he already knew.
After a short while, we slowly gained ground, the geese finally beginning to waddle their way into the pen. It was almost like magic. All of the sudden, they just started following each other into the fields.
“What the heck just happened?” I asked, stunned. No one was complaining though. It was obvious the other men had been chasing the geese for quite a while.
“Well, I don’t know,” Sooter responded. “I don’t ask questions. I’m just glad they goin’ in there now.”
Soon, we discovered what was happening. Timmons pointed at the middle of the field. “They’re following that little girl!”
We looked to the middle of the cotton field to see Phoebe heading a line of geese.
“Way to go, Phoebs!” I yelled.
Beaming, Phoebe slowly walked through the cotton field, leading the geese down a single row between the plants.
“See, Daddy! I told you I could lead them around!” she shouted with glee.
Dad took off his cap and wiped his forehead, cracking a big smile and shaking his head. “Yep, you sure did.”
The geese certainly did take to her. They didn’t charge at Phoebe and their cackling started to subside. They just followed her wherever she went. We were all grateful for that.
Satisified, Dad began to give orders again. “Now we got them settled. Let’s all check these wires to make sure they’re all secure. They should be able to wander between all the fields but not get out. Nick, get them pails from the back of the pickup and start fillin’ ‘em full of water. Just place one every hundred feet or so along the inside perimeter. Have to keep ‘em watered just like you do with old Gray.”
I started gathering the water pails and filing them at the well pump at the head of the field.
Dad continued shouting orders. “Now, what our job is going to be is to keep them in the fields, so they can keep the weeds down. They’ll be laying eggs soon also, and we’ll have to gather the eggs and put them in a special container the man gave me.”
Phoebe and I looked over at a strange-looking container sitting in the back of the truck. Sooter was curious about it too.
“Why do we have to put them in there?” Phoebe asked.
Sooter looked the box over carefully, understanding right away. “This is where you keep the eggs warm,” he answered.
“That’s right,” Dad replied. “It’s an incubator. We put the eggs they produce in here so they will keep when it comes time to deliver them to Mr. Warren, the goose farmer. By the time harvest comes, we should have hundreds of eggs. He assured me the more we give him the better chance he has of raising more goslings. Mr. Warren said that even if he only gets a couple dozen to hatch it’ll be worth the effort.”
“Well, we know who the egg gatherer is,” I joked. “Looks like you got your hands full, Phoebs.”
“Uh-uh!” Phoebe protested. “I ain’t picking up all those eggs by myself.”
“I want both of you to handle that, ya hear?” Dad interjected. “And you have to check the fields every couple of days too. Since they seem to have taken to Phoebe, you should have no problem gathering them.”
“I got
no problem with that,” Sooter said, matter-of-factly. “I just as soon stay on this side of the wire. Them birds don’t like me one bit.” We all laughed at ol’ Sooter.
The geese began to investigate the grounds surrounding them, with some waddling off on their own and others huddling together in small groups.
I finished placing the pails of water around the edges of the fields and watched the geese. It was by far the strangest sight I had seen in a long time. They did claim it’s a great way to keep the cotton fields clean throughout the summer, though. For a while I just stood and stared at them as they wandered around.
The sun was beginning to set behind me and my thoughts turned to other matters. My swollen lip had begun to go down and my eye wasn’t as sore. It was a strange day indeed. It’s funny how things happen. After a long hard battle, I finally put an end to a problem I thought would never end. But as soon as I got it behind me, of course something new would come along.
Billy and I never fought again. We still sparred back and forth with the usual put-downs and wisecracks, but we never bothered with throwing punches at each other again. He never challenged me and I never gave him reason to. As far as I was concerned, that was just fine with me.
As the cotton season began to wind down, I myself began to look forward to another pecan harvest in the grove. It was quickly becoming one of the year-end chores that I actually looked forward to.
The cotton season was a good one and Dad was pleased to see that his experiment with the geese had been a success. It was obvious that we were going to see more of the feathered critters in the years to come. At the same time, Mom had become quite good at cleaning and preparing geese to give the neighbors as gifts during the holidays. It wasn’t just the neighbors. We had goose all the time after that year. I never knew there were so many different ways to cook a goose. And, the neighbors didn’t mind either. I tell you, I think the whole county was having goose for Thanksgiving dinner from then on. “Just put ‘em in the deep-freeze.” Mom would say. “And, they’ll be good for a roast whenever you like.”
Phoebe wasn’t too fond of the idea at first. But, when she saw that they were just like the chickens, she changed her mind. Soon, she was the first one at the table when Mom cooked her famous roast goose with mashed potatoes and gravy.
The air grew cool and crisp again. It invigorated me because I knew winter was coming and soon it would be time for the pecan harvest. When I saw the first sign that they were ready, I headed for the grove first thing the next morning.
As usual, Sooter was resting on the ground, leaning against his favorite tree. I plopped down next to him with a thud.
“Bout time you showed up,” he said calmly, his hat pulled over his eyes.
“Mornin’ Sooter,” I replied. I was raring to go. “I got a good look at ‘em yesterday. The shucks are split.”
Sooter lifted his hat and situated it firmly on his head. Leaning over, he gazed at me with his big soulful eyes.
“Right you are, Mr. Nick,” he said, impressed. “You did yo homework now, didn’t you?”
“I sure did. You ready to get out there?”
“Now hold on. I’m still tryin’ to rest here, see?” He pulled his hat back over his eyes again.
“Ah, c’mon. Those trees ain’t gonna shake themselves!” Sooter chuckled to himself.
“Yep, you sho right about that, Mr. Nick.” Sooter slowly pulled himself together and got to his feet. “Looks like we done made a pecan farmer out of you.”
“Do we need to go round up all the other men?” I asked.
“Nope,” Sooter responded assuredly. “They seen the same thing you did. They’ll be out there.”
Sure enough, when we arrived at the grove, all the workers were already there. The tractor was pulled to the edge of the grove and the agitator was already attached. Even Little Theo was there pitching in with the tarps and poles. The whole team was back and I was happy to see them.
“I found our climber!” Sooter announced. All the men gave me a quick smile, even Bouriette.
I grabbed the tension rope and began helping Sooter secure it to the tractor. In no time, I was jumping from branch to branch securing the lines and shaking each tree. The men sang the same familiar tune and I hummed right along with them as we worked.
I noticed right away that the tally was not quite what it had been in previous years. I jumped to the ground and wiped the sweat from my forehead and approached Sooter.
Putting my hands on my hips, I asked “Doesn’t seem to be as many this year, does it?”
“Yep,” he answered.
“Well how come there aren’t as many? Is there something wrong with the trees?”
“Nope,” he said. “Sometimes that’s just the way it is. Might be another two or three years before we see another high yield. Them trees go in cycles, you see? To have a really good crop, could take fo, five years. Maybe seven.”
“Seven!” I exclaimed. “Shoot, I sure didn’t know that. There’s hardly anything up there this time. You sure that’s what’s going on?”
“Sho as the wind turns cold,” he said without flinching.
“Well heck, we’ll be done by tomorrow for sure,” I said disappointed. “Some don’t even need shakin’. Pretty much get ‘em all down with just a pole.”
I was disappointed, hardly understanding how the grove could yield a ton of pecans one year and then nearly none the next.
“I hate to tell Grandpa,” I said. “He won’t be happy for sure.”
“The squirrels ain’t too happy ‘bout it neither,” Sooter said with a laugh. I shook my head, staring at him.
Sooter stopped laughing and said “Don’t you worry, Mr. Nick. If anybody knows these trees, it’s yo granddaddy. He knows this is just the way it is sometimes with these trees. You just gotta have a little patience.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“Now, come on, let’s shake some more of these trees. We bound to find a few of ‘em up there, right?”
I smiled and picked up the rope heading off to the next tree.
Sooter and the rest of the men watched as I did my thing, leaping from one branch to the next. He smiled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and mumbled to himself, “That boy sho is a climbin’ fool. Mmm-hm. He sho is.”
Grandpa sat on a chair beside a small wooden table in the middle of an otherwise empty room. His cane rested wedged against his knee and the edge of the table. He was waiting patiently for his host.
The back door of the old house opened and Grandpa turned slightly to see his friend Sooter finally walk in. Beatrice came in behind him and headed for a small chair near the window. She smiled at their guest and sat quietly and picked up her knitting. She knew the two men wanted to visit with one another.
“’Afternoon, Bea. ‘Bout damn time, old man,” Grandpa said sarcastically to Sooter.
Beatrice smiled and Sooter chuckled, pulling off his old hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Afternoon, Mr. Havens,” he answered.
“What you got to drink old timer?” Grandpa asked.
“Nothin’ that you would want,” Sooter responded, as he sat next to Grandpa. “’Less’n you brought somethin’ yoself.”
Grandpa pulled a flask of scotch from his inside coat pocket and smiled.
“I’ll get a couple glasses,” Sooter said, quickly returning with two shot glasses and setting them down, Grandpa filled them and they toasted silently. Both men relaxed, settling in their chairs.
“You and Bea comin’ along alright?” Grandpa started. “You need anything?”
“No, sir. We doin’ just fine.”
“Well, Sally will bring you some things from Bailey’s just the same. She went into town earlier,” Grandpa said.
Sooter nodded. The ‘thank-you’s’ didn’t have to be said. It was already understood after all this time.
“How ‘bout another?” Granpda
asked, pouring another shot into each glass. They both took smaller sips this time. “So how’s the boy doin’ out there?”
“Oh, he’s comin’ along just fine, Mr. Havens. He sho knows how to work hard. Reminds me of how you used to be. And, a climber. That boy can climb the fool hell outta them trees.”
Grandpa raised one eyebrow at Sooter. “That so, is it?”
“Mmm-hm.”
“That’s good. No trouble for you then?”
“No sir. He’s one of the hardest workers out there. I gets mo trouble from the grown men out there than I do from him.” Sooter took another sip. “No, he’s comin’ along just fine.”
“Good, that’s good,” Grandpa said, somewhat relieved. “I can see he’s doing better now. He’s even lookin’ after his sister like he should.”
“He’s got a good head on his shoulders, Mr. Havens. He just like any other boy though. He just needs to be pointed in the right direction sometimes.”
“Thanks, Theo. You’re a good man. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Grandpa raised his glass and saluted him again.
The two men sat for a while longer, talking about the old days and their simpler ways. Sooter and Beatrice always enjoyed having Grandpa come visit. Few people visited them, so they were always happy when he came by. He must have known that days like these would become fewer and fewer as the years passed. Sooter cherished each one, as he knew Grandpa cherished their friendship.
No one really knew where Grandpa went those afternoons. He always came back as if nothing had ever happened, so it was no matter. I didn’t find out until much later about Grandpa’s visits with Sooter and Mrs. Bea. She told me stories about them years later.
Mom and Dad never said a word but they must have known. It must have been Grandpa’s way of saying thank you to Sooter for all that he did for him. Mostly, I think he was just glad ol’ Sooter was there.
Shaking the Tree Page 4