The Struggles of Johnny Cannon (12 page)

I hurried out the door and went to Pa's radio shack. I stopped short of knocking 'cause I could hear him and Carlos talking to somebody over the radio.

“—the trucks leave for Chicago tomorrow night,”
whoever they was talking to said.

“And did you find out what I asked you about?” Pa said.

“Yeah, though I don't know how—”

“Just tell me,” Carlos said. “Rats or beetles?”

“The big guy is scared of rats,”
the fella said.
“But I don't get what that does for you.”

“Simple,” Carlos said. “When the truck arrives in Chicago and they open it up, they will be greeted by hundreds of rats that have chewed holes in all their bags.”

“And pooped in all their drugs,” Pa said with a chuckle.

“You know they're going to kill you someday, right?”
the fella said.
“When they find out who the Three Caballeros are, they'll put your kidneys in their trophy racks.”

“Which is why they aren't going to find out,” Carlos said. “Or they might learn some other facts about you that will make them much, much angrier.”

I was listening real hard, my heart just about ready to blow up in my chest, and that's why I jumped when the screen door slammed behind me.

Martha marched out of my house and came over to me. I moved away from the shack so she wouldn't hear none of what was being said.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked. She seemed mad enough to cuss.

“Why are you up here talking to Sora?” I asked. “And why are you so all-fired interested in finding out my story?”

“You won't tell me anything,” she said. “We're supposed to be friends, but you won't even give me a straight answer about the things that happened when you were a kid.”

“Because I don't want folks knowing all that stuff.”

“But it's all part of your story,” she said. “It's not like you can deny it.”

“But, see, that's the problem,” I said. “To you, that's what it all is. Stories. But for me, they ain't stories, they're memories. And they're memories I ain't figured out how to deal with yet.”

She looked at my eyes like she wasn't sure if I was being sincere or not.

“And anyway,” I said, “Sora ain't got no business telling them at all. She wasn't a part of any of it, so she don't know.”

“But she does know,” she said. “Tommy told her a lot. A lot that I didn't even know. Like how you were still getting surgeries after you moved here to Cullman, and how you wore a catheter until second grade.”

“And you think I want you to know that stuff?” I asked, and I could feel my cheeks turning red.

“She told me other stuff, too,” she said. “Not embarrassing stuff. Stuff from
before
your accident.”

I started panicking.

“You didn't ask her about Captain Morris, did you?”

For some reason, that made her even more mad.

“You asked me not to, didn't you?” she said. “Do you really think I would do that? Why don't you trust me?”

I didn't know what to say to that, or to anything else, so I did something that probably ain't smart to do, especially to the girl you're hoping to woo.

“I'm going hunting,” I said, and I turned to walk away.

She grabbed my arm.

“Are you for real right now?” she asked.

“Why don't you go interview Willie, too?” I asked. “Get as much information from him as you can before his ma makes them move off to Michigan or something.”

She let go of my arm and her eyes got big.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you don't know?” I was sounding real nasty, but I didn't much care. “See, I guess while you was so busy trying to dig up all my secrets, you missed the fact that Mrs. Parkins is trying to get them to get out of here on account of all the segregation and Bob Gorman running for sheriff and such.”

“Willie might be moving?” she asked. She suddenly looked ready to cry.

“Yeah, but don't you worry. We'll always have the memories for you to poke at and write papers about.”

With that still hanging in the air, I turned again and ran off, leaving her standing there looking as lonesome as a lost kitten. I got my gun and went on out into the woods. Alone.

I had a feeling I might need to get used to that.

T
hat Sunday morning, I was all ready to head on down to Colony and see how them folks was handling things, but Mr. Thomassen called us early and insisted we come to church in Cullman. Which didn't matter one way or the other to Pa, but going to that church for me was always the worst part of my week. It was dull and boring and it smelled like old folks and hymnals. I decided to wear my school pants instead of my church pants out of protest. It made me feel a little better.

Bob Gorman was one of the head deacons, which meant I had to see him every time we walked through them doors, 'cause he was always greeting folks at the front. That was going to make it real uncomfortable when we got there, but I reckoned I could slip by him and go get a head start on my nap in the back.

But he had a different idea.

We got to church that morning nice and early, so Pa could hit the altars for a good while 'cause he wanted to have a little talk with Jesus and pass on messages to Ma. And maybe Tommy, if him and Jesus was finally on speaking terms. Which was a long shot, but Pa reckoned a slim chance is still a chance, so he did it anyway.

Bob grabbed me by the arm before I even got all the way through the front doors.

“Boy, why don't you come help me set up the sacraments?” he asked, and before I could answer, he dragged me through the church to the kitchen. I wasn't exactly sure what the sacraments was, but I reckoned it was a fancy word for a whipping. Maybe with a sack of mints or something. I really hoped it didn't hurt as bad as it sounded. And that they wasn't peppermint. I hated peppermint.

He cornered me against the yellow wall next to the refrigerator. I got myself ready for the impending beating. I tried to figure which hand he was going to use to sacrament me first and which pocket he was going to pull the sack from.

“What was you doing up at them Tiggers' house?” he growled in my face. He didn't look to be ready to start sacramenting, so I relaxed a bit.

“They're my friends. What was you doing up there?” I asked.

“Pretty sure I made my intentions crystal clear.”

“Yup, I'd say you did.”

Right then, Pastor Pinckney came in.

“What's going on in here, Bob?” he asked.

“Just getting the grape juice to set up the sacraments,” Bob said. I tried to figure how juice was going to play into it. Maybe he was going to pour it in the wounds or something. Sacraments sounded brutal. “This young fella volunteered to help me.”

I was waiting for Pastor Pinckney to jump in and tell him we didn't do that sort of thing at church, or at least that Bob ought not to waste the grape juice from communion on sacramenting me, but he didn't say nothing about it.

“Well, the trays and cups are in my office. Ethan is in from seminary, so I thought I'd let him officiate.”

Bob got the bottle of grape juice from the fridge and started toward the pastor's office. I reckoned we wasn't going to be doing no sacramenting now, so I started back to the sanctuary to find my sleeping spot. Bob stopped me.

“We ain't done talking. Come with me.”

We went into the pastor's office, which had a great big oak desk with all sorts of items from around the world placed on it that Pastor Pinckney'd gotten from visiting missionaries. No shrunken heads, though. Which made all them boring missionary sermons seem like a real waste. There was also about four or five bookshelves with all them books he needed to write his sermons, including a joke book, which I didn't reckon he'd ever read in his life.

And, in the corner, there sat Ethan Pinckney, still just as skinny and nervous as he had been when he used to run around in high school with Tommy. It was funny, I hadn't thought about them days in a long time. Ethan, Tommy, and Mark, or as we called him now, Mr. Braswell, used to go around raising hell all over the county, usually as sauced as a rack of ribs, and almost always with five or six girls in tow. But you wouldn't know it to look at Ethan now. He was wearing his pa's preacher robe and trying to memorize his lines from the Bible. His hair was slicked back and his face was clean except for a caterpillar mustache under his nose. And he was talking real pretty-like.

“F
OR
I
HAVE RECEIVED FROM THE
L
ORD THAT WHICH ALSO
I
DELIVERED UNTO YOU . . .
 ,” he said, then he double-checked his Bible for the next part.

“Pipe down, Ethan,” Bob said. “We've got to get the sacraments ready.”

Ethan nodded and didn't look worried about me getting pummeled one bit. Which meant he'd make a great preacher someday. He lowered his voice and took to whispering.

“F
OR
I
HAVE RECEIVED FROM THE
L
ORD THAT WHICH ALSO
I
DELIVERED UNTO YOU . . .
 ”

Bob pulled the brass communion trays out from under Pastor Pinckney's desk and started pouring grape juice in the little cups. Oh, so that was the sacraments? Jeepers, the Bible needed to have a glossary or something. Not that I'd read it, but still.

“Did they say anything after I left?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Folks don't usually stay quiet for too long.”

“Well, what did they say?”

“What's it to you?” I asked.

“T
HAT THE
L
ORD
J
ESUS
,” Ethan said, “
THE SAME NIGHT IN WHICH HE WAS BETRAYED . . .
” He checked his Bible again.

“Did they say who they're going to vote for?” he asked.

“Last I heard there wasn't no candidates yet,” I said. “Unless you're saying you're running.”

“T
OOK BREAD: AND WHEN HE GAVE THANKS, HE BRAKE IT . . .
”

“I ain't said nothing official yet,” he said. “But did they mention that? Do they think I'd be a good sheriff?”

“A
ND SAID, TAKE, EAT: THIS IS MY BODY, WHICH IS BROKEN FOR YOU . . .
”

“I don't know,” I said. “The sheriff is supposed to do a whole lot less lawbreaking than I reckon you're used to.”

“T
HIS DO IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME
.” Ethan had his eyes closed, trying his best to say it all from memory.

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

“Well, there's all that stuff with the Klan, plus them dogs in Colony.”

“What do I care what happens in Colony?” he asked.

“I don't know. What
do
you care about?”

“A
FTER THE SAME MANNER ALSO HE TOOK THE CUP, WHEN HE HAD SUPPED, SAYING . . .
”

“I ain't exactly following you, boy.”

“T
HIS CUP IS THE NEW TESTAMENT IN MY BLOOD . . .
”

“Just seems to me you're spending a whole heck of a lot of time running around to get votes, and not nearly enough time taking care of what's already yours.”

“T
HIS DO YE, AS OFT AS YOU DRINK IT, IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME.
”

“If you're talking about Eddie—” he said.

“I am,” I said. “And you ought to pay heed to him too.”

“F
OR AS OFTEN AS YE EAT THIS BREAD, AND DRINK THIS CUP . . .
”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know,” I said. Then I got some gumption I don't know where it came from. “Maybe if you was punching him in the face a little less and going hunting with him a little more, he wouldn't be going off and joyriding in your new car.”

“Y
E DO SHEW THE
L
ORD'S DEATH UNTIL HE COMES.
” Ethan gave a big sigh 'cause he finished, then he cleared his throat and started again. “F
OR
I
HAVE RECEIVED FROM THE
L
ORD—
”

“Dammit, Ethan!” Bob hollered, and hit the desktop like he was killing a bug. Knocked over the bottle of juice and it spilled. Not much on the desk, though. Mainly just all down my pants. 'Cause that's how my life goes. “If you're this nervous about doing the ministry, maybe you ain't in the right profession.”

Ethan blinked three times and I was pretty sure he was fixing to cry.

“I'm sorry,” Bob said, and cleared his throat. “What I mean is, don't be nervous. Just imagine everybody naked and you'll do fine.” He picked up the bottle of juice. “This one's empty now. I'll be back.”

Ethan watched him go like a dog watches its master walking after it's been beat.

“I wouldn't recommend the imagining folks naked thing,” I said, looking around the office for a towel or something I could dry off with. He had one he was sweating into that he offered me, but I turned him down. “It can cause more problems than it can fix.”

Right then Mrs. Forker, Kristen's mom, who Tommy always said had a body that belonged on the side of a bomber, came in to fetch some church bulletins. Ethan watched her rummaging around in Pastor Pinckney's desk for a bit.

“Yeah, I reckon you're right,” he said.

The organ started playing and I hurried to get to the bathroom so I could dry off and then find myself a seat. Pa was sitting next to Mr. Thomassen on the second row, which was about seven rows farther up than I had aimed to sit. I enjoyed the back row 'cause the cushion on the pew was nice and fluffy and the ushers didn't hardly ever check to see if you was sleeping.