Tim McGregor - Killing Down the Roman Line

Jim winced at the language but Travis didn’t seem to notice. He attacked the old cabinetry with a glee for destruction inherent in all boys, making a godawful racket with the prybar.

“Atta boy.” Corrigan cheered him on and then flipped open an ice cooler on the floor. He scrounged up two tall cans of lager, handed one to his guest.

“I’m okay,” Jim begged off. It was barely noon.

“Too late.” Corrigan popped them both and shoved one at him. “I’m glad you came. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about letting the boy work here.”

“I told him he could.” Jim shouted over the din. “Hate to go back on my word.”

“Take a walk with me.” Corrigan waved him toward the back door. “Something I want to show you.”

They walked into the punishing sun and Corrigan led the way to the chestnut trees shading the old stone fence. Boots trampled the growth underfoot, Jim spotting shoots of barley, potatoes and corn. Remnants of previous seasons, all fighting for sunlight.

“Look at all this stuff,” Corrigan scooped handfuls of buds, popping them free. “Planted ages ago and growing wild. What is this?”

“Barley. Feed corn.” Jim nodded further downfield. “All kinds of stuff over the years. What do you plan to do with all this acreage?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m no farmer, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I noticed you still got your sign up. You gonna take it down?”

“We’ll see how Kate makes out with her promise first.” Corrigan smeared a forearm over his brow. “Do you know her well? Is she trustworthy?”

“She says she’s gonna do something, she’ll do it.”

“That was a pretty good turnout we had for the tour, yeah?” He clinked his can against Jim’s. “Cheers.”

“I guess. I mean, if you’re goal was to piss off everyone in town.”

“Family history, Jim. I wanted to share it with everyone.”

Jim squared him with a look. “Bullshit. You wanted to shock everyone.”

“I admit I had fun. Did you see their faces?” Corrigan’s grin melted off as he cast his gaze over the field. “But it’s not just family history, you understand. It’s their history too.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jim gauged the man’s mood, looking for a moment to talk some reason into him. “How do you know that story of yours is true?”

“I told you. It’s an eye witness account.”

“By a little boy hiding under a bed. What if he was wrong?”

“He wasn’t wrong. My grandfather knew every one of the men who murdered his family. They all went to the same church, for Christ’s sakes.” He slugged on the can. “I know it’s ugly, Jim, but the truth often is.”

Jim leaned against the stone fence and said nothing. Corrigan looked up at the blue sky and pointed to birds circling the field, dark slices gliding around and around. “I keep seeing these birds up there, circling around the farm. What are they?”

“Turkey vultures. They’ll go round and round for hours looking for something dead. Or about to die.”

“The way they glide like that, without flapping a wing. They’re beautiful.”

“Not up close they’re not.” He watched Corrigan watching the vultures. “You know, the people here… these are good people. They haven’t done anything wrong. They don’t deserve to be called murderers.”

“You think I was too harsh?”

Jim caught a note of remorse in the man’s voice. “It was a long time ago. Things were different back then. People were different.”

“That’s bullshit, Jimmy. People are no better then their savage forefathers. They just think they are.”

“It was a hundred years ago. What does it matter now?”

Corrigan wiped the foam from his lips. “The dead have their claims on the living. Whether we see it or not, we’re beholden to them.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means every sin has to accounted for somewhere. Even by those who didn’t pull the trigger.”

“You know these people won’t just stand around while you sling mud at them.” Jim gave up trying to hide his frustration. “I mean, you’re not exactly making friends, are you?”

“You’re a friend. Aren’t you?”

Jim dialled it back. “Sure but… Jesus.”

“You think I should just let it be.”

“Maybe, just maybe the story you heard was wrong. No one was ever charged for those crimes. In a small town like this.” Jim shrugged. “Maybe it really was a mob of lunatics.”

“Come on, Jim. That’s the bullshit they troweled on to hide their mess.”

The man wasn’t going to budge and Jim was out of arguments so they stood in the chestnut shade and watched the vultures drift in lazy arcs.

“So what’d you want to show me?”

“Over here.” Corrigan crushed his can and pitched it onto Jim’s side of the fence and marched on. Jim looked at the litter in dismay and followed. Twenty paces in, Corrigan pointed south, where the land rolled gently down to the creek at the lower forty. “See down there at the bottom. The old fence.”

Jim froze. Corrigan’s finger wagged down to the berm of fieldstones piled up and the breech in the old perimeter. The spot he had ploughed through with the blade of his tractor.

Shit.

“This old fence borders our property, yeah? See the mess? Someone’s knocked it down. Looks like they dragged a plough through and started tilling.”

Corrigan rolled his eyes up to meet Jim’s. The man already knew the answer, that much was clear, and now he simply wanted to watch Jim sweat. He got his wish. Jim could feel it rivulet down the small of his back.

Time to come clean. “I did it.”

“You?” Corrigan’s surprise was soap-opera fake. It vanished and his tone dropped to a gravelcrunch. “Why?”

Jim stepped back, expecting a blow. “All this land has been neglected for so long. Gone to seed. I just—” He killed off his words. It was grovelling and it stung and he despised himself for it. “I needed the land.”

“You’re squatting on my property,” Corrigan said.

Jim shifted his weight square to both feet and his hand balled instinctively into a fist. The other man fixed him with venom roiling his pupils. A donnybrook about to blow the martins from the tree branches above them.

“All right.” Corrigan stood down and broke off his stare, casting his eyes down the broken stone fence. “Go ahead. Farm it.”

Jim wasn’t sure he got all that but his muscles suddenly breathed, tension leaking away. “What?”

“Farm it.” Corrigan’s face creased back into that familiar smile. “Our families cleared all this land. Be a shame to let all that backbreaking work go to waste.”

Jim still wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly but balked at saying ‘what’ again.

“Farming’s a merciless job, isn’t it?” Corrigan said. “You in financial straights?”

“We’ve seen better days, yeah.”

“Then farm it.”

Jim went back to shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Don’t be proud, Jim. It’s dishonest and it doesn’t suit you.” Corrigan snapped his fingers. “Tell you what, I’ll lease it to you. However much acreage you need, you can lease the land from me.”

Jim leaned back again. Wanting to ask but expecting to get fleeced. “How much?”

“How many acres are we talking about? Forty, fifty? More?” Corrigan tilted his head like a puzzled dog and scrutinized his neighbour. Tailoring a price to suit the man. “A dollar.”

TRAVIS LIKED THE work. An hour or two after school, smashing cupboards or peeling up cracked linoleum. Mister Corrigan didn’t hover over him or criticize his work, letting him toil at his own pace. On the third day, Corrigan told him to let himself out and climbed into his truck and left. Travis finished pulling the plywood subfloor up from the hallway. The last stray nails were pried out and the dirt swept up to reveal the original black oak. He stood on the porch and looked out at the road. From here, you could see any car coming up the dusty road long before it reached the driveway. Not a single vehicle anywhere in sight.