Neal Barrett - Through Darkest America

Howie knew the moving had made his father feel better. Like he was doing something, anyway—giving in, but letting the soldiers know he didn’t want to. It was the only time he ever heard Papa get truly angry at his mother. She remarked that it might not be a good idea leaving everything out in the weather—that they could be asking for trouble they didn’t need.

“Damn, Ev!” he exploded, his face turning crimson, “what’s a man supposed to do—lie down and let ’em stomp you, then turn over so’s they can get the other side? Hell, woman . ..” His hands trembled into big fists. “What you want me to do! ”

Howie’s mother turned ash-white, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. Papa went to her and folded her in his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Howie left the house quickly and didn’t listen anymore, but he knew she cried a long time after that.

“When you figure they’ll come, Papa?”

Howie stood with his father on the porch and followed his gaze to the dark horizon. There was no sunset—the clouds just darkened to match the night and set a chill in the air.

“I figure tomorrow, maybe,” said Papa.

“And Colonel Jacob? He’ll be with the soldiers?” “Stands that he will, son.”

Howie thought about that. All he could remember about soldiers were the ones he’d seen in the parade at Bluevale. They seemed like good, proud men; no one you’d figure on burning barns and hanging people. Maybe they were different soldiers—or maybe it was like the stranger who’d come by said; the war and being hungry did things to people, and they weren’t the same anymore.

“It’ll be over,” Papa broke into his thoughts, resting his hand on Howie’s shoulder. “It’ll be over tomorrow likely, and we can get back to running a ranch like we’re supposed to.” He laughed in his throat and turned Hovvie’s chin where he could see him. “You figure it’s time we took us a day, boy—say, the first good warm morning that comes—and see what’s bitin’ down to the pool? Would you like that? Just you and me kind of sneaking off for a time?”

“Yes, sir,” Howie told him, “I’d like that a lot.”

Only, for the first time he could remember, it was hard to get his mind on fishing. His thoughts kept following his father’s eyes out past the dark stand of trees, where the soldiers would appear in the morning.

The soldiers didn’t come the next day. Or the one after that. Papa’s mood grew darker and Howie could hear his big steps moving restlessly about in the room below, long after everyone else had gone to bed.

When they did come, Howie was looking right at them.

They came silently over the far swell of the land, moving down the furrowed hill against a grey smudge of dawn. He counted twelve mounted troopers in a loose column. A wagon trailed behind, pulled by two more horses—one trooper drove, while another three dangled their legs off the back of the bed. As he watched, Howie saw a man stretch his arms and yawn.

Closer, you could tell these men were nothing like the parade soldiers in Bluevale. They were gaunt, shadow men— hollow faces under grizzled beards. There was no fat about them, only hard planes pushing flesh at awkward angles. Their clothes seemed all alike and no color at all. They rode easy on their horses; it struck Howie they might not even know the mounts were there. If he’d heard that men and horses were all one creature grown together, he’d have taken it for fact.

Howie was aware of Papa standing close behind him, but neither spoke to the other. They watched the men move around under the trees, going about their tasks without talking. The low clouds pressed in upon the earth and swallowed up sound. The day seemed to stop altogether, like the land was caught half between night and morning.

“We got things to do inside,” Papa said finally. “Ain’t nothing more to see out here.”

Neither, though, did more than putter about at things that didn’t need doing. And Papa’s eyes never moved far from the soldiers under the trees. Howie’s mother didn’t come down to make breakfast. She was so quiet upstairs it was hard to tell she was there.

It was nearly noon, but for Howie the day seemed no further along. The hours stretched wearily by and even Papa stopped pretending there were things to do. He sat at the big table with his hands in his lap and looked at nothing at all.

When the sun was just overhead, though, he did a peculiar thing—something Howie would never forget. Without a word, he got up and walked out the front door and off the porch and into the yard. Howie followed. At the same time, he saw a single rider move out of the grove and start for the house—as if they both knew the other would be right where they were.

The rider was a copy of the others, but somehow not the same. And no one had to tell Howie it was Colonel Jacob. He rode straight and silent, without looking to either side, letting the horse make its own way. It seemed forever before he touched his reins and stopped just before the spot where Papa stood.

“Milo,” he said, “it’s been a long while.”

“It has,” said Howie’s father.

There was something in Papa’s voice Howie hadn’t heard before. Whatever it was, the Colonel heard it, too, and looked at Papa a long moment without moving his eyes. He was an older, thinner man than Howie remembered. A face gone to leather, and a body tight and hard as stone. The eyes, though, were the same—and he remembered how they’d looked at him, and at his mother, and what he’d seen there, even being twelve and not knowing much at all. And when Jacob’s glance touched him again, he stared straight back and didn’t turn away.

“The boy’s grown some,” said Jacob.

“He has.”

“Looks a little like you in the face. Got Ev’s color, though.”

Papa didn’t answer; Jacob shifted in his saddle and looked up at the low clouds. “The little girl. She coming all right?”

“Carolee went from us,” said Papa. “At the Choosing.”

“Well, now. That’s fine, Milo.”

“I guess it is.”

Jacob nodded and shifted his gaze to Howie. “You sure have sprung up, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” said Howie.

“Be big enough to serve, soon. You know that?”

Papa looked up sharply. “If he chooses, Jacob. Don’t know as he’s given any thought to soldiering.”

Jacob shrugged. “Maybe. Might come to something else though, Milo. It’s a terrible war out there. Men dying in frightenin’ ways. Or gettin’ sick and wishing they had a clean bullet in their bellies ’stead of filth and pollution.” He shook his head. “You got to see it to know what I’m saying. See it, and wash your hands in a man’s blood, and smell his corruption.”

Papa stood tall and still, his gaze staying right on the Colonel. To Howie, it seemed as if Jacob’s eyes had gone different while he talked—like he’d been somewhere a long way off a minute, and just come back. -

“The war,” said Papa. “You said somethin’ about the war. How it might come to—somethin’ different. I don’t reckon I understand that, Jacob.”

Jacob gave him a weary smile. “Simple as rain, Milo. Soldiers are dying out west faster than boys are joining up. War’s got a awful appetite, I’ll tell you. Eats up armies like corn in a field.”

“Then you might better stop your war, I’m thinking.” “Can’t do that. Not now.”

“Can’t. Or don’t care to.”

Jacob’s smile faded. “You haven’t fought,” he said stiffly. “You’re out of line, Milo, if you ain’t been there.”

“Maybe,” said Papa. “And maybe folks that like fighting so much ought to do as they please. And leave those that don’t to themselves.”

Jacob stared at him and laughed out loud. “You haven’t changed a damn bit, Milo! A simple man with simple answers.”