Percival Everett - Suder

I looked at Ma and I could tell that she had also heard what McCoy had said. I stood up and helped my mother to her feet. We watched the big white car pull away. “Let’s go,” I said.

Ma took a few steps and then she looked back. She stared angrily at the white car, which was small in the distance.

“Ma?”

“I’m coming,” she said softly.

When Ma and I got home, Daddy was standing at the screen door, looking out. He opened the door and Ma walked past him to the sofa. Daddy looked at me and questioned me with his eyes. I told Daddy about what McCoy had said, that he had called Ma a crazy nigger-woman. Daddy scratched his chin and made a face. He walked over to Ma and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Part of your problem is you don’t know to pace yourself. I saw the way you went tearing off. You’ve got to take it slow, slow and steady.” Tears were rolling down Ma’s cheeks. Daddy looked at me. “Come on, Craig,” he said, walking to the door.

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

“The store.”

“For what?”

“Sneakers.” He looked back at Ma. “Sneakers.”

It is not raining in the morning and I’m outside with the chain saw, cutting up wood for cooking, and this car pulls up the drive. I turn off the saw and step toward the car and it’s Lou Tyler.

“Howdy, there,” Lou yells through the window and he opens the door and gets out.

“Hey,” I says.

And he’s walking toward me. “Just thought I’d come and see how you’re doing. Feeling any better?”

“Some.” I take his hand and shake it.

“Well, you’re looking better.” He gazes past me at the cabin. “How do you like the place?”

“I like it.”

He walks past me toward the cabin. “Season’s going okay,” he says without looking at me and then Renoir steps from around the side of the house. Lou freezes and stares at the elephant and I step up beside him. He turns to me.

“That’s Renoir,” I says.

He looks again at Renoir. “An elephant,” he says more to himself than to me and he looks at me and a smile comes across his face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this.” He steps toward Renoir. “A dream come true.”

“What?”

“I can’t wait to stuff this sucker.”

I step in between Lou and Renoir. “Renoir ain’t for stuffing.”

“You mean he ain’t for me?”

I shake my head.

Lou looks down at the ground and scratches his forehead and kicks some dirt. He’s looking back at me and he says, “If he dies, you’ll let me know?”

I’m silent.

“You’re pretty attached to this animal, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Lou looks at the elephant again. “You … you mind telling me how you happen to have this thing?”

“I won him in a bet.”

“A bet.” He looks up at the sky and then around at the woods. “It must cost you a fortune to feed this thing.”

“No.”

“Oh.” He looks at Renoir. “Well, if he does—”

“I’ll let you know.” I stroke Renoir’s trunk. “You want to come inside?”

“Yeah.” He stops. “I forgot something. Come and give me a hand.” He walks back to the car and I’m following him. “I don’t want to leave these in the trunk; they might stink the car up.”

“What is it?” I ask.

He opens the trunk. “Road kills.”

I stop and I turn around and walk back to the cabin. I watch him from the porch as he pulls a few dead dogs and cats out and puts them on the ground by a tree. He’s slapping his hands clean as he walks toward the cabin.

“That’s got it,” he says. “You got any coffee?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He steps up onto the porch.

“What about some bacon and eggs?” I open the door and hold it for Lou.

He steps inside and there’s Jincy putting wood in the fire to cook lunch — eggs and bacon. Lou is still.

“This is Jincy,” I says. “Jincy, this here is Lou.”

Lou smiles at Jincy and turns to me with a questioning expression. He’s looking around the cabin. “So, you like it here pretty much, do you?”

I nod.

“Where’s your mother, little girl?” Lou asks.

“Dead.”

“Where’s your daddy?”

“Jail.”

Lou looks at me. “Who is she?”

I look at Jincy and then at Lou. “My daughter.” Lou is real puzzled. “I adopted her,” I tell him.

Lou frowns and then he looks at the stuffed animals about the cabin. “Thelma asked me if I knew where you were. I told her you were scouting the farm teams. I told her I’d tell you to call her.” He pauses. “Peter misses you.”

“Yeah, well, I miss him.”

Jincy is staring at me.

“What about them eggs?” I ask and pull the skillet down and drop it on the stove.

Lou walks to the window and looks out at Renoir and then he turns back to Jincy. “Your mama’s dead?”

“As a doornail.”

Lou straightens up and tilts his head. “And your old man’s in the slammer?”

“Last I heard.”

Lou looks back out the window. “I don’t believe you’ve got an elephant.” He sighs.

Lou’s in the cabin taking a nap and Jincy is outside with a stick, pulling mud from between Renoir’s toes, and I’m heading out for a walk. The late-afternoon sun is hot, but I can’t really feel it until I’m by the lake. I’m standing by the water and there’s that osprey flying real high and then he takes his wings in and plunges down into the water and comes out with a fish.

“Pandion haliaetus,” comes a voice from behind me. I turn to the voice and it’s a short man, stocky, with glasses. He steps toward me. “Hello there.”

“Hey,” I says.

He points to the osprey. “Pandion haliaetus.”

I frown. “Osprey,” I says, and just like that, there’s that bald eagle screaming and scaring the osprey and stealing the fish.

“Haliaeetus leucocephalus,” he says, pointing at the eagle.

“Bald eagle,” I says.

“I’m Richard Beckwith.” He shoves his hand out.

“Craig Suder.” I’m shaking his hand and noticing that his glasses seem to be a quarter-inch thick.

He tilts his head. “Craig Suder, the ballplayer?”

I look out over the water. “This sure is a pretty place. This lake got a name?”

“Yeah, this is Ezra Pond.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“I’m from Oregon State.” He smiles. “I teach zoology. You are the ballplayer, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I look at his eyes and he nods and I says, “I’m on vacation.”

“Me, too.”

Well, this guy takes to walking with me and he’s talking about the weather and wildflowers and just generally making noise. And I figure I’ve got to shake him if I’m going to see any birds that ain’t flying away. And this fella insists on calling everything by its Latin name, which annoys me to no small degree, and I’m making a point of correcting him.

“Lepus sylvilagus,” he says.

And I says, “Rabbit.”

“Perisoreus canadensis.”

“Gray jay.”

Finally, we come to a fork in the trail and he tells me he’s got to go left and I tell him I’ve got to go right. There’s a grouse waddling along in front of us and I’m waiting and Beckwith says, “Bonasa umbellus.”

“Grouse.”

“How do you know it was this dog?” Bud asked Mr. Simpson, the next-door neighbor.

“I saw him,” said Mr. Simpson. “I saw that mutt digging in my garden.” He pointed at Django.

“I’m sorry,” Bud said, “but you should have a fence around your garden.”

“You’re telling me what I should have in my own yard?” Mr. Simpson was really mad. “You’d better keep that dog out of my garden.” He paused. “Who are you?”