Neal Barrett - Through Darkest America

“Suits me well enough,” Papa said darkly.

“Suits you, is right. But not the world, not anymore. The world’s changing—it’s not a simple place anymore, Milo. It chews up simple men and spits ’em on the ground.”

“Like Jess, you mean.”

Jacob’s face went hard and the two men just looked at each other, neither backing away. Howie figured he could measure the silence between them. Finally, Jacob sat back in his saddle and shook his head.

“Lordee,” he said, letting out a long breath, “that was a bad thing, Milo. A real bad thing. It ain’t easy to do what you have to do. Sometimes, though, a war jus—”

“ Have to do!” Papa exploded. He stared up at Jacob and the cords of his neck went tight. “Damn, man, what’s happened to you? You talk like you hung a stranger from that tree!”

“He was a stranger to me,” said Jacob.

“He was a man you grew up with, Jacob. Jess and you and me and the rest. Right here. The same dirt, the same—”

“No. That’s not so, Milo.” He looked at Howie’s father with no expression at all. “I was a boy here and that’s true enough. I grew up out there. With men that ain’t anything like you and Jess.” He seemed to lose himself in thought a minute, then his eyes went tired again. “Hell, Milo. We go back a long way. You know that?”

“We do, Jacob.”

“War’s hard on a man. You got to understand that.” “I reckon that’s so.”

“A man don’t figure on changing, but he does. It’s not something you got much say in. You…” He looked at Howie, and ran a dry hand over his mouth. “You got some cool water in there, boy?”

Howie looked at his father.

“Get him some water, Howie.”

“No, no.” Jacob held up a hand and raised himself in the saddle. “Reckon I’ll walk in with you. Give me a chance to iron out the wrinkles. Ev inside?”

“She’s inside,” Papa said evenly.

“Well, then…”

“She’s feeling poorly, Jacob.”

The challenge in Papa’s voice was clear enough. Jacob gave him a curious look, then eased back in his saddle. “You’ll tell her I asked, Milo.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Well…” Jacob looked up at the house, then back again. “A lot of years’ve gone by, ain’t they?”

“They have, for certain.”

“Things change…”

“I guess they always will, Jacob.”

Jacob touched his reins lightly and the mount skittered to one side.

“This business, Milo…” He gestured over his shoulder toward the grove. “It’s something that’s got to be done.”

Papa didn’t answer. Jacob studied him a moment, then turned his horse smartly, kicking up dust, and galloped back to the grove.

Papa watched him go. He stood where he was until the wagon was loaded, the stock gathered, and the long column of soldiers had followed Jacob back over the hill the way they’d come.

In the afternoon Howie’s mother came downstairs and sat at the big oak table. Papa tried to get her to eat some hot bread or take a bowl of soup, but she said she wasn’t hungry at all and would just as soon have a little honeywater to sip on. Howie wanted to cry looking at her. She seemed so frail and tired, like all the life had gone out of her. In a little while she asked Papa if he’d mind seeing to supper, something Howie couldn’t remember her ever doing before.

“Papa,” he asked later, when she’d gone back upstairs, “she’s going to be all right, ain’t she?”

“Sure she is, Howie.” His father forced a smile. “The day’s been hard on her, is all. It’s over and done with now, and there’s nothing more to worry about. She’ll see that in the morning.”

“For certain, Papa?”

“For certain, Howie.”

Howie had a lot more questions about the day, but he could see Papa didn’t want to do much talking. He went about his chores, wisely leaving his father to himself and his thoughts.

Everything might be over and done like Papa said, but you couldn’t tell by the way he acted. His mind was still out in the high grove of trees and over the dark horizon. Through the long afternoon, he left Howie more than once to stalk about outside. Just standing, out on the porch or in the yard, his face matching the brooding sky.

Late in the evening, after they’d shared a cold supper, Howie went to bed by himself, leaving his father alone. And when he woke deep in the night, he went to the window and found Papa outside, a dark figure listening to the silence.

“ Howie… ”

He woke smelling first dawn, heavy with sleep then suddenly awake, seeing his father there and feeling the strong hands on him.

“Howie. Don’t talk, boy, just listen.”

A cold chill gripped him. There was something awful in Papa’s eyes and he didn’t want to see it.

“Howie. I want you to get up now and go in real quiet and get your mother. Get her downstairs and out the back. Over the field, Howie, and you can’t make no noise at all. You see that? Not any.”

“Papa…”

“ Listen , boy. Take that little gully as far as you can, where you can kinda stoop over good ’till you get near enough to the woods. After that…”

“Papa. I can’t!”

“Howie…” Pap’s voice broke. “You got to!”

He felt the tears well up and Papa gripped him hard.

“I ain’t got time to explain, boy. I just know . He let it show right there in his eyes, and I know , Howie. I felt it then, an’… son, for God’s sake!”

Howie moved without thinking. For a moment, his father was behind him, then he was gone. When his mother saw him and what he meant to do, her eyes went wide and full of fear and he knew she was going to cry out and he’d have to stop her.

She flailed against him; he pulled her along, hurting her, and not thinking about that, either. When they were halfway to the woods through the shallow ravine, he became suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. He didn’t dare look at her, then. If he had, he couldn’t have gone on doing what he had to do.

He heard the sound behind him and turned and saw them. Two men on horses coming fast, gray against the first raw touch of dawn. He knew there was nothing he could do because they were cutting the angle between the gully and the woods. He had a quick second to hear the hooves drum over soft ground and see the bright flash of fire at the man’s shoulder. He thought his mother ought to be there somewhere but he couldn’t be sure…

A long time later he’d go through it again and feel it just like it had happened and know that was the time he’d passed being a boy.

But this wasn’t the time. There was no feeling or understanding now. It was as if he stood just outside himself and watched another Howie go about his business and do the things that had to be done. Like a little piece of time had been neatly lifted out of the day and set aside on a shelf somewhere. All the minutes and seconds and hours staying just as they were until he was ready for them, the way tiny bits of seed and stone got caught in pond ice, and slept there until the Spring let them go.

The clouds were breaking up and moving away to the east when he opened his eyes. From the light he could tell it was nearly noon and that meant he’d been out at least four or five hours, maybe more.

When he sat up he felt the pain, sharp and clean like a hot knife. He touched his head gingerly where the rider’s bullet had creased a neat furrow across the side of his skull, taking away flesh nearly to the bone. His hair was crusted with blood. There was blood on his face and down his chest but it was all dried and the bleeding had stopped some time ago. He decided he must look pretty awful. Which was probably why they’d left him there and hadn’t bothered to make sure he was dead.