Raymond Atkins - The Front Porch Prophet

A.J. didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he felt it would be cruel to let Eugene harbor false hope. On the other hand, illusory anticipation is better than none at all, particularly among the hopeless. A.J. was mulling the best road to travel when Eugene spoke again.

“Shit. I know what this is,” he said, hitting his head with the heel of his hand. “She’s seeing someone, right?” A.J. was inscrutable. “Right?” Eugene insisted.

“I think maybe she is,” said A.J. slowly. He wanted to be out of this discussion.

“Who is it?” Eugene asked. There was defeat in his voice. He seemed to sag almost imperceptibly, as if a slight diminution of the life force had occurred, a quickening of the sand through the hourglass.

“I don’t know who it is,” A.J. said.

“You lie.”

“Okay, I know. But it won’t do a damn bit of good to tell you. Diane divorced you, and she can see whoever she wants to. So can you. That’s the way it works.” Eugene seemed to consider this argument, to hold it to the light as if checking for flaws. Then he spoke.

“I’m just curious,” he said petulantly.

“Bull. You’re just wondering who to go shoot, and you’re not getting anything from me.” He knew Eugene and his willful ways. And as much as he disliked Truth Hannassey, she didn’t deserve being shot. Not fatally, anyway.

“Just tell me if I know who it is,” Eugene obsessed. The subject held morbid fascination for him.

“You know the person,” A.J. said. “Now, let it go.” They fell silent. It seemed that the limited possibilities of the conversation had been exhausted. A.J. was glad to be moving to higher ground.

“Did you ever sleep with Diane?” Eugene asked. A.J. looked at him.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he asked. Eugene was slumped in the chair with his eyes closed. He presented a pitiful picture, unkempt and seedy.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said. “It just sort of popped out. I am curious, though. Did you?”

“Sleep? No, no sleeping,” A.J. said enigmatically. The question really peeved him.

“You know what I mean,” Eugene said. His eyes were still closed, and there was scant emotion in his tone.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. What I’m having trouble with is that you even asked me something like that.” The fact that he was only technically innocent of a premarital interlude with her was beside the point.

“Diane talks in her sleep,” Eugene stated, almost slurring the words. “One night I woke up, and she was talking to you. Apparently, you were doing a good job.” He fell silent. A.J. felt guilty, and the feeling of culpability was about the stupidest thing he had ever heard of.

“It was a dream, Eugene,” he said. “Her dream, not mine. I wasn’t really there.”

“I know. I just always felt bad that she was dreaming of you. She had a habit of comparing me to you anyway. I wish you would spend more time with your children, like A.J. does with his, she would say. Or, A.J. always treats Maggie nice. You’re a tough yardstick to be measured against.” A.J. was embarrassed for the both of them.

“You know, I’m just as screwed up as everyone else,” he said.

“Oh, I know what a sack of shit you are,” Eugene said. “It’s the women who are confused.”

“Just so we’re clear on that point,” A.J. said emphatically. They fell into silence. The dissonance produced by Diane’s fantasy melted away.

Presently, Eugene started to snore. A.J. attempted to rouse him but had no success, so he stepped inside and brought out a pillow. He arranged Eugene and left him to nap, then went back in the house.

Eugene’s housekeeping skills were poor, and the cabin was a shambles. A.J. decided to remedy the situation. He had time to kill, anyway, since he did not want to leave without saying good-bye. So he set to with a vengeance, and the cabin slowly became habitable again.

Later, he was resting on the porch when Eugene awoke. A small bonfire burned in the yard, fueled by the detritus from the cabin. The scent of pine oil lingered in the air, mixed with the meaty aroma of the stew A.J. was simmering. He was worn out. Cleaning the cabin had been a big job, and he had been forced to employ untraditional methods. First he had shoveled the floors. Then he had dragged the hose in through the back window and washed the place out. It was during the final phase of the project he discovered the letters. He had been straightening the chaos on Eugene’s desk-several planks laid across sawhorses-when he stumbled across a cache of correspondence. Presumably, Eugene was in the process of writing a note to nearly everyone he knew. Some of the letters were finished, sealed, and ready to mail. Others appeared to be works in progress.

He had been about to move on to the kitchen when he noticed an envelope addressed to himself. It was unsealed and contained several sheets of paper. His curiosity was aroused, and he wondered what was contained within. Uncharacteristically, he removed the contents and began to read.

Dear A.J.,

I always thought it was cool when people in the movies got letters from dead people, so I decided to send a few myself. If Ogden doesn’t screw it up, you will get this the day after I kick off. And since you’re reading, I must be gone. Hopefully, it didn’t hurt too much. Hopefully, you didn’t let me linger. I don’t have any doubt that you killed me. I hated to ask, and I know you really didn’t want to, but I needed the help, and I was too much of a chicken shit to do it myself. You were the only natural born killer I knew, the only one who could cut through the bullshit and get it done.

A.J. stopped and sat down. He felt sick at Eugene’s portrayal of him as an executioner. Almost involuntarily, his eyes strayed back to the testament before him.

There are some things I want to tell you that I couldn’t say while I was alive. Well, I guess I could have said them, but I didn’t. When we were in seventh grade, I stole twenty dollars from you. You probably don’t even remember it, but it has been on my mind for a long time. I didn’t need the money. I just didn’t want you to have it. I thought you had it better than me. I’m sorry.

A.J. let his eyes drift to the Sequoyah Police Station sign on the wall. He remembered the twenty dollars. He had hauled hay for two long days to earn it and had always assumed that he had lost it. It had seemed to be a large amount at the time, which was why he supposed it had stuck in his mind. Eugene’s posthumous confession saddened him. He read on.

A few years ago, I made a pass at Maggie May. It was the twenty-dollar deal again. Things weren’t going so well with Diane, and it pissed me off that you had such a great marriage. You don’t need to worry, though. That girl can cut a nut when the mood is on her, and you can believe it when I tell you that she shut me right down. I apologize to you, and I apologize to her. It was a shitty thing to do.

He dropped the letter like a hot rivet, then rose and shuffled into the kitchen. Without thinking, he began to peel potatoes. Then he washed and peeled some carrots that were past their prime but salvageable. He needed an onion, but there wasn’t one in residence. As he cut up the deer roast he had dislodged from the freezer, his mind moved back to the letter. Eugene made a pass at Maggie? He didn’t want it to be true, but why would a dead guy lie about something like that? And why had Maggie kept it to herself all this time? He dumped all the ingredients into a pot and placed it on the burner. Then he wandered slowly back to the desk. He was developing a dislike for letters from beyond the grave.

There is something else I need to tell you. I wasn’t going to, and I don’t know if it will do any good for you to know, but here goes anyway. You and I are brothers. Jackie told me. It beats me how he knew, but when I asked Angel, she admitted it. She said John Robert was the best man she ever knew, and she sort of wished out loud that things had been different, that he had been available. But she knew he wasn’t, even though your mama was gone. I must be getting in touch with my feminine side now that I’m dead, because I think the whole deal is kind of sad. John Robert was so in love with your mama that he wouldn’t try to steal Angel away from Johnny Mack. It didn’t even occur to him to try, and she was a babe back in the old days, even if I do say so myself. And Angel was so in love with John Robert that she respected his wishes and backed off. She told me I was her bonus, and that she never once regretted having me, that I helped her endure the pain of being alive. So at least I was good for something. I’m not telling you this to screw up your head, and I don’t want you to be beating up on John Robert. Being a living damn saint is hard work, so cut him a little slack. He doesn’t know about me, and that’s the way Angel wanted it. So swallow down your little-brother-of-Jesus act and let it pass. I’m telling you this because I am proud that you are my older brother, and I wanted you to know it. You are better than I was. Of course, I had a better time than you did, but you never were much on having fun anyway. There is a box buried under the tree I killed. It is full of money that I really shouldn’t have, so don’t flash it around too much. Make sure Diane and the boys get taken care of, and Angel. The beer joint is yours. If you don’t want it, close it. But my advice is, don’t be a damn fool. If I learned anything in life, it was that people will pay good money to sin. Bootlegging will make you rich. Just don’t forget to give the Law a little taste from time to time. The deed to the mountain is also in the box. I don’t care what you do with it as long as Johnny Mack doesn’t get it. I trust your judgment. Thank you for whacking me. I was afraid of the pain, and I knew I could count on you to get me out of trouble. You always were your brother’s keeper, but we just didn’t know it. Like it says in Proverbs, “There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” Damn. Bible quotes. I must be hedging my bets. Tell Johnny Mack I went out singing Psalms. It will make his day.