Scott McClanahan - The Collected Works of Scott McClanahan Vol. I

“Holy shit,” ODB said, stopping the car in the middle of the back road.

“Holy shit,” I said, grabbing a hold of the side of the car.

“Did you fuck up your car?” the Mud Puppy asked, jumping up out of his seat and staring at the hood.

Then ODB said that he knew it was bound to happen, especially with us talking about it so much. Then the car was completely stopped and he was looking back to see if he could see the deer.

I turned around too and looked at the dead deer behind us. It looked like it was dead.

“Is it dead?” I asked, looking for the deer to move. There was a big dent on the hood.

ODB shook his head like he didn’t know, and the Mud Puppy looked at the hood.

Then he laughed and told us that we should have sped up. We should have done what he said.

So I asked again, “Is it dead?”

Then the deer moved its head up and down. It looked like a doe who was a couple of years old.

ODB said, “No it’s not dead.”

Then he turned around and his voice sounded sad. “I think I broke its back.”

He broke its back and now the deer kicked its head up and down and all around. Then ODB shook his head and whispered again, “Poor thing.”

And with that the Mud Puppy just popped his head around and said, “You got any rope around here, so we can put it up across the hood? We can check it after work.”

But ODB just shook his head and told us that we couldn’t do that. He told us we had to put it out of its misery, and we weren’t putting any deer across his hood.

Then he put the car into reverse.

He hit the gas, and backed all the way up over the deer — Ka-bump.

The Mud Puppy jumped back like “What the hell?” as the car bounced over the deer.

“Did that do it?” ODB asked all nervous, looking back.

I looked to see if the deer was moving and at first the deer didn’t move and looked like it was dead. But then the deer moved again and it was still alive. It was trying to crawl away.

So ODB put the car into drive and ran back over it again, except this time it didn’t work either.

“What are you doing?” The Mud Puppy screamed, holding on to the dash.

And then the deer kicked its head some more and groaned, “Grrr” and it still wasn’t dead. I told ODB, “It’s still moving.”

ODB looked behind the car with a look on his face like nothing should suffer more than it has to.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked.

ODB acted like he was scared and looked around the car for something to put the deer out of its misery.

He looked in the glove box for a fishing knife he kept, but it wasn’t there.

He looked in the backseat for a box cutter, but there was too much trash.

He looked underneath the seat for something, but there wasn’t anything there either.

There wasn’t anything except his shiny thermos he drank his coffee out of in the morning.

He took his thermos and got out of the car and walked all the way back to the deer. Then the Mud Puppy looked like “What the hell is he doing?”

He said, “He’s crazy — we should just leave it. It’ll die sooner or later.”

But I didn’t care anymore. I was watching ODB stand in front of the deer holding his thermos. Then I jumped in my seat because the deer started thrashing all wild. It stood up on its front hooves, like it was trying to get away and went AHHHHH. It stood for a second and then fell back down. But ODB didn’t move, and reached out with his hand and touched the side of the deer. Then he patted its side like he was trying to comfort it.

The deer rested back down like it was finally calm. ODB took his thermos, and raised it high above his head and hit the deer with it.

The Mud Puppy shook his head again like “What the hell?” watching ODB hit the deer. Then ODB hit it again.

And then again.

And then again.

But the deer wouldn’t die.

It tried getting away with its broken back and ended up dragging itself into a ditch beside the road.

ODB hit it again.

“Crazy bastard,” Mud Puppy said, shaking his head. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

I decided I’d heard enough from the Mud Puppy even if he was twenty years older than me.

I told him that ODB didn’t want to just leave it there with a broken back.

I told him he was trying to put it out of its misery and keep it from suffering, and he was just trying to do the right thing.

The Mud Puppy chuckled and gave me a look like, “Oh really.”

But it didn’t matter anymore because the deer had stopped moving. It was finally still as I watched another deer watching from the woods.

And we were all watching ODB now — the deer, and the dead deer, the Mud Puppy, and the trees, and me. We were all watching him as he touched the side of the dead deer one more time and the deer looked thankful. ODB walked back to the car, cradling the thermos to his stomach, and got in. He sat for a second and held his thermos in his arms like a child. Then the Mud Puppy looked at him all disgusted. ODB looked around the car and put his metal thermos up on the dashboard where it shined in the morning sun still rising. It shined all broken and dented at the bottom, covered in hair and blood. And ODB put the car into drive and we took off through the woods, wondering if this is what you called kindness or not.

I grew up in western Greenbrier County, West Virginia in a town called Rainelle. If I had to tell you about Rainelle, I would tell you about the weirdness. I’d tell you about One Armed Johnny and how he lost his arm. They didn’t call him One Armed Johnny back then.

They just called him Johnny.

He worked at the Meadow River Lumber Co. which was the largest hardwood saw mill in the world.

He used to pull green chain, which is where they put all the new timber through the blades for the first time.

One day Johnny was pulling green chain, walking the green timber down the conveyor and running it through the buzz saw buzzing bzzzz.

And then he did it again.

He walked the timber down the conveyor and ran it through the buzz saw buzzing buzz.

And then he did it again.

He walked the timber down the conveyor….

There were these other guys working with him too.

There was Robert the cussingest man at the mill who never said a complete sentence in his whole life that didn’t contain the word “shit” or “fuck.”

There was the Pregnant Man and this guy named Holiday who used to go to the shitter so much they put this sign up above the toilet that said, “The Holiday Inn.”

So Johnny pulled the timber through the big bad blades when cussing Robert started giving Johnny a hard time and torturing him like he always did.

He walked right up behind Johnny and reared back and socked him harder than shit in his right arm.

SMACK.

Then Robert laughed and everybody else laughed too and pointed at Johnny. But Johnny put his head down and didn’t say a thing, even though his arms were always covered in black and blue bruises.

He grabbed hold of another piece of green timber and ran it through the saw.

Then he did it again.

But then a couple of minutes later Robert came up behind him again and reared back with his fist and socked him even harder this time.

SMACK.

And then everybody laughed again and Robert reached into Johnny’s shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette and put it in his own shirt pocket beside the lighter he stole off Johnny a couple of months earlier.

But Johnny didn’t say anything.

He just turned towards them all and stared at Robert who laughed along with all the other guys as they all went back to pulling green chain.

But Johnny didn’t. He grinned a strange grin and moved closer to the conveyor belt. He moved closer and then closer and then closer.