Deep in the Heart of Me (19 page)

Belly drives us down to the bottom road, and he pulls over in that dark, foul place, and I think, 'there is not a way this side of glory I am dying here. I am not meant to.'

He has a pistol pointed at me, and he says, "Give me that money."

And I say, "No."

He says, "That's not the way it works around here boy."

And I get mad to think he tells me how it works around, 'here.'

He tries to slap me, but I knock his arm away. I am strong. Strong from working the fields and animals and lifting. I am strong, and he doesn't know how strong, and I don't.

He grabs my hair and shoves that gun under my chin, and he says, "Give me that money you little bastard fat pants."

"All right, Mister," I say. "Let…let me get to it." I lean forward a little to make for the money, and he eases back with the gun, and I go for the wrist of the hand that's holding the pistol. I've got both hands on it, and he grabs my hair and pulls my head back, and I leave off one hand and elbow his face and my good hand, which is my bad hand, is bleeding and it's getting on him, and he uses his elbow but I get my feet up, and I'm kicking him, kicking him like that mule taught me.

I reach behind me, fumble behind and my door flies open, and I go out head first, and somersault over and I look up from the ground, and that fat sausage is lying out the door reaching for me, clenched teeth and dirty words and I hurry back on my elbows and digging in my heels.

And I've got the pistol. I've got the pistol in my bleeding hand, and I bring it in front of me, both hands on it and my head raised and I've got it pointed at him, and he stops his reaching and pulls back, well his eyes are big, and that's satisfying as anything, the fear in his fat face.

Well, that moment is over soon enough he pulls back in the car and takes off, door waving and slamming. I'm lying there with the gun, not quick thinking since I've been through it, I'm watching, and he stops and starts to turn that car, well the bastard plans to run me over.

So I'm on my feet, standing middle of the road, the gun pointed right at him, and here he comes, and I take aim cause I'm crack with a gun like I said. I shoot out the window.

He swerves some and the tail of that car lurches to the side and he rights it, and I hear his cursing over the engine, then I jump out of the way, and he barely misses me, and I get back in the road and take aim and shoot out the back window too, and he hits the brakes and then he speeds up and this way and that for a minute, he hightails it out.

And I stand in the road and look after. Something in me swells, I admit, but I'm no fool.

"You're right Sobe," I say. He had a gun, and I took it. It's anyone's guess where it ends.

But I'm right too. He was big, and I got bigger.

And I'm standing here. In this road. With Shaun's money.

I make my way to Uncle John's.

When I finally get there, his dogs run out to me, but they know me once they get close enough. And I smell like a mule and other things probably, but still they are all tails wagging.

Uncle John's truck is not here. So Pat is not here. And Shaun's fate is anyone's guess.

I leave before I'm discovered. I tell those dogs to go home, and they do.

The pistol is in my good hand. If any more trouble comes for me, I won't be whistling Dixie.

I near home and I pass Clannan Lane in this strange way, moving past my home like a ghost of myself, who I was just this morning when I got up when I came home from school and did chores has changed I think. I know.

This place is my home where I lay at night listening to the groaning house, the creaking house and the wind rustling my trees. Mine.

Dad says this is our Land of Canaan, our share of the Promised Land that we must fight every day to inherit.

Well, I am fighting.

A truck comes along, and I stick that pistol in my waist and I catch a ride for that last mile, from a farmer driving all night to take produce to Soulard Market in St. Louis. Well, I sit between a crate of turnips and another of sweet potatoes, spared to see the sun rise again. And that can't be far off.

But I imagine that car coming on us, driving fast, with that broken out window and Belly driving it hard and I take out that pistol and point it there and make a sound with my lips. I promise myself I will use it if I must.

But I put it away because we're entering town, but I keep a turnip in my hand just in case.

It's not the size of the man, it's the weapon in my hand.

I jump from that bed right at the end of Sobe's short road with only two houses and then a field.

The party is long over looks like, and most of it's cleared, tables empty to be taken down come morning is my guess.

A ghost still hangs from a tree and blows in the wind.

The bonfire is black with ash, the smallest orange glow still alive in the coals.

It's hard to say I missed something with me doing more living than usual in the past few hours, but I have missed something. That's the truth.

I have missed Sobe, in her costume. I have missed her.

Dad once said he doesn't talk about the war because people would think he was making it up. I feel that way about this night.

First thing, Sheriff isn't here. His automobile is nowhere to be found so Sobe might already be at the widow Olmstead's.

I can see no lurkers or folly makers anywhere around here. If she is not at the widow's, she's curled inside. Unless they took her. What if they came and took her? Or they moved. What if she's already gone?

I sit on the stump where we'd set that barrel of cider before, and I look up at her window.

If I don't see her in the next three seconds, maybe I'll shoot this gun in the air and call her name.

Maybe I will, but I know I won't.

So I do a bold thing. I walk to her door and try the handle, and it is locked. I think of reaching the porch roof and climbing up there to take a look.

Maman…oh she wouldn't like it a bit, but that don't seem to stop me. Not tonight.

I walk across the bare ground between her house and the widows. I figure it is nearly deep night, early morning. I have said the sun will rise soon, but not too soon. I get near the widow's, and I don't know what to do exactly. If Sobe is in there, she will come to me. I know that.

So I am standing in front and that one's door comes open and there she is, that widow, with wild white hair and a robe over a dressing gown, but that's not it, it's the turkey gun, the rifle I mean pointed at me and her old face looking down the barrel. A witch with a gun on near-Halloween. It's a terrible sight but one thing, she might be able to help Sobe more than I first reckoned.

"It's me, Mrs. Olmstead," I say, "Tonio Clannan."

"Get away from here," she says, not at all comforted to know who I am.

"I mean no harm Missus. Just wondering if Sobe is taking shelter in there."

"At three in the morning? Only the devil is about this time of night." She does not lower the gun, and I feel mostly admiration right now. Almost a kinship for I have been in her place this very night, well both ends of a gun, and she is a gnarly old brave one.

"I'll be going along then. Is she here?"

"Get," she says moving the rifle to show me my way. "And I'll be speaking to your father on this."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And the sheriff."

I nod. I can hardly ask her to keep it a secret.

"I just…I want to know that she's safe. That's all. I can see the sheriff is called out."

She moves her wings, and the rifle is more solidly leveled, and she takes a step onto the porch. "So what if he is?"

"Is she safe Missus?" I figure if Sobe is in there she will surely be awakened from this exchange and come running to me.

The rifle falters some. "Is she not at your very house? She left to go there with your sister after this ruckus was over," she nods toward Sobe's house.

"Then she's with my sister," I say. Well damn, I should have gone home. Now I am taking off.

"Is she not there?" Widow calls.

"I didn't know," I say over my shoulder, and I run off, waiting to be shot in the back, but it doesn't happen, and I keep on going.

I know we'll milk soon, and I'll be home for it, earlier than Dad will expect. I could hide in the mow. I could sleep maybe.

Maybe. And most of the day, but I'd as soon eat with the animals as feel this growing hunger for Mom's good breakfast.

And Sobe. I want to see her.

I have the pistol, and I take it out, carry it in my hand.

Come Monday, I will go back to school. But Tillo and Utz will be there, and I don't know how it will be with them. Will they know it was me who shot out the windows in their father's car?

I go by the school, the well house there, and that's where I hide the gun. If trouble ever came to me here, well it's not the size of the problem, it's the gun. And I'll have one now.

So I go home kind of surprised to have met myself this past night. Is this how I will be? I didn't know what all was in me, more, I didn't know how it would come out. I'm not ready to think over the night. Not yet.

A car comes from the direction of town. I am halfway to our lane, and I do not attempt to hide. I turn on my heels, and I know by the lights even, the shape in the faintest light, it's Sheriff.

I turn back for home, hands deep in my pockets, shoulders hunched forward. Wouldn't do any good to run, and more surprising, I don't want to. This talk was always coming. I just wasn't man enough before.

He pulls alongside and slows to a stop. I am waiting. He gets out.

"Do I need to put these on you?" he says.

I think of sitting on my bitten hand.

"No, Sir. Are you taking me to jail?"

He doesn't say.

I shrug. "If you're giving me a choice…."

"The widow told me. You gave her a scare. An old woman."

He steps closer. "What in hell have you been up to?" He sniffs the air. "You smell like hell. A still. And a barn."

I nod. "Working at Uncle John's."

"Get in the car. We'll see what your father has to say about it."

"He won't be up until milking," I say.

"We'll wait. And you'll tell me what you're doing looking for my daughter at three in the morning."

If I speak my mind, it could cause Sheriff to take Sobe and move. I don't want him thinking I know their business.

"I was looking for Pat's colt. I got to your house, and I saw you were called out, and I wanted to know if Sobe was safe," I say as we sit in his car at the end of Clannan Lane.

"Did you see something? Someone suspicious?"

"No."

"You tell me. Anything. You come to me."

He is worrying me. I didn't expect this. I thought he'd be mad.

"If you'd let her come to the farm," I say.

He wipes over his mouth and looks out the window away from me. He's quiet for a long time.

"Sheriff?" I say.

"I don't know how they'll come, when…if."

"Who?"

He looks at me. "You're one with secrets. You know how to hold them, don't you boy?"

"You should talk to my father. Let people know who's after you so they can help."

"Help?" he laughs there.

"More eyes. Ears."

"Mouths," he says.

"Will they come for sure? Is Sobe…is it her?" I won't let them hurt Sobe. I'll kill them all.

He laughs, but it's disgust.

"That widow sent your tail running," he says. He finds a smoke then, lights it.

He is looking at me, and I'm tired, but not as tired as he seems.

"Shaun died," he says.

I shake my head. I put my hands against, the roof of the car and push. Push to breathe.

"They were loading a colt when it got away. They went looking for it, two drunken fools…maybe three, and Shaun was killed. Someone shot him. It's a night for high-jinx. Pat got him to the hospital in Melville, but he was already gone."

All I can do is stare.

"That how you remember it?" he says.

I open the car door.

"Don't run, boy."

"I'll walk." I am pointing out the door. I need to get out.

"I'm on my way to your father."

Maman. Granma. We're barely over the loss of Shaun's wife Peg, that rosy, happy girl and the baby.

I get out then and close the door, and I take a few steps, and he pulls away, and he's watching me some, but I'm coming on. I'm coming on. And the sun is breaking through and streaking the sky, but I don't know this world I'm in now.

I don't want to.