A Land More Kind Than Home (31 page)

“You got you a girlfriend?” my grandpa asked me.

“No,” I said.

“You like girls yet?”

“They're okay, I guess,” I said. “My mom says I'm too young to have a girlfriend.”

“That sounds about right,” my grandpa said. He turned up his cup and drank what was left in it and tossed it into the fire, and then he reached into his pocket and took out the metal flask and unscrewed the top and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a long sigh like he was thinking about something he didn't want to think about. “That sounds like these women up here,” he said. “They'll cut off your pecker before they'll let you play with it.”

I thought about telling him I didn't know what that meant because I hadn't ever thought about a girl cutting off my pecker, but my grandpa just looked into the fire like he didn't want me to say nothing, so I didn't. He took another sip from the bottle and spit into the fire and the flames shot up a little bit and I could feel the heat from the fire on my face. My grandpa looked over at me and opened and closed his fingers like they were a pair of scissors. “They'll cut it clean off if you let them,” he said. “Just like that.” He laughed a little at what he said and I laughed too, and then I lay back on the ground and looked up at the sky and watched little glowing pieces of ash float up toward the stars and disappear.

“It don't surprise me that your mother would say something like that to you,” he said. “About you being too young to like girls. It doesn't surprise me at all.”

“Why not?”

“Did you ever meet your mama's mama? Your grandmother?”

“No,” I said. “She died before I was born. I never met her daddy either.”

“I never did either,” my grandpa said. “He'd been dead for years when her and your daddy met. Her people lived up in Mars Hill, and I didn't know a single one of them. I only met her mama once on the day those two got married up there.” He stopped talking and unscrewed the cap on the flask and took a swig, and then he put the cap back on. “Your grandmama was a big woman, bigger than you can imagine her being.”

“How big?” I said.

“You know how big a washing machine is?” he asked.

“Yes.” He sat there quiet for a second, and then he looked over at me.

“Have you ever seen a Volkswagen Beetle?”

“She wasn't that big,” I said. “There ain't no way she could've been.”

“You never saw her,” he said, laughing. “She was a big woman, biggest woman I'd ever seen. She was a strong Christian too. Mars Hill's a dry town, and they held that wedding in a little Baptist church by a cornfield. It was early in the summer, and that corn was just as bright green and shiny as it could be. Your grandmama's name was Margaret, I think, Margaret Sampson, and she was already sitting right down front when I got to the church. And then, after the wedding, I walked outside where they'd set up some picnic tables with food, and there she was just sitting in the shade under a great big oak tree. I never saw that woman move, and I couldn't ever figure out how she got out there so quick.

“And let me tell you,” he said. “She sat out there and watched the folks at that reception like she was a hawk. She held the wedding and reception both there at that church and there wasn't going to be any dancing and there definitely wasn't going to be no drinking. I reckon folks knew that before they came. I ain't never seen a woman so intent on getting her way, but that's how she brought your mama up. Religion was important to them. I didn't bring your daddy up that way; I didn't bring him up much of a way at all. But your mama was brought up to be religious, and folks don't change,” he said. “It doesn't matter how bad you want them to.” I heard him unscrew the cap off the flask and take another drink. “Sometimes it don't even matter how bad they want to change themselves.”

I thought about that, and then I thought about how much Daddy had changed in just the past few days, and then I thought about Stump sitting up in Heaven watching all the things that were going on down here. I wondered if he'd been watching me and Grandpa sit out there by that fire roasting those hot dogs, and then I wondered if he was watching me right then as I stood on the dirt court in Joe Bill's backyard with Joe Bill trying to dribble the ball between his legs right there beside me. He stopped dribbling and looked up at me.

“Can I ask you something weird?” Joe Bill asked.

“All right.”

“Do you think Stump's in Heaven?”

“Of course he's in Heaven,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” I said.

“Was he saved by the Holy Spirit?”

“What?”

“My mom says that's the only way you can get into Heaven,” he said. “She says you've got to confess your sins and be saved by the Holy Spirit.”

“I guess he was saved then.” I knocked the ball out of his hands and carried it out to where the free-throw line would've been if it was a real basketball court.

“But how do you know?” Joe Bill asked.

“I just think he's in Heaven,” I said.

“How?”

“What do you mean, ‘how?'”

“How's he in Heaven if he can't talk? How could he have confessed his sins and been saved by the Holy Spirit?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I just think he's in Heaven. My dad told me he's there.” I remembered how Mama used to tell me and Stump that you'd know you'd been saved when you felt the Holy Spirit move inside your heart. I tried to imagine what that would feel like, but it was too hard for me to think about it out there behind Joe Bill's house with that thunder rumbling out over the mountain and Joe Bill running his mouth.

“Maybe that's why they were trying to heal him,” Joe Bill said. “Maybe they wanted him to talk so he could confess his sins and go to Heaven when he died.”

“I don't want to talk about that,” I said.

“I wasn't talking about it,” Joe Bill said. “I'm just saying that maybe that's why they did it.”

“You don't know why they did it,” I said. “You didn't even see it. You ran away. And you don't know what they did on Sunday night either.”

“Neither do you,” he said. “You weren't in there.”

“You don't even know what you're talking about,” I said.

“Neither do you,” Joe Bill said again. I looked at him and thought about tossing that basketball into the grass and busting him in the nose, but instead I just dribbled it once and then shot it as hard as I could. It bounced off the backboard so hard that the pole shook in the ground. The ball rolled toward Joe Bill's house, and we both stood there looking at it. I wanted to tell him about what I'd seen on Friday afternoon when Stump fell off the rain barrel, but I knew it was too late. I knew that if I was going to tell anybody about that I should've done it before Stump went into the church on Sunday morning, and I definitely should've said something before Mama took him back in there that night. But it wasn't going to make no difference telling Joe Bill about it now.

“Go get my ball,” Joe Bill said.

“You get it,” I told him. “It's your ball, and it's your shot anyway.” He looked at me for a second, and then he walked toward his house and picked up the basketball. He turned back toward the goal and stood there looking at me like he was thinking about saying something else. I could see the road in front of the house over his shoulder, and I saw Scooter and Clay tearing down the road on their bikes. Gravel dust flew up behind them from under their tires, and I watched as they got closer and closer.

“Your brother's home,” I said.

Joe Bill turned around, and we watched Scooter and Clay pull their bikes into the yard. Scooter slammed on his brakes and slid his back tire around in the gravel. They dropped their bikes in the driveway and walked toward the carport. Scooter saw us standing in the backyard, and he stopped walking and just stood there and stared at us. Clay stopped walking and stared at us too. I didn't know what to do, so I raised my hand and waved at him. Scooter flipped me the bird.

“Fuck off!” he hollered. I heard Clay laugh.

“I'd better go home,” I said. “It's getting late. It might rain too.”

“If you want to, you can stay a little while longer,” Joe Bill said. He turned and looked at me, and then he looked back up at the house. “My mom will be home soon. You can wait until she gets back, and then she can drive you back to your house.”

I knew Joe Bill said that just because he didn't want to be left alone with Scooter and Clay without his mom being there. I didn't blame him, and I didn't say nothing to him about it. I wouldn't have wanted to be at home by myself with Scooter and Clay either.

“I'm glad we weren't shooting his gun when he got home,” Joe Bill said. He was still staring up at the house, and I looked down where he held the basketball and I knocked it out of his hands again. “Hey,” he said. “It's my shot.”

“I'm taking another turn,” I said. “That last one didn't count.” I walked away from the goal to the other side of the court closest to the house. I took a step toward the basket and shot it. I watched the basketball hit the rim this time before it bounced out onto the dirt.

“Almost,” I said.

“Almost ain't close enough,” Joe Bill said. He picked up the ball off the ground and wiped some of the dust off it. “You shouldn't shoot from so far,” Joe Bill said.

“I'm getting closer,” I said. Something like a bumblebee buzzed past my ear, and I ducked my head and flicked it away. “What was that?” I said.

“Don't move,” Joe Bill whispered. I looked up at him and saw that he was staring over my shoulder back toward the house. I turned around and saw Clay standing in the backyard by the carport. Scooter was down on one knee beside him with his BB gun pointed right at us. He cocked it and gave it two pumps. He raised it up to his shoulder and took aim at us again. I realized it was a BB that had just buzzed past my ear.

“He won't shoot us if we don't run,” Joe Bill whispered.

I heard Scooter take a shot, and a BB bounced off the basketball. Joe Bill dropped it in the dirt, and his throat made a sound like he was about to cry.

“Don't, Scooter!” Joe Bill screamed.

“Did y'all touch my gun?” Scooter hollered. Joe Bill looked at Scooter, and then he turned his head slowly and looked at me. He had his mouth open, and I could hear him breathing hard. Thunder rumbled out over the mountain behind him.

“I did,” Joe Bill said. He looked at Scooter. “I took a couple of shots, but then I put it right back where it was.”

“I told you not to touch it,” Scooter said.

“I know,” Joe Bill said. Scooter lowered his BB gun and stared at Joe Bill for a second, and then he looked over at Clay.

“Go get them, Clay,” Scooter said. Clay jumped like somebody had just scared him, and he set off across the yard toward me and Joe Bill.

“Jess,” Joe Bill whispered. “Run.” I looked from Clay to Joe Bill. “Run,” he said again. It was a long way across the yard up to the road, and even though I knew Clay was too fat to catch me I was still scared of Scooter running after me, and I didn't know what I'd do if they chased me on their bikes. I also figured Scooter might try to shoot me if I ran off. I felt something land in my hair, and I realized it was raining. It must've surprised me, because I lit out of Joe Bill's yard and didn't stop running even though I could hear Scooter and Clay hollering for me to come back. I swear I even heard a couple of BBs whiz past my ears.

The rain was coming down so hard that by the time I got up to the road my shirt and my shorts were soaked all the way through and I could feel the water sloshing around in my socks. I knew those wet socks would make my toes all wrinkly.

I stopped running when I ran out of breath, and I slowed down and walked up the road toward where it curved around in front of the rock wall below the highway right above me. Water ran down from the highway like a little stream, and it spilled off those rocks like a waterfall. I stood on the side of the road and reached my hand over the guardrail and let the water run through my fingers. It ran in the gully beside the road and then got carried down toward the French Broad. I followed the gully where it ran alongside the road before it headed down the bank toward the river. I stepped out onto the bridge and looked over the side at the river, where it ran faster and louder than it had when I'd walked over it on the way to Joe Bill's house. There were sticks and leaves and stuff in there and I watched it all float toward the bridge before it went under there and came out the other side. I pushed back off the rail and walked to the other side of the bridge and looked over. A car passed by and slowed down when it saw me like it was going to stop. I waved, but it just kept on going. I figured whoever was in there probably wondered what I was doing out there in all that rain.

I started running again once I got across the bridge, and soon I was on the road to my house. Down in the cove the rain ran down the hills on both sides, and I watched it run and I knew it was filling up the creek and floating up all those crawdaddies. In my head I sang a song that Mama taught me and Stump when we were little: