Then There Were Five (12 page)

On either side the ragweed stood five feet tall and in lavish bloom.

“Bad for folks with hay fever,” remarked Mr. Titus. “My sister's husband gets it something fierce. Claims the only cure he knows of is to go to some big city like New York City and ride back and forth all day long on the subway cars. And even then he ain't safe. Why, he says more folks travel around with bokays of flowers than you'd ever figure on. Oughta be a law, he says. Now then, let's see. You scooch down under this fence, Oliver, and I'll just step
over;
that's it. And down yonder under that old willow we oughta find a pool with some bluegills in it.”

The next few hours were a time of peace and profit to them both. The willow lay along the bank like a scaly old dragon and arched its silver branches above the pool. It was ancient and vast, with great dead patches in it: decayed boughs and atrophied root stumps clawed the air, where the leathery fungus stood out in porte-cochères, and dark moss grew like ragged fur. But the rest of the tree was victoriously alive; supple, enormous, with thousands of leaves that moved softly and richly in the slightest wind.

“Sure is an old one,” said Mr. Titus. “Looked just 'bout the same time I was a kid. My initials is carved on it somewheres.”

Hambone had gone exploring by himself. From time to time they heard a muffled bark and a scuffle in the distance. Mr. Titus laughed comfortably.

“A great hunter, Hambone is. Goes at it just as hearty as if he ever bagged anything. Every woodchuck for miles around is familiar with that dog. ‘There comes Hambone,' they tell each other. ‘
He
ain't anything to worry about. Just relax, boys, and we'll have a little fun.' Nice thing about it is Hambone don't know the joke's on him.”

There was silence again. On the butterscotch-colored surface of the pool whirligig beetles and waterskaters went about their tiny, frantic business. The frogs came out one by one, and sat on the bank staring at nothing, their eyes glazed with gold and their front toes turned in.

Mr. Titus and Oliver sat side by side in the green shadow, holding their rods on their knees, staring out watchfully from under their twin hats. Both of them smelled strongly of citronella, and each approaching mosquito departed immediately with a frustrated whine. Above the citronella there was an odor of crushed mint, and slow water, and cow pastures. Every now and then, up- or downstream, something plopped into the slough: maybe a turtle, maybe a big frog. Maybe a snake. The dragonflies hung above the still surface like turquoise needles and woodpeckers knocked at the dead willow branches up above. The opposite bank was a rich jungle of jewelweed and boneset.

Mr. Titus sighed.

“I ever tell you about the time I caught the cat?”

“No, you never did,” said Oliver, in anticipation. He was such a veteran, by now, that he knew immediately that Mr. Titus was referring not to an animal but to a fish. “Tell me.”

“Well, it was like this. One day, two, three hundred years ago, when I was about's old as you, or maybe a little older, I went fishin' on a Sunday. Yessir, I went fishin' on a Sunday, and what's more, I played hooky from church to do it. That was a mighty sinful thing in those days. Guess 'tis still. Trouble was in Sunday school we'd been studyin' about Jonah and how ‘the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah,' and how he was in its belly three days and three nights. Well, the more I got to thinkin' about that whale, that big fish of the Lord, the more I got to thinkin' about the big catfish that'd been layin' around a certain pool I knew of down to Abbot's Slough. I thought about it and thought about it till I couldn't stand it anymore, and then when class was over I lighted out quick's a wink before my folks could find me and take me to the church service. The buggies was all lined up in front, horses tied to the hitchin' rail, the bell was dingdongin' in the steeple, and I saw the ladies going in in their best dresses and their best religious smiles, and I hid for a while behind the horse trough until— Oop, wait, I got a bite!”

Excitedly Mr. Titus reeled in a small sheepshead, and removed it from the hook.

“I'll have it for breakfast tomorra,” he said with satisfaction. “Rolled in corn meal, with bacon, and a pan of biscuit and some coffee. Let's see, where was I?”

“Behind the horse trough,” prompted Oliver.

“That's right. Well, I just stayed there till I heard the organ begin (first it always gave kind of a grunt and a die-away sigh, and then even right through the music you could hear the sound of the foot pedals, thump-thump, thump-thump, just like someone goin' upstairs). And then when I heard the people singin' good and loud I started to run. Right across the meadows in my Sunday shoes that squeezed something terrible, because I was used to goin' barefoot. While I ran I could hear the singin' stop and then people coughin' for a minute and then the preacher, Mr. Kornhauser (he had a good strong voice), began the sermon. Callin' out loud from the pulpit, ‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy'—I felt like he was callin' me sure, but I kept on runnin'. When I got home I sneaked right out back of the barn to get my tackle and bait. I didn't dare go near the house because my aunt Effie and my grandma was there gettin' dinner ready. They was makin' somethin' kinda fancy out of it because the preacher himself was comin' back for dinner. Even the thought of that didn't stop me in my sin. No, sir, I went right on down, right through the pasture to Abbot's Slough, near where it opens into the river, and all the time I had a feelin' I was gointa catch that fish. It was what they call a hunch, I guess.

“Well, I was so excited I didn't even take off my Sunday shoes and go barefoot. I went up near the mouth of the slough where that deep muddy pool was, and I stood there in the shade in my good suit and my good shoes, and I put the juiciest night crawler on my hook. Then I cast it out and waited. I swear my heart was right up in my throat; I just
knew
I was gointa get that cat.

“The old fat rascal was layin' around there on the bottom lookin' for a meal. I couldn't see him but I knew he was there. The little frogs sat around on the edge and blinked their yellow eyes, and bulged out their throats. None of them knew it was Sunday. The little birds, redwing blackbirds and woodpeckers, they was busy up in the branches flyin' around, and peckin', and hollerin' at each other.
They
didn't know it was Sunday. Neither did the mosquitoes.

“I kept tellin' myself that Sunday was just another day of the week and finally I had myself believin' it. All except my conscience. My conscience sat off on the side somewheres, knowin' it was Sunday and judgin' me. But I managed to keep it from comin' too close.

“It was a fine morning, clear and bright. Hot in the sunshine and cool in the shade, and locusts made that scorching noise up in the trees. I stood there maybe an hour, maybe two, and I didn't catch a thing except some duckweed and cress. I was beginnin' to get hungry, and the hungrier I got the closer came my conscience. ‘You should of thought sooner,' it was sayin'. ‘You'd oughta know they won't give you any dinner
now.
Not after you skippin' church.'

“And then, by golly, it happened! Something hit my line like an express train. I was so dumbfounded that I lost my balance and I didn't have no toes to grip with as they were all closed up in those blame shoes. Down I went, flat's a haddock and slid right into the pool. It's a deep one there, or used to be. Maybe ten, twelve foot. I went down with my eyes open and under the water it was yellow like chicken broth. All the time I was holdin' onto my rod, too. I hadn't learnt to swim yet, but when I came to the surface I wanted to get back to the bank so bad that, by golly, I got there! Don't ask me how.

“And all the time I was hangin' onto my rod for dear life; and when I scrambled up the muddy bank and pulled myself onto the grass I kept sayin' to my conscience (or maybe it was a prayer), ‘Just let that fish be on my line still. Just let him be hooked good, and I'll promise never to fish on Sunday again long as I live. Honest to goodness cross my heart.'

“Well, sir, the fish
was
on. He was on and I sure had a tussle gettin' him in. But I got him in! Yessir, I got him in. And he was a beauty, too. Fat and independent, with whiskers like a Chinese emperor; the biggest cat I'd ever seen. I felt like I'd won a battle single-handed. I felt like I deserved a medal.

“He weighed a plenty, that fish did. He weighed twelve pounds and a little over, the biggest catfish ever caught in Abbot's Slough. I carried him along and I didn't care how heavy he was. The water in my shoes squelched with every step, the knees was out of both my stockin's and my lace collar was full of watercress, but I didn't care. At least at first I didn't. Then when I climbed the fence and began crossing Volkmann's pasture my clothes commenced to steam; the sun got hotter and hotter, and the fish got heavier and so did my conscience. I walked slower and slower. I wished I didn't ever have to go home.

“I saw the house and the maple trees around it, and the barn all quiet in the noonday sunshine, and
they
knew it was Sunday all right. So did our dog, Shep, on the front steps, and so did all the Leghorn hens. They was standin' around the barnyard white as snow, makin' little thin sounds and not movin' much. Everything sat there neat and tidy in the sunshine, knowin' it was Sunday and condemnin' me.

“Well, by the time I came through the side gate I was plannin' how I'd hide in the hayloft till it was dark and then get into the house, change my clothes, open my bank and run away to join the Wild West show.

“But my grandma saw me out the kitchen window. She had an eye like a chicken hawk.

“‘J
ASPER
!' she hollers. Big, like she was callin' a station on a train. ‘J
ASPER
!'

“I stopped in my tracks, drippin'.

“‘You march straight into the parlor, young man, and see what your papa has to say to you!'

“And Aunt Effie (I never did care for her) kept sayin', ‘My heavenly day! My
Lands!
Why, Jasper Titus, and on a Sunday, and with Mr. Kornhauser here, too! Just look at your suit, and your lovely croshay collar! I just hope your papa whips you!'

“And my sister Ruthie. She was no help. She just stared at me and kind of held her skirts away and said, ‘My, 'm I ever glad it's not
me!
'

“Nobody mentioned the fish.

“I squelched into the parlor to meet my doom.

“There they was sittin', full of Sunday dinner and wholesome satisfaction because they'd worshiped first and then et. And there I stood in the doorway, mud from top to toe, and with my stockin's tore, but holdin' the biggest cat that ever come out of Abbot's Slough.

“They all just stared at me. My mamma in her best silk dress. Mrs. Kornhauser in
her
best silk dress. My papa in his stiff collar, and watch chain looped across his stummick, and Mr. Kornhauser. Mr. Kornhauser's mouth fell open like the mouth on a carp.

“‘Jasper, what happened to you, are you hurt?' says my mamma. ‘We was callin' you and callin' you—'

“‘Hurt, indeed!' says my papa, pushin' back his chair. ‘He played hooky, that's what he done. Hooky! On a Sunday! From church!'

“‘But, Gilbert, he's soakin' wet,' says my mamma.

“‘How did you get wet, young man? Answer me!' shouts my papa. ‘What's that you got there?'

“‘A fish, papa,' I says. My voice sounds weak.

“I held up the fish and I couldn't help but be glad that it was so big. If I'd done an awful wicked thing by playin' hooky on Sunday I was glad anyways that the result was a fine big catfish instead of a measly little perch. It was on a nobler scale. (And I don't mean a fish scale either, heh-heh. That's what they call a pun.)

“‘Oh, Jasper,
fishin
'!' my mamma says, lookin' real sad. She didn't know much about fish. But just for a second I saw my papa staring at that cat with his eyes bungin' out, and he didn't look mad a bit.

“‘Jasper,' says Mr. Kornhauser, and that big voice of his booms out just like he'd brought his pulpit with him. ‘Jasper, you have forgotten, I fear—“And on the seventh day thou shalt rest…”'

“I wanted to say that fishin' was restin' to me and church was work, but I had the sense not to. My papa was lookin' mad again and I knew what was in store for me. A whippin' behind the barn with all the hens scurryin' away and squawkin' and then being sent to my room with no dinner, and then a long talk with Mamma.

“That's what I got, too. And I repented like I should have done, and the hungrier I got the more I repented. Finally I thought I'd repented about as much as the sin was worth, and I opened my bedroom window and looked out. My sister Ruthie was in the double swing with her dolls. I waved a towel (I didn't dare call) till she noticed it. She came skippin' over.

“‘I'm hungry,' I says.

“‘Wait a minute,' she says, and ran into the house.

“Pretty soon she came back with a basket, and I let down a rope I kept behind the washstand (that wasn't the first time I'd been sent to my room). Ruthie tied on the basket and I pulled it up. I remember's if it was yesterday: chicken leg and cold turnips and a slice of pie. Ruthie was a good sister.”

Mr. Titus lapsed into silence. Oliver waited a minute and then said, “Is that the end of the story, Mr. Titus?”

“Pretty close to it, Oliver, but not quite.

“Well, sir, a long time later, when I was near grown, my papa died. Some days after the funeral Mamma and Ruthie and I went through his things, his papers and all, you know. Papa always used to keep a journal, mostly about crops, like how many bags of feed he'd bought and how much they'd cost, or how much he'd got for the Chester sow he'd sold, and things like that. I was just flippin' the pages through my fingers, lookin' at the entries without payin' much attention when I saw one that caught my eye.